Thanks to all the reviewers.

Nine

It was the early evening the next day when Tristan awoke. He could tell by the mood of the outside world as he sensed it in the tent. He placed his hand on his forehead, as he wondered what the hell had hit him. He hadn't felt this bad since the first time he tasted liquor. He remebered how that episode had ended, as he had found himself face first in the dirt much of the time afterwards.

Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, Tristan forced his body to sit upright. Tristan cursed under his breath, as he had momentarily forgotten his painful wounds. Lifting his right arm to the side, Tristan tried to get a look at the one wound in his right flank. The gash looked to have been attended to at least once or twice, but no more since then. There was a filmy, yellowish pus oozing from his side wound. He couldn't check his other wound on his back because he couldn't see it.

Tristan climbed to his feet in his agony, and walked over to where his weapons had been lain. He took his curved blade and held it horizontal over his head, so to see how his other wound looked. From what he could see of it, the gash looked just as terrible as the one on his side. Tristan slowly, gently, lowered his arms once again. His wounds were in bad shape. He knew he must have taken a beating by the woads, but there had to have been more there than just their swords to make his wounds react in such a manner.

"Damnit," Tristan cursed again under his breath.

He had known men earlier in his scouting career who had been attacked by woads and received similar wounds. They died not many days after, not from the wounds, but from the poison that had inflicted them from the weapons of the woads.

"Poisoned," Tristan murmured to himself, leaning over his belongings, his head pressed against the tent wall.

Tristan closed his eyes and thought of what to do. He couldn't stay here any longer, or Lancelot or someone else would learn of his peril, and surely would not permit him to leave. He admired Lancelot for his nobility, but Tristan needed no nursemaid hovering over him night and day. He would rather fight this sickness that coarsed through his veins then be subject to be babied.

Knowing that Lancelot would probably soon return to 'check up on him,' Tristan knew he must leave without a moment's notice. Tristan dressed as quickly as he could, but felt as if he would vomit or faint everytime he stood straight up. The poison, he could feel, was all ready quickly spreading throughout his body. Tristan knew he had to fight the urge to lay back down, for he feared if he slept, he might never again see the light of day.

Pulling on his boots, Tristan paused a moment to take in some deep breaths. Once he caught his second wind, he collected his weapons and exited through the back of the tent quietly. Peering around the corner of the tent, Tristan had to make sure that there was no one close by to notice his retreat into the woods. While surveying the campground, Tristan almost instantly locked on to Lancelot, whom was busy speaking with another knight. Tristan cursed silently under his breath again, for Lancelot just had to be the one man to be the closest to him at that moment. Tristan shook his head, for he felt like a small child running off on his father. How incredibaly stupid he felt. The only reason he felt he should sneak off anyway was so Lancelot didn't try to force him to stay.

Tristan's horse was tied up near some of the other men's horses. He knew, although he felt ashamed for doing so, that he must leave his faithful steed behind in order to escape. As he carefully and quietly edged himself back into the tall bushes, Tristan suddenly heard the call of his hawk in the sky. His eyes jolted open, for he had forgotten to call down his bird ahead of time!

He tried faintly to whistle to the hawk, that just only kept circling him overhead. Tristan watched the other men, and then looked back up at his hawk.

"Illiana, damn it, you're faithfullness is about to cost me my escape!" he said under his breath.

Suddenly, Tristan bolted into the bushes, not knowing nor caring if anyone had seen him. The hawk screeched again overhead and followed its master into the forest. After Tristan was a decent distance from the campsite, he knew his body would not allow him to go any further. He climbed the nearest tree and settled among its thick branches. He would not let himself fall asleep, though; he dare not fall asleep. He would fight this sickness, no matter what...

Lancelot finished speaking with his companion, and bid him good evening. He had noticed the hawk spiraling above in the sky, but thought nothing of it. He figured he had better go see how Tristan was doing, since he hadn't seen the man ever leave the tent during the day. He hoped that Tristan would be feeling better though, for they had received new orders. They had to report to a new commanding officer at the base of Hadrian's Wall in three days, and Lancelot was supposed to make sure that Tristan made it there as well.

Stopping at the trough, Lancelot drank some water and held the rest in a water skin. He figured that Tristan was probably dying of thirst, among other things. He opened the flap to Tristan's tent, but by then the sun had begun to set, and Lancelot couldn't see a thing in the darkness. He set down the water skin and lit a match across one of the beams.

