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fredbassettTitle : A Dangerous Contract, Part 5 of 8
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : The Musketeers
Rating : 18
Characters : Athos/Treville, Gallagher, Aramis, Porthos and others
Disclaimer : Not mine (apart from some OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 25,500, split into approximately equal parts.
Summary : Athos learns an assassination contract has been taken out on Treville’s life.
A/N : Written for luthorchickv2 on AO3 who kindly commented on all my Dangerous Liaison stories.
Cahusac entered the courtyard at a run. “They’re coming. Thirty men approaching on horseback. Well-armed.”
“So it begins,” Athos said quietly. It had taken no more than two days for the assassins to arrive at Pinon, but the defenders had put that time to good use. Athos was confident that his plan was a good one, but he knew all too well that a plan rarely survived the first clash of arms.
“Three to one,” commented Jussac. “Your sort of odds, so I’m told.”
Athos smiled a cold smile. “It’s no fun if victory comes too easily, but it seems they are relying on overwhelming us with superior numbers. Something they’ll come to regret.”
“Let us hope so.” The Red Guard captain nodded to Athos and slipped out of the courtyard, followed by Cahusac, leaving only Athos and Treville in place, behind a barricade of blackened timbers.
“Do you think they will believe we are alone here?” Treville asked.
“They have not taken the time to scout the surrounding area so they will not have discovered the horses. They will be relying on surprise. Two men would find it hard to prevail against those numbers.”
“This contract will be dearly bought.” Treville’s tone was grim.
Athos touched his hand lightly. “This will end at Pinon.”
“Good. Hiding has never been to my liking.” A swift smile lit his battle-hardened features and he added softly, for Athos’ ears alone, “But this confinement has had much to recommend it.” As he spoke, he sighted along the barrel of his musket, poking through a hole in the wooden barricade. “It is a shame we do not know what this Boucher looks like.”
“My guess is that he will let one of his men take the lead position.”
Athos watched as Treville sighted on a horseman two lengths behind the leading man and fired. A loud crack from the musket shot split the peace of the afternoon like an axe cleaving wood. One of the riders was knocked off his horse, falling sideways into the path of those behind him. As Athos handed Treville a second loaded weapon and set to work preparing the first musket to fire again, three more shots rang out, this time from the stand of trees to the left of the attacking force.
“Four down,” Treville commented. “Not one missed shot.”
“I expected nothing less,” Athos replied.
The horsemen wheeled their mounts in confusion, looking for the source of the shots, but to no avail. Athos knew the marksmen would already be moving through the woodland to take up new firing positions.
“They know now we’re not alone.” Treville sighted for a second time and fired again. Another rider dropped.
A harsh voice yelled orders and the horsemen regrouped, trying to put themselves out of range of the muskets. One more shot cracked out and the tail end rider slumped over his horse’s neck.
“Thirty to twenty-four. I think the honours in this skirmish have gone to the defenders.”
Jussac’s quiet voice spoke behind them. “The horses are ready.”
Athos handed the second loaded musket to him. “Guard the captain with your life.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Jussac replied.
Athos sprinted for the walled garden and vaulted onto Roger’s back. The big horse sprang out of the walled garden, closely followed by Cahusac on a spirited chestnut mare. They wheeled their mounts around and made for the meadow at the back of the house.
A yell went up from the attackers and immediately, four horsemen broke away from the group in pursuit.
Athos knew every inch of the countryside surrounding Pinon. It was his job to split off some of the assassins from the main group while Aramis, Gallagher and Bernajoux did their best to pick off as many men as they could. He rode low to Roger’s neck, presenting as small a target as possible, Cahusac followed suit. Their pursuers were not close enough to bring their pistols into play, so it was no more than a precaution, but as Athos constantly drilled into the cadets at the garrison, precautions save lives.
The horses thundered at a full gallop away from the mansion down a sunken way that led to the old family chapel built on the estate by Athos’ great-grandfather for the private worship of the Comte de la Fère and his family. Athos had drilled Cahusac on his plan and as soon as they reached the clearing in the woods surrounding the small stone building, they dismounted and made a dash for the trees.
The horsemen followed, caught momentarily unawares at seeing two loose horses with no riders. In their confusion, they failed to notice Porthos and Philippe de Beaune come out from behind the chapel, a pistol in each hand.
