A/N: Thank you Lexi, vmariew, pallysd'Artagnan, LadyWallace, 29Pieces, and SnidgetHex for your reviews of the last episode! I'm glad you enjoyed it. ^_^
Chapter 1
Pine needles crunched underfoot as a lone figure picked his way through the forest. Splintered tree branches gave him his first sign of his quarry, confirmed later by scorch marks on some exposed boulders under the midday sun. He trudged further into the mountains until he finally came upon what he sought—a dragon's cave. Gouges in the soil from claws were fresh, and he could hear the beast scuffing around in its den.
He stepped from the cover of the foliage and approached the cave. Amber eyes immediately flashed his way. He froze where he stood, letting the dragon emerge. It crept out, neck arched defensively, its wingspan spreading just enough to guard the cave entrance.
He slowly pulled a metal disc from his pocket and angled it to catch the sun's rays. Reflected light went dancing across the dragon's eyes, then to the ground, swishing back and forth steadily. The dragon narrowed its eyes on the light, head hunching lower. He kept the rhythm up and slowly reached with his other hand into another pouch on his belt. The dragon remained captivated by the glinting light.
He took a step forward. The dragon whipped its head toward him, and he threw the fistful of powder into its face. The beast sneezed and reared back, shaking its head vigorously. The man backed up several paces and watched as the dragon suddenly threw its head back with an ear-splitting shriek. Its eyes dilated and turned red, and it screeched again.
He ducked back behind some bushes and kept still so as not to draw its attention. The dragon thrashed in place for several seconds before snapping its wings taut and launching into the sky. With another raging roar, it flew toward the open countryside of France and its exposed villages.
.o.0.o.
D'Artagnan slogged into the garrison after a long afternoon of guard duty at the palace. Standing at attention while the King amused himself with croquet was one of the less glamorous aspects of being a musketeer, but someone had to do it.
"D'Artagnan!"
He perked up at the sight of Porthos waving him over to the table under the captain's balcony. Now that he was a musketeer but not yet a dragon rider, half of his duties took him away from his friends and the types of missions they were usually assigned, and he missed their company.
"Come have a drink with us," Aramis invited. "Unless you'd rather run home to your wife."
D'Artagnan smirked at his cheeky grin and took a seat next to Athos, who wordlessly poured him a cup of wine. Porthos had a plate of bread and cheese in front of him, and Aramis was cleaning his pistol. The four of them sat in companionable silence, and d'Artagnan exhaled contentedly. He had almost everything he wanted. All that was left to completely fulfill his dreams was to become a dragon rider.
Aramis set his pistol down and picked up the other, which looked like it had already been shined and polished.
"How many times have you cleaned those pistols tonight?" d'Artagnan asked.
"Respect your weapon, and it'll respect you," Aramis replied. "Another thing you need to learn if you want to be a good musketeer."
D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "All right, just so I know, this whole 'd'Artagnan the apprentice musketeer' thing—how long does it last?"
Aramis grinned. "Well, as long as it's funny."
D'Artagnan huffed and Porthos chuckled. Athos, if he found it amusing, hid his reaction in his cup. D'Artagnan just shook his head.
The captain came striding through the archway and immediately adjusted his path toward them. "You three. You have a mission."
Athos straightened. "What is it?"
"The King has received reports of a wild dragon ravaging one of the southern provinces. He wants his dragon riders to deal with it."
D'Artagnan watched his friends exchange a look at that, and he couldn't help but feel a flicker of disappointment that he wouldn't be going with them. He'd gotten used to accompanying them on missions, even though he didn't have his own dragon. And dealing with a wild dragon sounded interesting.
"Permission for d'Artagnan to accompany us," Athos said so mildly that it took d'Artagnan an extra beat to register the words.
"He's not a dragon rider," Treville pointed out with only a trace of impatience. He'd been rather gracious letting d'Artagnan tag along with his men before he'd gained his commission, but now d'Artagnan was one of his men under his command and there were protocols to follow.
"He has experience facing wild dragons," Porthos put in. "Could be of use."
D'Artagnan fought to keep his expression from looking pathetically hopeful as he fidgeted slightly in his seat.
Treville shook his head. "Fine," he relented. "You can leave in the morning."
With that, he marched past them and up the stairs to his office.
D'Artagnan couldn't contain his excitement anymore and shot Athos a beaming grin of gratitude. But then he had a moment to fully consider what their mission was, and his smile slipped. "It's unusual for dragons to attack villages, isn't it?" At least, he'd never heard of it happening in his lifetime.
