Borkin the Archer

By Frej Wasastjerna

Borkin Krauk, a young longbowman on the planet Ernall, enlists as a mercenary to fight for religious freedom. Over a period of eleven years he fights in three wars. In time, he learns that it is less clear than he thought who are the good guys and who the bad ones.
A strange event catapults him into a position of great political influence. But how far does his power extend, and how can he use it to further conflicting ideals?
The book may be of special interest to wargamers, since it describes about a dozen battles on both land and sea. But it also gives the reader a glimpse of an era of discoveries and intellectual ferment. Nine appendices, constituting about one tenth of the book, give additional information for readers who want to know more about Ernall.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Books on Demand
• Release date: Aug 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9789515686954

Frej Wasastjerna

I'm currently retired after having worked at VTT, the Technical Research Centre of Finland, as a senior research scientist. I write fantasy, science fiction and other stuff, mostly in English but a little in Swedish and Finnish (and one silly little poem in German). Free samples are available at my website.

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Prologue

Cycle 1

Month Ashvest

Day Furkat

(1-2-21)

Hurashastra stood near the bow of the fishing vessel Vinstret, his left foot on a coiled hawser and his left hand on the raised knee. His right hand grasped a stay. He kept his gaze firmly fixed forward, where the promised land of Nurasag lay far beyond the horizon. He didn't so much as glance aft, where the mountains of Shuirel, the country where he had until now spent all his life, slowly vanished from sight.

* * *

Actually nobody knows exactly what Hurashastra did at this time, but this is the way he is shown in the famous mural by Zamawara in the saushan's palace in Enghasa. What is a matter of historical record is that he and his eighty thousand followers reached the previously uninhabited islands of Nurasag. Here they founded a theocratic state where they could worship Auramaz, the Good Lord, and were free of the Ronovan invaders who had conquered Shuirel some decades ago. This state prospered in peace for three hundred and fifty years, until Kuartsha became saushan...

Part I: War

Cycle 117

Month Tistra

Day Rapiffin

(117-19-25)

In spite of the warmth of the summer evening, a fire burned in the fireplace for the sake of light. Every now and then something went pop in one of the fir logs and sparks flew. Torches in wall-mounted iron brackets shed additional light.

Close to the fire Borkin Krauk and his two brothers fletched arrows and his mother wove wool yarn into cloth for winter wear. Farther from the fire, his sister spun linen and his father whittled a spoon.

Somebody knocked on the door.

It was Borkin's task, as the youngest son, to check who it was. He laid down the arrow he was working on, stood up and took a battleaxe from the wall – not that he expected to need it, but you never knew. Holding the axe in his right hand, he opened the door with his left hand.

There stood his uncle Aral Krauk.

His father shouted, Hello, Aral! What's new? He came to the door and hugged Aral.

One would not have thought Aral and Borkin related. Borkin was moderately tall and gangly, except for shoulders strengthened by assiduous longbow practice. Aral was stocky and rather short. Borkin had straight hair surrounding a narrow face with the central part thrust forward, so that his nose was his dominant feature. Aral had a mop of curly hair on top of a broad face with prominent cheekbones. Only the brown color of the hair and the blue eyes were similar.

While making his way to a bench, Aral answered, Kuartsha is recruiting mercenaries to put down a rebellion.

After he had sat down and taken a swig from a mug of ale that was put in front of him, he continued, It's rather a long story. Do you know anything about the Nurasagi religion?

Borkin nodded. Almost every petty statelet around the Babsoro Bay had its own religion, but Nurasag was one of the major countries in the area and by far the most important trading power. Consequently it impinged enough on people's lives that most tried to learn something about it. However, his mother shook her head.

"Well, they have twenty-five good gods, led by Auramaz, who they say created the world. Then there are twenty-five evil ones, led by Angramansh.

However, a while ago its saushan, Hadrik II, died and was succeeded by his son Kuartsha. In the speech Kuartsha gave on his accession to the throne he said that nobody really knew anything about the gods, so it's everybody's right and duty to think for himself in theological matters.

He shook his head, saying, "It's curious, a ruler undermining the very basis of his authority that way. Well, Kuartsha is an idealist who takes the famous Nurasagi honesty to extremes.

"But that wasn't enough for him. Then he went on to say that, in his view, Auramaz didn't create the world. Instead it was created by some sort of overgod, whom he calls Dafika – that's Nelv for Creator. Dafika himself is neither good nor evil, but in addition to creating the world, he also created both the Good Lord Auramaz and the Evil Spirit Angramansh.

