Moving, Zan sat to Whiskey's back and held onto her waist. Mildly delirious from over-exertion, mana sickness, and over-Shining, Zan did not fully appreciate being in such close proximity to a woman's body. Later on, he would decide this was for the better, since he did not want his body making a fool of him when she and he were nothing but battle compadres.

They rode for hours. But Zan experienced little of the ride. He slept most of the time. When he was not sleeping, Zan and Whiskey kept each other apace on conversation. They rarely talked about anything of substance, however. Wanting to keep things light, they swapped silly, irrelevant stories they made on the fly in their head. But needing to address the elephant in the room, Zan asked Whiskey, "I need you to join the Order."

"It's not an easy choice. I have made commitments to my organization, Zan," Whiskey said.

"We've had this discussion before. But you can leave, technically. Right? They won't force you to stay. And couldn't you buy your way out?" Zan asked.

"I have no clue if it works that way. I think what you mean is leaving on good terms? I might be able to work something out if that's the case."

He couldn't believe what he heard. "You mean? You will join?"

Whiskey was silent for a while. "It wouldn't mean I'm dropping my rebel beliefs. I would still, technically, be one. I think joining your Order is for the better. You and Jiehong have advanced so far in such a short time. The technology you use, the bravery of how sincere you are. There is something to you. I want to find out what is happening with you, Zan."

"Thank you, Whiskey. Let me know if you need me to do anything to help you leave the rebels on good terms. I will do whatever I can to ease the transition," Zan said.

"I will keep that in mind. We are coming on the final approach to camp. Grab a few hours of shut eye. I suspect you won't have time for much once we are back at camp."

Zan slept. It wasn't quality sleep, but it was sleep.

When he woke, Whiskey's horse had passed into the limits of the camp's perimeter force. "Survived after all, eh?!" one of the guards whistled upon Whiskey's return to camp.

"Dirty old men. Pay them no heed," Zan said, referencing the loyalists.

"I'm used to it. Happens in the rebel camp, too. Just what happens when you're a woman out in the world."

Not knowing how to respond to experiences which were not his own, as a man, Zan nodded along to what Whiskey said and lazily watched the camp unfolding before his eyes. Whiskey rode to the largest tent among a cluster of simple whites strung into a tented form over string. Zan knew it was Colonel Winters's headquarters.

"I'll help you off," Whiskey said, helping Zan dismount.

"What has happened in my absence?" Zan asked Whiskey.

"Ask Winters," Whiskey replied.

He and Whiskey entered into the colonel's personal chambers. Zan talked as Whiskey advised and did not mince words. "Sir. I survived. What happened?"

"Thanks be to the gods!" Winters said when he saw Zan. He went to embrace Zan. Allowing himself to be encased in the Colonel's strong, fatherly form, Zan could only awkwardly smile as a man he barely knew made such a fess about his survival.

"It will take more than that to take me out," Zan said, glibly, but warmly.

Releasing Zan from his grip, Winters stood and stared at the boy for a while. Clearing his throat and turning away, Winters said, "About our situation, yes. It is not very good. Not good at all, Zan. What happened, as I am sure you are at least as much aware, was the arrival of a new enemy force. Our scouts, hard working as they be, were not, unfortunately, able to discern if this new force is under the command of the invasion host or is a private entity also participating in the invasion of the Kingship. We know nothing except the force is huge. And we can't retreat the way we came."

"Okay. I understand that. Where are we heading?"

"We are going to the largest city on this side of the province. I forget the name. But our viceroy has connections there and will be safe there as he and the other nobles flee with their private forces to the over-king. This is where we, as soldiers, will make connection with the more organized resistance fighters opposing the invasion. By now, I imagine the king has organized or is presently organizing a counterattack. As loyal denizens of his realm, we must get there with utmost haste to give our sire all the blades he can conjure. Never mind all that, I say. Considering our circumstances, we ought to consider our graves."

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"Please, sir, enough dramatics. What are our prospects?"

Waving off his theatrics as thinking outload, Winters said to Whiskey, "Our brief rest must end. If we don't get moving soon, the enemy threatens to overtake us. We have to make it to friendly forces soon or else my theatrics won't be so hysterical when we're facing the wrong end of a splinter."

"What is our terrain going forward?" Zan asked.

