Chapter Four

The girl was thrashing again. She was mumbling to. But it was incoherent. She wasn't making sense. Then it went quiet again. She was not moving. She wasn't making noises. That is, until she let out a panicked scream. He winced, almost covering his ears. What was wrong with her? He picked his way through the now tossing harem of knights to her side away from the group. Maybe it was the herbs Lancelot had forced Dagonet to give her, it was something to make her sleep so she wouldn't leave. He shook his head, she was a prisoner. He didn't like holding people captive, unless, of course, they were enemies. But even then, he rather kill them and be rid of the stench.

Tears were streaming her face. Fear etched every shadow that the full moon had painted. Why was she afraid? What was scaring the seemingly fearless woman? He laid his hands on her shoulders, gently shaking her awake, "Shh. You're dreaming, stop screaming or you'll wake the others." Tristan sighed as the girl quieted to a few whimpers. That's when he noticed her bare arms; they were peppered with small bumps. She was cold. He felt the overwhelming urge to stroke her skin until the evidence of the cold vanished beneath his fingertips. But he mentally stabbed himself for thinking such foolish things. His eyes swept the area for a cloak to put over her shivering frame. She slept on her own. He sighed again, taking his own to cover the body beside him.

As soon as his warm cloak touched her body, her eyes snapped open. They shone with such fear that Tristan's eyes softened. For once, he showed the emotion he held. He shivered as he felt her cold hand snake out and plant a firm grip on his arm, "They're coming." That was all she said before her eyelids closed and her breathing deepened. Her grip did not cease.

There was a rustle behind him, his head spun to face the noise. Twenty or more Woads glared weapons ready. "Woads!" The rest of the knights scrambled up, weapons in hand and ready to fight. The woman sat up like she had been caught off guard. She looked at Tristan and her eyes flew to her hand on his arm. Disgust rang through her eyes as she pulled it back. He rose, drawing his sword.

She blinked, staring at the scene around her. There were Woads, seemingly everywhere around her. The Woads did not surprise her; it was waking to have her hand on the scout's arm. She actually had expected the Woads to return. They had after all, lost their bargaining tool; they had lost her to the knights. The exact opposite of what they planned. She didn't plan on saying with either of the groups. She felt groggy, she felt like she had burned the seeds her tribe used in ceremonies.

A Woad fell beside her, the young knight panting where the Woad used to stand. "Lady, you either fight and defend yourself or die. I can't protect you all the time." Leilia let her growl sound this time. In one motion her body rose, flinging the cloak from her body. She crouched slightly, pulling a dagger from her thigh high leather riding boots. She smirked as she turned, quickly connecting her dagger to a Woad behind the knight. "We are even then," The knight smiled, feeling her back against the front of his not armoured chest. "We are even, Lady. I am Galahad." He swung around her, using his short sword to pierce another Woad's belly.

"Call me, Leilia, Knight." Her bow drew back, letting loose three arrows at once. "Galahad, Leilia." She smirked again, before fading into the small battle. Woads fell around her, but not by her sword. Her bow swung around onto her back, her sword now in hand. Fireworks exploded in her vision, spraying her onto the soft ground. She rolled to her back, glaring up at a tall Woad. "You," his lean body towered over her as she stood, "shall die now." He smirked, a wrong move. Her sword stung the air, singing gently in harmony with his body. A splash of blood showered her face as his neck exposed to air.

Another attack from behind, she smelt him coming. He was slow for a Woad. Perhaps he was older, out of his prime. She need to confirm her suspicion. Her body whirled around to face her attacker, she was right. He was elder then the rest of the warriors. Some respect emanated from her towards their race. They allowed anyone to fight, like her own. Romans pampered their women until they screeched in the face of blood and their nails held more importance over a sword. Her sword returned to her scabbard as the familiar 'zing' of coiled wire against wooden beads sounded in the air. She easily spun around him in a sloppy crescent. The garrotte pulled tight around his neck, choking his life away; bit by bit she smothered his flame slowly until a trickle of blood flowed from the corners of his mouth. His body fell to the ground at her feet with a dull thud. She half expected another attack, but none came. Her eyes lifted to the knights, taking stock of what they had done. Her eyes connected to Lancelot's momentarily but she whipped them away only for them to fall onto the scout. He nodded slightly, like he acknowledged her for something.

"Five," Dagonet called from a few metres away.

"Three," The fat one called from further.

"Four," The one called Galahad called back.

"Six," called their commander.

"Five, no six," Lancelot seemed the happiest.

"Five as well," the lion groaned.

"Seven," The dull emotionless voice sounded in her ears. She sighed, feeling suddenly inadequate compared to the seasoned knights. "And you?' She coughed. Why was it the scout didn't acknowledge her by name or even called her Lady? She shook her head.

"Only three," she murmured. The knights were silent. Why did they not speak? "Who killed that Woad then?" Her eyes drew up to the Blue Ghost the scout pointed to. Three head shots. One even made it into the eye. All the knights shook their heads. "Had no time to draw my bow," the fat one seemed oddly disappointed. All eyes turned on her, all posing the same question. 'Did you?' She didn't need to answer. "Yeah, she did it. She wasn't looking either." She groaned, seeing Galahad peering at the arrows. "Besides, it's obvious. Her arrows are different then any of ours."

"When did you learn bow, Leilia? The Roxolani don't use bows." She bit her lip, waiting for the iron to touch her tongue before she looked to Lancelot. He looked almost worried. "Many years ago," she sighed as she spoke. He opened his mouth again, closed it, and then shook his head. She restrung her garrotte into the painted black and white beads as she walked back to where she had slept. She could hear the knights discussing what had happened. "Why would they attack? We are not above the wall. We're too far south of the wall to warrant this attack." She kept her eyes low, trying not to direct attention to herself. "We work for the Romans; we are targets no matter where we go. The Woads are barbaric, they will kill us no matter where." The lion spoke then.

"I do not think that they attacked us for that reason. They attacked us because of the one we are harbouring." The knights looked at her again, wonder filling their eyes. She turned around, glaring down the scout. She wanted to march over to him and kill him. But somehow, she knew that she could not. He could probably kill her faster then she could unsheathe her sword. Still, she better think something up before they asked questions. "They would not be after me," she held the scout's gaze, "if it were not for you knights." Her eyes went back to her stallion, searching for injuries. There were none. The horse bowed to accommodate his injured rider as she sorely mounted him.

"Where are you headed, Lady?" She turned her head to the side, letting her hair fall behind her face. She looked to the commander trying to decide what answer was best. She had not chosen the proper answer to the previous unasked question. They would have more questions and she didn't intend to stay around for them. She didn't trust any of them. Even if they were of her country, they had suffered far too many years in the Roman world and no matter how much they denied it, they had some Roman flowing through their veins. "Where ever Arvakur sees fit, Roman, and I can promise that will not be any where near you and your prisoners."

One of the knights coughed and she had a sneaking suspicion of who it was. She nodded to the scout, her eyes completely missing Lancelot's. She clicked her tongue and the roan stepped into motion. Two hooves above the ground at a time as he weaved around the trees. Her eyes held forward, scanning each tree as it passed. She did not feel the eyes following her from all directions and she did not see them. But they saw her, they were always watching and they say her tracker.