A/N: Thank you Deana, Fleuramis, pallysd'Artagnan, vmariew, Undertheoaktrees, LordLady, and 29Pieces for your reviews! :D Glad you liked the first chapter.
Chapter 2
Athos pressed harder against the bleeding wounds, earning a muffled moan in return. Aramis's eyes were half lidded now, his head lolling limply on the grass that was slick with blood beneath him.
"Stay awake, Aramis," he barked. Keeping one hand on the compress, Athos moved the other to tap the marksman's cheek urgently.
Aramis's head rolled the other direction and his eyelids fluttered with a valiant attempt, but the shock of his injury and the blood loss were proving to be too much.
"Aramis!" Porthos called desperately.
Harried footsteps had Athos looking up as d'Artagnan jogged back over with a stretcher and another man in tow.
"This is Doctor Nouwen. He came from the next county over after the initial dragon attack," d'Artagnan explained as he set the litter on the ground. "The villagers said we could use a room at the inn."
"Tie that sash around his shoulder as tightly as possible," Nouwen said without preamble. "He bleeds too much."
Athos already knew he was bleeding too much, but he wordlessly removed the sash from the ugly wounds and Porthos lifted Aramis enough for Athos to get the piece of fabric under him. Aramis's eyes were closed now and he didn't react to Athos tightening the sash over the gouges. With that done, they transferred him to the stretcher and hefted it off the ground, then followed Nouwen into the village, giving the dragons a wide berth as they passed.
The inn was apparently already housing a few wounded villagers whose homes had been destroyed, but there was still a room available, which the innkeeper directed them to.
"Table first," Nouwen instructed. "I need space to work. Clear the room please."
There were quite a few villagers huddled in the taproom, but they began to congregate on the opposite end as far out of the way as possible at the physician's request. The innkeeper rushed to clear the wooden table of some cups and dishes so Athos and Porthos could set the stretcher on it.
"I need water and wine. My tools are in the other room still."
Someone darted off, presumably to retrieve the requested items. Doctor Nouwen bent over his patient, measuring his vitals before reaching to undo the sash. It was difficult to tell with how saturated Aramis's clothes already were but it appeared as though the bleeding had slowed.
"Help me get these off," Nouwen said to no musketeer in particular, gesturing to the coat and shirt. Porthos immediately stepped in to help.
Athos turned to the innkeeper. "Do you have a barn free of livestock?"
"Um, there's a donkey in it," the man replied.
"If you could move it somewhere else for the time being, we have need of a place to house our dragons."
The man's throat bobbed nervously, but since the alternative was to leave the dragons out in the open where the terrified villagers could see them, he resorted to nodding numbly. "I'll show you."
"D'Artagnan," Athos called.
The young Gascon cast an uncertain look between him and Aramis.
"We'd just be in the way right now," Athos pointed out. "And we need to secure Rhaego before he wakes." And resumed his murderous rage.
D'Artagnan's mouth thinned but he nodded, and the two of them followed the innkeeper back outside. Rhaego was still knocked out, thankfully.
"Do you have extra rope or chains?" Athos asked the villager.
"I could probably scrounge some up…"
"Please do so," Athos replied tersely.
The man bobbed his head nervously and darted into the barn, emerging a few moments later with a donkey. The poor animal turned skittish at the sight of the dragons, and the innkeeper had to take it around the back of the barn. Athos approached the dragons, eyeing the sluggishly oozing wounds on Savron's leg and hide. Vrita and Rhaego were in much the same condition.
"I don't understand what happened," d'Artagnan said.
Neither did Athos. Was it some kind of disease? But a disease wouldn't manifest that instantaneously. It had affected Rhaego but not Savron or Vrita. Athos walked over to the area where Rhaego had been standing when he'd snapped. Roving his gaze over the ground, he paused at the sight of some black powder on the ground. At first glance, it looked like soot but was a touch too glittery for that. Athos knelt down and rubbed his fingers in it. Lifting his hand to his nose, he took a tentative sniff. It wasn't soot, or gunpowder.