Porthos’ first shot took one of the horsemen in the chest, his second winged a man in the shoulder. Athos saw Philippe’s first shot go wide as one of the horses skittered sideways. The second, fired left-handed with impressive skill, found its mark and a man slumped sideways. Athos and Cahusac ran back from the trees, firing one shot each as they closed on the enemy then drawing their rapiers. The two men that remained mounted did their best to use their horses to their advantage, but the beasts were not as well drilled as a musketeer’s mount that would answer to no more than its rider’s knees, leaving both hands free to wield weapons.
One man threw his leg over his horse’s back, dismounting quickly and throwing himself at Cahusac, his sword flashing dangerously in the afternoon sun. The red guard parried the first vicious thrust easily and launched a counterattack that immediately cast the mercenary on the back foot. Cahusac quickly pressed home his advantage, gaining ground and landing a strike on the man’s sword arm.
More musket shots at a distance set pigeons flapping from the trees, followed by the sound of pistols returning fire. The attackers were regrouping, but their numbers were rapidly becoming more manageable.
The horseman gave an angry yell and set his horse at Athos, sweeping his sword down in a heavy stroke. Athos leaped nimbly aside, getting in a deep slash at the man’s thigh as the horse charged past.
A pistol shot came from close by and the man toppled backwards, clutching his stomach. All the attackers were down; not all were dead.
Athos ran to the side of the man Philippe had brought down, grabbing his hair and twisting his head back to expose his throat.
“What does Boucher look like?” he demanded.
The man’s only answer was to spit at Athos’ face. The spittle feel short. Athos dashed the back of his gloved hand across the man’s face. “Mind your manners. I asked you a question…”
“Go to hell!”
“Tell me and I’ll spare your life.”
“I said go to hell, musketeer!”
“Have it your own way…” Athos drew his dagger across the man’s exposed throat, twisting his erstwhile opponent away so that the spurt of blood coated the grass, not his jacket.
A cry of pain told him that Porthos was questioning one of the other men.
“Mine was stubborn,” Athos commented.
“So’s this ‘un.”
“We don’t have time for this and we can’t afford to take prisoners. Assassins deserve no quarter.”
Without hesitation, Porthos drove his dagger into the man’s heart and stood up. “Four more down.” He threw an approving look at Philippe. “Well done, vicomte. We’ll make a musketeer of you in no time.”
The clash of steel on steel told Athos that Cahusac was still engaging the fourth man. “Do you need assistance?” he called.
“In your dreams, musketeer,” Cahusac replied, not even panting, despite the force of the blows he was smoothly parrying. He sidestepped the next attack and launched a blindingly fast high-line strike that slipped past the other man’s guard and took him full in the throat.
“Flashy,” Porthos commented. “You boys ‘ave been practising.”
Cahusac saluted with his bloody sword before wiping it on the fallen body of his opponent and returning it to its scabbard. “Kind of them to leave their horses behind.”
He swung up into the saddle of his own horse and Philippe grabbed the reins of a grey mare, gentling the nervous animal for a moment before springing lightly into the saddle. Roger came at Athos’ whistle as Porthos mounted a thickset black with a white blaze on its nose.
“Let’s hope there’s some fun left for us at the house,” Cahusac commented wheeling his horse to gallop back up the sunken track.
As they neared the mansion, the four riders reined in at the edge of the trees, intending to take stock of the situation before re-joining the fight. The tally Athos had been keeping in his head told him that at least ten of the attackers were dead or serious wounded. Boucher seemed to have been caught awares, throwing his men headlong into a fight against what he must have presumed were grossly outnumbered defenders. But Athos knew there was no room for complacency. They were still facing heavy odds.
He scanned the field quickly, taking in a group of horsemen milling about in the meadow, out of effective musket range. There was no sign of Aramis, Gallagher and Bernajoux. Even experienced marksmen would not take a shot at that distance.
“Philippe, Porthos, they don’t know you were in the woods,” Athos said. “Let’s keep it that way. We don’t need their mounts, so take what there is by way of spare weapons and ammunition in their bags and let’s send their horses back.”
Moments later, spurred on by the flat of their former riders’ hands, the two horses broke into a run across the meadow as Porthos and Philippe melted away into the trees. Taking advantage of the distraction, Athos and Cahusac circled around to the back of the courtyard, returning their mounts to the walled garden before joining Treville and Jussac at the barricade.
Treville raised his eyebrows in enquiry.
