December Desolation Chapter 36

"Dammit" Athos cursed, pushing his brothers behind him and drawing his pistol.

They were facing at least ten men in a frustratingly narrow corridor, with no idea of how many other men were in the building that could possibly converge on them within minutes, but the confined space did work in their favour. The men were struggling to draw their own weapons, bumping elbows and jostling each other in their haste to arm themselves.

Slowly, with arms outstretched and encompassing his brothers behind him, Athos began to creep ever so gradually backwards. Thankfully the others complied without a single word of question or complaint, and they had withdrawn around the corner before their pursuers had realised.

"Porthos take Aramis and get out of here, he is in no fit state to be anywhere near a battlefield"

"Right" Porthos agreed, hefting his friend's less than substantial weight into his arms and began retracing his steps without a word of complaint. His friend's well being was more important than his own lust for blood and desire for glory in defeating his opponents.

"D'artagnan, we are going to have to create yet another distraction" there was an air of exasperation in Athos' tone as he unsheathed his rapier and held it loosely in his right hand. "Wait for my signal… Dammit"

D'artagnan, true to character, had launched himself round the corner with a fierce cry of rage and started to, for lack of a better word, hack and slash at the men. It wasn't a bad plan, the young Gascon was an able swordsman and was keeping abreast of the tide of opponents, but in the end it was bound to end in disaster if Athos were to not get involved. It frustrated him to no end that the boy would not listen when he began to detail a plan, it was tiresome, and more often than not made life much more complicated than needs be.

He executed a neat spin, pirouetting smoothly on the heel of his right foot and slashing cleanly across the chest of the nearest man, narrowly parrying a swipe aimed at separating his head from his body. He wasn't really in the mood for being decapitated today, it would be most inconvenient considering he still had many items on his to do list of life.

Soon the two men had whittled down their opponents to a much more manageable three, their superior training and skills allowing them to disarm easily. They had not escaped uninjured however, both men sporting superficial grazes that, although bleeding profusely and seeming to be mortal wounds to the untrained eye, were merely surface wounds that took on the appearance of a fountain of blood. As Aramis always said they were reminiscent of a work of Shakespeare or some other playwright who was fond of Senecan drama and gore, they certainly imitated the dramatic demises of the protagonists who were mortally wounded and writhed in death throes dramatically.

Shaking his head to dispel the disconcertingly distracted thoughts, Athos watched with no small measure of amusement as the final three looked fearfully between their downed comrades lying splayed on the floor, and the two Musketeers facing them, resembling bloody and wrathful avengers who would cut them down without a second thought.

The first one broke and ran screaming pitifully down the corridor in the opposite direction, the remaining two shared a panicked glance and followed suit, their high pitched cries filling the manor house.

"Well that was"

"Invigorating" D'artagnan laughed in exhilaration, the adrenaline of the fight pumping through his veins like a drug, he could feel it rushing like sparks of electricity that made his arms twitch with the need to keep moving.

"I was more inclined to say bizarre" was Athos' wry response to the boys youthful exuberance, whilst he still experienced the unique rush that came with battle, it was tempered by worry and the knowledge of numerous battles and, to his honed senses, something had been very wrong with that battle.

"So what's the plan now?" D'artagnan swept his long dark hair back from his sweaty forehead and considered their de facto leader as he frowned deeply in thought.

Gradually Athos' face cleared and he sheathed his sword, careful to keep a hand resting on the hilt to draw in seconds if the need arose.

"We follow those men, hopefully it will lead us to the perpetrators of this entire mess. Not only that, but something feels wrong about all this" he murmured, doing his best to ignore the feelings of foreboding that were taking over.

And so they began to make their way slowly and cautiously through the enormous manor, Athos peering round corners and then beckoning for the younger man to follow once the coast was clear. The usual clicking sound of their leather boots was deadened by the thick, blood red carpet that blanketed the cold marble of the floor.

Athos silently gave thanks for the designer of the manor who had decided that cold feet simply wouldn't do for people of their financial standing, for as they rounded the next corner five heavily armed men exited a room ahead of them, thankfully facing the opposite direction and if not for the carpet they would have been spotted straight away as they ducked back.

"The Master is on the level of a genius" one of them was gushing sycophantically to his companions, "his trap for those idiotic Musketeers is without flaw and working like a well oiled machine"

"Oh do shut up Gerard, you have your head so far up the Master's backside you wouldn't know the light of day if it shone in your eyes. You have no concept of whether a plan is working or not. If this plan was so successful then why is it we only have two Musketeers in custody, was it deliberate that the other two are allowed to gallivant around the manor?"

Clearly the smaller man was surprised by the venom in his companions tone and recoiled slightly at the disgusted sneer that was aimed his way.

Interesting, Athos could not help but inwardly rejoice at this revelation, not that he would ever admit that to anyone, he had a controlled exterior to present at all times. This conflict was something he could exploit to his advantage, this was why the Musketeers could not be infiltrated, they were too loyal whereas these soldiers could be convinced to turn on one another with the help of a few sous.

"Shit, shit shit shit, Athos" D'artagnan cursed, turning wide eyes to his Lieutenant, "they have Porthos and Aramis!"

Recognition blossomed on the elders face as he turned over the soldiers words once again in his mind, the two they mentioned could only be their brothers.

"I knew that fight was all wrong" he spat out through gritted teeth, furious with himself for missing this detail "it must have been staged to distract us, that way they could capture Porthos and Aramis without us hearing a thing. We won too easily, I allowed arrogance to cloud my judgement"

"It's not your fault Athos" he couldn't hold himself back from disagreeing with Athos' self deprecating words "we had no reason to suspect they would go after Mis and Porthos, that they had even noticed they were gone!"

"It is my job to suspect!" he shouted in a whisper, swiping his left hand through the air in a swift cutting motion to emphasise his words. "Now we must follow these men and hope against hope that they will lead us to our brothers"