“What report?” he asked.

“Sir, Captain Burek was wounded; he’s in Andressat, in the care of a surgeon.”

Selfer listened to the rest of the story. Burek had been rash to take less than a hand of Phelani—two more would have changed the flow of battle—but he understood the reason: five could travel more quickly than seven, and he had already detached a hand for the decoy party that had approached Andressat from the west.

Burek had no memory of the previous days when he woke to find the surgeon rewrapping the splints.

“You’ll do,” the surgeon said. “Swelling’s well down, and your hand’s still warm. I expect it hurts some.”

“Not that much,” Burek said. His mouth felt furry and tasted horrible; the surgeon’s assistant lifted his shoulders and held a cup to his lips. Burek swallowed: clean water with just a hint of mint.

“Wiggle your fingers,” the surgeon said. Burek did so, and pain wrapped his arm. He clenched his jaw against the pain. “Um,” the surgeon said, in a tone that meant something, though Burek didn’t know what. “Still a lot of muscle damage. You’ll need to continue with the infusion. And it’s time you got yourself to the jacks, though you’ll need some help. Get him up, Jens, but slowly—he might faint.”

He was not going to faint. He told himself that, though his head spun when he first sat all the way up, his feet on the rug beside his bed. But with help, he did make it to the jacks and back to the bed, despite the sensation of falling sideways because of the weight of his splinted arm.

“Where are my men?” he asked, when he was back down.

“Gone to tell the others you won’t be coming for a while,” the surgeon said. “They left two days ago. The Count’s offered you a place in Cortes Andres until you’re fully recovered, once you can be moved. You’re not going to risk that arm for six hands of days at least.”

“I can’t lie in bed six hands of days!”

“Of course not. But you must be down most of the time until I’m sure of that arm. You came close to losing it; I’m not letting your pride make it go bad again.”

Burek tried to sit up again, but could not; the surgeon smiled.

“You’ll be stronger each day if you do what I tell you. The herbal infusion is strengthening your blood; you must eat what I prescribe, and exercise exactly as I say, if you want the full use of that arm later—if it’s possible, I mean.” The surgeon paused. “It might not be, though the Count did a good job with that first splint. Do not blame him if it is not perfect.”

“I wouldn’t,” Burek said. “Why would I?”

The surgeon pursed his lips. “I heard things—that he had once had a grudge against you. If so, you might think he took ill care on purpose.”