"Other than you and Tychon? No," he remarked, referring to the reinforcements. There was, of course, Georgicus, but that seemed to be a lost hope. What in the hells was going on? He loathed to pull back after they had fought for their lives to make it here, but even with Tychon arriving, it would be a deathwish to fight the Satrap as they were unless they found the right terrain and the favor of the Gods yet again, and it didn't do to consider them on your side in every engagement. The gods blessed you in the morning and cursed you in the afternoon, some said. 

"I don't think either of us has sway over the other, so we can work in unison until they send another commander. But we can either push forward or pull back. Staying here will do us little good in three days time." Brasidas told Phaedra. She seemed a fierce but competent woman. Far more erudite than the stories of miravets told, but it was a similar myth about the men of Boreas so it surprised him very little. 

Thinking on it more, there was a grumble in his throat and he cursed, realizing the best course of action. "A tactical withdrawal would be the best option until we find out what's what. In a week the satrap will be here, or he would be were I him. We're tired and have too little food for us to last a prolonged siege, and he could hold us here for weeks were he of the mind to." The force they had just repelled was one of the many vanguard armies that swarmed about the place. Now the ones that escaped would make it back to the Satrap and tell them everything. 

"I say we follow the river until we reach the mountains and then swing round and head north." He downed the last of his drink, wiping his mouth with his scarred forearm. They could go north in theory, but he felt a malaise about marching through rough terrain with only a few spots to find water. Then again it was also the less logical therefore the less predictable choice.