Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,122

faintly.

'A ... A favour . . .' he murmured. 'For me . . .'

'Ask it . . .'

'I do not ... I do not . . . want ... to die here . . . Please . . . Not here . . .'

Beneath the trees of the orchard at Dampierre a bitter fight had ensued during the fireworks display.

The Blades and Savelda's mercenaries engaged one another while dazzling Hashes accompanied by loud bangs lit up the foliage before gradually fading into flickers. The changing light sculpted their faces and silhouettes as the steel of their rapiers reflected back the same light as the blood of their wounds and the feverish gleam in their eyes.

A nasty kick and a two-handed blow with the pommel of his sword delivered between the shoulder blades allowed La Fargue to eliminate his first opponent. At last enjoying a moment's respite, he looked around him at the scene revealed by a crackling bouquet that illuminated the whole sky and dispersed into thousands of multicoloured sparkles.

Saint-Lucq, having coolly shot down, at close range, one of the three mercenaries who had rushed him at the beginning of the assault, was now battling the other two with his rapier, holding his pistol by the barrel in his left hand as a parrying weapon. He did not seem to be in any difficulty, in contrast to Laincourt who, having received a pistol ball in the right shoulder, was backed up against a tree and defending himself as best he could. Fortunately Marciac had come to his aid and was fending off three men with his sword and dagger, despite a wound to the arm. The Alchemist had disappeared. But where was the queen?

La Fargue saw her.

Savelda was carrying her off towards the wooden walkway that crossed over the moat. Was the Black Claw's agent intending to reach the garden and then seek refuge in the castle? It would be like throwing himself into the wolfs jaws, but there was no time to ponder the matter.

'The queen!' La Fargue yelled, just before another mercenary engaged him in a duel. 'Savelda has the queen!'

Only a short distance away in the orchard, Saint-Lucq heard his captain's call over the explosions of the fireworks. But he also heard an order to surrender. He had just eliminated a second opponent and, keeping the point of his elegant rapier pressed to the throat of the third, he glanced over his shoulder. Some musketeers were taking aim at him . . .

Alerted by the sound of shots being fired, members of the King's Musketeers patrolling in the domain had rushed to the orchard.

'In the name of the king, cease fighting!'

La Fargue froze, having planted his sword to the hilt in the belly of a freebooter who now clung to him in a close embrace, glassy-eyed, and had started to drool a reddish foam. He allowed the dying man to sink to the ground as he freed his blade with a flick of his wrist and then looked around him.

The musketeers had already surrounded the site and, acting on the commands of their ensign, tightened their ring. They obviously intended to push everyone out from beneath the cover of the trees.

Savelda and the queen were almost at the small wooden bridge.

'Throw down your swords and surrender!' the ensign ordered.

The fight had come to a halt but everyone present still hesitated. The threat of being shot down on the spot, however, overcame any inclination on the part of the Black Claw's mercenaries to resist further. Weakened by his wound, Lain-court was only too happy to slide down to the foot of the tree he had been leaning against . . . and then he passed out. Cautiously, La Fargue and Marciac re-sheathed their swords and slowly backed away from the musketeers, their arms extended from their bodies.

'In the service of the cardinal!' called the old gentleman, between two pyrotechnical explosions.

'Don't shoot!'

'Who's speaking?' demanded the ensign, keeping his distance.

'Captain Etienne-Louis de La Fargue.'

'Never heard of you!'

'Monsieur de Treville knows me.'

But something else drew the young officer's attention.

'What the . . . You! Halt! Don't move!'

La Fargue was horrified to see several muskets turn away from Marciac and him to point instead at Savelda and the queen by the bridge. Anne d'Autriche seemed more dead than alive in the arms of the one-eyed man with the ranse.

'No!' EXCLAIMED THE CAPTAIN OF THE BLADES. 'YoU RISK KILLING THE QUEEn!'

'You should listen to him!' cried Savelda as he retreated up the few