Strike

Strike

"You must remember your balance, Andre. You must…" his teacher chided his student, freshly deposited on the floor.

"Maurice…" the young man objected, "I cannot balance, strike, and trip over my feet at the same time…"
The Vodacce smiled, a lock of gray hair came loose, "You seem to be striking and tripping over your feet fairly well…"
Andre gave him a mirthless smile, "Thank you, revered teacher."
Maurice offered him a hand, "What seems to be the problem?"
The young man took it, "You know what it is, it's all that confounded moving that you want me to do… I know it's important. Probably the most important lesson I've got to learn…."
The elderly man nodded, "But that's why it's the hardest, isn't it?" "I guess so." Andre conceded, taking the Vodacce's hand.
That smile again, "You are making improvements, Andre. Your blade is quickening daily…"
"Not enough by my account."
"I have no worries that you will learn this lesson, my young friend, just how you've learned the others."
The young man shook his head, "I wish I had your faith in my abilities."
"You will."

And he did, but he sensed something was wrong.

He emerged from the memory, but it threw his timing off.

DuChevalier scored another hit and it was nasty. Andre spun away, actually bumping into someone.

There was complete chaos in the hall. It was full of people, for one thing…

And light, there was light everywhere… Discarded torches and perhaps a fire down the hall.

Confused, Andre looked back to DuChevalier for some explanation.

Now, the Castillian was shocked. The man's clothing hung in strips on him, dozens of cuts, a few deep, bled on the remnants. He had had no idea that possessed such abilities. His muscles burned from the exertion and pain reminded him that DuChevalier had not taken without giving.

He found his thigh bleeding profusely, his shoulder too, and other places as well suffered from the Montaigne's professional thrusts. Andre's condition was visibly worse than the captain's, but DuChevalier was far more exhausted than he.

A Inquisition guard came from behind the captain, at the same time the Montaigne made another charge for the Castillian. Shaking his head, Andre stepped forward and dispatched the guard.

The anticipated pain from the Musketeer's killing thrust never came, although they stood shoulder to shoulder. For a moment, the Castillian didn't understand. For some type of explanation, Andre chanced a look into the captain's face. Andre found in the same in the captain's own questioning eyes and followed them into the body of the guard behind him. De La Garza nodded to the man on his sword. The Montaigne's eyes widened.

"I think that we're going to have to reevaluate our agreement, Castillian." DuChevalier withdrew his sword.

Andre disarmed a prisoner withdrawing his, "I'm open to suggestion, Musketeer…"

"We could continue this elsewhere," DuChevalier slashed into another guard, who screamed.

"And our associates?" Andre looked around for Bevier. He knew that his Montaigne friend was most likely behind this. As he expected, Bevier was gone.

"Them as well," the captain conceded, he shoved another guard, who hit the wall and slumped to the floor.

"How about this, DuChevalier…" Andre parried a club wielding prisoner, "I tell you what I know, and you let us go."

"How do I know that you would be telling the truth?" Considering the suggestion, DuChevalier tripped the same prisoner.

"What about a poor man's honor? Can it not be proven?" Andre asked, "How do I know that you'll let us go?" Andre continued, clubbing the prisoner to the floor.

"Well thought of," The musketeer nodded, "We have an agreement then…"

Another body bumped into Andre.

"Bevier?"

Surprisingly, it was Andre's mysterious Montaigne friend, "Andre, time to go…"

"Are you responsible for this?" Andre backhanded a guard.

"Yes and no." Bevier answered, evading a chair.

"Explain." Andre said curtly.

"We really don't have the time…" Bevier ducked a well aimed waste pot.

A gunshot.

"We are my musketeers?" DuChevalier asked, shoving a prisoner off of him.

"Busy, Captain…" Bevier said, wincing as another gunshot went off…

DuChevalier grabbed him, in the process, elbowing another unfortunate, "I can guess that they're busy… Where are they busy, little man?"

Bevier's eyes glowed with defiance.

Andre intervened, "Alright," he placed his hand on DuChevalier's arm, "That's enough." He faced Bevier, "Where are they, Bevier?"

"Last time I checked, two halls down…" Bevier answered, agitated.

"Captain, let's go." Andre made for the halls that Bevier had indicated.

DuChevalier released Bevier.

"Andre, we can't help him…" Bevier told him, eyeing the musketeer.

"Bevier," Andre grabbed him to his face, "I don't know what's going on between you and the Musketeers, but for now, forget it," He released him, "I can only deal with one crisis at a time…" he shoved a guard that was in his way into a wall for effect.

Bevier reddened, stole a glance at DuChevalier, and then sighed, "Alright…"

"Good man," Andre said, "Let's go."