"Typical forest ground. Which would be well enough, normally, but while we also prowl the land and survive on it? We don't have time to do it all and still make it to the city before the local garrison leaves. We're pushing against the realities of having no supply lines while in a frantic retreat. Our only saving grace is our forces are not larger than they ought to have been. A mighty small giving that is, though," Winters stated.

Looking at the map of the land Winters lay spread on the tent floor, Zan saw a blue lined route. Curious about that blue line, but not able to read himself, he asked of Winters, "What is that?" Meaning, the blue colored route.

"That?" Winters said. "That is the silver road trading route."

"Doesn't that route take us closer to that city?" Zan asked, looking at the map carefully, and assuming that city marker was the place they were heading.

"Technically?" Winters said, slowly stroking his beard. "Yes. It is... but that is territory claimed in joint ownership with foreign allies of the over-king. If we were to damage the specially built trading routes of the silver road, this would both be an embarrassment to his highness but also hurt the Kingship's standing post-war. Our trade will drop if we allow the investments of our allies to come under fire."

"Theoretically, though," Whiskey said. "How much time would we save by stealing along the trading routes?"

"A week..."

A week? Zan said to himself. Disbelief. Why wasn't Winters, as a loyalist commander, not assuming this would be our route? Zan wondered if he was formal to a fault. Maybe his desire to adhere to the royal rules was blinding him to the reality needed to be undertaken?

"I think we should sneak along the trading route," Zan said.

"Impossible." Winters said, needing no more to state his knowledge.

"Why? Who says so?" Zan shot back.

"I do, lad."

"But why? Because you're afraid of collateral damage?"

"Because? Because I take my role seriously, lad. I want to fight and defend my home, but I want to do so in such a way which makes our shared master, the over-king, happy, and which maintains our role in international trade. I'm not interested in the bare minimum, lad. I am interested in the best."

"Fine. I respect that. I do, Winters. I'm not just blowing smoke up your ass. But do you have a plan for going gold? For keeping our momentum, driving away the enemy, and doing so while not taking advantage of the short cut?"

"I do, lad. I will rely on my men. Do you have a plan to stress this inconsiderate plan of yours?" Winters asked, hoping to dismiss Zan's idea as mere fancy.

"I do, actually," Zan replied. "What should we do is to dress as rebels. This way, if the situation runs amok, our king's face to the world remains dry.

By now, Whiskey had something to say. "Rebels? You want us to dress as rebels? I can't in good conscience support a plan which would harm the rebel cause..."

At one of the tent's corners was viceroy Gallant. He was eating some delicacies with a servant, minding his own business, when Whiskey spoke. "I didn't know you cared for the rebel cause. Whiskey is your name?"

If the viceroy thought he was talking to a random peasant-turned-warrior woman, he was mistaken, and Whiskey let him know it.

"Listen here, you cretin! I am a rebel and proud of it! I will not be happy until I topple your entire rotten government! Now that the big truth is out, piss off in your own shit!" Whiskey said, snarling at more than one point.

"Yeesh... I had no idea you employed such ruffians, Winters. Times are tough, though," the viceroy said, returning to his own matters, chuckling.

"Anyway!" Winters said, clearing his throat. "The matter of how to proceed still stands. Whiskey. You and I share trepidation in Zan's plan albeit for different reasons. I must say something, however. Although Zan's plan is bold, us dressing as rebels would serve as plausible deniability. You and your rebel friends, by your own admission, seek to replace the power of the king. Why not hasten the process in the event the route turns sour? Would coming into conflict with the royal army sooner rather than later be so bad?"

"There are strategic reasons for me to say, 'yes, it would be very bad.' Engaging an enemy before one is ready leads to destruction!" Whiskey said.

"No doubt. You're right on that, but we also do not know if the events would turn sour. You know something? We do need to get moving. Whiskey. I don't like Zan's plan, but he has given us a go. If we disguise ourselves as rebels and it turns sour, I promise to do what I can to de-escalate the situation. Can't you see? Since we can't predict the future and this is our best course, let's put aside equivocation and get a move on?"

Whiskey's face turned many times as she debated herself on what course she should steer herself. Not so long after Winters stopped talking, though, Whiskey said, "Fine. We dress as rebels. Zan. I really hope this plan of yours does not lead us to the gates of perdition!"

Everyone, even the viceroy, turned to look at Zan.

Zan? He felt awkward. But he continued to grin broadly. He said, "Thank you for your trust in me, guys."