"Well, that sort of talk made people wonder if Kuartsha is quite sane. Actually, people reacted differently. Some liked the idea of everybody thinking for himself, and some supported Kuartsha out of friendship. In particular the Far Trade Syndicate is on his side, partly because he used to hang out with the sons of the Syndicate families and listen to skippers telling tales of far countries. Other people were shocked out of their wits by the saushan suddenly starting to spout heretical ideas, and some think he's a minion of Angramansh. These people generally tend to oppose long-distance trade, because they don't like the ideas that may come with it, so that's another reason the Syndicate supports Kuartsha – they have common enemies. Most people don't know what to think, but they suspect he's crazier than Valax II.

It seems that the governor of Imratsh is ambitious. Anyway, whatever his motives, Hrakir Lomborsh – that's his name – has started a rebellion, aiming to depose Kuartsha. His followers say they will guard the One True Faith and call themselves Orthodox.

Aral accompanied the words 'One True Faith' with a slight sneer. As Borkin knew, Aral was himself an adherent of the old pagan gods of Sharauth, though he was rather skeptical about all gods. He continued, Actually, not very many people seem to be willing to fight on either side. As I said, most people don't know what to think, or at least they aren't willing to risk life and limb fighting for or against Kuartsha. However, of those who are willing to fight, most seem to be on Hrakir's side. The religious fanatics are flocking to him, and they are, I suppose, more willing to fight than the kind of liberally inclined people who support Kuartsha. Anyway, Kuartsha isn't willing to order the militia to fight for a cause they might not believe in. Maybe that's wise of him, who knows which way they would turn their weapons. His efforts to recruit volunteers haven't been very successful. On the other hand, he controls the state treasury of Nurasag and is also supported by the Syndicate, so he has plenty of silver. Thus he can afford to recruit mercenaries, so that's what he's doing now. That gives me an opportunity – Aral grinned – to fight for the freedom to think and at the same time to make money. So I'm raising troops now. I've got two companies of longbowmen, and tomorrow we march to Pudul, where we'll board Syndicate ships bound for Enghasa. But I wanted to see you before we leave, he finished, addressing his brother.

Borkin had listened quietly and attentively. He had already heard that Kuartsha had become saushan in Nurasag and advocated freedom for everybody to think what he wanted in religious matters, and he liked the idea. Now this idea needed defenders...

Father, Borkin said, and everybody turned to look at him, I would like to join Aral and fight for Kuartsha. He held up his hand to forestall the objections he could see that his parents intended to make and continued, After all, as the third son I have little chance of inheriting the family farm, and although you have had me taught to read and write so that I could make a living as a scribe, I don't think the prospects in that field are good. So many people already know how to read and write that the demand for scribes is small and the supply large. So I might as well resort to the usual choice of the Sharauthian surplus population – he saw his parents wince at this cynical description of himself but went on – and become a mercenary. Anyway, this is a cause I believe in. And maybe this way I can earn enough money to marry Gontha some day.

Borkin's father stroked his chin and looked thoughtful. Well, if you insist. I don't like the idea. Being a mercenary is a dangerous occupation, and many of your comrades will be nasty people whose company you won't like. Still, you're right that there aren't many other options open to you, so if you really want to join Aral, go ahead.

His mother's eyes were moist, but she said nothing.

Aral had got an interested look in his eyes when Borkin mentioned being qualified as a scribe, but he first asked some other questions.

Are you a good archer?

His father answered, He's certainly quite competent.

Can you use that battleaxe you had in your hand?

Borkin nodded.

Do you have all the equipment required of a soldier?

Yes, Borkin answered.

Are you familiar with military drill?

Of course. After all, every able-bodied young man in Sharauth got military training.

Well, since your father agrees, you're welcome to join my contingent. In fact, that solves a problem that had worried me a bit. After all, commanding a military force always requires writing things down, even though I try to keep that at a minimum. I was afraid I'd have to handle that myself, since the men I've recruited so far are rather an uneducated lot. But if you can read and write well enough to work as a scribe, I can let you do that. You'll have to fight too, but in the evenings you can write what needs writing while the others make camp.

Borkin nodded again. After all, he really preferred to work with pen and parchment rather than with spade and axe.

Cycle 117

Month Frita

Day Horvadat

(117-20-11)

It was a clear and beautiful morning, with a fresh but balmy and pleasantly salt-scented breeze blowing out of the north, driving the ship Arustraigur southwest at a nice clip along the coast of Hospera, one of the two big islands forming most of Nurasag. The sunlight glittered on the waves, and gulls circled astern, crying for food. Borkin was leaning against the starboard railing, gazing at the mountains surrounding Enghasa, the capital of Nurasag. He was thinking about all that had happened so far since he enlisted.