"What is it?" d'Artagnan asked.
"I don't know."
He stood again as the innkeeper and two other men returned with some ropes and chains. They deposited the items several yards away, too frightened to approach the dragons. Athos and d'Artagnan retrieved them and then proceeded to bind Rhaego more securely. They used the chains to hogtie the dragon's legs together and the rope to bind his wings. It was cruel but necessary since they had no idea what mental state he would be in when he woke. Athos checked the rope around his snout to make sure it was secure and left it in place. Then with Savron's and Vrita's help, they hauled the russet dragon into the barn.
"What are we going to do if he…" d'Artagnan trailed off with a helpless look at Rhaego.
"One problem at a time," Athos replied.
He turned his attention to Savron's and Vrita's wounds. Normally Aramis was the one who patched up the dragons, but it was a simple enough matter to apply some salve to the gouges. There was little else to do for them. None of the wounds were too deep, and Savron could still bear weight on his injured leg.
When they'd done all they could, Athos and d'Artagnan returned to the inn. Doctor Nouwen was just finishing up the last of the stitches when they entered the taproom. Aramis was still unconscious and extremely pale on the table, his blood-tattered coat and shirt piled on the floor.
"How is he?" Athos asked.
"He's lost quite a bit of blood," the physician replied. "But as long as infection doesn't set in, there's no reason he shouldn't make a full recovery."
Porthos stood on the other side of the table, arms crossed and expression pinched with worry. Nouwen finished off the last suture and asked him to prop Aramis up so he could wind the bandages around his shoulder and chest.
"We can move him to a room now."
Porthos lifted Aramis into his arms and carried him into the room the physician led them to. Athos and d'Artagnan followed.
"I can stay on for a few days, monitor him," Nouwen added as Porthos settled Aramis on the bed.
Athos inclined his head in thanks, and the doctor excused himself to go check on some of his other patients.
Porthos grabbed the blanket off the other bed in the room and gingerly tucked it around Aramis. "Rhaego?" he asked tensely.
"As secure as possible," Athos replied.
"That wasn't 'im," Porthos went on. "Rhaego would never hurt Aramis."
Athos knew that. The dragon was many things, but he was loyal to Aramis above all.
"I found traces of a strange powder where he'd been trying to pick up a scent. It could be a drug."
"A drug that turns dragons into raging beasts?" d'Artagnan asked dubiously.
"We should consult with an alchemist," Athos said. "We'll have to see if the village has horses we can borrow. I'd rather leave Savron and Vrita with Rhaego just in case."
Porthos nodded. "I'll stay wit' Aramis."
As if that was ever in question. Athos moved to the side of the bed and reached under the blanket to grip Aramis's wrist, folding his fingers over the pulse point simply to assure himself before leaving. Then he cocked his head for d'Artagnan to follow him out.
"Does anyone know where the nearest alchemist is?" Athos asked the crowded room.
"There's one in Le Blanc," someone spoke up.
"We could use two horses if you have any," Athos continued. "The sooner we can get to the bottom of this, the sooner we can put a stop to the dragon attacks."
"Yer gonna leave those dragons in the barn?" another person blurted. "They'll devour us all!"
"They're not mindless beasts!" d'Artagnan put in passionately. "And their presence will deter any other dragon attacks."
The villagers exchanged nervous looks but didn't argue further.
"You can use my horse," Nouwen said, stepping out from another room.
"An' we have another," the innkeeper spoke up. "I'll get 'em ready."
Athos nodded and then headed outside to gather up as much of the strange powder as he could, scooping it into a powder packet after having dumped the contents. When the horses were saddled and ready, he and d'Artagnan mounted up and rode out of the village.
They reached Le Blanc in half an hour and asked the first person they saw where to find the resident alchemist. His shop was located in the middle of the market, a small room with shelves packed with bottles and vials of various compounds. Alchemists often doubled as apothecaries.
