Book Seven: Chapter 142

“That sounds like a pretty big mistake.” Cyrus knelt down and grabbed one of the packages. “Is there any chili mac in there?”

“I, uh...” The mage looked down in the box.

“I’ll settle for some shredded barbecue.” Cyrus snatched one of the MREs off the top and stuck it in an inner pocket, using the motion to retrieve the earpiece. “I would avoid the chicken ala king. Only give that to somebody if you hate them.”

“But, Master Cyrus...” The mage looked over at Darius, then back at Cyrus. “We waited hours for this stuff! This was supposed to be coats and gloves for the mercenaries, not food!”

“At least they won’t be hungry.” Cyrus shrugged. “I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“Aren’t you in charge?”

“Of this?” Cyrus pointed at the crate nearest him. “I was there when the order was phoned in. We specifically asked them for cold weather gear. I am insanely curious how you want me to fix someone else’s long distance fuck up.”

The mage visibly pale