He had seen so many new things that it was almost worthwhile to risk his life just for that. To begin with, the day after he had enlisted, there were the three ships which were to carry the mercenaries to Nurasag. Even seen from the top of the tall cliffs that edged the harbor of Pudul they were impressive – as long and wide as the Grand Duke's hall and with masts taller than any trees he had seen. Their white hulls were sharply pointed at each end with outward-flaring sides. At the ends the hulls were one deck higher than amidships.

To be sure, there was one thing about the ships that was not impressive – the smell. Long before the 258 archers boarded Arustraigur, the ship they were to share with the mercenaries from Keldiz, Borkin noticed the smell of vomit and excrement. When they had embarked and gone below the weather deck, it was no surprise to find row on row of barred cells, each containing eight bunks – a stack of four on either side. Obviously this ship had been used to transport slaves. While slavery was forbidden in Nurasag itself, the ships of the Syndicate nonetheless carried slaves from the New Sea to Gefroin and Jistran, as Borkin well knew. He was rather annoyed to find that he and his comrades were to sleep in these cells, but at least the doors had been locked open.

However, one soon grows used to a smell, and there were so many new things to see. The sea, for instance. It was a strange and awesome feeling when the coast of Keldiz at last slipped below the horizon and there was nothing to be seen around Arustraigur except wavy gray water and, far away, other ships. Borkin soon started wondering how the helmsman knew which way to steer. On a clear day, one could steer by the sun, and at night by the stars, but what about cloudy days and nights?

Fortunately one of the sailors had noticed how interested Borkin was in everything. He soon came and introduced himself – Hosson Fytesh, a small, wiry man with curly brown hair, who plainly enjoyed talking. He spoke no Sharauthian, but Borkin understood Nelv to some extent and was glad to get an opportunity to learn more. Certainly it would be necessary to learn more Nelv if he was to remain in Nurasag.

Borkin did not understand even nearly everything Hosson said, but some things he understood. For instance, the capstans littering the deck were used to set or furl the sails by means of ropes running up along the masts, along the yards and from one yardarm to another. The massive boxes he could see below the weatherdeck, arranged along the centerline of the ship, housed centerboards that limited the drift of the ship when sailing but could be retracted in shallow water or when grounding the ship. The heavy timbers connecting the forecastle and the poop added to the longitudinal strength of the ship, so it wouldn't break when the ends were supported by waves and the middle hanging between or vice versa.

One cloudy day Borkin decided to ask Hosson how mariners could find their way out of sight of the shore when neither the sun, the stars nor Armanha could be seen. He had some difficulty in making himself understood, but soon he succeeded and was interested to learn that there was no reliable way. In daytime, if there were at least two patches of blue sky, one could use something called a sunstone to get a rough idea of where the sun was, but on a day with thick, uninterrupted clouds, or on a cloudy night, the navigator had to guess. Sailing masters were given several years of training, and much of that dealt with the question of how to estimate directions from the wind – in other words, to estimate in what direction the wind was probably blowing – or from the flight of birds and any other evidence. Even so, sometimes they guessed wrong. Some captains preferred to let the ship stay in place on such occasions rather than risk sailing in the wrong direction.

But now Arustraigur was approaching its destination, Enghasa. Again there was something new to see. For the first time in his life Borkin saw mountains. He had heard that in Pwesk, where some distant relatives of his lived, you could on a very clear day just glimpse the highest peaks of the Magahalin mountains far in the west, but he had never seen any mountains himself. Now he was getting an opportunity to see some at close range, and the fine weather gave him a good view of them. The closer they got, the more Borkin was awed by the immensities of gray rock, with tall trees looking like moss on them.

He had spent some hours gazing at the mountains, and the ship was turning northwards, when Hosson approached him again. Hello, Borkin!

Borkin turned and nodded. Looking at mountains is fine, but he was ready to do something else for a change, and if Hosson had something interesting to tell him, that was welcome.

We're approaching Enghasa now. See that strait over there? Hosson pointed north. Borkin looked at the indicated gap between the Hosperan mainland and an equally mountainous island and nodded again.

That's the way to Enghasa. We may have a bit of trouble getting in. In the first place, we're arriving at an unfortunate time of the month, near the tidal maximum.

Borkin had heard about tides, even though he had lived inland all his life, and he had also heard that their amplitude was very different at different times of the month. Around the middle of each month, according to the Nurasagi calendar – used in Sharauth also – Armanha was closest and the tides could get enormous, a hundred paces high or more in some places.