"How may I help you gentlemen?" an older fellow addressed them, coming out from the back work room.
"Do you recognize this compound?" Athos asked, setting the packet on the counter.
The shop owner quirked a wary look at him before undoing the knot cord. He sniffed the contents first, then dabbed his pinky finger inside. His brows rose. "Where did you get this?"
"You heard of the dragon attacks in this province?" Athos said instead.
The alchemist's eyes widened further and he looked back at the black powder. "It's called dragon's bane. It's a nasty compound that drives dragons mad."
"Then it doesn't occur naturally?"
The man's expression hardened. "No." Likely his thoughts were mirroring Athos's—it seemed someone had poisoned a dragon, but why? Unless they wanted to aggravate it into a wild frenzy so it would attack defenseless villages.
"Is there an antidote?" Athos asked.
"No, but the effects are not permanent."
Athos felt d'Artagnan's sigh of relief next to him; that was good news for Rhaego. And perhaps for the dragon behind the attacks. Unless whoever was behind it kept poisoning the creature, or multiple ones.
"Do you sell this here?" Athos asked next.
The shop owner drew his shoulders back. "I do not. It's a device from war times. No respectable alchemist would compile it now."
"Then who in this region is not respectable?"
The man narrowed his eyes. "None I know of, I can assure you."
Athos ignored his defensiveness and took the packet back. "Thank you for your time." He turned on his heel and left.
"So we have to find whoever's behind this to stop the attacks," d'Artagnan surmised as he caught up. "But how are we going to do that? If trying to catch his scent is how Rhaego was poisoned, we can't rely on tracking."
"Rhaego's senses are more keen than most dragons," Athos replied. "That might be why he reacted to such a small amount."
Still, he didn't want to risk Savron and Vrita being contaminated. Which left them with a very real problem. If they had to resort to a visual grid search of the mountains, they could use more dragon riders, yet at the same time, the more dragons in the area, the greater risk another episode like with Rhaego could be triggered.
"We have to do something," d'Artagnan insisted.
Athos huffed at the boy's impatience. "We will when we figure out what that something is," he rejoined. But without any leads on where the supply of this alchemical compound was from or who was using it—
A screech resounded from the sky and Athos whipped his head up to see a dragon swooping down toward the town. Its belly glowed with fulvous cracks as it prepared to unleash a geyser of fire.
Athos pulled out his pistol, already loaded with an acimite musket ball, and fired. D'Artagnan scrambled to do the same. The dragon banked abruptly with a shriek; at least one must have hit its mark.
But apparently not enough to significantly wound it. The dragon veered around and let out a bone-rattling roar as it headed directly for them.
"Take cover!" Athos shouted and scrambled for a gap between two buildings. D'Artagnan crashed into him, a gust of air in the dragon's wake buffeting their backs. Athos grabbed a powder packet and ripped it open, hastily reloading his weapon. D'Artagnan was a tad slower, and Athos strode out from the alley.
The dragon had landed down the street and was whirling back and forth, smashing through market stalls and sending splintering wood through the air. People were running and screaming. The dragon bent low and belched out a stream of fire at their retreating backs. Athos aimed his pistol and fired again.
The dragon flinched and jerked its head toward him, eyes blazing red. With a roar, it started a lumbering charge toward his position. There was no time to reload, so Athos dove out of the way. He heard d'Artagnan yell his name and the sound of a pistol shot. The dragon clambered past him. Then there was a cry. Athos rolled over in time to see the dragon leap into the air, d'Artagnan snatched up in its claws.
Athos scrambled to his feet and frantically stuffed a packet of gunpowder and an acimite ball into his pistol. But by the time he had it loaded and aimed, the dragon was already too high; even if Athos did manage to hit it severely enough to bring it down or get it to drop d'Artagnan, the fall would kill him.
"D'Artagnan!" Athos yelled, unable to do anything as the dragon angled its trajectory back toward the mountains with its prey clutched tightly in its talons.