A/N: ďakujem to guest Lexi for your review on "The Witching Hour"! I'm glad to hear you're enjoying this series. :D And thanks Laureleaf for your reviews of the last episodes. ^_^ Yeah, I was thinking Agnes was a good witchy name because of GO. XD
Chapter 2
The Musketeers, as professionally trained as they were, were in chaos. The horses that had been caught in the snares were bucking and stomping in an attempt to free their hooves from the lines of rope and netting while their riders fought to stay in the saddle and simultaneously shoot back at the invisible foes.
Treville whipped his gaze around the forest, spotting movement behind a tree. He aimed his pistol and fired, splintering some bark before hitting his target. A returning shot from another direction skimmed past his head and he instinctively ducked.
But their attackers were not breaking cover and swarming down on them with blades. In fact, aside from a few still shooting from behind the trees, Treville caught sight of several figures sprinting further into the woods.
He pulled back on his horse's reins, trying to back the animal up and away from the cluster of trapped soldiers. "To the King!" he bellowed.
But the King was no longer in sight, his horse having bolted before the snares were triggered, preventing his Guard from going after him. This was an ambush. The dead hare lay on the ground, trampled by hooves, and Treville had only a split moment for the bitter realization that it had all been a trap.
The attack on the musketeers themselves seemed to be waning, their true quarry having been successfully separated from the group. With musket balls no longer flying toward them, some of the men leaped from their saddles and began cutting away at the snares snagging their horses' legs.
"Hurry!" Treville barked.
"D'Artagnan got through," Christophe called out. "Right before the attack."
Treville turned and found his man clutching at his arm, blood staining the light brown leather. He gave a clipped nod in acknowledgement of the information. D'Artagnan was better than none, but he was just one man and not even officially a musketeer.
"Return to the garrison and get reinforcements," Treville told Christophe.
His soldier nodded staunchly and struggled to climb back on his horse, then turned to head back. The King's attendants hesitated before turning to follow. The rest of the men were finishing cutting through the snares, and Treville took the brief moment to reload his pistol. With their horses freed, they mounted up again to give pursuit.
The trail of the King's horse was clear to follow for a short ways. Based on the tracks, it looked as though d'Artagnan had been able to catch up to him. They didn't see any signs of the assassins, though they kept their guard up as they rode.
"There!" Joubert shouted and pointed.
The musketeers all turned to follow him, and Treville caught sight of the King's horse, along with the brown mare that belonged to d'Artagnan. Both were riderless. Treville kicked his steed forward to come up beside them, drawing the animals to a halt. He quickly scanned the saddles for signs of blood and thankfully found none. But that filled Treville with another kind of dread—suppose the attackers weren't assassins but kidnappers. Either possibility was disastrous.
"They might have abandoned the horses to go on foot," someone suggested.
"We can't know for sure," Treville replied tersely. He swung off his horse and snatched the reins of the King's horse, flipping them over the beast's head. "Can the hound get a scent of the King from the horse's tack?" he asked the dog handler, who had followed after them on foot.
"He can try," the man replied.
Treville nodded and let the man bring the hound over, holding the horse still as it turned skittish under the dog's attentions. After several long moments, the dog gave himself a sharp shake and turned to face northwest.
Treville mounted up again. "Let's go!"
He could only hope they wouldn't be too late to save the King.
.o.0.o.
Louis staggered against a tree, catching himself on the trunk as he bent double, breathing heavily. "Stop," he gasped.
D'Artagnan grimaced as he looked behind them. The woods seemed quiet, but they couldn't risk staying put for long. He regretted having gotten turned around in the initial mad dash, for the best course would be to head for the road or palace. Except the road could be just as dangerous, and the King was expected to be away all day on the hunt; search parties wouldn't be sent out until much later. Unless someone from the group went back to raise the alarm. But d'Artagnan didn't even know if they'd survived the onslaught he'd left them to.
"We need to keep moving, Your Majesty."
"We need to go back to the guards," Louis replied.
