Again, thank you all for your wonderful feedback! It has been an exhausting few months, putting in over 16 hours some days, so I appreciate you taking the time to read and leave comments... I know how valuable time really is.
On with the story...
"This is an outrage!" Cardinal Richelieu shouted. Spittle spewed from his mouth. He held his left arm close to his chest while he paced back and forth along the road. He flared his nostrils and ground his teeth. The blood rushing through his veins prevented him from thinking about anything but the king, his whereabouts, his condition, and the desperate need to find him.
The king and queen were gone, missing, kidnapped — taken from the protection of musketeers and red guards. The attack had been well planned and organized by men who knew how to manage soldiers, how to fight, and how to get what they wanted. It had been planned by men who feared nothing and craved revenge. It was organized in such a way to strike the convoy at a time when they would be at their weakest. Riding along the trail that narrowed between two hills. The regiment had been at a deficit the moment they rode into the area. Large trees overshadowed the land, arched branches amplified the darkness of shadows. It was the perfect location for an ambush. The modern day criminals had hidden themselves behind the trees, within the thick brush, and above the guard's line of sight. Then, with lightning speed, they fired their muskets, created a swarm of confusion and fear, and attacked.
Richelieu could see Treville separating the surviving men into small groups of four. Musketeers and red guards worked together, put their differences aside, and followed Treville's orders as they searched for the king. Two groups galloped on horseback in the direction the carriage had been driven. Others searched the grounds and separated the wounded from the dead. Porthos stood guard over three captured assailants. He stood before them with his jaw clenched, his hands fisted, and his shoulders set. He would not tolerate their attempts at escape. It was difficult enough being in their presence. It was taking all of his strength to stand still, watch their every move, and not take his anger, frustration, and fear out on them.
Porthos may have been born to humble beginnings, but he was not about to surrender the life he had worked so hard to claim. They would find the king, the queen, and they would kill those that had taken them. Those men would be examples to those who would dare think about such an action.
Aramis hastily walked toward Porthos in haste with a look of concern and frustration. He feared for the royal couple, but his heart pleaded for Anne. His instinct to protect her was nearly too much to bear. The more he focused on her, the worse he became. His palms grew sweaty, his heart raced, and his mind ran wild. He couldn't show it, couldn't talk about it — and the only man he could talk about it with was missing. Aramis couldn't even look the part of a grieving lover. He forced himself to take a deep breath and exhale slowly. It was becoming more difficult to see her every day at the palace, to maintain his composure as a musketeer. He would remain strong, do his duty, and hide his pain, his fear, and his concerns. He wiped his face with the cup of his hand and then placed his hands on his hips and looked at Porthos. "I can't find Athos or d'Artagnan." He looked around the scene once more. "I've got to get the injured men treated —"
"The cardinal's arm?" Porthos said, and then narrowed his eyes when a prisoner shifted. "Move again," he warned with hardened eyes, "I'll string you up myself."
The prisoner swallowed and blinked slowly.
Aramis adjusted his pistol on his belt and said, "I'll see to the cardinal."
"We'll find Athos an' d'Artagnan. Go," Porthos said. "Treville wants to 'ave a conversation with our prisoners. Then we can look for them." He exhaled, snorted, and then spit. He wiped his lips with the fat of his thumb and said, "Knowin' d'Artagnan, 'e rode after the carriage."
Aramis nodded and said, "If we don't find them alive — the king… the queen…"
"Don't say it," Porthos said.
"We could be looking at a civil war."
"We'll find them," Porthos said confidently. "We'll find Athos an' d'Artagnan too."
Aramis clapped Porthos on his shoulder and then turned back toward the wounded. A few of the men had bandaged their own wounds. Others were simply too angry to settle enough to notice the blood dripping from their scalps and hands. One red guard paced back and forth with a limp muttering, "Walk it off… just walk it off."
The primary assailants had swept in causing confusion and in the process killed the footman and the carriage driver, and then fled the scene while the others remained fighting. Several musketeers and red guards had tried to follow, only to fall victim to traps of netting and rope that tangled horses' legs, and forced riders from their saddles.
The carriage, pulled by four dapple gray horses, had swayed, bounced, and shifted along the path while the animals galloped. Had it not been for the axel's reinforcement, it would have collapsed on itself at the first turn.