“Four dead,” Athos stated. “We were unable to extract any information about the Butcher.”
“I’m not convinced he’s here,” Treville said. “That lot are competent, but nothing special. This could be a distraction.”
“A costly one,” Jussac remarked. “We took down another three and wounded a fourth. It’s been like a rabbit shoot in the Bois de Boulogne.”
“That’s what worries me.” Treville cast his eyes at the buildings surrounding the courtyard and the entrance to the walled garden. “How easy would it be for a small force to outflank us from the rear?”
“With three marksmen in the woods, I hope it would not be too easy a task, but there is always the risk of reinforcements. Perhaps it is time we advanced the plan…”
A sudden flurry of shots broke out in the woods and in the same instant, the milling horsemen set their mounts at the barricade, riding hard and fast.
Treville bent his concentration back to his musket as Jussac swept up the second loaded weapon and searched for a target. They fired as one. A horse swerved away, trailing a rider with his foot caught in a stirrup but a volley of shots exploded around them, sending chips of blackened wood flying into the air. One grazed Athos’ cheek, narrowly missing his eye. Jussac swore luridly as a pistol ball gouged a red furrow across his upper arm.
“How bad?” Treville demanded, drawing his own pistol.
“I can still fight,” Jussac declared calmly.
“Good, you’ll need to,” Athos said. “Come, we have to move. They’re intending to rush the barricade and they still have the numbers to break through if they try hard enough. Leave the muskets, we won’t need them where we’re going. Cahusac and I will cover you.”
Without argument, the two captains tossed their muskets aside and ran for the horses. The moment Athos and Cahusac heard hooves approaching from behind, they took rapid aim, fired at the fast approaching attackers then shoved their pistols back into their belts and grabbed the reins of their own horses being tossed to them and throwing themselves onto their mounts. As Athos pulled himself into the saddle, he silently gave thanks to Treville for forcing his men to train in all manner of cavalry manoeuvres, including a running mount, until it became second nature.
As his horse’s hooves hammered on the beaten earth of the track, he dared a look back over his shoulder and saw the top of the barricades being thrown down and two large horses clearing what was left at speed. They would soon have at least 15 pursuers.
Athos’ job was to lead them into another trap. He just had to make sure they caught the Butcher as well as his men.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : The Musketeers
Rating : 18
Characters : Athos/Treville, Gallagher, Aramis, Porthos and others
Disclaimer : Not mine (apart from some OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 25,500, split into approximately equal parts.
Summary : Athos learns an assassination contract has been taken out on Treville’s life.
A/N : Written for luthorchickv2 on AO3 who kindly commented on all my Dangerous Liaison stories.
Cahusac entered the courtyard at a run. “They’re coming. Thirty men approaching on horseback. Well-armed.”
“So it begins,” Athos said quietly. It had taken no more than two days for the assassins to arrive at Pinon, but the defenders had put that time to good use. Athos was confident that his plan was a good one, but he knew all too well that a plan rarely survived the first clash of arms.
“Three to one,” commented Jussac. “Your sort of odds, so I’m told.”
Athos smiled a cold smile. “It’s no fun if victory comes too easily, but it seems they are relying on overwhelming us with superior numbers. Something they’ll come to regret.”
“Let us hope so.” The Red Guard captain nodded to Athos and slipped out of the courtyard, followed by Cahusac, leaving only Athos and Treville in place, behind a barricade of blackened timbers.
“Do you think they will believe we are alone here?” Treville asked.
“They have not taken the time to scout the surrounding area so they will not have discovered the horses. They will be relying on surprise. Two men would find it hard to prevail against those numbers.”
“This contract will be dearly bought.” Treville’s tone was grim.
Athos touched his hand lightly. “This will end at Pinon.”
“Good. Hiding has never been to my liking.” A swift smile lit his battle-hardened features and he added softly, for Athos’ ears alone, “But this confinement has had much to recommend it.” As he spoke, he sighted along the barrel of his musket, poking through a hole in the wooden barricade. “It is a shame we do not know what this Boucher looks like.”
“My guess is that he will let one of his men take the lead position.”
Athos watched as Treville sighted on a horseman two lengths behind the leading man and fired. A loud crack from the musket shot split the peace of the afternoon like an axe cleaving wood. One of the riders was knocked off his horse, falling sideways into the path of those behind him. As Athos handed Treville a second loaded weapon and set to work preparing the first musket to fire again, three more shots rang out, this time from the stand of trees to the left of the attacking force.
