The Mage Queen by R A Dodson

Author:R A Dodson [Dodson, R A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: musketeers, Historical fantasy, swashbuckling, 17th century france, france
Publisher: OtherLove Publishing, LLC
Published: 2020-05-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 37

Blood sprayed from the would-be gunman’s torso, and he slumped against the dead horse pinning him. One of the two men engaged with Aramis swung around at the noise and Aramis’ blade flashed, catching him across the throat. The final man yelled, enraged, and lunged forward viciously. Aramis twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the blade, and attempted to trap the sword between his blanket-wrapped forearm and his torso. The pair wrestled for control, and d’Artagnan saw three riders approaching them from outside of Aramis’ field of view.

D’Artagnan quickly re-holstered his pistol and took up his sword again. Urging Rosita forward, he threw caution to the wind and shouted, “Aramis! Enemy riders behind you!”

Aramis jerked his head toward the noise, and then around to see the others approaching from behind, grappling for control of the blade all the while. Bringing his sword arm up to wrap around the back of his opponent’s neck, he surged in closer and kneed the other man in the groin. The soldier staggered back and Aramis stepped forward, his left hand reaching up toward d’Artagnan in the moonlight.

Understanding his intent instantly, d’Artagnan urged Rosita forward into a canter. Holding his breath in concentration, he dropped the reins two strides before he reached his friend and stretched his left arm out, feeling the solid slap of flesh on flesh as they grasped each other, hand to wrist. D’Artagnan braced hard against the stirrups, using momentum to help Aramis swing up behind him on the mare’s broad back. The other man overbalanced for a moment; then recovered, wrapping an arm around d’Artagnan’s waist.

“Thank you for that,” Aramis said, sounding as polite and urbane as if he hadn’t single-handedly just fought off three men and nearly been shot by a fourth.

“Don’t mention it,” d’Artagnan said, aware that his own voice was not nearly so steady.

“Company,” Aramis warned as the enemy riders approached. “You defend the left side; I’ve got the right.”

“I should’ve followed Athos’ example and practiced sparring left-handed,” d’Artagnan muttered as he twisted awkwardly in the saddle to slash at a rider crowding close to Rosita’s neck. Rosita squealed and plowed into the man’s horse with her uninjured shoulder, rocking it back onto its haunches.

“Probably,” Aramis agreed as the enemy rider slid sideways to the ground, landing awkwardly but managing to keep his feet. “Ah, well—live and learn. There’s always the next battle.” Busy trading blows with a second rider, d’Artagnan felt Aramis jerk and hiss in pain behind him as the third rider landed a hit on him, but the uninterrupted clang of metal on metal reassured him that it must not have been a serious wound.

“All right?” he asked anyway, as the arm that had been wrapped around his middle disappeared. He felt Aramis twist behind him, steadying his left arm against d’Artagnan’s shoulder blades, and winced at the noise and recoil as the other man fired his pistol from that awkward position. The second rider dropped like a brick.

“Never better,” Aramis said.

“You had a loaded pistol.

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