CHAPTER 21

The Spanish soldiers, with their prisoner in tow, cantered on the twisting path away from the fight between the remaining soldiers and the musketeers. As the track wound through the craggy landscape, the sides of the trail grew steeper as the path entered into a ravine. All five riders were listening for sounds of pursuit, four with fear and one with hope.

Athos had been simultaneously relieved and alarmed to see Aramis, Porthos and the other musketeers burst into the soldiers' camp. While it meant there was a chance he might be rescued, it also meant his brethren were putting themselves in danger because of him. He could see that Anton was getting more frantic by the moment as his plans fell apart and that made a dangerous man even more so. There was no telling what the Spaniard might do if cornered. Anton had already shown he wasn't opposed to killing people when he shot Jourdain. Another wave of guilt washed over Athos' conscience when Jourdain crossed his mind once more. He had to escape and bring Anton to justice, if only to avenge his friend.

He remained constantly vigilant for an avenue of escape, but with his hands tied and his feet secured under Roger's belly, no opportunities had presented themselves. He needed some way to free himself of the ropes binding him and that meant getting his hands on a sharp object.

Anton glanced over his shoulder once more looking for signs of pursuit. He wasn't stupid and knew if the musketeers won the battle, which he surmised they would, given their element of surprise, it wouldn't take them long to realize he was gone, along with their friend. Then it was only a matter of time before one of his men babbled where he had gone. Time was not on his side, though he knew he could only push the horses so hard on the rocky, twisting path if he didn't want them to go lame.

The trail was winding through a gorge with deeply angled slopes comprising its sides. The terrain was a composite of dirt, boulders and scrub trees. It dawned on Anton this was a perfect place to set up an ambush. A person hidden on those slopes could easily take out anyone on the trail below. Signaling the soldier leading Roger to continue onward, Anton motioned for the other two to stop alongside of him.

Athos had been privately thinking the same thing as Anton about the location being ideal for an ambush. When he saw Anton and the other two stopping, his heart lurched in his chest. He signaled Roger to stop too, but the soldier leading him yanked the reins, forcing the stallion to keep moving forward. The horse threw his head up in protest, but continued to follow the soldier.

Quickly explaining to his men what he wanted, Anton watched as they dismounted and hid their horses around a bend in the trail so they were out of sight. Carrying their pistols, they scaled the sides of the ravine until they found good cover. Once they were in place, Anton wheeled his horse around and headed up the trail to catch up to his remaining man and the musketeer. For the first time since he fled the camp, Anton was feeling he still might have a chance to salvage this operation.

Athos was thinking the same thing as Anton because he finally saw an opportunity to escape. While Anton was plotting his ambush, Athos was scheming one of his own. Using his legs, he urged Roger to move closer to the soldier's horse until they were practically touching. From this position, Athos could see the main-gauche in the back of the soldier's weapons belt. He needed to get his hands on that weapon and with them now tied in front of him it might just work. After Anton had stabbed his hand, he had convinced the Spanish Captain to allow his hands to be tied in front of him so, his plan had a chance of being successful.

Surreptitiously, Athos gave Roger the signal for a maneuver they had been working on for use in battle. Receiving the instruction, the black stallion brusquely threw his entire body weight against the other, unsuspecting, horse. Simultaneously, Athos desperately reached across the gap trying to seize the dagger in the soldier's belt. His fingers got purchase on the handle and the blade slipped free as the soldier's horse stumbled to his knees under Roger's relentless assault. The soldier, caught totally unawares, was tossed from the saddle onto the ground where he lay in a still heap. His horse managed to climb back to his feet but, when he did, Roger rushed the gelding again, teeth barred. The animal got the message and frantically moved away.

Having the dagger in hand, Athos indicated to Roger to stand quietly and the animal obeyed. Awkwardly, the swordsman turned the dagger around in his hands until the blade lay against the ropes binding his wrists. Hoping the soldier kept his blade sharp, Athos got his answer when the edge not only began slicing neatly through the ropes, but also nicked his wrist, causing a bead of blood to well up. Once his hands were free, he turned the blade on the rope securing his legs and soon he was totally released from his bindings.

Dismounting, he cautiously walked over to the still Spaniard, dagger ready. When he got close enough, he could see the man had broken his neck in the fall. Athos tucked the dagger into the waistband of his pants. In deference to his stiff limbs, he slowly bent over and retrieved the sword from the dead man. With the blade in his left hand, he gave it a few practice thrusts, forcing his back and shoulder to loosen and move more freely. The slashes on his side and his bicep let it be known they weren't pleased with this activity. Straightening, he tried to transfer the sword to his right hand, but the pain and stiffness from the wound as he tried to close his hand on the hilt was too much and he let out a groan. If it came to a battle, he'd be fighting with his non-dominant hand and he'd have to pray his wounds didn't hamper him.

Returning the sword to his left hand, he made his way back over to Roger and mounted. He stowed the sword somewhat awkwardly in his musket holder since he didn't have a weapons belt and it would have taken too long to get the Spaniard's. It was not the best fit, but it would have to do as he thought the dagger was a better choice at the moment. He could throw it from a distance at a target.

Gingerly gathering up the reins in his injured right hand, he was happy Roger could be controlled by means other than solely from the reins. After retrieving the main-gauche with his left hand, he turned Roger around. Now that he was free and armed, he had to thwart Anton's ambush. He couldn't let his friends be hurt. At Athos' urging, Roger started down the path, gathering speed with each stride. Rounding a bend, Athos nearly crashed into Anton's horse coming from the other direction.

Athos tried to direct Roger around the Spaniard, however, Anton drew his gun and pointed it at Athos. "Stop!"

The musketeer drew to a halt, figuring that Anton wouldn't hesitate to shot him in the back if he kept going. Dead, he would be of no use to his friends.

An insidious smile lit up the Spaniard's face as he kept his pistol trained on Athos. "Going somewhere?"