A/N: Thanks again to everyone who's read, favorited, and reviewed this series. I'm glad you're enjoying it, because I'm working on episode 14 at the moment. XD
Chapter 1
The Musketeer dragon riders soared over the countryside as they angled toward their destination. Aramis pointed out a field that would be a good landing spot just outside the village. They didn't want to panic the peasants, after all. Apparently they were already spooked as it was; their crops were mysteriously dying and they were blaming a local woman, claiming she was a witch. The Cardinal had sent the musketeers to apprehend her.
Rhaego touched down on the soil and Aramis slid out of the saddle to proceed into the village on foot.
"So when is the wedding?" he asked d'Artagnan cheerfully.
The young Gascon shook his head as he hopped off Porthos's dragon. "We're not going to marry just yet. I've informed Bonacieux of my intention to court Constance, but I'm not going to formally ask for her hand until I'm established."
"You already live wit' 'em," Porthos teased.
"As their lodger, who can barely pay his rent," d'Artagnan pointed out.
"Jean likes you," Aramis said. "And he just wants Constance to be happy."
"Be that as it may," d'Artagnan retorted shortly, "I know he has his reservations. He may want Constance to be happy but he also wants her to be well provided for. Which I can't guarantee until I've gained my commission." He sighed. "I just hope I don't have to wait too much longer."
Aramis gave him a sympathetic smile. He knew how much d'Artagnan wanted to become a musketeer. The boy was working hard at it; he just needed a chance to prove himself to the King.
Unfortunately, investigating rumors of witchcraft wasn't likely to be that chance.
The four of them reached the village, their dragons ambling behind them. Peasants stopped and stared at them, wide-eyed as they passed on their way to the local church that had sent word to the Cardinal of their plight in the first place.
Leaving the dragons outside, the musketeers entered through the main door and passed through the narthex into the nave. Aramis's eyes were immediately drawn to the altar ahead and he crossed himself reverently for being in a house of God.
A priest emerged from the sacristy to their right. "May I help you gentlemen?" he queried.
"Father Duval?" Athos asked.
"Yes."
"I am Athos of the King's Musketeers. We are here on Cardinal Richelieu's orders to investigate the rumors of witchcraft."
By his dry tone it was clear Athos didn't put much stock in magic. It wasn't a common occurrence and as far as Aramis knew, none of them had personally had any experience with it. As a man of God himself, though, he believed in forces beyond the physical world. Whether mortal man was capable of conjuring them, however, was another matter he continued to reserve judgement on.
"Thank the Lord you are here," the priest gushed. "We are besieged by evil."
"I understand your crops are failing," Athos continued in an almost patronizing tone. "What makes you think it is magic?"
"Each night another field falls cursed," Father Duval replied. "What else could so swiftly decimate them if not black magic? Our stores are dwindling, and if this evil is not stopped, they might be poisoned as well."
Athos rolled his eyes at that. "Where is this witch you suspect?"
"She lives in a small dwelling outside the village," the priest answered. "She is a fey woman with strange habits. Many here have witnessed her odd behavior, and she keeps to herself, does not attend Mass."
Aramis couldn't help but shoot a wry look at Athos; by half that description, the dour swordsman could be a sorcerer and his potion the bottle.
"I have written to Cardinal Richelieu of all of this," Father Duval went on.
"Which is why we are here," Aramis spoke up. "Which direction is this dwelling?"
"South of here."
"Then we shall go see for ourselves," he said, and the musketeers excused themselves.
They mounted their dragons again but remained on the ground, wanting to take a look at one of the affected fields on their way.
"I don' like witches," Porthos grumbled.
"Have you ever met one?" Aramis replied.
"Well, no. But it ain't natural, the stuff they do."
"Are reported to do," Aramis corrected.
"We do not even know there is a witch here," Athos put in impatiently.
"But somethin's obviously goin' on," Porthos pressed.
They came along the edge of a wheat field and drew to a stop. Something was definitely going on, alright. Aramis gazed out at the flattened stalks, so dry and withered that they'd simply fallen over. He slid out of the saddle and bent down to pick up an ear. It crackled and crumbled in his hand. Aramis shared a grim look with the others before climbing back onto Rhaego and continuing on.