“Four down,” Treville commented. “Not one missed shot.”
“I expected nothing less,” Athos replied.
The horsemen wheeled their mounts in confusion, looking for the source of the shots, but to no avail. Athos knew the marksmen would already be moving through the woodland to take up new firing positions.
“They know now we’re not alone.” Treville sighted for a second time and fired again. Another rider dropped.
A harsh voice yelled orders and the horsemen regrouped, trying to put themselves out of range of the muskets. One more shot cracked out and the tail end rider slumped over his horse’s neck.
“Thirty to twenty-four. I think the honours in this skirmish have gone to the defenders.”
Jussac’s quiet voice spoke behind them. “The horses are ready.”
Athos handed the second loaded musket to him. “Guard the captain with your life.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Jussac replied.
Athos sprinted for the walled garden and vaulted onto Roger’s back. The big horse sprang out of the walled garden, closely followed by Cahusac on a spirited chestnut mare. They wheeled their mounts around and made for the meadow at the back of the house.
A yell went up from the attackers and immediately, four horsemen broke away from the group in pursuit.
Athos knew every inch of the countryside surrounding Pinon. It was his job to split off some of the assassins from the main group while Aramis, Gallagher and Bernajoux did their best to pick off as many men as they could. He rode low to Roger’s neck, presenting as small a target as possible, Cahusac followed suit. Their pursuers were not close enough to bring their pistols into play, so it was no more than a precaution, but as Athos constantly drilled into the cadets at the garrison, precautions save lives.
The horses thundered at a full gallop away from the mansion down a sunken way that led to the old family chapel built on the estate by Athos’ great-grandfather for the private worship of the Comte de la Fère and his family. Athos had drilled Cahusac on his plan and as soon as they reached the clearing in the woods surrounding the small stone building, they dismounted and made a dash for the trees.
The horsemen followed, caught momentarily unawares at seeing two loose horses with no riders. In their confusion, they failed to notice Porthos and Philippe de Beaune come out from behind the chapel, a pistol in each hand.
Porthos’ first shot took one of the horsemen in the chest, his second winged a man in the shoulder. Athos saw Philippe’s first shot go wide as one of the horses skittered sideways. The second, fired left-handed with impressive skill, found its mark and a man slumped sideways. Athos and Cahusac ran back from the trees, firing one shot each as they closed on the enemy then drawing their rapiers. The two men that remained mounted did their best to use their horses to their advantage, but the beasts were not as well drilled as a musketeer’s mount that would answer to no more than its rider’s knees, leaving both hands free to wield weapons.
One man threw his leg over his horse’s back, dismounting quickly and throwing himself at Cahusac, his sword flashing dangerously in the afternoon sun. The red guard parried the first vicious thrust easily and launched a counterattack that immediately cast the mercenary on the back foot. Cahusac quickly pressed home his advantage, gaining ground and landing a strike on the man’s sword arm.
More musket shots at a distance set pigeons flapping from the trees, followed by the sound of pistols returning fire. The attackers were regrouping, but their numbers were rapidly becoming more manageable.
The horseman gave an angry yell and set his horse at Athos, sweeping his sword down in a heavy stroke. Athos leaped nimbly aside, getting in a deep slash at the man’s thigh as the horse charged past.
A pistol shot came from close by and the man toppled backwards, clutching his stomach. All the attackers were down; not all were dead.
Athos ran to the side of the man Philippe had brought down, grabbing his hair and twisting his head back to expose his throat.
“What does Boucher look like?” he demanded.
The man’s only answer was to spit at Athos’ face. The spittle feel short. Athos dashed the back of his gloved hand across the man’s face. “Mind your manners. I asked you a question…”
“Go to hell!”
“Tell me and I’ll spare your life.”
“I said go to hell, musketeer!”
“Have it your own way…” Athos drew his dagger across the man’s exposed throat, twisting his erstwhile opponent away so that the spurt of blood coated the grass, not his jacket.
A cry of pain told him that Porthos was questioning one of the other men.
“Mine was stubborn,” Athos commented.
“So’s this ‘un.”
“We don’t have time for this and we can’t afford to take prisoners. Assassins deserve no quarter.”
Without hesitation, Porthos drove his dagger into the man’s heart and stood up. “Four more down.” He threw an approving look at Philippe. “Well done, vicomte. We’ll make a musketeer of you in no time.”
