Riposte
The Montaigne held the musketeer's hand. Intertwined in Bevier's fingers was a pendant chain holding a cross of Theus. A few hours ago, Bevier's attitude might have been different. But du Paix had carried this man through the dark streets of Vaticine City after he and the others had escaped that city's jail. There were more Musketeers, them also carrying fallen and injured comrades. But the injured outnumbered the walking, and Bevier did not hesitate to carry the Musketeer. He may be a Musketeer, Bevier reasoned, but he was still a man. A man that may die far from anyplace that he would call home.
Bevier shook his head; he didn't even know the man's name. The Montaigne should have passed into sleep as soon as they had found this place; an abandoned inn outside the main city. Though he was uninjured, his frame was slighter than the man he carried, and the night had been suspenseful, escaping the Inquisition and to keep eluding them with such a burden had spent him. But there had been many times that he looked into this man's face. And not at his bloodied tabard. The musketeers and the one that they served had cost Bevier much, and he didn't know that even pious forgiveness would come to him. It hadn't, but a calm acceptance did. There were sins that could not be righted by flawed mortal justice. Only righted by a divine court, he thought, let Theus judge these men, because there was no punishment that Bevier could think of that could right his wrongs. In some ways, Bevier envied Andre and his lost memory. The ability to look at a foes face and not feel the hatred caused by all the harm that they had caused. To be blissfully ignorant of it, to have your mind free and untested by it. Bevier was not a vengeful man, not by nature, and hate was nearly alien to him, and it was this, most of all, that he despised the Musketeers and their king for. For teaching him this hate. A hate that faith could not wholly cure, a hate that had hardened his normally gentle soul. Above all, that was the Musketeers' crime. But the Musketeers had suffered. Not the whole of them, but these few headed by DuChevalier. Bevier could see it, but it gave him no comfort. No feeling of justice executed. Instead, he felt pity and sorrow for his rightful enemy. The day had been costly for them, and it could be measured in their blood. The musketeer moaned. Bevier closed his eyes. There was nothing else to be done for him. If he survived the night, he would live, the Musketeer's doctor had done all that he could for their comrade. Mindful of the cross in his hand, Bevier whispered a quick prayer for the unknown musketeer. Not for his justice to be done. But for the man to be spared of it.The night was dark and only the moonlight shined through the shattered windows of this abandoned inn. On the outskirts of the main city, it had been the refuge of the Musketeers on their escape from the Inquisition. But their escape was still too fresh, as DuChevalier would not risk any type of flame, not even candlelight to treat the wounded.
Bevier heard a heavy tread approach. His face flushed immediately. "How is he?" DuChevalier asked. "Alive," Bevier said, unable to keep the edge from his voice, "If only." The floor creaked, "How can you hold me responsible for this?" he asked in a hushed tone, "How can you hold me anymore responsible than I could?" Bevier blew out a restrained breath, "No, captain," he said, "I suppose I cannot." The captain asked, "Is that the pious man speaking, the man of faith that can blame no one but the One, or I it someone else?" "A reasonable man, if any, captain." Bevier said, "Andre said it before� That my own problems, my own differences with the Musketeers�" He glanced at DuChevalier, "Can wait." "A reasonable man indeed, should most have such a friend�" DuChevalier looked out the window and into the empty street, "These times would be far less perilous and trying." "Your men�" Bevier asked almost hesitantly. "Yes?" The captain responded. "Would they object to a prayer on their behalf?" "If there were such an objection, it would not be voiced." Bevier nodded. "Tell me," DuChevalier said, "Who is this man? This man who has only questions and little answers? A man that dresses the part of a vagabond, who can remind a Musketeer of the subtleties of honor? A man who bore no blade, but can wield one with such deadly purpose? A man whose only friend, was born in a country of his homeland's current enemy?" Bevier closed his eyes. If there was a face to his hatred, if it could wear such a mask� It would be DuChevalier's. But the man now was not the mask of Bevier's hate. There was compassion in his eyes, and weariness in his broad shoulders. As with the man that Bevier held the vigil over, he could only see the man now. Bevier sighed. "A broken man," Bevier answered, "a great one before he was struck down, before he lost all that was dear to him, whose memory was taken so that he could not even remember those he loved, how they died, or even mourn their loss." "But his memory is coming back to him," The captain reasoned, "If only to torment him." "But to remind him, also," Bevier said, "of who he was, so that he can aspire to become that person once again." "He will go mad." DuChevalier said with certainty, "Or he will be stronger for it. Tell me, if you know, what kind of man was he as his memory lapsed?" Bevier shook his head, "Evil, because of his emptiness, but not yet mad of it. When I found him, he was a bandit in the Eisen forest, robbing and killing his victims. He nearly killed me, before�" The Montaigne paused. He glanced out the shattered glass of the window. There was an uncomfortable silence. "Before?" DuChevalier apologized, "I'm sorry, but before what?" "There was nothing in his eyes� Nothing as he waylayed me, nothing as he took my money, and nothing as he began to choke me to my death�" Bevier reflected on the musketeer's bandaged face, "Oddly, I was saved by my faith, though at the time, I was certain my time was ending. I had one breath, but one for the opportunity to plead once more for my life. Before he finished me his hold loosened enough for me to breathe and for me to struggle in his grip. But to my own surprise, I did not plead for my life, I pleaded for his�" Bevier stared off, "What was it? What did I say? By Theus, it seems so long ago�." Bevier brought his hands to his chin, " 'Have you nothing to live for? Have you no fear of Theus? Have you no family or sons�'" the Montaigne shook his head, "There was something there, although he continued to throttle me for a little while longer� And he had nearly finished me� But then� "But then he stopped," Bevier said, "It was the oddest thing, where before there was nothing, no glimmer of emotion, even when he was doing so many terrible things to my person, there was something� Something there. He didn't release me right away. But his hold loosened enough for me to breathe� " 'I have a son,' he said, and that had been the first thing he had ever said, 'his name is Talen, but I've lost him, I've lost him�' he looked at his hands as almost� like almost they were not his� "As he stooped over me, his hands strong around my neck, restraining me, but no longer trying to kill me, 'Why haven't I remembered this before? Why haven't I�' he asked himself. And then he looked at me and released me. He walked away as I rolled to my knees and rubbed my neck. I'll admit that I was confused, I didn't understand, but I could no longer speak. But as I knelt there, trying to find my voice, two things were thrown to me�" Bevier paused, catching the enthralled look on DuChevalier's face. The captain gave him an expectant look, "Continue." Bevier smiled, "My purse and his waterbottle." "And the man that waylayed, robbed, and attempted to kill you?" DuChevalier asked. "I can say with certainty that I never saw that man again. But the confused one I see more than I would like to admit. I have no doubt that the madman is still within him, but I never see it," Bevier said, "It was only the slimmest memory of his son that transformed him, the very thought of his son that redeemed him. That is why he needs to find him. He needs to find his son, its more a part of him than I could possibly know." "Has he remembered more? More about the man he was?" the Musketeer asked. Du Paix stared at his pendant, "Every day, it seems like," he traced its lines with his hand, "every day, his back gets a little straighter, his resolve more relentless. You see it, sometimes, just a glimmer here and there, and I think�" he looked at the captain, "That when he fully comes to realize his full potential� he will not be that man only�" Bevier stared directly into DuChevalier's eyes. "He will be greater."Return to Uncommon Valor