DuChevalier's musketeers were indeed just down the hall.

One of them landed on Bevier the minute he rounded the corner.

The Inquisition had arrived and although the Musketeers had whittled them down to a manageable few, those few were the strongest and most gifted with the sword.

One in particular towered above the rest, his head inches from the low ceiling.

"Musketeers!!!" he bellowed, "A bit far from your home aren't we?"

"Who, in Theus' good name, is that?" Bevier asked from underneath the Musketeer.

The musketeer scrambled off of Bevier, "It should be what, Master Bevier… What, in Theus' good name, is that?"

DuChevalier disarmed an Inquisitor that charged him, then punching him unconscious. "He is the Torturer, my naļve countryman, and he is a fate worse than death. He is one of many of Verdugo's henchmen that delight in others pain."

Another musketeer was thrown into a wall.

An amused roar.

Andre sidestepped another Inquisitor and threw him to the wall, "I told you it could get worse, Bevier…"

"Get them up, De La Garza, I'll deal with this," DuChevalier said, brandishing his sword, "Remy," indicating the musketeer that had just crawled off of Bevier, "Help him."

"Yes, captain." The musketeer answered.

The captain pushed past his fellows, challenging the beast of a man, "If were so far from home, animal, how far are you?"

In response, his adversary ripped out a guard bench and threw it at the Captain of the Lightning Guard.

It missed, but barely. It stuck the ground with such force, it splintered explosively. There were cries of dismay all around.

Nevertheless, the musketeer Remy sounded the call to regroup. The remaining Inquisitors were easily dispatched as the Musketeers gained an apparent second wind from the appearance of their captain.

Nodding as the musketeers set about helping their comrades, DuChevalier set steel to the brute, dragging a line from his stomach to the bottom of his neck, "Come my friend, I haven't seen much of the Castillian etiquette. Educate me…"

"I'll educate you, fop, I'll educate you a new face…" The Torturer came at him.

DuChevalier exchanged a look with Andre.

"And a devilish wit as well…" And the captain ran down an opposite hall with the Torturer on his heels, cursing him.

"Andre, I think he's outmatched." Bevier said, helping a limping Musketeer to another.

"Remy! Tell me where we're going," Andre hastily sheathed his sword and took a torch from a sconce, "He may be, Bevier, then again, he may not."

"Down the left passage and to the right at the intersection," Remy answered.

Bevier hit a guard that was just regaining consciousness with something suitably blunt, "I thought I heard that you two came to an agreement…"

"We did," Andre said, picking up another musketeer, and pointing the direction that Remy had indicated. The musketeer nodded in response, "Have we got them all?" Andre asked.

"Almost." Remy spoke up.

There was a terrific clash of steel down the hall where the captain and the brute had gone down. Andre did a quick double take, that had been quick.

Bevier had spotted the last musketeer at the corner of that hall.

Torch waving, he waded through some more prisoners escaping past him.

Another clash of steel and a familiar grunt.

Bevier had just reached the last man when DuChevalier was thrown past him.

"Captain!" Remy cried.

"Bevier!" Andre yelled, because he was certain he knew what was coming out next. He readied his blade.

And the man came, initially searching for DuChevalier, but finding in his way, Bevier and the musketeer under the Montaigne's steadying arm. "Who're you?" The Torturer demanded.

Surprisingly, Bevier stood tall and didn't balk, "The last thing you'll ever see…"

He brought up the torch and thrust its flaming coals into his face. More importantly, the Torturer's eyes.

The Torturer roared and charged into the group.

Remy brought out his gun and fired it.

The monster's chest exploded, but his groping hands found a drowsy DuChevalier. He lifted the musketeer up with one hand, while the other grasped his face.

He pressed the captain into the stone ceiling, intending to crush him against it.

Andre charged the beast, his sword ringing. With one cut and two slashes into it, the Torturer dropped the captain to the floor.

"Other way, Torturer." Andre said with steel in his voice.

The man stumbled down another hall, cursing all the way.

Kneeling quickly beside the captain, Andre turned him over, "Captain? Are you alright?"

"Surprised you're still here, Castillian…" came a groggy reply.

"How surprised?" Andre asked as he threw the captain's arm around his neck.

DuChevalier smiled a bloody smile, "Not very…"

"Remy…give me a…" Andre stopped in mid-sentence.

Bevier guided the other arm of the captain to his shoulder.

"Glad you could join us, countryman…" DuChevalier said with a hint of sarcasm.

Bevier grabbed the man's waist, "Glad to be here, captain…"

Andre smiled.

Riposte

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