"Agra would be at least four days march through the desert sands," Brasidas thought aloud. "We may have enough of a baggage train to collect sufficient water from the river here, but if we are caught in a sandstorm or delayed, it could spell doom for more than a few of us. In those conditions we might want the satrap to catch us. We either die or take their supplies if we push them back."

"I know of a few small places we could camp if we took that road," Sayf added, winking at the women. "There are a few watering holes and some dry riverbeds that catches water if it rains, as unlikely as that is. I doubt the satrap would follow us there unless they are starved for glory." 

"He may very well be," Brasidas said. 

"My men need rest, Protos Kapetanos," Tychon interjected. He couldn't fit on one of the chairs, so he had taken a bench and carried it in, keeping his head down the entire time until he sat. The giant took two men's spaces even sitting down. "We've been here all but the morning after seven days hard march. They'll need at least a day to sleep and recoup, preferably two... Unless you order it, of course."  

As Phaedra said, if they wait then going south was the only option. As round about of a way as it was. Brasidas also had the suspicion that the north wouldn't be as easy of a road as they hoped. If anything, the locals wouldn't be enthused that Georgicus and Tychon spent days there, and then another large force rode in and demanded supplies. 

"South it is, or that is my say." Brasidas remarked, his chiseled features grim. He glanced at his men, and then at Phaedra and Eudoxia. It wasn't the most ideal situation, but they all still needed some rest, and Brasidas wasn't too intimidated by the hard march, considering he had been in this country for months already. Plus, if they fled with the satrap at their heels, maybe the Atvari would be a bit too preoccupied to focus on Arbela. 

"What say you, Protos Kapetanos?"