The clash of steel on steel told Athos that Cahusac was still engaging the fourth man. “Do you need assistance?” he called.
“In your dreams, musketeer,” Cahusac replied, not even panting, despite the force of the blows he was smoothly parrying. He sidestepped the next attack and launched a blindingly fast high-line strike that slipped past the other man’s guard and took him full in the throat.
“Flashy,” Porthos commented. “You boys ‘ave been practising.”
Cahusac saluted with his bloody sword before wiping it on the fallen body of his opponent and returning it to its scabbard. “Kind of them to leave their horses behind.”
He swung up into the saddle of his own horse and Philippe grabbed the reins of a grey mare, gentling the nervous animal for a moment before springing lightly into the saddle. Roger came at Athos’ whistle as Porthos mounted a thickset black with a white blaze on its nose.
“Let’s hope there’s some fun left for us at the house,” Cahusac commented wheeling his horse to gallop back up the sunken track.
As they neared the mansion, the four riders reined in at the edge of the trees, intending to take stock of the situation before re-joining the fight. The tally Athos had been keeping in his head told him that at least ten of the attackers were dead or serious wounded. Boucher seemed to have been caught awares, throwing his men headlong into a fight against what he must have presumed were grossly outnumbered defenders. But Athos knew there was no room for complacency. They were still facing heavy odds.
He scanned the field quickly, taking in a group of horsemen milling about in the meadow, out of effective musket range. There was no sign of Aramis, Gallagher and Bernajoux. Even experienced marksmen would not take a shot at that distance.
“Philippe, Porthos, they don’t know you were in the woods,” Athos said. “Let’s keep it that way. We don’t need their mounts, so take what there is by way of spare weapons and ammunition in their bags and let’s send their horses back.”
Moments later, spurred on by the flat of their former riders’ hands, the two horses broke into a run across the meadow as Porthos and Philippe melted away into the trees. Taking advantage of the distraction, Athos and Cahusac circled around to the back of the courtyard, returning their mounts to the walled garden before joining Treville and Jussac at the barricade.
Treville raised his eyebrows in enquiry.
“Four dead,” Athos stated. “We were unable to extract any information about the Butcher.”
“I’m not convinced he’s here,” Treville said. “That lot are competent, but nothing special. This could be a distraction.”
“A costly one,” Jussac remarked. “We took down another three and wounded a fourth. It’s been like a rabbit shoot in the Bois de Boulogne.”
“That’s what worries me.” Treville cast his eyes at the buildings surrounding the courtyard and the entrance to the walled garden. “How easy would it be for a small force to outflank us from the rear?”
“With three marksmen in the woods, I hope it would not be too easy a task, but there is always the risk of reinforcements. Perhaps it is time we advanced the plan…”
A sudden flurry of shots broke out in the woods and in the same instant, the milling horsemen set their mounts at the barricade, riding hard and fast.
Treville bent his concentration back to his musket as Jussac swept up the second loaded weapon and searched for a target. They fired as one. A horse swerved away, trailing a rider with his foot caught in a stirrup but a volley of shots exploded around them, sending chips of blackened wood flying into the air. One grazed Athos’ cheek, narrowly missing his eye. Jussac swore luridly as a pistol ball gouged a red furrow across his upper arm.
“How bad?” Treville demanded, drawing his own pistol.
“I can still fight,” Jussac declared calmly.
“Good, you’ll need to,” Athos said. “Come, we have to move. They’re intending to rush the barricade and they still have the numbers to break through if they try hard enough. Leave the muskets, we won’t need them where we’re going. Cahusac and I will cover you.”
Without argument, the two captains tossed their muskets aside and ran for the horses. The moment Athos and Cahusac heard hooves approaching from behind, they took rapid aim, fired at the fast approaching attackers then shoved their pistols back into their belts and grabbed the reins of their own horses being tossed to them and throwing themselves onto their mounts. As Athos pulled himself into the saddle, he silently gave thanks to Treville for forcing his men to train in all manner of cavalry manoeuvres, including a running mount, until it became second nature.
As his horse’s hooves hammered on the beaten earth of the track, he dared a look back over his shoulder and saw the top of the barricades being thrown down and two large horses clearing what was left at speed. They would soon have at least 15 pursuers.
Athos’ job was to lead them into another trap. He just had to make sure they caught the Butcher as well as his men.