"Those men that attacked us are that direction," d'Artagnan respectfully pointed out. "We can't risk running into them first."
Louis straightened himself. "Now see here, I am the King and I say we need to return to the Musketeers, not keep running aimlessly through the forest until we're hopelessly lost!"
D'Artagnan focused on taking a calming breath. Underneath the petulant tone was a thread of real fear. Kings may face the threat of death at any given time during their reign, but they didn't live in a state of imminent danger; d'Artagnan could only imagine how Louis was feeling. He just needed to find a way to keep the King safe without earning his ire.
Shouts echoed in the distance and d'Artagnan stiffened.
"Is that Treville?" Louis asked eagerly.
D'Artagnan stepped in front of the King and pressed himself against the tree as closely as he could as he peered through the woods. He caught glimpses of movement, figures weaving between the trees on foot at a quickened pace. "I don't think so."
He whipped his gaze back to the King, who despite the rest still looked winded. They would not be able to maintain a harried speed for much longer. He craned his neck back and looked up.
"Climb the tree!" he urged, slipping his pistol onto his belt to have both hands free.
"What?" Louis squawked.
"It's our best chance," d'Artagnan hissed. He interlocked his fingers and positioned himself under a low branch. "Hurry!"
Louis looked reluctant, but as another shout echoed closer, he used the boost up and grasped clumsily at the tree. D'Artagnan pushed until the King was sprawled on his belly on the branch, then jumped to haul himself up after him. Once in the branches, he coaxed Louis into sitting up and moving to the next branch up so they could have more cover in the foliage. The King was trembling and whimpering, and d'Artagnan was struck wondering whether young Louis had never climbed a tree in his life. Perhaps it was frowned upon for royalty.
D'Artagnan got him settled in the crook of the branch and placed a finger to his own lips, silently pleading for Louis to get himself under control. The trampling of boots was coming closer and Louis mashed his lips together tightly in an effort to stifle his sounds.
Below them, several men entered their field of vision, rough men dressed in poor cloth and armed to the teeth with knives, pistols, and axes. D'Artagnan slowly moved his hand back to his pistol but didn't risk unclipping it and drawing attention. The men started to slow, and the one in the lead came to a halt directly beneath the tree.
"The tracks have disappeared!"
D'Artagnan held his breath, his hand tightening around the grip of his pistol. He'd have one shot from the branches, and he was trying to figure out if he could make the jump to the ground from this height without hurting himself so he could take the rest on with his sword.
"They must be trying to cover them," another assassin growled. "Split up and pick up their trail!"
D'Artagnan continued to keep his breathing shallow as he waited for the men to move on. Only once they were all out of sight did he release a shaky exhalation. He listened for a moment longer before cocking his head at Louis. "Come on."
The King shook his head jerkily.
"We can't stay here," d'Artagnan hissed. "We're sitting ducks if they figure it out. We can double back and try to find Captain Treville."
Louis still looked reluctant but at least started to unfurl from his position. D'Artagnan gripped his arm and helped him descend to the lower branch, then drop to the ground. The King's landing was less than graceful and he ended up in an ungainly sprawl. D'Artagnan slipped quickly off the branch and bent his knees to absorb the impact. Then he was snatching at Louis's arm and hauling him up, urging him to run back the direction they'd been fleeing from.
They barely made it a few feet before a large burly man came hurtling toward them. D'Artagnan pushed Louis out of the way and drew his sword, thrusting forward before the thug could draw his own weapon. But he had two friends on his tail, one with a rapier and another with an ax, that charged d'Artagnan before he'd gotten his own blade free.
He ducked a swipe at his neck and twisted around, yanking his sword up and slashing at one of the assailants. His blade clashed with the ax and the impact vibration rattled his arm, but he kept his grip firm and whipped out his parrying dagger in time to block a strike from the second man.
Then they noticed the King scrambling backward on the ground. The second assassin wrenched away and surged toward Louis. D'Artagnan locked his rapier with the first man's ax and drove his knee up into his groin. While he was doubled over in pain, d'Artagnan twisted and flung his parrying dagger through the air, skewering the other attacker between the shoulder blades. D'Artagnan then spun back to the ax man, jerking his blade free and running him through.
