The University Hospice was filled with the cries of the wounded and the dying. Kalvan fervently hoped Harmakros was not among the latter. The room reeked of brandy and burning pitch.
The cots were filled with men burnt black by gunpowder and reddened by blood.
Uncle Wolf Tharses saw him and cried, "It's the Great King. Make way for King Kalvan!"
Kalvan was pleased to see the head Uncle Wolf working on Harmakros, but his stomach turned when he came close enough to see the remains of Harmakros' left leg. The Captain-General's face was as white as the snow outside. Kalvan wished he'd thought more about making some kind of primitive blood transfusion device. It was too late now.
He turned to Tharses. "Have you kept his bandages clean?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," the old Uncle Wolf said, looking insulted. "I know your lectures on the fester devils by heart. We have clean bandages and plenty of distilled spirits of wood as an antiseptic-isn't that the correct word?"
"Yes," Kalvan said, feeling abashed. "I'm sorry, Tharses. I don't mean to act like an old woman, but Harmakros is a friend. And I'm very worried. I need him; the Kingdom needs him."
Tharses face softened. "We will do the best for Harmakros. He has many good friends in Hostigos. I will see that he lives to kill more Styphoni!"
Harmakros' eyelids fluttered and then opened. "I need a spot of brandy, Kalvan."
"Of course." Before Kalvan could give the order Xykos had a flask in his hand.
"Kalvan… I…" Harmakros raised his head and Kalvan gave him a quick sip of brandy. His body shivered but there was a smile on his face. "Cold… so cold. I needed that."
"Want another?"
"No… not for a bit. I just wanted to ask you a favor. Well, just in case."
"Go ahead! Anything you want, friend. Does it hurt?"
Harmakros made a grimace. "Only when I think about it. Actually, I don't feel anything below the knee. It's all right. I saw the leg… before." Harmakros fell back against the cot and began breathing heavily. "Wait… please, don't go… not till I catch my breath."
"I'll stay by you, Harmakros. Don't worry. Maybe another short pull."
This time instead of trying to pour the brandy to Harmakros' mouth, Kalvan took a clean bandage and soaked it with the brandy, putting the cloth into Harmakros' mouth.
"Just like being back in the crib," Harmakros wheezed, and then caught his breath. "I must ask a boon of you, Your Majesty."
"Ask away, old friend. Anything you want that is mine will be yours. Just tell me what you want?"
"It is… my son, Aspasthar. I want you to take care of him like your own son if I… well, if I don't get better."
"Consider it done. I'll make him a Royal Ward and someday he'll be a nobleman."
Harmakros smiled. "Thank you, My King. The boy is rough around the edges, but he means well. He needs a bit more tempering, that boy."
"I know. You've given him a lot to live up to."
"But not too soon…"
"He'll be fine after a tour with the Royal Army."
"I'm glad to hear you say that, because sometimes I'm… not, not so sure… Ahhh!"
Kalvan turned to see the Uncle Wolf cutting off the last of Harmakros' breeches. When Kalvan looked back, his friend was out cold.
"I want to speak with you before you cut off the leg, Master Tharses."
The Uncle Wolf nodded. He directed one of his assistants to clean the leg and motioned Kalvan to the foot of the cot.
"How bad is it?"
"The Captain-General, he's lost a lot of blood, Your Majesty. There is no way we are going to be able to save the leg. It must come off. I'm sorry, Your Majesty."
"Legs can be replaced with wood and steel. What I want to know is whether or not he's going to survive the amputation."
"Maybe. He's a strong man, our Captain-General. And he has the will to live, which he's going to need."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Please wait out in the ante-chamber while we saw off the leg."
"I'll leave. I'd just be in the way here." Kalvan bent over to feel Harmakros' forehead: no fever, but he was still warm.
Out in the antechamber, he finished off Xykos' flask and asked the burly Captain of the Guards if he had another. He did, and the two of them made short work of it. The wait was interminable but Kalvan stopped himself from asking for another flask. He would get good and drunk when he knew how Harmakros was doing, be it wake or celebration.
Finally the plank-door opened and Master Tharses, his thin gray hair plastered to his skull with sweat, came out.
"How is he?"
"The leg is off and the wound is cauterized. He never felt a thing."
"He lives?"
"Yes, Galzar be praised! I suspect it will take more than a burst gun to quench the Captain-General's spark."
"Thank you, Tharses! You could have given me no better news." Kalvan turned to Xykos. "Lead me to the nearest tavern, for this day I want to get good and stinking drunk."
A smile split the big man's face. "Better than that, Your Majesty, I know several good taverns."
"To the first then!"