Finally, the part many of you have been waiting for and d'Artagnan is reunited with the others. Enjoy!
Despite setting a quick pace, Athos still chafed at seeing the empty road stretching out ahead of them. He'd hoped that by now they would have caught up with their quarry, but midday approached and they were still empty-handed. His three companions traded knowing glances every so often, each man taking turns pulling to the front to ride next to Athos, keeping him grounded with conversation or the occasional touch. Athos was aware of what they were doing and, under other circumstances, would have been grateful, but right now his irritation only grew as his anxiety rose with every passing minute.
Finally, Aramis' keen eyes spotted horses ahead, pointing them out to Athos immediately as the two of them were currently in the lead. Athos' heart leapt and he had to restrain himself from giving in to his first instinct of spurring his horse forward and confronting the men. There were six riders in total and, from Treville's sister, they'd learned that the bounty hunters were armed and quick to turn to violence. He waited for Treville and Porthos to draw abreast, Aramis' eyes scanning ahead of them the entire time as they drew closer.
All of them could tell when they'd been recognized as two of the horses suddenly broke off from the rest, heading further down the road and away from the approaching Musketeers. A look to Aramis confirmed Athos' fears – one of the riders had been d'Artagnan. The men pulled their pistols from their holsters, keeping them primed and ready across their laps as they neared. When they were within shouting distance, Treville called out to the men, determined to at least try to negotiate a peaceful outcome. "We are the King's Musketeers and we order you to stand firm and keep your weapons holstered. Any threatening moves will be met with force."
Still walking the horses forward, each of them felt a rush of adrenaline in anticipation of the coming fight. They understood the Captain's need to at least attempt to non-violently secure their fourth, but the fact that d'Artagnan had been led away and was already out of their sight only made them more anxious. One of the riders replied to Treville's hail, "We are bounty hunters and are returning to Paris with an escaped fugitive. You have no right to interfere."
"The man you've captured has been cleared of any wrongdoing and we insist you give him over to our custody," Treville countered. They were almost within pistol range and their fingers itched with the need to fire, ending things swiftly so they could chase after the Gascon.
Again, it was Aramis' sharp vision that caught the brief motion as one of the bounty hunters began to raise his pistol in preparation to fire. Before the man could even properly aim, the sharpshooter had discharged his weapon, felling the man from his horse. Additional shots followed immediately and momentarily clouded the air as the Musketeers forged ahead, rapidly closing the distance between them. Three of the bounty hunters were still alive, one of whom had been wounded and now lay on the ground, gripping his shoulder in pain. Treville had also been unseated by an errant ball, which had clipped the outside of his left arm, leaving a deep furrow through skin and muscle.
The bounty hunters would likely state that they were now evenly matched, three against three, but the Musketeers knew differently as they attacked. Aramis took the opportunity to fire his harquebus at one of the men, cursing softly as the bounty hunter's horse shifted beneath him, making him miss. He pulled his sword next and charged at the man, the clash of steel sounding almost as loud as the preceding gunshots.
Athos had also selected an opponent and the two were circling each other on the ground, the Musketeer attacking with a ferocity born of worry for his protégé. As he parried another strike from the man, he moved his back foot brace himself, not seeing the small rock that lay there and which caused his foot to roll painfully. The movement threw him off balance and his attacker stepped closer at once, slashing at the Musketeer's side.
Athos narrowly blocked the blade as he stumbled to shift his weight, his left ankle protesting and unwilling to hold him. Gritting his teeth, he forced the pain from his mind and pulled his main gauche, flinging it at the man in an underhand throw. The blade flew straight and true and pierced the man's throat, bringing him to the ground as life fled his body. Athos slumped to the ground, gingerly bringing his left leg in front of him, absently feeling at the sore ankle as he watched the other two duel.
Porthos was holding his own, despite the fact that his shoulder was not yet fully healed and, although he was loathe to admit it, still caused him pain. He moved with an economy of motion that let him take advantage of his strength; quick, precise movements that rocked his opponents when they felt the force of his strikes. If one took into consideration his still-healing wound, he was fairly evenly matched, even though it would not have been a contest if he were at full strength. As it was, he was eager to end the fight quickly to save the stress on his shoulder and be in pursuit of the Gascon.
