Book 1: The Queen's Musketeers, #1 by R. A. Steffan

Author:R. A. Steffan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: d'artagnan, dumas, musketeers, black death, alternate history
Publisher: R. A. Steffan
Published: 2015-02-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter V

THE OVERWHELMING BLAST of noise and rumble of shifting stonework that wrenched d’Artagnan from sleep some unknown amount of time later was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Disoriented, ears ringing, he flailed toward the wall next to the bed before remembering where he was. Turning the other way, he grabbed for his sword belt, pistol, and dagger in the dark.

The smell of smoke and gunpowder assaulted his nose as he quickly donned his shirt and weapons belt and pulled on his boots; his eyes adjusting rapidly to the faint moonlight coming through the window. D'Artagnan had no idea what was happening, but decided that drawing attention to himself by lighting a candle would be too great a risk in such an uncertain situation.

Creeping through the doorway in a macabre re-enactment of the previous night, he made it only a few steps before an arm snaked around his neck from behind and he was dragged backward into the shadows, a blade pressed to his throat as he cried out in surprise.

"D'Artagnan?" a voice hissed in his ear.

"Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked in reply, suddenly remembering his new friend's self-confessed tendency toward insomnia. Instantly, the arm and blade disappeared.

"Yes, it's me," Aramis whispered. "Keep your voice down."

"What's happening?" d'Artagnan whispered back, heart still pounding.

"I don't know," said the other man, grounding him with a steady hand at the junction of his neck and shoulder. "But that was a bomb, and it went off somewhere in this wing. Come... hurry!"

D'Artagnan followed Aramis' guiding hand down the hallway, the smoke and dust becoming thicker as they progressed until they could just make out where it was coming from in the darkness. It was a room with which d'Artagnan was unfamiliar; its doors blown halfway off the hinges. Aramis froze, his hand clenching convulsively around d'Artagnan's shoulder.

"Oh God in Heaven, no," he moaned as if struck. "Ana's room!"

D'Artagnan's mouth opened and closed in shock. After a moment, he whispered, "We need light, Aramis!"

Aramis was silent for a beat before replying, "No. No, this won't be the end of it. They'll still be coming, and they'll need light of their own to find their way through the castle. Carrying lights will only make us targets."

"They?" D'Artagnan echoed, feeling completely out of his depth. "Who are they?"

"Ana María's enemies," Aramis replied grimly, leaving d'Artagnan considerably confused as to why a sweet young woman like Ana would possibly have enemies.

Before he could ask any more questions, torches flooded the hallway from the far end, momentarily blinding him. A bellow of rage sounded amidst the lights, and one torch fell to the ground, still clenched in its dead owner's hand.

"Aramis!" Porthos yelled from within the confusion of flame and men, and Aramis disappeared from d'Artagnan's side like a shot, flinging himself toward the fray.

"Porthos, down!" he barked, waiting a beat before firing both pistols into the mass of men. Two more torches dropped, and Aramis drew his sword and waded into the fray as Porthos staggered back to his feet and began cutting down opponents with broad strokes of his schiavona.

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