Chapter 11 · No Food, No Mercy

"They're eating boot leather." Virrak didn't look at me when he said it. He was staring at the supply tent, or what was left of it.

I crouched next to the last grain sack. Empty. The one before it had maybe two handfuls of barley at the bottom, mixed with mouse shit. "How long?"

"Two days if we stretch it. One if we don't."

"And Aldric?"

"Still sitting on the pass." Virrak finally turned. His face was all hard angles in the pre-dawn cold. "Three hundred men. Dug in. He knows we have to come through there or starve."

I stood up, brushed the grain dust off my hands. The numbers were already floating in my vision. Morale: 34%. Supply penalty: -40% combat effectiveness. Terrain disadvantage: kill zone, narrow approach, no cover.

"Then we go through," I said.

Virrak's jaw tightened. "That's suicide."

"No. Suicide is sitting here watching them chew leather until they're too weak to hold a spear." I walked past him, out into the camp. The fires were low. Too low. We didn't have enough wood, either. "Get the convoy ready. We move in an hour."

"Lynn—