It was decided that Ben and five others would go into the forests and track down the missing scouts. These numbered the two already ordered to keep an eye on the enigmatic man, Corporals Aetna, and Pritchett, Private Tillby who was a particularly good tracker, Private Grimby who had a knack for explosives. Sergeant Davies was to tag along, his purpose in life to bark orders and to keep them all in line.

Some engineers were stripping down the explosives from the bridge and digging up the gunpowder, spooling up the fuse. Others were digging holes in the beach, in the area between the fort and the forest. The powder barrels were placed at the bottom of the holes, fuses set, and waiting to be lit.

Losing the scouts had riled up the Admiral, and he wanted to be as prepared as possible for a future fight, even if it meant blowing up the whole beach.

The warship Mastiff had ended her respite down the river and was now loading up the troops not necessary on the beach. From a half-misheard conversation that he was not supposed to be in earshot for, Ben understood that the Admiral planned to find another way inland. This made Harry the fisherman very unhappy as he would have to remain on the Mastiff and guide it, to success or ruin.

The fishing boat would remain behind in case the search for the scouts went very badly indeed and all the remaining troops would have to be evacuated in a hurry.

Ben disliked that idea greatly, as looking at the small stature of the boat, he wondered if the Admiral planned on most of them dying in the forests. What was worse, the Sergeant spat very near Ben's shoes when he heard the man would tag along.

"He's weird," said Sergeant Davies, in protest.

"I'm weird."

"Yes, but I respect you."

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't, but I do my job. I follow orders. And this situation is squirrely enough that I don't need an inexperienced tag-a-log tourist gumming up the works."

"Everett's a lot of things, but inexperienced is probably the least of them. And before you continue fighting me on this and turn my hair from silver to white in exasperation, you can toss him at any trouble whatsoever. This is why I'm giving him to you." The Admiral said.

"And you think he'll just go along with all this?"

"Why does he have to know?"

"Excuse me, Admiral, as I'm not an educated fellow. But don't you think that he might notice my boot on his back as I shove him towards the enemy?" asked the Sergeant.

"Either way, things don't work out, feel free to shoot him. I really just want to see what he's made of, and how useful he might be," said Ross.

"But..."

Ross put his hand on Sergeant Davies' shoulder and squeezed.

"Things are strange and unusual in this day and age, dear Sergeant. We must all gather our courage in such times and stop questioning the authority that got us this far in the first place."

"That sounds awfully noble of you, sir."

"That tongue of yours will get you lashed one day, Petey," said Ross. "Get me my guns and then we'll have us a nice long talk about kings and their nobility, or lack thereof."

Sergeant Davis spat on the ground as he watched the Admiral turn and walk away. Davis vaguely remembered actually liking the man at the beginning of their journey. He tried to keep in mind the image of the Royal City as they pushed off the dock. Even if he wanted to defy Van Bahn, going back without guns and powder was suicide. He'd either be executed for treason or tossed in a cell for the failure.

He took a long look at Everett sitting on a stump, sipping at a cup of coffee. Perhaps he was a plant. One wrong move and he'd rat him out to the Admiral or worse, shoot him in the back of the head when he least expected.

"Alright, gather up!" the Sergeant shouted.

Ben was quite enjoying his cup of coffee. He picked up the small container that housed the sugar, tilting and applying sugar generously to the coffee. He could see that the Sergeant was in quite a huff, stomping across the beach as if trying to cause an earthquake. Ben made eye contact for a second and the man's bright blue eyes bore into him, seething rage. Ben smiled at him and waved, but the Sergeant turned his head and missed the interaction.

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The man then started yelling and spitting on the ground. Ben decided to ignore him and focus on enjoying the coffee. It was important to enjoy the small stuff. Plus, the fact that he might be able to bring forth fire out of nothing was surely a step forward in figuring out what in the hell he was supposed to do here. Although his palms were itching something fierce.

Aetna shook him out of his thoughts a few minutes later. She had a rifle over her shoulder, two pistols in slings at her sides, two in the belt. She also carried a heavy pack and multiple horns full of gunpowder. A similar pack was placed at Ben's feet. He could not help but notice that it was almost double the size of Aetna's pack.

"Right, pick on the new guy."

"We all have to start somewhere. You're starting at just below the bottom, on account of you being crazy, or a spy."

Ben gulped down the rest of his coffee, put down the cup, and groaned. The pack was very heavy and the gears of hard work had become somewhat rusted in Ben. They moved with great effort and so did Ben.

Climbing up the ridge was a struggle, as the pack kept dragging him backward. The laughs from the rest of the troops on the beach were only a little bit hurtful, so Ben soldiered on.