They passed another field in the same condition as the first, and Aramis could understand why the villagers were so frightened. This was their livelihood at stake.
"Over there," d'Artagnan said, pointing across a third field to where a cloaked figure was crouched in the middle of the rot. The person was picking dead wheat ears and stuffing them into various glass vials. The figure stopped and froze at the sight of the dragons and Aramis finally saw that it was a woman.
"Well," he commented dryly. "That isn't suspicious."
The woman slowly stood up and pulled the hood down from her head, revealing ebony dark curls. She didn't move as the musketeers dismounted and made their way toward her. Either she wasn't afraid, or she knew running from three dragons would be futile.
"Afternoon," Aramis greeted. "Might we inquire as to what you're doing?"
Her gaze flitted tensely over their uniforms. "The crops are dying. I'm trying to figure out why."
"The locals believe it's witchcraft."
She continued to eye them warily. "And the King has sent his Musketeers to put an end to it?"
Aramis exchanged a look with the others. "The Cardinal, actually."
"Of course."
He shifted, not feeling entirely comfortable coming right out and asking if she was the witch they were looking for.
"Are you the woman who lives alone on the outskirts of the village?" Athos asked.
Or they could just say that.
She lifted her chin a fraction. "If I am?"
"Then you are under arrest."
"I am not responsible for what's happening to the crops. I'm trying to find a way to fix it."
"Wit' magic?" Porthos interjected suspiciously.
She shot him a disparaging look. "People are quick to call anything they don't understand magic." She gestured to the vials on the ground. "I'm running tests, the scientific way. Please, let me continue before whatever is killing the crops spreads, not just to the rest of the fields here, but other villages as well."
The musketeers exchanged another round of looks. Their orders were clear: arrest the witch responsible for cursing the crops. But they didn't know she was responsible yet. And arresting her and taking her back to Paris wasn't going to fix the immediate problem, so if there was a way she could solve it, wasn't that more of a priority? Aramis arched a brow at Athos, the one of them least swayed by accusations of witchcraft.
"Very well," Athos finally said.
The woman inclined her head in gratitude and bent to pick up her vials. Aramis knelt to help.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Agnes."
"I'm Aramis. That's Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan."
Agnes nodded to each of them. "I live this way," she said, turning to lead them across the field.
Porthos waved for their dragons to follow.
Agnes cast a look over her shoulder as the large beasts started after them.
"Don't be afraid," Aramis said.
"I'm not."
She led them through a small copse of trees and to a small hut with a thatched roof. There was a stack of firewood outside along with some tools and what looked like an herb and vegetable garden. The inside was a single space dwelling with a low bed against the back wall, some wooden tables for cooking and working, and a rocking chair by one of two windows. Despite looking impoverished, Aramis couldn't see that Agnes lacked for anything. There were vegetables and cured meats hanging from the ceiling, snares in one corner, and a stack of quilts near the bed. There were also a number of jars and vials that made the home look more like an apothecary's studio.
Or perhaps a witch's lair, Aramis thought wryly as he caught Porthos gazing around at the items in suspicion.
Aramis walked over to a shelf unit and arched a brow at a set of finger bones. He picked one up. "These are a rather…unusual taste in decor."
Agnes glanced over as she set her vials on another table. "The Church keeps the bones of saints as relics."
Aramis canted his head. "Touché." He set the digit back on the shelf and walked over to see what Agnes was doing.
She had a collection of other vials with various liquids and was adding drops from different ones to different samples of the dead wheat ears.
"What kind of tests are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm trying to determine whether the crops are dying from a disease or parasite," she replied. "Seeing which solvent the wheat reacts with will give me more information."
"You are a woman of science," he remarked, impressed. But no wonder the Church was quick to label her a witch; such pursuits were not deemed appropriate for women in general.
"Where did you learn these sciences?" Athos asked.
"From people I've met in my travels," she said.
"How long have you lived in this village?" Aramis asked next.
"Only for a little over a year." She stirred one of the vials and then capped it. "This place was abandoned and in disrepair. I did not think anyone would mind my making use of it. And they didn't. Not until recently, anyway."
