"That way. About two arpents," the old man pointed as he stood at the edge of the forest. The direction led further into the woods following a barely discernable path.
As they sat on their horses, the musketeers peered into the trees and then looked at each other with uncertainty. "And the doctor?" Athos asked.
"Back through the village and onto Saint-Péran. He should be there," the man replied.
Again, the group looked at each other, their faces grim. Not one spoke but the fourth of their group who was sitting slumped in the saddle audibly groaned and sunk lower. "He won't make it back to Saint-Péran; not at the speed we'd have to travel." Porthos said.
"We could travel faster," D'Artagnan said.
"You want him to die faster?" Porthos asked.
"You will show us the way," Athos said to the old man. The tone was solemn and commanding but only caused an expression of amusement to quickly flash across the villager's face.
"I won't be caught in these woods after dark," the man said while shaking his head and making the sign of the cross. "When the path forks, take the left. You should be able to see the cottage soon after."
With that, the man turned and began walking back towards the village leaving the musketeers in stunned silence. They watched him go and quietly began arguing among themselves on which option to take. Another rattling gasp from Aramis put an end to the quarrel. Athos led the way into the woods, followed by Porthos riding close to Aramis and D'Artagnan bringing up the rear.
The trio rode through the woods on the narrow path being careful to not jostle Aramis more than necessary. The trees enveloped them on all sides as they proceeded before opening into a small clearing where the road forked. Shortly after turning on the left path, a conversation began again.
"Why was the old man afraid to show us the way?" D'Artagnan asked as they rode along.
"We're on the edge of Broceliande," Porthos replied. "Where fae run wild and time passes differently."
Porthos' voice was filled with amusement despite the seriousness of their circumstance. Athos turned his head in surprise while D'Artagnan urged him to explain what he meant. With a broad smile, Porthos recounted tales he had heard of beautiful creatures luring unsuspecting villagers into the wood. When those people finally found their way home hours later, they found that years had passed.
"Village superstitions," Athos said plainly.
"The old man said he was sending us to a witch. You don't believe him?" D'Artagnan asked.
"She's probably an old hag who knows how to cure a fever with plants. That's all," Athos answered as a small stone house appeared set off the path in the distance.
They reined in the horses a few feet away from the cottage and dismounted. Porthos checked on Aramis and after voicing some quiet encouragement to his friend, led the horse closer. As Athos pounded on the door and commanded its occupant to open the door, a woman silently appeared around the corner. D'Artagnan noticed her first and she met his stare with an even unflinching gaze. When Athos took a step backwards and pulled his musket, she shouted in protest.
Athos spun. "We were told that a healer could be found here. Our friend is gravely hurt. Can you direct us to her?"
A smile began to form on the woman's face as she took a step closer to Athos. Her fiery red hair billowed around her face in the slight breeze as her eyes remained trained on his weapon. As he lowered it, she looked towards Aramis who remained slumped low in the saddle. "I am the one you are looking for."
"She is definitely not an old hag," D'Artagnan whispered to Porthos as they took in the woman. She was rather tall, wore a simple dress and did not appear older than any of them. Porthos hummed in agreement.
"You are the healer?" Athos asked wide-eyed as the woman breezed past him.
She eased Porthos out of her way and looked up at Aramis. Her eyes glanced over his bloodstained shirt and pale pallor. Reaching out, she gently touched his hand and immediately pulled back. Brushing her hair away from her eyes, she told Porthos and D'Artagnan to get Aramis off his horse and into the house.
As they moved to obey her command, Athos told them to stop. He repeated his question. The woman glared at him with teal eyes that were unusually bright in addition to their rare color. They stared at each other for a bit neither one willing to give.
"Your friend is badly hurt. Wasting time with questions is not helping him."
Athos relented with a nod and Porthos and D'Artagnan once again began to ease Aramis off the horse. "Your name, at least," Athos said.
"Oriel. And yours?"
She led the way into the small cottage and directed the musketeers to place Aramis on the bed. Oriel quickly wove her hair into a braid to get it out of the way as she scrutinized her visitors and asked who had directed them to her. She reached for a bowl that held some water as she awaited the answer. Finding out that it had been Gaston who had sent the men allowed her to relax a bit.
After placing the bowl on the floor, Oriel sat on her bed next to Aramis and began lifting his shirt while the others watched. Their expressions ranged from Athos' intense observation of her movements to D'Artagnan's opened-mouth surprise at her boldness. Oriel ignored them and focused on trying to see the nature of Aramis' wound. Her attempt was hampered by his shirt which had become attached to the area due to the amount of blood it had soaked up.
Without asking permission, Oriel grabbed at the area of Aramis' ragged shirt that was free and ripped a strip. She soaked it in water and placed it on top of the section that was glued with dried blood and fluid in an attempt to release it. Realizing that more water would be needed, Oriel arose and handed D'Artagnan a rustic pitcher.
"Behind the house about deux toises, you'll find a spring. Fill this."
As D'Artagnan rushed off, Oriel gently began separating Aramis from his shirt. She cursed in an unfamiliar language, as she slowly and carefully peeled back the fabric that had loosened and asked what had happened to him. Porthos heard Oriel's quiet outburst and watched her with narrowed eyes. He shared that Aramis had been ambushed and they had found him afterwards. Oriel glanced up from her task with raised eyebrows at the vague description.
Before she could ask more, D'Artagnan returned with the water. Oriel ripped another strip of fabric from Aramis' shirt. After dampening the cloth with the cool water, she placed it on Aramis' forehead and stood up. She told the men to leave the remnants of the shirt but to remove the rest of Aramis' clothes.
"If you don't, I'll do it myself. I've seen a naked man before," Oriel said as she looked at their agape expressions.