"Enghasa has a good port, with small tides in the harbor itself, thanks to the narrowness of the straits connecting it with the sea. But that means that at maximum tide there are dangerously strong currents in those straits. A cautious captain wouldn't enter harbor here at this time of the month, but I'm afraid our captain will decide that we can't afford to wait several days. For all we know Lomborsh may have reached Enghasa already... So he'll probably decide to take the risk and run the currents into harbor.

There's also the wind – it's northerly now, blowing right against us when we have to go north. As you know, we can tack when we have to go right into the wind – Hosson had explained this, and Borkin had seen it done during this voyage – but there isn't really much room to tack in the straits. This approach is going to be a bit tricky... Sorry, got to go now, the bosun is calling.

* * *

Arustraigur was sailing northeast, close hauled on a port tack. The crescent Armanha loomed large over the mountainous coast in the east, and, if Borkin had understood correctly, the tide was supposed to be rising. All the square sails were furled, the only sails set were the ones Hosson had called fore-and-aft sails.

After a while, as the ship approached a strait between a rocky island to the west and the Hosperan mainland to the east, it became obvious that the tide really was rising. Borkin could see that there was a very strong current streaming north through the strait. Arustraigur steered into the middle of the strait and turned into the wind, with its sails fluttering. The current bore it along at a pace like that of a cantering horse. Watching the shores flash past on each side and remembering Hosson's warnings, Borkin gripped the railing hard.

The ship made it through the strait without trouble, though. Soon it had passed the island on the west and was sailing calmly over a broad expanse of water on a starboard tack. But there was another, narrower strait ahead.

Again, they entered this strait on a port tack and turned into the wind, borne along by the current. The speed grew even more headlong. The current made whirlpools and foam along the shores. Something, maybe a disturbance in the current, pushed Arustraigur to starboard and also turned its bow in that direction. The sails caught the wind and began driving the ship toward the Hosperan shore even faster. The captain shouted orders that Borkin didn't understand. A spar that Hosson had called the spanker boom was pulled to port and the lower aft corner of the jib was pulled to starboard. Arustraigur began turning to port, but it seemed to Borkin that it was turning dangerously slowly and would hit the shore at high speed.

Then, suddenly, the ship turned faster. At its closest approach, it was half a bowshot from the Hosperan shore, but then it rushed northwest, into more open water past the island. The jib was sheeted to port and the spanker boom returned to its normal position.

Borkin heaved a sigh of relief. They had reached the harbor. They were in a gulf with the southern, seaward side partly blocked by mountainous islands. East and west lay more mountains, with narrow strips of relatively level land between them and the water. Northward these strips broadened and merged into a valley, extending out of sight between further mountains.

The mountains were spectacular, especially the one that loomed to starboard, quite near the ship. Borkin hadn't paid much attention to the mountains while Arustraigur negotiated the straits, but now he gazed in awe at the mile-high mass of gray rock, that stretched up and up and up, until following its slopes with his eyes made him dizzy. Near the peak there were flecks of white – could that be snow, even now in late summer? And that speck on the top – was it a building? What a view the people up there must have!

The vastness of the mountains dwarfed even the great city beneath them, though that too was impressive. Borkin had visited Vahnoi, the capital of Sharauth, many times and always thought it a lively city with its thousands of inhabitants, but it was a mere hamlet compared with Enghasa. He had heard that Enghasa had a hundred thousand inhabitants, making it second in size only to ancient Ronova itself. He could well believe that, seeing it stretch all along the shores on both sides of the fjord, partway up the mountains in some places, and for miles up the valley.

A bell rang, announcing the change of watch. Aral shouted, Archers, attention! Time to go below and sleep! His Keldizan counterpart issued the same order to his troops.

Borkin muttered to himself but obeyed, as did all the other mercenaries on deck, both Sharauthian and Keldizan. It would have been interesting to watch the ship mooring, but they had, as usual, been woken up a few hours before sunrise and noon was already approaching, so they were all sleepy by now.

* * *

Soon it was time to wake up again. Aral ordered his troops to disembark.

The ship was moored at the end of a floating pier, consisting of many sections resting on pontoons and connected by hinges so that they could float at high tide and rest on the beach at low tide. Riders, some heavily armored, some with no armor at all, were already disembarking from another ship moored at the next pier.

Borkin found it all interesting, but he didn't have time to gawk. The troops were ordered to fall in, and soon the two companies of Sharauthian archers had formed into columns, followed by the Keldizans. Then they marched ashore along the pier, turning left at the end of it and marching northward. They passed a number of buildings surrounded by walls. Borkin was later surprised to learn that these were the residences of the seven families owning the Far Trade Syndicate, among the richest families on all Ernall. He wouldn't have guessed that, since apart from the walls, the size of the buildings and the glass windows, there were no visible signs of great wealth. Ostentatious display of wealth was not customary in Nurasag.