Aramis roved his gaze around her work station. "Have you tried explaining to them your pursuits are in the realm of science, not magic?"
Agnes scoffed. "No one has ever given me the opportunity. Most run when they see me. The priests brandish their crosses and utter exorcisms when they happen to cross my path."
Aramis frowned. He could understand how holy men would feel duty bound to combat the forces of the Devil, but that kind of behavior to a young woman was simply rude.
"Perhaps we can clear things up for them if you can find a remedy for the crops," he said.
Athos shot him a warning look. Their orders weren't to investigate and pronounce judgement but to bring the "witch" back to Paris and hand her over to the Cardinal.
Aramis gave a subtle shrug in return. He did know that. This was why it was best not to get involved in matters.
Too bad he hadn't quite gotten the hang of that yet.
His gaze was drawn to the table as one of the vials turned red.
"What does that mean?" d'Artagnan asked.
"That the crops are dying from a sickness," Agnes replied.
"So what now?" Porthos asked next.
"Now I must run more tests and experiments to find a cure." She paused and glanced at Athos. "If you will allow it."
Athos appeared to consider it for a moment before nodding his approval. Delaying the completion of their orders wasn't the same as ignoring them.
A squawk from one of the dragons suddenly sounded outside, and the musketeers quickly exited the hut in time to see a man break cover from behind a tree and go running in the direction of the village.
"I am often spied on," Agnes commented from the doorway.
"Indeed," Aramis mused. Someone had to be making all those accusations to the priest at the local church.
"Could be trouble," d'Artagnan put in, watching as the man disappeared from sight.
"Aramis," Athos said, "you and Porthos stay here and assist Agnes if needed. D'Artagnan and I will check in with Father Duval."
Aramis nodded and watched them leave, Savron falling into step beside his rider. He turned back to Agnes. "So, what's next?"
.o.0.o.
They hadn't exactly set an urgent pace toward the village, but by the time Athos and d'Artagnan reached the church, the man they'd spotted running away from Agnes's was just coming out of the building. His eyes widened at seeing them and he quickly darted away in the opposite direction.
"That doesn't at all scream guilty of something," d'Artagnan scoffed quietly.
Athos said nothing as they entered the church. Father Duval was inside, along with another priest. They both looked up at the sound of the door, expressions hardening.
"What is it you think you are doing?" Father Duval demanded.
"You will have to be more specific," Athos replied blandly.
"Why has the witch not been taken into custody!"
"We have found no evidence of witchcraft and she claims to be trying to find a fix to the problem."
The priest's face reddened. "You have orders from the Cardinal—"
"I would think saving your crops would be your foremost concern," Athos interrupted mildly.
"Remove the witch and her evil influence will depart!"
"Until we find evidence of witchcraft," Athos said in a hard tone, "I will treat this as a situation to be handled by rationale and science."
Father Duval spluttered in dismay. "She- she has bewitched you!" He jabbed a finger at Athos's face.
Athos's gaze turned flinty and the man immediately pulled his hand back.
"We will report this to Cardinal Richelieu," Duval threatened.
"Agnes says she might be able to find a way to save the crops," Athos repeated. "Unless you prefer every field be burned, including the ones not yet tainted. Because if we depart with Agnes and the crops continue to die, that is what the King will order be done so that the disease will not spread to other villages. Is that what you want?"
Father Duval's eye twitched. "You are bringing doom upon us," he said ominously.
Athos rolled his eyes and turned on his heel to leave. He was done with their superstition. And at this point, he should just let the ignorant lot of them starve.
"That went well," d'Artagnan commented once they were outside.
Athos strode toward Savron and paused to place a hand on the dragon's shoulder, using the contact with his staid mount to settle his increasing irritation.
D'Artagnan hooked his thumbs into his belt and pursed his mouth. "Do you think Agnes really can save the crops?"
"I don't know," Athos answered. "But let's hope she can. And soon."
Otherwise the priest would be right—the Musketeers would bring down doom on the village in the form of dragon fire to wipe out the blight before it could spread.