Aramis ground his teeth and looked at the cardinal, who stood before Treville. Both men were under duress. There was fear in their eyes, concern laced their features, and they made demands of each other that could not be met. Taking a deep breath, Aramis pulled his bag from his horse's back and walked toward them. He looked at the men who worked to search the area, finding the weapons that had been abandoned or dropped and gathered them together, while others settled the horses, and more prepared to search the surrounding area.
"Your Eminence," Aramis said, and bowed. He looked at Treville, who nodded and stepped back while Richelieu looked toward him.
"You need to be looking for the king!" The cardinal waved his hand in frustration, and then gently stroked his chin and took a deep breath. The world around him continued to crumble.
"There are several bands looking for the carriage," Treville said. "Once they find it, they will not engage, but will return and we will then move forward with plans for a rescue." He looked at Richelieu, who knew the plans but his mind was racing and his attention was focused elsewhere.
"Your arm?" Aramis asked.
Richelieu grumbled and then, with a defeated sigh, sat on the trunk of the downed tree behind him. "We could be looking at civil war," he said and watched Aramis kneel and look through his bag. "With both the king and the queen missing," he paused, "Louis' closest living relative is his mother," he looked suddenly toward Treville, "who will not hesitate to take advantage of this opportunity." He pursed his lips, flared his nostrils, and winced when Aramis took his arm and carefully pulled back the sleeve. "And then there is the situation with his brother, Gaston." He rolled his eyes in frustration and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "A deplorable fool with a lust for blood and finery."
Aramis looked between Treville and Richelieu and then winced when he gently felt along the cardinal's wrist.
"Is it broken?" Richelieu asked.
Aramis swallowed and said, "Severely sprained." He looked at the cardinal. "You may eventually wish it had been broken."
Richelieu rolled his eyes and huffed.
The sudden shouts of musketeers and red guards caused them to suddenly look in the direction the carriage had gone and watched d'Artagnan gallop toward them. He dismounted before his horse could come to a complete stop, took several deep breaths, and strode toward them.
D'Artagnan tightened his grip on the reins while his horse walked beside him. The big black flared his nostrils and blinked slowly several times as white foam dripped from his mouth and around the shape of the breast collar. Sweat collected along his neck, flanks, and the saddle pad. D'Artagnan bowed when he approached and then looked at Treville, Aramis, and the cardinal. "I followed them to the road that leads to the St. Andrews Monastery —"
"Are they being held there?" Richelieu asked.
D'Artagnan winced. "I don't know. They used gunpowder to blow out the road — I couldn't see through the dirt and the dust. By the time it cleared enough for me to see — and after I found a way to cross, they were gone. Whoever did this had planned for us to attempt to follow."
Treville exhaled in disappointment, looked downward, and placed his hands on his hips.
"There are several monasteries in that area —" Aramis said as he pulled the bandage across the cardinal's wrist.
"That's the best you could do?" Richelieu hissed.
"Your Eminence," Aramis said, and tied off the bandage. "You should keep —"
"While I find your concern for my wrist admirable, I think our priority is finding the king? Don't you?" Richelieu stood suddenly. He held his wrist close to his chest and looked at d'Artagnan. "Did you find anything that might inform us of the direction these…" he paused, while forcing himself to calm and use the respectable term, "traitors may have gone?"
D'Artagnan shook his head and was about to say something when Richelieu spoke up again.
"While I appreciate your efforts —"
"Had it not been for d'Artagnan's quick actions and determination, we would still be searching for a direction. At least now, we have one," Treville said. With a stern brow and thin lips, he met Richelieu's angry gaze with one of his own.
"Time is off the essence —"
"Yes," Treville said, and then motioned with his hand toward his men. "And every one of them knows it."
"Athos is with them," d'Artagnan said. "He was attacked and shoved into the carriage seconds before they fled."
Treville took a deep breath and nodded as his eyes moved from left to right while he planned their next steps. "Good."
"Good?" Richelieu said. "I lack the faith you seem to have in your man, Treville. Forgive my concern that the king and the queen are both missing with a musketeer who has been known to frequent more taverns than rats frequent grain bins — and many of those taverns he's been carried out of," He motioned toward Porthos, "by him."
Aramis frowned and looked at d'Artagnan and then Treville.
"He has never allowed his overindulgence of drink to effect his duty—"
"Then let's hope then that the king and the queen have been taken to a monastery with strict views on the consumption of alcohol," the cardinal said, bitingly.