Chapter 44

A shot rang out. One of the men standing behind Lyam staggered backward and collapsed.

More shots were fired.

Emry ran for his wife and children and they huddled closely together. The roaring sounds of horses thundering toward the farm echoed, followed by the rattling and clangs of several wagons, and the shouts of angry men.

Lyam yanked on his horse's reins, and the animal tossed his head and lunged. Lyam waved his right hand and shouted, "Retreat!"

Lucas grabbed Athos by the collar and then motioned for Pascal. "Get him on a horse. We need him!"

"For what?" Pascal shouted. He flung his arm in the air and pointed eastward. "We need to go!"

"Get him on a horse!" Lucas shoved Athos forward and he stumbled and fell to his hands and knees. He felt someone grab the back of his blouse, pull him to his feet, and then push him into a horse. The animal shied, yanked on its bit, and side-stepped away from the men.

More shots were fired, this time with terrifying accuracy, and the shouts of men grew louder.

Pascal and Lucas shoved Athos onto the back of a horse, grabbed the reins, and then fled. Athos gripped the pommel, lowered his heels, and tightened his thighs and calves. He could hear the shouts, promises of retribution, and the threats of hangings. He winced and then ducked after being slapped across the face with a low-hanging branch. Lyam's orders were barely heard over the echoes of hooves, harsh breathing, and slapping leathers.

Men shouted, jumped from the backs of their mounts, wagons, and charged with their clubs in hand. A mixture of shovels, axes, old muskets, and beetles. Had the path to Emry's farm continued, they would have followed through the fields and untamed lands.

"Stop shooting!" Eve stood with Emry and their daughters hiding behind them. "Emry, make them stop." She pleaded with him, grabbed his arm and tugged. "Please. I will not be responsible for the death of a King's Musketeer."

Emry grasped Eve's wrist and shouted, "Stop this! Stop shooting!" He stepped away from Eve and his daughters. "They've taken an injured musketeer!"

Olaf pulled himself to a stop and looked at Emry. "Stop!" He demanded from the seat of his wagon. He looked at those who slowly lowered their weapons, caught their breaths, and watched the riders fade into the distance.

"We need to go after 'em!" Adam Nevue said. He pointed his club in the direction the men had ridden. "We had 'em in our sights, Olaf. If they get away, we may never find 'em an' then they'll be back — possibly with more men."

"They'll be back," Emry said. He looked at his wife and watched her comfort their daughters, and then he looked at the men willing to fight for their lands, their homes, and their families. His lip twitched, and he wanted to smile in relief, but there was a vein of anger that threatened to spill over. "The musketeers that travelled to Allier stopped here — one of them, Porthos — went to get help."

"The other one?" Olaf asked with a frown.

Emry swallowed. "They took him… he's been ill and was unable to travel."

Olaf rubbed his face and exhaled slowly. "He was going to take our request to his captain who would take our plea to the king," he looked at Emry and then stepped from the off his wagon, "to get us some help."

Two men behind Olaf shuffled uncomfortably and rubbed their necks.

"Why did they arrive here at my farm?" Emry asked. "Why were they injured?" He looked at several men, who looked away. "The one they took," he pointed in the distance, "looked to have been clubbed over the head." He swallowed, flared his nostrils, and looked intently at the faces of fellow farmers and businessmen. Men, he knew, but was not friendly with. "We're supposed to protect one another out here." Emry sighed. He was as much to blame as anyone. Instead of partnering with local farmers, he had isolated himself, his family, and his children. Allier was not known for its hospitality.

"We're here to help, Emry. It might have taken some of us a while to realize what was happening, but we're here now. There's more of us than there are of them," Olaf said. He looked at those that had ridden with him, those who stood in a half circle behind him. Two men pulled the body of the man that had been killed out of sight, and several others remained by their horses, keeping them still.

"Emry," Eve said. She pointed past the men in the yard and then pressed her hand to her lips. "It's Porthos," she said in relief, "he found his friends." She looked at Emry, who closed his eyes and looked at the toes of his boots. He rubbed his jaw, spit, and then looked at Olaf. "We are going to help them."

"Move aside," Olaf said. He waved his arms and pointed to those who were slow to step aside, and watched Porthos, his two friends, and another man with his hands bound, riding on a gray horse that was led by Porthos. They rode their horses between the wagons and the line of people and pulled them to a stop and looked at those looking at them.

Porthos looked at Emry and then glanced at the barn. "Athos?"

Emry swallowed and shook his head. "They took him."

Porthos kicked his mount with the intent of chasing the gang, but Aramis pulled him to a stop.

"Porthos! We have to think about this. We need a plan," Aramis said. He turned in his saddle and looked at d'Artagnan and then at the others. "How many men are in this gang? Are they soldiers or farmers? What are they after?" He dismounted and handed his reins to d'Artagnan. He looked around and then cleared his throat. "Does anyone know this man?" He grabbed Alfred by the back of his doublet and pulled him from the horse.

Alfred shrugged out of Aramis' grasp, tossed his head back, and then looked at the farmers. He muttered something in Hungarian and snickered.

Olaf frowned and said, "No… he's not from Allier."

Aramis shoved Alfred forward and pointed to one of the farmers. "Tie him up like a hog and make sure he doesn't get loose. He's going back to Paris to stand before the king."

"You can't prove anything!" Alfred shouted, and then stumbled when he was grabbed and shoved toward the corral. "I'll deny everything!"

"Gag 'im too," Porthos said, and watched Alfred shoved toward the fence and tied securely.

"They want money," someone said from the crowd. "Money and whatever else they want."

"How many men are in that gang?" Aramis asked. He stood his ground and then looked over his shoulder at Porthos and d'Artagnan, who dismounted.

Emry scratched his jaw and said, "Nine, there are nine of them. He tilted his chin in the direction of the man that had been killed. "Their leader is Lyam, but the one to watch out for is Lucas." He winced and said, "He's unstable."

"How unstable?" Porthos asked, and looked in the direction the riders had gone.

Emry rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Very."