"Are we there yet?" he asked.

"We aren't even in the forest yet," said Aetna.

They went in a file, with the tracker on point, a young private name Tillby. He had grown up in some forsaken place in the mountains back on the old continent. Most of his family's food was deer hunting in the local nobleman's forest. So Tillby had learned to track but most importantly, he learned to not get caught. Otherwise, he'd have never made it to Livingston and would have caught a rope around the neck with momma and the little ones watching him breathe his last.

"God damn, that's grim. Stop telling me that stuff." Ben huffed and puffed as Tillby kept on about his life's story. "I thought you were supposed to be quiet."

"You don't need quiet when you're good at your job," said Tillby. "Anyway, the Corporal is leading now. I'm on my break."

"Just keep it to yourself," said Ben, exasperated. "Or give me a hand with this pack."

Tillby looked back on the trail, seeing Sergeant Davies' red shock of hair bobbing up and down as he went. "I would, I really would, but I ain't trying to catch a beating from the sarge."

"Alright, but please, no more stories."

"That you up there, Everett?" the Sergeant's angry voice carried to Ben.

"Yes?"

"I better hear you shutting the hells up before the enemy jumps us and we end up ass first on a stake. There's all sorts of freaks living in the forests. Just look at Tillby. You grew up under a tree somewhere, didn't you son? Now, mouths shut or I'll shut it for you."

The sun seemed to bear a personal and intimate grudge against Ben. No matter the canopy coverage, no matter the angle, or how he turned his head, or the direction of the tracks they were following, the sun found a way to shine directly into Ben's eyes. All of that and the water was soon gone, leaving Ben in a sorry position.

Around mid-day, the tracks reached a small creek and did not continue on the other side. The Sergeant had them stop and replenish their water, and get some food in their bellies.

Ben dropped the pack and fell on his behind. The sweat had gone straight through his clothes, the straps of the pack digging into his shoulders. Ben looked down at his canteen but found it empty. He shook it in a pitiable manner up at anybody near. Aetna just laughed at him, with Pritchett not even bothering to look at him.

Luckily, not all of them were merciless, and Private Grimby jogged up and gave Ben his canteen when he noticed the man was struggling.

"Thanks," said Ben, wiping his mouth after drinking. "Been a while since I've been the one playing beast of burden."

"No problem," said Grimby. "Just happy that I'm no longer last on the shit list. It rolls downhill, as they say."

"That it does," said Ben.

"Tim." Grimby extended a hand and Ben shook it.

"Ben."

"Well, Ben, you can repay that favor by refilling my canteen. It's only fair."

The Sergeant seeing this heartwarming exchange made the rest of the troop drop off their canteens in front of Ben, making him responsible for filling all of them.

With yet another groan, he stood up, shook the weariness off his bones as best he could, before it settled back in moments, and went for the creek. He was stopped by Aetna whistling at him, and shaking her head.

"You're gonna go off and get yourself killed dummy."

Ben looked at the canteens in his arms, then looked at the strip of water flowing downhill. "Hardly think it's enough to drown in. Anyway, I'm a decent swimmer. You just kick your feet right?"

She sighed and pulled the sword from her side, walking over and sliding it down Ben's belt. Without saying a word, she began walking away.

"All this extra weight is not gonna help my swimming," Ben said, and then muttered to himself. "But I might be able to scare off any wild squirrels."

He followed the creek down aways until it spread out over the landscape and turned into a small river. Ben dropped the canteens on the shore, with a few of them slipping into the water. Ben had to hurry and catch them before they were lost.

As he began to fill them, holding each under the river stream and listening to the soft nature sounds, Ben thought about how fast things had gone badly for him. Being treated as a joke chafed a bit, especially since he carried enough supplies to kill a small army on his back. Not to mention the fact that he was at their mercy, nobody would really care if they had enough of him and left him rotting along the trail.

He tried to get the anger to vanish, but it kept resurfacing. The thoughts varied from going back and giving the Sergeant a beating to running away in the forest. Before he could decide to become a mountain man and spend the rest of his days in the wilderness, Ben was interrupted from his thoughts.

Across the river, a horse snorted and shook its mane, lowering its head to drink from the stream. Ben's right hand instinctively went to the sword, getting it out of its makeshift sheat. For a few desperate seconds, Ben could not find the rider, and then he saw him.

A shadow, knee-deep in the river, the water lapping at his legs. He was holding a pistol, stumbling in his haste. Ben rushed into the waters, sword at the ready, and the gun roared and echoed along the water.