"Tristan, I--" Lancelot began to say, but stopped when he saw that Tristan was not in his bed.

He walked closer and searched the bed and then noticed that Tristan's clothes and weapons were gone! Letting the burnt out match fall to the ground, Lancelot rushed from the tent and ran to his horse. One of the other knights looked up at him from where he sat as he mounted his grey mare.

"What's the trouble, Lancelot?" the knights asked.

Lancelot leaned over a bit to the other man. "I want you to take out a scouting group into the east, west, and south parts of the forest. I will go northward."

The knight stood, his brown hair flowing in the breeze. "What are we looking for, though, Lancelot?"

Lancelot sat straight up in his saddle and took hold of the reigns. "An injured man...that I'm going to kill if he's not all ready dead..."

The other knight heard the part about an injured man, but not the second part. He just obeyed Lancelot's command and began to round up other men as Lancelot headed into the northern part of the forest...

Night set in quickly, and it was becoming more and more difficult for Tristan to keep his swollen eyes open. Tristan tried to remember if there was an kind of medicine plant that he could use to try and rid himself of the poison, but he couldn't think of any. He knew of some that would slow the poison, but that would have made everything even worse, he thought. He couldn't even get to another camp. All he could do was sit in a tree in the cool night air and hope that the sickness would pass him...

Lancelot knew he had been on the correct trail, for he had spotted Tristan's footprints a few yards back, but then lost them. He manuevered his horse through the dense forest as best as he could. He was beginning to become frustrated after awhile. Where the hell was Tristan, and how the hell could he get so far away in such a short amount of time, on foot, and wounded nonetheless? Lancelot couldn't figure it out as he sat there on his horse, peering around in the darkness.

Then, Lancelot heard the screeching of a hawk flying overhead. He recalled that Tristan had once had a hawk such as this one. It couldn't be his, though, could it? The hawk seemed to circle Lancelot and continued to screech at him.

"All right, I will trust you know the way, hawk," Lancelot said. "Lead me to him."

Lancelot set off again on horseback, bending down in the saddle so not to have his head taken off by tree branches. The hawk never left the sight of Lancelot as he continued to follow it in an area of especially large, thick-branced trees. The hawk screeched one last time, and settled atop one of the branches of a tree. Lancelot dismounted his horse, but kept his weapons at hand, just in case.

"Tristan?" he called out as quietly as possible. "Tristan...Tristan, are you there?"

He stopped and listened for any reply...

Tristan, who was nearly asleep, jolted awake at the sound of a familiar voice nearby. Tristan peered through a couple of branches and saw Lancelot venturing about, calling his name. Before Tristan could say or do anything, though, he noticed another shadow lurking in the bushes. Then, he saw three more, as they slowly and silently inched there way to where Lancelot was blind in the dark.

"Woads..." Tristan said to himself.

He waited for one to be directly under the tree he was in. Without another thought, Tristan jumped from the tree down onto the unsuspecting woad. He quickly stabbed the woad with an arrow, and loaded it into his bow thereafter. Lancelot didn't take the time to say anything to Tristan when he saw him kill the woad, but only drew his twin swords as two woads jumped out at him. He dodged a blow and took out both woads at the same time.

"Nice of you to join me," Lancelot said as he stood near Tristan.

Tristan peered around, searching for the fourth woad he had seen. Then, he saw him retreating back into the forest.

"Kill him, Lancelot, before he warns the rest of them!" Tristan shouted, grabbing his side and kneeling onto the ground.

Lancelot threw his sword where Tristan pointed, striking down the last woad. He quickly ran up to the enemy and reclaimed his sword. Sliding his weapons back into their sheaths, Lancelot returned to Tristan's side. Placing a hand on Tristan's shoulder, Lancelot knelt beside him.

"They were scouts..." Tristan said, laying on his back. "It means there will probably be more soon."

"Or there might not be," Lancelot replied. "What's going on, Tristan; why did you leave?"

Tristan chuckled, but then ended up coughing instead. He turned onto his side as he violently coughed onto the ground. Then, Tristan's body began to shake with chills. Lancelot placed the scout's head in his lap and held him still. He placed a hand on his face, and felt that he was also stricken with fever.

"Poison..." Tristan managed to spit out. "Poisoned..."

Lancelot heard Tristan's faint whispers and finally understood. He threw the knight over his shoulder and struggled to stand up. He finally made it to his horse and lay Tristan over the front of the saddle. He mounted up behind the sickly man, and rode off into the night back to camp...

End, 'Nine.'