The path toward the monastery had been easy to find. Porthos, d'Artagnan, and the others tied their horses to the trees across the canal. Well hidden from prying eyes, the animals stood calmly while Porthos led the charge and jogged toward the back entry. The darkness of night disguised their presence, but made it difficult to see as they approached. The chilly winds forced the tree branches to sway and dying leaves to flutter and all of them squinted and blinked to relieve the dryness of their eyes.

Winter was well on its way.

Porthos paused at the door, looked carefully around and then tested its strength. He felt the warped wood give under his weight. He looked at d'Artagnan and the others and watched them pull their pistols. With a sudden nod and a wish for a crack of thunder, Porthos took a deep breath and shoved the door open with a grunt and a powerful ram of his shoulder.

The door fell open. The old wood snapped, broke away from its hinges, and lay at an angle against the frame. They raised their pistols and were ready to fire as they entered the chamber that led to a narrow hall.

"Stay on alert," Porthos said, and walked cautiously up each step. He narrowed his eyes as the flickers of a dying flame glowed and reflected off the stone walls, and caused shadows to move and shift. He curled his nose at the stench of human waste and then covered his nose and mouth with his wrist.

Their footsteps scuffed on the edges of the stone risers that were scattered with pebbles, sand, and dirt. Each breath seemed louder as they continued upward. Straw lay scattered and grew in abundance as they entered the cells where men were confined and chained. Porthos exhaled and stepped forward when d'Artagnan, too preoccupied with what he was seeing, bumped into him.

"What is this?" d'Artagnan asked and covered his mouth.

"Lunatics probably," Porthos said. "Violent ones if I 'ad to guess."

"I've heard about places like this…" d'Artagnan said with a hint of disbelief. "I've never seen it."

Porthos huffed. "Be grateful… as bad as this is," he paused, "I've seen worse."

"Why would they bring the king and queen here?"

"To prove a point," Porthos said and then pinched the bridge of his nose.

A sudden and violent explosion caused those within cells to jump to their feet, shout, and bang their food dishes against the wrought iron bars and those chained to stand and frantically pull at their restraints. The orchestra of confusion caused Porthos and d'Artagnan to step back just as the heavy door, reinforced with wrought iron and walnut, was pushed open by a monk, who stopped suddenly when faced with five pistols. He held up his hands with a look of fright.

"Please," the monk said, looking at their pauldrons, "help us — the fire is spreading. Please." He turned and waved his hands toward the exit hall. "Men are dying." He turned suddenly and ran back toward the chaos.

"Wait!" Porthos shouted. "Where is the queen?"

The monk paused and raised his shoulders with his arms at his sides. "What queen? Please, Monsieur, this is a monastery — we care for those with fragile minds and bodies. People are burning." He frantically waved his arms toward someone down the hall, and then suddenly several people rushed toward them.

Porthos turned toward the other three musketeers and pointed toward those restrained. "Get 'em released an' outside — check every room — we need to find the queen!" He looked at d'Artagnan and said, "Help get these people out of 'ere."

"What about the queen and Athos?"

"Keep lookin'!"

D'Artagnan hissed and covered his mouth once more when a sudden gust of smoke billowed along the hall and through the doors as the monastery's inhabitants rushed for the back exit. The scene grew more intense as the young, old, terrified, and disabled tried to escape the fires that burned.

The explosion had caused the inner most buildings to shake. Souders and several of his men had fallen from the parapet and onto the ground in the courtyard. Flames burned the scattered remains of the wagon, the wooden gate and drawbridge, and the straw scattered on the ground. Doors had been blown open, wooden frames ignited, and paintings, drapery, and furniture quickly fell victim to the fire's wrath. Despite the stone structure, the massive fireball had caused flammable objects to ignite, and the flames spread more quickly than the abled-bodied could extinguish them. Several monks guided their charges toward the back exit, men were pulled from their beds and rooms were abandoned. Those unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast suffered as their clothing ignited.

The back draft of flames moved through the halls of the monastery in rapid succession.

Porthos covered his face with his arm when he felt the heat of the flames and motioned for d'Artagnan to turn back. They guided those they could toward the exit, checked rooms and searched for survivors, hoping to come across the queen and Athos.

D'Artagnan coughed and choked when the smoke grew too intense. His eyes watered and his feet grew heavy. He was pushed from behind and then suddenly gasped for air when shoved through the exit and into the gardens. Porthos followed with a heavy, gurgled cough that reached the depth of his lungs. Several monks ran toward them, guided them back and watched their home burn.

"The," Porthos coughed again. He leaned forward, braced his hands above his knees, and spit. "The queen?"

"No sign of her or Athos," Lucas said. A musketeer for several years, he stood with his hands on his hips and watched the flames through the narrow windows as smoke continued to billow out the door. "We checked the cells and the room at the end of the corridor…" he paused sadly. "We couldn't get them all out."

D'Artagnan closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and then rubbed the back of his neck. He coughed again and then spit and looked toward several monks. "Is anyone missing?"

One brother stepped forward and said, "Several." He looked over his shoulder and said, "Father Andre, Brothers Amos and David and many of those we cared for."

"Is there a place inside where they might hide?" Porthos asked. He stepped toward them, his shoulders broad and his fist clenched while he pointed toward the ground.

The monk shook his head and said sadly, "We won't know until we can get back inside."

Porthos looked at d'Artagnan. "Ride back to camp, let Treville and the cardinal know what's happenin' — Let 'em know we don't know 'ow many are alive inside, includin' those behind the attack."

D'Artagnan nodded once, turned, and sprinted toward the horses.

Porthos looked at the monastery, feeling the weight of the loss of a queen, a friend and brother, and the potential ramifications to come.