He whirled to Louis. "Run!" The sounds of battle would have surely drawn the attention of the rest of the group. D'Artagnan grabbed the King's arm and pulled him to his feet, pushing him forward again.
They bolted through the woods, the sounds of trampling foliage and blood roaring in his ears interfering with d'Artagnan's ability to hear their pursuers. He chanced a look over his shoulder, not spotting anyone immediately on their tail.
Then Louis tripped and with a yelp went crashing through some bushes and rolling down a concealed slope out of sight.
.o.0.o.
Athos slapped the bristles of the brush on the edge of a fence rail to clean them, then resumed scraping them across Savron's scales. The dragon arched his neck to give better access to his favorite spot, and Athos did a few extra brushes of that area. Savron rumbled in pleasure.
"Athos!" Aramis's yell echoed across the garrison yard.
Athos turned, his guard immediately up. He couldn't see what was happening, but Aramis and some other musketeers were converging on a figure who'd just come through the gate. He dropped the brush on the ground and strode toward them.
"What's happened?" he demanded, gaze sharpening on Christophe. The man was supposed to be on the royal hunt.
Aramis had seized his arm and was inspecting what looked like a musket wound.
"The King was attacked," Christophe said breathlessly. "Treville needs reinforcements to find him."
"Find him?" Etienne repeated in alarm.
"He was taken?" Athos asked, maintaining the calm composure of a lieutenant.
Christophe shook his head. "Separated from the rest of us. There was a trap of snares. D'Artagnan wasn't caught and may be with him. Treville and the others stayed to search and I came back for help."
"The ball went all the way through," Aramis reported.
"Get every horse and dragon saddled!" Athos ordered those near enough to hear. He caught the eye of the stableboy who was lingering in the yard. "Go fetch Doctor Lemay to patch Christophe's arm before we return. The King may well have need of him then."
"No," Christophe immediately protested. "I'm fine, and you'll need me to lead you to where we were attacked."
Athos gave him a considering look before nodding. "Then go to the palace and inform them what's happened," he amended to the stableboy.
"I need to rebind this before we head out," Aramis said, still examining Christophe's wound.
Athos nodded again and hastened back to the dragon den where the dragons had gathered in response to the urgent call.
"What's goin' on?" Porthos asked, already saddling Vrita.
"The King was attacked in the woods and is now missing," Athos replied as he strode past to retrieve Savron's tack. "Treville sent Christophe for reinforcements."
"Missin'?" Porthos repeated. "In the woods?"
"With assassins after him."
Porthos's brows shot upward. "Alone? Athos…" He trailed off. Neither of them had to say what they thought of the King's chances being hunted down in the forest alone.
"D'Artagnan may be with him," Athos said. He hurriedly saddled his dragon, then grabbed Rhaego's saddle since Aramis was busy with Christophe.
Porthos ran a hand down his face. "We never should've sent him wit' them."
"And yet d'Artagnan may be the only protection the King has," Athos pointed out. The boy was smart. And skilled. If anyone could keep the King safe until help arrived, it was him.
Athos went to Rhaego's pen and gave the animal a stern look. "No funny business, or I will leave you here while Aramis comes with us to rescue the King."
The russet dragon narrowed his eyes but shuffled out and angled himself so Athos could put the saddle on and cinch it. He then turned and waited for the rest of the garrison to assemble with dragons and horses ready to go.
"The dragons won't be able to navigate the forest easily," he began, then turned to address the creatures. "Fly overhead and try to find the King from above. Or the assassins, and if you can pick them off, do so. The rest of us will go into the woods on horses."
The men gave staunch nods and began to mount up. Athos exchanged a look with Savron before his dragon took to the skies without him, the rest following suit. The musketeers rode their horses out of the gate and headed toward the woods. The entire regiment would descend on that forest, and God help those who stood between them and their King.