Selis cut away one of the dead brigands’ clothes and ripped strips from the shirt. In minutes, he had padded both halves of the former stock and brought them to Andressat. “What do you want me to do?”

“Hold his upper arm here—yes, like that. I need to pull, to straighten this as much as possible.” He glanced down at Burek’s face, now beaded with sweat. “It will hurt, Captain, but if I can align the bones now, you have a better chance of regaining full use of the arm.”

“Go ahead,” Burek said.

Andressat took a firm hold. He had set many a broken wrist and forearm in the past, usually with good results, but those had not been the result of a sword blow that drove the mail into the flesh. At home, he would have bound fresh leaves of herbs against the swelling, to aid healing. Here … was nothing. Not even clean cloths. Nothing to do but set it anyway. He pulled firmly, feeling the bones grate; Burek made no noise. Finally, he felt what he had hoped for—larger pieces were end to end, at least—and he bound on the splints, with Selis’s help. When that was done, Burek let out a long hiss of breath. Andressat touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said. It meant more than one thing; he saw from Burek’s expression that the young man took all that meaning.

“It’s better,” Burek said. That, too, might mean more than his arm. “We need to get moving.”

“A sling,” Andressat said. He fashioned a sling and helped Burek put the splinted arm into it. Selis helped Burek sit up.

“We’ll get the horses, sir, and—I suppose we’ll be taking Dort’s body? There’s no way to bury him up here.”

“Yes. Kerin, you know this country—how far to a border fort?”

“We might make it today, Captain,” Andressat said. “What about the enemy’s arms?”

“We’ll take those, too, if the horses can carry the load—wasn’t yours hit?”

When Andressat stood again, he could see the horses not far away, nibbling the frostbitten turf. One—the one he’d been riding—still had an arrow sticking from its neck. “Mine still has the bolt in its neck,” he said. “Could be a bad wound, could be nothing—won’t know until we get it out.”

It took another full glass or more to catch the horses, strip the enemy dead of weapons and money—“Sorellin coins—bet they’re counterfeit,” Burek remarked—and load Dort’s body, wrapped in his own cloak, onto the pack horse. Andressat’s horse carried a light pack; he rode Dort’s, and they set off at a foot pace.

It was near dark when Andressat spotted the border fort tower. “Ride ahead—” he began, then looked at Burek. Burek’s face was pale, taut with pain. “Sorry, Captain—”

“Good idea, though. Cam, go on and let them know we’re coming …” He glanced at Andressat. “Should he—?”

“Yes,” Andressat said. He reached into his belt-pouch and handed Cam a ring. “Show this, but only if you’re sure it’s Andressat troops.”