A blow from his opponent forced Porthos to lift his arm higher than he was comfortable, pulling a wince of pain from him. He caught the smirk on the bounty hunter's face and was unsurprised when the man repeated the move twice more, each jarring hit taking more energy than the last to deflect. When the man moved to repeat the action a fourth time, Porthos pulled his dagger and stepped close and under the man's guard, solidly driving the blade into his attacker's chest. The man stumbled forward into the Musketeer, Porthos catching his body with disgust as it further pulled on his healing wound, before stepping back and allowing the man to fall to the ground.
Aramis had managed to unseat his opponent and had followed shortly afterwards, unable to keep up with the man's movements while still on his horse. The man was a coward, Aramis decided, as he followed the bounty hunter who seemed to be more interested in running away than in fighting. The man had moved them a fair distance from the others and Aramis began to wonder if he should just let the man go, but then he stopped, and without a moment's hesitation, threw a small blade in the Musketeer's direction. Aramis grunted as the knife embedded itself in his thigh, causing him to falter and almost fall.
A quick glance at his leg confirmed his suspicions that the blade was small and his wound would be more of an annoyance than anything else. Limping, he moved forward and swung at the bounty hunter, the man nimbly ducking under his blade and bringing his own up to attack. Aramis stumbled out of the way of the sword strike, his injured leg protesting the movement but, he was pleased to discover, continuing to hold his weight. Deciding a quick finish was in order, Aramis advanced with a three-strike combination which he and Athos had honed in practice, and which had the man falling to the ground dead. Wiping his sword on the man's cloak, Aramis turned and limped back to the others, looking around in satisfaction when he saw that all of the bounty hunters were dead.
Porthos was helping Athos mount his horse, although the action pulled a wince from the larger man and Aramis narrowed his eyes dangerously, silently asking where he was hurt. Treville was already mounted and was observing the medic's pained gait with interest. "Injuries?" Aramis asked as he stood next to his horse, already aware of how painful it would be to lift himself up.
"Athos rolled his ankle and the Captain caught a ball across his upper arm," Porthos readily replied as he pulled himself into the saddle.
"And you?" Aramis asked, noting how Porthos was favoring his right arm.
"Think my wound might have reopened," he replied nonchalantly, already having decided that it could be dealt with later. "Your leg?"
"Nothing of consequence," Aramis responded as he grabbed the hilt of the small blade and pulled it free with a gasp. "I trust we're all of the same mind and would like to go find our young Gascon?"
Athos gave a nod of agreement, already spurring his horse into action. Aramis gained his seat quickly, Porthos waiting for him before the two followed their comrades.
Maillard had been shocked when his prisoner fell from his horse and, despite repeated attempts, he'd been unable to raise the man's level of awareness enough to get him back in the saddle. He now faced a difficult choice of simply throwing the man across his mount's back, an action that could prove fatal with his captive's broken ribs, or standing and negotiating with the Musketeers who, he guessed, were likely to prevail over his less skilled comrades. When he heard the sound of hoof beats approaching, he knew he'd run out of time, and decided he would need to stand his ground. Lifting the young man awkwardly to his feet, Maillard wrapped an arm around the boy's neck and shoulders, the other placed at d'Artagnan's throat, resting a sharp blade against the fragile skin.
Four riders approached and Maillard smirked in satisfaction at the men's less than pristine appearance, gladdened that they had at least not emerged unscathed from their encounter with his men. They slowed their horses to a walk and moved forward warily until the distance between them was down to only 3 or 4 metres. "Stop, that's close enough," the bounty hunter ordered, already feeling at a disadvantage. "State your business."
Treville once more took the lead as he addressed the man, "That man is a Musketeer and you are ordered to release him, by command of the King."
"Don't see no King around here," Maillard sneered. "Besides, I know for a fact this man is a condemned murderer and I'll be handsomely rewarded when I turn him over to the executioner in Paris."
The Captain shook his head, "No, d'Artagnan was cleared and the real murderer found. You'll collect nothing for him."
Maillard considered the man's words, unwilling to give up his prize and concerned that he might share the fate of his men. "Then you won't mind if I take him back to Paris to confirm what you've said."
Aramis eyed d'Artagnan, just as unnerved as the others by his semi-conscious state and the gaunt features of his face. He caught the Captain's eye and gave a minute shake of his head – whatever was ailing their friend needed to be dealt with sooner rather than later and they didn't have the luxury of allowing this man to return to Paris before releasing the Gascon to their care. "I'm sorry, but that's not possible. You'll release him to us now or we'll take him by force," Treville declared.
