Zand spent the next several days trying to create cheese, bread, sausages, and even rat meat. None of it seemed to work. His headaches took longer to subside, which worried him. There was nothing in their supplies for pain. Plenty of springthyme had been packed, as it would provide valuable energy during a fight. Also packed was nightshade, which did have numbing qualities, but it was poisonous and brought along to give to dying men to ease their final hours.
When the food was down to the last meal, the commander had a tough decision to make. He was responsible for the safety of his men, and decided to risk the mission in favor of their all dying. Hunting teams were allowed to bring back one striped rat or crow per man, as their bags would still look unchanged. Additionally he proclaimed a hankering for some wild pig, so they were permitted to hunt them as well. Still, it wouldn’t do to have everyone off hunting, so he hoped the few men that went out found plenty of pigs.
Several hours later the hunters returned with a pregnant sow. While it was standard practice to avoid killing pregnant animals, these were dire times. The extra meat inside would be helpful, too.
The mother was roast on a spit, while her entrails and the unborn were boiled in a stew that was mostly water and meat with just a few pine needles added for flavor. No one complained when dinner was served, but nobody referenced what was in the stew.
***********************
The commander decided to push on to the destination city, and hope that they could re-supply on credit. Thankfully, the bandits did not attack the caravan during the trip. That’s where the commander’s luck run out.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! You want supplies for thirty men, for two weeks. On credit. That’s preposterous enough, but you don’t even live here. No. No. I can’t do it. I won’t do it,” the merchant practically laughed in his face.
He realized when he was beat. Why should this man offer what amounted to charity to total strangers? The men could hunt on the way back and abandon any pretense of their being an actual merchant caravan. It was not ideal, but it was an option. They could also try to accompany actual caravans as guards, but adding their own wagons would make the train too large to be believable.
Or they could join the problem.
The commander was aware that he brought an army he could not feed. An army capable of taking what they wanted by force if they chose to. That would be bad.
He looked into the merchant’s eyes and laid it bare. He explained the reason for the men, and why they had been unprepared and unfunded. He told how there were thirty armed and formidable men that needed food and had no civil way to obtain it. And while it is very effective, no one wants to accept steel as payment.
The merchant did his best to keep his face from showing alarm. He maintained a mostly steady voice as he said that maybe he had some low-quality grain he could part with, though he would need to review his books. He excused himself to fetch them from the back room, but could maintain his composure no more and bolted for the door, slamming it shut and barring it from the inside. A loud clanging noise came from the other room and the commander realized he had been bested a second time. There was no time to hang around, the town guard would come running soon.
The commander exited the shop and made his way to another building before any guards could spot him. Thankfully it was a clothing boutique and he had a few silver coins in his boot. He found the cheapest robe and headwrap and haggled the price for both to a single silver coin. He removed the boot, fetched the coin, and slipped his purchases on. He hoped it would be sufficient to make his way to the caravan outside without being recognized.
***********************
Zand pulled half of last night’s portion of crow from his pack and created a small flame to heat it before gulping it down. What he wouldn’t give for even a piece of stale bread right about now. The commander had ordered the men to maintain the appearance of a caravan, so no one was hunting. If the commander came back empty handed, he didn’t know what the others might do. He wondered if he should have stayed on at the inn. He got lost in thought of stew and fresh bread.
“What’s that smell? It smells like meat in here!” accused Flunk or Flink, or whatever his name was.
“You’re hallucinating,” Zand played it off. “Hunger can do strange things to a man.”
Flank looked around once more before turning over and going back to sleep. Zand realized he should be more careful with his food. Just because they were his rations last night didn’t seem to mean much to these men. He wrapped the last bit of meat in a rag and stuffed it to the bottom of his pack. He then made sure his dagger’s sheath was secure and that his dagger could be retrieved easily, while keeping an eye on the sleeping bully.
Zand stood and made sure his merchant garb was covering his armor. Some of the men wore iron, but that was too heavy for him. He finally settled on a leather cuirass. It covered his vital organs well enough, though he was warned that it wouldn’t keep him as safe as iron would. He countered that being stuck on his back was dangerous in its own way. At least this allowed him to move about without too much trouble. He even managed to levitate while wearing it. After double-checking that he was covered, he exited the wagon to get some air.
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