"We move out tonight, Ysira," Livinko told her. "Under cover of darkness. I don't wish to announce our departure to any Bakh spies who may be here in town." Though the likelihood of such an occurrence was rather low and the logistical difficulties of quietly moving out a bunch of rowdy drunks in the dead of night were many, his lieutenants still strained to hear his plan over the noise of the crowded tavern. "We head south, following the River Licur, into the desert lands. We will rendezvous with Sachkov's forces here," he said, tapping a bony finger at a point on the map spread on his table. Just north of Al-Ribat. "Chances are good we'll beat them to the rally point by at least a day or two," he said, a straight-toothed smile incongruous under the gaping hole where his eye had been. "In which case holding the roads will fall to us."<br/><br/>His lieutenants spent the next hour or two until sundown trying to kick awake those who had trouble holding their liquor, while also trying to convince those who could to put down their ale. Though no drums or fifes announced their departure from Syvatlo, the loud cursing of stumbling drunks and occasional snatch of slurred song did the job just as well.<br/><br/>Though no military strategist, Katerina could see the problems with this. Indeed, by the time daylight broke, it was clear at least a dozen men had dropped out of the company during the night march. Most likely passed out drunk on the side of the road.<br/><br/>Additionally, it seemed like the entirety of issued rations for anyone was a small wedge of cheese. Though they carried plenty of weapons, Livinko seemed to have forgotten that troops need to eat as well. At some point, the company would have to stop at one of the little villages along the Licur and buy supplies.