Awareness was beginning to seep through the edges of the dark curtain that seemed to have cloaked d'Artagnan's mind, and he could make out snatches of words around him. With a supreme effort, he forced his eyes open, blinking several times before the four riders in front of him came into focus. Soldiers, his brain supplied, some part of him recognizing the men by their demeanor and the weapons they carried. Idly, he wondered why there were soldiers after them and a flush of panic cut through his chest at the thought that they were here to carry out his sentence, no longer satisfied to wait until he was returned to Paris by the bounty hunter.
"If you try to take him, he'll be dead before you've taken two steps toward me," Maillard stated menacingly, his pressure on the knife increasing, causing a trickle of blood to wind down d'Artagnan's neck.
d'Artagnan tried to make sense of the man's words, since it truly sounded like they were arguing over him. Drawing as deep a breath as he was able, he put as much strength into his words as he could, desperate that he be heard and the situation resolved. "Let him kill me," he said hoarsely, swallowing several times to stave off the need to cough. "If it's this or a hangman's noose, I'd prefer to have my throat cut."
The expressions on the soldiers' faces surprised d'Artagnan, one of the men looking as though he might be sick and, for a moment, the Gascon felt a pang of regret for voicing his request.
"You heard him," Maillard jeered, "he's ready to die. Question is, are you ready to let him?"
d'Artagnan continued to observe the soldiers as they considered Maillard's words and he realized that if they didn't act soon, the situation would resolve itself shortly on its own, his legs weak and threatening to buckle at any moment, which would bring enough pressure for the knife to fatally cut him. As the thought crossed his mind, he contemplated allowing his body to fall, and caught the minute shaking of one of the soldier's heads. It was the same man who'd turned pale at his earlier words and it now seemed almost as if the man knew what he was thinking, his bright blue eyes boring into him relentlessly. The realization startled d'Artagnan and he shuddered involuntarily at the implication that these men might actually be trying to help him.
"Well, what's it gonna be?" Maillard called. "You gonna let me leave with him or do I slice his throat so we can all be on our way?"
The men traded glances, their anguished expressions still confusing the Gascon as he waited for one of them to speak. His chest constricted with a wet cough and he couldn't hold it back, but despite the pain it caused, he didn't miss the minute loosening of Maillard's hold as the man lifted the knife slightly away from his throat so it didn't prematurely kill him while he coughed.
Feeling the coughing jag coming to an end, he took at last look at the man who'd been staring at him earlier and he let his body go limp, slipping through Maillard's hands unexpectedly to fall at the man's feet. As he landed, he could hear the bounty hunter's cry of astonishment followed seconds later by a shot, but he didn't have the time to see what was happening as his body rebelled and his airway seemed to be closing up on him. Gasping desperately for air that didn't want to come, he watched black spots dance in front of his eyes and then, moments later, lost his hold on consciousness.
Athos was moving even as d'Artagnan was falling, dismounting gracelessly as his ankle nearly buckled beneath him. With a grunt, he staggered forward, reaching for the boy as Aramis shot over his shoulder, his aim true and striking the bounty hunter's upper chest, sending him reeling backwards and away from the Gascon. Seconds later he was kneeling at the boy's side, tapping his cheek with one hand in a desperate attempt to wake him. The skin beneath his hand was hot and Athos could hear the wetness of his breaths, each inhale apparently a struggle with subsequent ones not guaranteed.
Athos looked up, the despair clear on his face as Aramis crouched awkwardly down beside him, leaning forward to place his ear to the Gascon's chest. "His lungs are filling with fluid, making it hard for him to breath." The look of devastation on Athos' face had Aramis placing a hand on the older man's shoulder and hurrying to clarify. "It's sickness, Athos, not injury. His lungs haven't been pierced."
Athos released a shaky exhale, knowing well that his protégé would have been beyond saving if a lung had been punctured. "We need to get him somewhere warm where he can be properly tended," Aramis stated, looking back at Treville.
"We're roughly halfway between my sister's house and Paris," he trailed off, uncertain about which direction they should travel.
It was Porthos who spoke up, stating decisively, "We go back. Not everyone in Paris will know that he's been cleared and we could run into more bounty hunters or guards who want to arrest him."