"It's more common for dragons to cull from livestock," Athos said. "But attacking whole towns, no, that doesn't happen as often."
"What exactly does 'deal with it' mean, anyway?" d'Artagnan asked nervously.
Aramis's expression was grim as he answered, "We protect the people of France by whatever means necessary."
D'Artagnan swallowed hard. He suddenly wasn't sure how he felt about being included on this mission. The idea of maybe having to kill a dragon didn't sit well with him, not when he knew how intelligent and loyal they could be.
"We'll try using our dragons to claim the territory and scare the wild beast off," Athos spoke up again. "But if that doesn't work, we do need to come prepared." He stood and beckoned for d'Artagnan to follow, leading him toward the armory.
Inside, he went to the rack of acimite swords. "We need to inspect these, make sure there's no grievous flaws that will fail us when it counts," Athos explained.
D'Artagnan hesitantly picked up one of the obsidian blades and began to carefully go over it. It looked fine, so he set it aside and grabbed another. The second had a small crack in the tip he recognized. "You said this still had some use left," he said, holding the item out to Athos. "Should I use it again?"
Athos turned to scrutinize the blade, then nodded. "The fracture hasn't worsened since then. Sometimes the material can degrade if it's deep enough. But remember that if does come to it, you have to make your strike count."
D'Artagnan nodded gravely and sought out a scabbard for the sword.
Athos walked over to a shelf and picked up a wooden box that he then set on the work table in the middle of the room. Inside were a bunch of onyx musket balls.
"These are backup," Athos said. "But unlike regular musket balls, these can harm our dragons, so be aware of them and their movements when taking aim."
D'Artagnan nodded again and helped Athos make up some reloading packets for the four of them.
"Thank you for the opportunity to join you on a mission again," d'Artagnan said when they were done.
"We work well together," Athos said without inflection. "I'll finish up here. You should get home to your wife."
D'Artagnan smiled, understanding the sentiment the older musketeer usually kept devoid in his tone. With a nod, he headed out into the night. He had a loving wife to go home to and a mission with his best friends on the morrow. Life was good.
.o.0.o.
The next morning, the musketeers arrived at one of the villages that had recently been attacked. From the air, Porthos could see three structures that were scorch marked, another that was completely obliterated, and another that was half in ruins. Peasants were milling about with reconstruction efforts but scattered when the Musketeer dragons touched down at the edge of their village. Given what they'd just been through, Porthos didn't blame them.
The musketeers dismounted and gestured for their dragons to hang back as they entered the village.
"We are King's Musketeers," Athos announced.
One gangly fellow peeked around the corner of a house. "You come about the dragon?" he asked hesitantly.
Athos nodded. "What can you tell us?"
The villager inched out to meet them. "It came out o' nowhere. Crashed into a house right o'er there and ripped it apart. No warning." He pointed to one of the ruined buildings. "Then it set fire to another."
"What color was the dragon?" Aramis asked next.
The villager grimaced. "Don' know. When it came down…it was terrifying. Everyone was jus' trying to escape." He pursed his lips and looked over their shoulders at the Musketeer dragons. "Not like any o' them though."
"We understand you're the third village to be attacked," Athos said. "Does anyone know which direction the dragon came from or flew away to?"
The man pointed to the mountains east of the village. "You going to hunt it down?"
"That's the plan," Athos replied and turned away so the four of them could confer.
"That doesn't sound like an animal comin' down from the mountains for food," Porthos said.
"Agreed," Athos commented. "We should see if we can get the creature's scent to track it."
Aramis nodded and called Rhaego over. The two of them moved toward the house the dragon had reportedly stomped through.
"Are we still going to try scaring the dragon off?" d'Artagnan asked. "If it's not attacking the same village twice, how are we supposed to 'claim the territory'?"
"If it's behaving this way because it's somehow diseased," Athos answered, "it could be a danger no matter where it goes. We need to prepare ourselves to take more permanent action."
D'Artagnan looked as grim as Porthos felt. Hunting dragons was no easy feat, even when they had three of their own.
"Rhaego?" Aramis's voice carried from across the road, tone pitched high with a note of uncertainty.
Porthos turned and saw the russet dragon shaking his head vigorously as though trying to dislodge something. Then he swung his neck up and around and belted out a piercing screech.
"Rhaego!" Aramis exclaimed in alarm.