She strode past Athos and out the door. He followed her as she walked around the corner of the house and watched as she bent to pick stems of small white flowers.
"Can you help Aramis or not? We cannot stay," Athos said.
"Your friend is seriously hurt and won't be leaving here today."
"Where is the nearest surgeon?"
"If by some chance he made it that far alive, the last thing he needs is bloodletting," Oriel said. She watched as Athos stared open mouthed and tried to form words.
"Removing the shirt reopened the wound. These flowers will help stop the bleeding," she said while waving the stems in front of Athos' face. Fixing him with a glare, Oriel turned back towards the cottage. At the doorway, she almost walked directly into D'Artagnan in her haste. He let her pass and then continued out the door.
Back at Aramis' side, Oriel went back to work at removing the remains of his shirt from the wound. She noted that her patient's clothing and boots were somewhat haphazardly piled at the bottom of the bed and he was covered to his waist. Oriel could feel Porthos' eyes studying her as she worked peeling away the fabric. It wasn't long until she gave in and glanced up at him.
"Can't you heal him?" he asked.
"I'm doing what I can."
"That's not what I mean. The forest isn't the only reason Gaston didn't want to lead us here."
Their eyes met and Porthos raised an eyebrow. Oriel clearly understood his unspoken accusation. She smiled and carefully lifted the final bit of cloth attached to Aramis wound. With Porthos' assistance, she removed the remains of the shirt and tossed it aside. Oriel grimaced as she looked closer at the wound and then gently pressed the flowers she had picked on top of it.
"I know herb lore. I can't heal him, I don't have that ability," Oriel stated and bit back a retort as Porthos cursed under his breath. She grabbed a small bottle that was sitting nearby along with a glass. She poured a bit of the bottle's contents into the glass, added a bit of dried herb procured from a short jar and brought it over to the bed. Oriel asked Porthos to lift Aramis up and tilted the cup towards his lips.
"What was that?" Porthos asked as he eased his friend back on the bed.
"It's not enough to hurt him. It will help with the fever."
Oriel replaced the damp cloth on the injured man's forehead and looked over Aramis' bare chest. In addition to the wound on his side, there were marks long healed and new deep red and purple bruises. His face also showed signs of a fight. "Who did this to him?" she asked.
Porthos stood up and gestured for Oriel to follow him outside. They were joined by Athos and D'Artagnan who had been in deep conversation as they looked around the outside of the cottage.
"Aramis?" Athos asked.
"Alive for now, no thanks to the three of you for making him ride for countless arpents," Oriel said.
"Will he live?" D'Artagnan said.
"He's lost a lot of blood and is burning up," Oriel replied. "How did he end up like that?"
The three men looked at each other. Athos looked to the sky for a second for fixing Oriel in his sight. He explained that they believed a few members of Cardinal Richelieu's Red Guard were responsible. Oriel remained silent and considered the theory. She had only seen the Cardinal from afar when in Paris and heard of his reputation, but she was sure that a certain devil would know the man.
"Why would the Cardinal order an attack on one of the king's guards?" she asked.
Athos cleared his throat and looked down sheepishly. Oriel urged him to speak. "He was carrying on an affair with the Cardinal's mistress."
Oriel shook her head and smiled a bit at the folly. Having expected an outburst of either surprise or outrage from her, the musketeers were left staring.
"They are bound to be looking for him," she said.
"That is why we must leave as soon as possible," Athos said.
Oriel insisted that Aramis was too injured to make the journey back to Paris. Her assertion was contested by all three men and a short argument ensued. "Do you really want to be responsible for his death?" she asked.
"And if the Red Guard should show up here?" Athos asked. His stern countenance and seriousness did little to sway her opinion of the matter at hand.
"If?" Oriel laughed. "Four of you dressed as you are, on horses that are better taken care of than most people in these parts. Everyone will remember you and where you were headed."
Athos nodded in agreement. "What then?"
"I will stay with Aramis," Porthos said. "If the Red Guard shows up, I can fight."
"I do not need your help," Oriel replied her eyes flashed at him and seemed to glow. She then gave Porthos a smug smile. "You will take his horse and his sword and go onto Paris. If anyone asks, he has died."
Porthos' own eyes grew wide and any argument he may have offered fell silent as he considered who, or what, they were dealing with. The other musketeers protested that Aramis was very much alive. Oriel nodded, her eyes now returned back to normal, and pointed out that the ruse would allow them to find out exactly who had injured Aramis much more easily.
"How do we know we can trust you?" Athos said.
Oriel turned her attention towards Porthos before back to Athos. "I give you my word."
"Your word?" Athos asked. Oriel answered with a single curt nod and turned to return inside the cottage. Athos watched her for a split second and took a step to follow her. Porthos placed a firm hand on Athos' shoulder and stopped his friend. Athos spun; his expression grim and Porthos quickly warned him from angering the woman further.
The three men followed Oriel into her small home and found her gathering Aramis' things. She opened a chest and removed some of its contents. Kneeling down, Oriel carefully tucked his musket in between folds of a dress and buried it at the bottom of the chest. She placed his jacket and leather shoulder guard inside and covered them with more of her things. Standing up, she gathered Aramis' blue cloak and handed it to Porthos and his sword to Athos. After closing the chest and securing the lock, Oriel looked at Aramis' boots with a frown as she tried to decide where to put them.
"Why not keep it all here with Aramis?" D'Artagnan asked.
"There is enough here for him when he awakens and you have enough to make your story believable," she replied and took a small bag that Porthos handed to her.
"You would be wise to keep him alive," Athos admonished her before mounting his horse and leading the other musketeers back the way they had arrived. Oriel's expression stayed placid but her eyes danced with amusement.