A quick look between Aramis and the Captain showed they were in agreement with Porthos' suggestion and, for now, they would avoid returning to Paris until they knew d'Artagnan would be safe. "He'll need to ride with one of us," Aramis looked ruefully at the two mounted men, both injured and already down to only one good arm apiece. "He can ride with me," he decided, but this seemed to pull Athos from his stupor.
"No, he'll ride with me," Athos stated, already preparing to rise to his feet. Aramis paused a moment before offering a short nod of agreement, understanding that both his friends needed this, even if the Gascon didn't know it yet.
d'Artagnan was completely boneless at this point and the men struggled to get him to his feet, both limping heavily on their injured legs as the extra weight pressed on them uncomfortably. Athos gained his seat first and then helped Aramis place the boy in front of him, allowing the young man to slump against his chest and wrapping an arm around him to keep him steady. Aramis looked down at his still-seeping wound in disgust as he leaned against Athos' horse. "We need to take care of our wounds first," he decided, moving slowly toward his own mount to collect his medical supplies.
Athos looked down at him, reluctant to waste any more time. As if sensing his hesitation, Aramis waved at him. "Go. I'll need maybe ten minutes or so to bind everyone's wounds and we'll catch up with you. You'll be moving slower than us anyway so you may as well get a head start."
Athos gave him a small smile of thanks as he wheeled the horse around and began following the road back to the Trémaux estate. "Keep an eye on his breathing," Aramis called after him.
"Alright, who's first?" the medic asked, pulling bandages from his saddle bag. Neither Treville nor Porthos were in any hurry to have their wounds tended, but both recognized the necessity, the dangers of blood loss and infection too great to ignore. Wearily, they both dismounted and moved closer to Aramis so he wouldn't have to walk any more than necessary. He gave them both a smile of thanks as he moved toward a small grouping of boulders and lowered himself down to sit, stretching his wounded leg out in front of him.
Aramis squinted against the sun, looking between the two men who'd presented themselves and decided to start with Treville. "Captain, if you would sit down here, please." Treville did as he was asked, already slipping his arm from his doublet. "Porthos, a water skin, please." The larger man went to do as he'd been asked, while Aramis pulled the Captain's shirt sleeve away from his wound. With a nod from his commanding officer, he ripped open the hole that the ball had made to expose the furrow in the man's arm. Holding up a cloth, he waited for Porthos to soak it with water and then carefully cleaned the wound so he could have a better look.
"The ball cut a nasty gash along the meat of your arm. It's really not deep enough for me to stitch so I'll just have to bind it tightly," Aramis explained. Another small nod from Treville had him wrapping the gash firmly in clean linen, pulling a low grunt of pain from the man as he finished.
"Thank you," Treville said as he inspected the bandage, rising and moving aside so Porthos could take his place. The larger man handed the water skin to his Captain and then gingerly removed his doublet so Aramis could have access to his shoulder.
Aramis pulled his friend's shirt away from the wound, tutting unhappily at seeing the ripped stitches which had allowed it to reopen. "You need some needlework when we get back." Porthos grunted, already having guessed that. "For now we'll just wrap it and you should use that arm as little as possible." Efficiently, he wiped the blood away from the wound and covered it with a clean bandage, before helping his friend with his doublet. Having finished with both men, Aramis prepared himself to stand but was stopped by Porthos' hand on his chest.
"Forgettin' something, Aramis?" the large man grinned at him.
Aramis huffed as he settled his weight back down on the rock, Treville moving to examine his wound. "There's not much that can be done other than bandaging it out here, and" he gave the men a warning look, "you're not cutting my breeches."
The Captain gave an amused smile but agreed, "I'll bind it for you and you'll let me have a proper look at it when we're back." Aramis nodded and sat patiently as his leg was bandaged, then gratefully accepted Treville's assistance in getting up. "Do you need help to your horse?"
Aramis shook his head, "No, walking isn't too bad, it's just getting up that seems to be the issue." Treville followed him back to his mount and waited patiently while his re-packed his supplies.
At Aramis' questioning look, the Captain motioned toward the saddle. "I assume getting up extends to getting yourself into the saddle." The medic grimaced but nodded reluctantly, accepting Treville's assistance in gaining his seat.
When they were ready, Treville gave a last look at the dead man they were leaving behind, reminded that four more waited for them up ahead. Sensing his thoughts Porthos told him, "We'll inform someone in town so they can come out and collect the bodies." It was not ideal but they didn't have any more time to spare, all of them concerned about what they would find once they'd properly examined the Gascon who'd been separated from them for the past week.