The dragon whipped his head toward his rider, eyes blazing an unnatural blood-red. With another roar, he lunged, swiping out with his talons. Aramis backpedaled in surprise but not fast enough to avoid those claws catching him across the chest. Porthos's heart seized and he surged forward just as Savron and Vrita did. The other two dragons charged the younger, bellowing out challenging roars. Rhaego reeled back and screeched at them in return, snapping his jaws at them. They planted themselves firmly between Rhaego and Aramis, though it was clear they didn't know why their youngest had suddenly turned on them.
The villagers were running and screaming at the ruckus, drawing Rhaego's gaze like a predator toward prey. Porthos shouted at him, drawing his attention away from the peasants. Behind him, Athos and d'Artagnan were grabbing Aramis under the arms and dragging him a safer distance away. Rhaego caught that movement and snarled at them, and Savron darted in to block the younger dragon's view of them. Rhaego lunged and snapped his teeth at Vrita, who had gotten too close.
Porthos could only watch in horror. This wasn't the petulant tantrum he was used to tolerating from the impish dragon; no, Rhaego was spitting with pure, unadulterated rage. His pupils were dilated and the irises a ring of crimson around opaque black orbs. Porthos had no idea what was happening, but he knew he had to do something. He drew his fossilized dragon claw.
Savron and Vrita were trying to keep Rhaego hemmed in, but the young dragon kept lashing out with his teeth and claws.
"Damn it, Rhaego, don' make us hurt you!" Porthos growled.
Rhaego spat at them again and his belly started to glow.
"Shit." Porthos scrambled to grab a fistful of refroidi from his pouch. The glow was intensifying and Rhaego opened his maw wide. Porthos darted forward and tossed the refroidi into his mouth then dove out of the way.
Rhaego choked and gagged as his fire was quenched, but that only seemed to drive him madder as he started thrashing back and forth, crashing into the ruins and scattering rubble. Savron and Vrita leaped after him, aiming to bring him down and pin him, but whereas they were trying not to use their claws and teeth, Rhaego was lashing out viciously. His teeth latched around Savron's foreleg and his talons scored three slashes across Vrita's hide.
Porthos clenched his fossilized claw in his hand, wanting to help but knowing better than to jump into that fray.
The dragons rolled in a spitting, biting morass of gnashing teeth and gouging claws.
"Porthos!" d'Artagnan shouted, running over with some rope. He threw a helpless look at the dragons.
Porthos snatched the rope and quickly fashioned a lasso. He twirled it above his head, waiting for an opening between the fighting dragons. When he found it, he threw the loop over Rhaego's head. The dragon nearly yanked Porthos off his feet with his brute strength, but Savron and Vrita were finally gaining the upper hand. Savron grabbed the back of Rhaego's neck near his ears and wrenched his head to the ground. Vrita slammed herself on top of him, using her bulk to pin him down.
Porthos steeled himself and darted in, winding the rope around Rhaego's snout over and over until his jaw was clamped closed. Rhaego bucked and wriggled, foaming at the mouth. Porthos dropped his fossilized claw and drew his sword instead, then slammed the pommel into Rhaego's temple, twice. The dragon finally went limp, but Savron and Vrita didn't dare let up.
Porthos straightened, chest heaving from adrenaline. He met d'Artagnan's stupefied gaze. Porthos had no words; he simply dropped his blade and rushed toward where Athos was kneeling over Aramis. The marksman looked like he was trying to get up, but Athos was pushing Aramis's sash down against his shoulder, the blue fabric already dark with saturated blood.
"Rhaego," Aramis choked, glazed eyes searching for his dragon.
"Lie still," Athos ordered.
Porthos reached them and dropped down on Aramis's other side. Athos briefly lifted the makeshift compress and Porthos's stomach turned at the long, jagged slash across Aramis's shoulder and collar bone. A shorter gash was just beneath it from the tip of a second claw. Blood had spilled all down his coat and was continuing to flow. Athos quickly pressed down again in an attempt to staunch it. Aramis let out a choking sound and tried to arch away, but Athos held him in place.
"Rhaego," he pleaded again.
"He's secure," Porthos gritted out. For the moment, and that was really all he could say on the matter. He glanced at Athos and found the same shaken look mirrored in his eyes.
"We need to get him inside," the swordsman said.
"I'll find help," d'Artagnan said and dashed off.
Porthos threw a look over his shoulder at the dragons, Savron and Vrita still positioned preemptively over Rhaego's limp body. "What the hell happened?" he murmured.
Athos didn't respond, just kept his attention on Aramis who was slipping into shock and slowly bleeding out beneath them.