The Loss

Chapter 13

Porthos wrestled on the ground with his opponent. The two giants exchanged heavy blows with fists feeling like cannon fire as the heat from the burning tent rose and acrid smoke drifted across the lawns. The guests of King Louis had begun to emerge from the palace and shrieks of fear could be heard in the distance at the sight of the flames.

Somehow the villain had gained the upper hand. His heavy body lay on top of Porthos, his hands wrapped around his neck and pushed down on his windpipe. Porthos fought to remove the man's hands wrapped around his throat with his left hand. His right hand grasped desperately for his blade that was protruding from the corpse of his initial opponent that had fallen nearby. The brute was focused on Porthos who continued to fight for air, dealing hard blows into the man's side with his left hand. The fingers of his right hand clawed at the dirt until they finally made purchase on the handle of the blade. With an effort, he wrenched it free and plunged it into the side of his assailant. The man's fierce eyes widened, his grip slackened and his body fell lifelessly on top of a heavily panting Porthos.

Athos could see the courtiers that had gathered on the lawn and heard their cries at the sight of the flames. From the corner of his eye he thought he could see Treville by the King and Queen, Francois and Etienne by his side. He continued to fight the man before him and almost paid for his momentary distraction, but was able to dodge the blow. The situation was growing more intense as the crowd of courtiers pushed closer to the tent, the King loudly and enthusiastically barking orders. Athos knew he had to end this fight quickly, and with a few decisive strokes, his last villain was defeated.

Aramis and Ramero continued their battle, neither man giving ground. Ramero was tiring, yet still he would not yield; his injury made him more violent and desperate. They stood before the mouth of the tent now, strands of burning fabric floated by as they tore away from the structure. A crash came from within as one of the crates posing as the traders' wares collapsed from the heat. The men strode backwards and forwards, matching each other with each stroke.

Suddenly, Ramero lunged with his rapier outstretched, but Aramis dodged it. Ramero winced slightly as he regained his balance, the wound in his side making itself felt. In that instant, with a quick switch of his wrist, Aramis caught Ramero's forearm with his blade. The assassin roared in anger as his dagger fell away, and he was cast backwards when Aramis followed up the strike with a kick to the chest.

Ramero dropped back to his knees. He had lost his rapier now as well and held his right hand behind his back; his left hand was bloodied and raised over his head.

"Surrender or I'll kill you," Aramis snarled as he stood before the Spanish assassin drawing his other pistol.

Ramero laughed. "Then kill me, hermano," he pushed to his feet. "You know your jails won't hold me – and you won't be able to stop me from trying to kill you and all you hold dear. I have nothing now thanks to you and these other musketeers."

"Surrender! Let me see your other hand!" demanded Aramis as Ramero began backing up towards the flaming tent.

"I am afraid I can't do that. I have my reputation," he said cryptically.

"Show me your hands!" Aramis shouted again, aware of his brothers approaching from behind him.

"You may kill me," Ramero laughed, "But your card is up," he said with a wicked grin as he lifted a lit bomb over his head.

Aramis didn't think. He fired his pistol hitting Ramero in his black heart, the evil grin still on his face as his lifeless body fell to its knees. The bomb dropped and Aramis leapt forward.

"No! Aramis!" he heard one of his brothers cry. He scooped up the bomb and for a second he looked back. He stared into the darkness and saw her face.

"I swear," he said, promising to return to her, as he closed his eyes and leapt into the fire.

Before Athos, Porthos or D'Artagnan could run more than a few strides, the bomb went off inside the tent and the musketeers were blown backwards by its force.

oOo

The celebration inside the palace took place like any other.

Eager courtiers hovered around the King and Queen like moths to a flame, many of whom seemingly with hardly the I.Q. to match the winged insects. Christine stood apart from the crowd, her eyes continually straying to the darkened lawn that was visible through the tall windows.

Captain Treville approached her from across the ballroom.

"It's nearing midnight. The King will give the order to proceed outside shortly," said the Captain. Christine nodded. She glanced at Etienne who stood at his post. He too kept anxiously glancing towards the window in hopes of a sign.

Captain Treville frowned to see the worry on her face, but he felt a sense of pride as she conquered her nerves and gave him a small smile. He more than anyone knew how much easier it was to fling yourself into battle than to be the one waiting for news. He marvelled once more at the strength of the beautiful young woman beside him.

"Gentlemen, my ladies," drawled King Louis' voice over the gathered crowd, "Midnight is almost upon us! To the south lawn!"

The gilded doors were thrown open and the nobility began to filter out to the lawn for the best seat for the fireworks next to the King.

"Captain, will you do me the honour of escorting me to the lawn?" asked Christine coyly with a teasing grin and Treville could see immediately how Aramis had fallen in love with her.

He smiled back, and said, "I would be honoured," adding a slight bow, which caught Christine off-guard.

She smiled at him again and took his elbow as he led her out to the lawn.

As they descended, an orange glow could be seen building on the lawn ahead of them.

"What is that?" someone asked, pointing to where the traders' tent was supposed to be.

"Fire," whispered Christine her eyes wide as she pulled herself away from Treville.

"Christine!" Treville called as she pushed forward through the crowd. "Musketeers! To the King! Cornet! To Christine!" he shouted as he commanded his musketeers who immediately took charge of the situation ushering the nobles back towards the safety of the palace.

Christine continued to push herself through the crowd of gaping nobles. She broke free from the gawkers and ran across the lawns. She heard Cornet call her name from behind her, but she couldn't stop. This fire wasn't part of the plan!

She was 100-yards or so away. The bright orange blaze silhouetted the battles before it, enlarging the warriors and throwing grotesque shadows that stretched across the freshly manicured grass.

She saw where Porthos wrestled a giant, where Athos defeated his foe and where D'Artagnan perfectly executed the ball-change he had practised to vanquish his enemy. Then she saw him: Aramis, locked in battle with the madman.

She saw the villain fall to his knees. She saw him rise, one hand raised over his head. She slowed her pace, but continued her progress forward.

She saw Athos and Porthos and D'Artagnan. They stood shoulder to shoulder flanking Aramis.

She hesitated just for a moment to catch her breath, and then the world fell apart.

The villain's other hand went up.

A pistol was fired.

Something fell from the outstretched hand.

A shout of panic, a cry to stop, and then his eyes as he stooped, looked at her and leapt into the flames.

oOo