, , , She was woken up by the rustle of the straw and propped herself up on her elbow. A moment later he put his hand on the handle of his sword and looked at the interior of the stables. He took several breaths, calming his beating heart.
There it was again. He was not a horse. They were the steps of men trying to hide their point of view. Relaxed, Laurel instructed herself as she found her feet without making a sound.
Laurel took several stealthy steps and peeped around the corner to see the shadowy silhouettes of the three men. One looked back, and he pressed himself against the wall, biting his lip to stop the swift intake of air that would reveal his presence.
When she was convinced that the men were once again focused on entering the inn, she stumbled from inside her vest and pulled out the small pistol that had once belonged to her mother. Reached inside his cloak again and took out a ball and powderhorn. Carefully, she primed the weapon and, without making a sound, set out to chase the three uninvited visitors. His mouth fell wide open as soon as he saw them leaning against the side of the building and on a ladder next to the window. That was the room of Athos, wasn’t it?
Laurel awkwardly held the gun in her mouth and sent a quick prayer to the Almighty, before testing her ability or lack of scale to scale walls, especially with the gun in her mouth. Drops of sweat were dripping down his forehead, and he did not dare to drive them away, but had to let them prick his eyes. His arms trembled because of the pressure and his mouth trembled. Parbleu, the gun was heavier and bigger than it looked, and she couldn’t afford to lose it and take it off.
She finally went inside through the second story window, gasping for breath and snatching the gun from her mouth. His hands were still trembling as he turned the gun down again and looked for the servants’ entrance into Athos’ room, hoping that he might not have thought to turn it off. He felt bad about this. really bad.
As he opened the servants’ entrance, he heard the spreading tale of a wheel lock, and he propelled himself into the chamber, shouting “Athos” at the top of his lungs.
Athos woke up in no time to see a man pointing a loaded gun at his head, and he rolled over as the gun shattered the stillness of the night. He was quick enough to save his life, but not so quick to escape the bullet as it hit the flesh of his right shoulder, leaving the bone narrowly blown away. When he grabbed the sword with his left hand, he still cried in agony.
Seeing that another assailant who had just entered the room was preparing to fire at the wounded and defenseless man, Laurel aimed, raised his weapon and pulled the trigger.
This was a time when she was grateful that her mother had one of the first flintlocks. The man fell back with a scream of anguish, clutching at what was left of his face before he died. He threw the empty gun aside and drew his sword, quickly removing the other blade from Athos.
Athos retreated and turned to counter his opponent’s onslaught, winning as the impact jolted his useless and bleeding shoulder. He was unwilling to meet his producer tonight, he informed himself as he shooed his rival away with a mighty push. He turned and whispered, parryed and dodged as he battled against the nausea and buzz in his own head. Slowly, he delivered another blow, cursing the injury that prevented him from fighting with his usual brutal effectiveness.
Still, he had to put an end to it quickly before the man wore it down and killed him. Desperate, he sent a prayer to God gasping for air, hoping that as Aramis once claimed in a similar situation, “You see that there is a God.”
Athos shouted and charged towards his opponent, catching him off guard, and he felt the blade pushing the man who had sunk to his knees, as if bleeding from his open guts. Mercifully, he lost consciousness before the loss of blood killed him.
It was then that Athos saw his defender cut off the final assassin and clean it before sheathing the sword. Athos made a clumsy attempt to remove his blade from the dead man’s body, but only staggered.
Laurel’s head exploded when she heard the musketeer stumble, and she ran towards him, placing her hand under his good shoulder and leading him back to the bed. “Come, Athos, help me,” she said, her words coming amidst a gust of wind. “I have to get you on this bed before you fall. I’m not strong enough to do this on my own. Come on, help me, man.” help me, You’re too heavy for me to back off on my own.” At least when she was as tired as she was now.
A loud voice came from outside in the corridor, “Athos, are you okay? Answer me, are you okay? Open the door.” Knocked on the door but barely locked it.
Laurel looked over her shoulder while laying Athos on the bed, and Porthos followed him, hitting the broken door, Aramis and what remains of d’Artagnan.
The musketeers stopped short as they took the three bodies and the young man standing in the stable of Athos. “Don’t just stand there,” ordered Laurel as she tore the cloth away from Athos’ shoulder to reveal the bullet wound. “Help me save his life or at least his arm.”
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