Near the end of the fjord they turned right through a gate in a low wall that must have enclosed dozens of acres. Inside it they found, surrounded by a park, a rambling two-story building, also quite unostentatious, that Borkin later learned was the saushan's palace. Drawn up on a lawn in front of it were troops.

Facing the Sharauthians as they arrived were a couple of hundred armored spearmen of the type said to constitute the bulk of the Nurasagi army. Their big round shields were covered with dark red cloth with a big yellow triangle painted on it, in many cases sloppily. Next to them, to the right from Borkin's viewpoint, were perhaps three hundred light troops, unarmored and armed with slings or short bows and swords. Some had shields covered in the same way with dark red cloth painted with a yellow triangle with a point upwards. Farther away Borkin could see cavalry. None of the horses wore armor, but the men had helmets and breastplates.

Soon the Sharauthians had formed ranks opposite the spearmen. None of them had any body armor, only green tunics and trousers. Most had brown leather helmets, though a few wore steel helmets, but others wore only caps or were bare-headed. Each had a one-handed axe or, in a few cases, a short sword, but his main weapon was a powerful longbow.

To their right their traditional allies, azure-cloaked mercenaries from Keldiz, drew up, divided into two companies. One company bore either spears and shields or big, two-handed axes, while the other consisted mainly of slingers. None of them had any body armor either, but many had steel helmets, some of them quite ornate, decorated with horns or wings. Borkin privately considered that impractical and silly, but the Keldizans were reputed to care more about display than practical considerations. And maybe there was a connection between that concern for appearances and the reckless courage they often displayed when attacking, though they had a reputation for breaking if their attacks were unsuccessful.

Beyond the Keldizans was a gap, and beyond that unarmored horsemen with short bows. Those had to be Mihtoddian horse archers. Their bows lacked strength, by Sharauthian standards, and their lack of armor was also a weakness, but they were the fastest troops Borkin knew of.

Farthest to the right were heavily armored horsemen, with even their horses armored. Their polished armor gleamed in the sun, and the horses were splendidly caparisoned. These knights from Igebur were formidable adversaries, but even their plate armor had gaps, and the armor itself could occasionally be pierced by bodkin-pointed arrows from Sharauthian longbows, as had been demonstrated on more than one battlefield.

In the middle, between the mercenaries and the Nurasagi troops, a few men were standing. Having ordered his troops into line beside the Keldizans, Aral handed over the reins of his horse to a groom and together with the Keldizan commander went to join those men, saluting a tall man wearing a plumed helmet making him seem even taller. That man was also wearing some kind of curious contraptions in front of his eyes: pieces of glass enclosed in a metal frame. That had to be spectacles, an invention of which Borkin had so far only heard dim rumors.

And now the soldiers waited. And waited. The wait seemed interminable, since there was nothing to do, but actually it couldn't have amounted even to one hour. Finally a company of Volshan armored swordsmen with big, purple shields marched into the center of the mercenary formation. Borkin was glad to see the Volshans, who had a reputation as first-rate melee infantry.

At the same time some more light troops formed up on the Nurasagi side of the field. A couple of additional officers joined the knot of men at the center. The tall man in the plumed helmet addressed the others for a short while, and then most of these, Aral among them, went to stand in front of their troops.

Aral spoke. "Attention! Saushan Kuartsha wants it made perfectly clear that there is to be no plundering or other misbehavior! I agree entirely, and I promise you that anyone who steals anything or otherwise bothers the civilian population will be severely punished. In fact, I may decide to hang them. On the other hand, you will be paid promptly and in full, so there will be no need to steal.

Another thing: we need some marks to distinguish our side from the enemy. According to Kuartsha, the enemy troops have painted horizontal yellow stripes on their helmets. He insists that we use yellow too, since that's a holy color in Nurasag, but we'll have triangles on our helmets. Those of you who don't have helmets should put on caps or headbands, and if you don't have that, the triangle will be painted directly on your foreheads.

Some civilians with brushes and buckets of paint stepped forward and began working. Soon it was Borkin's turn. One civilian gave him a piece of cloth to hold over his face to protect it from paint drops. Then he held a piece of parchment with a triangular cutout over Borkin's helmet while another spread yellow paint on it. After that they took the cloth, parchment and other equipment and went on to the next archer.

Borkin took off his helmet and looked at it. There was a yellow triangle on the brown leather, but a drop of paint had run downward from one of the lower corners, leaving a yellow line.

He wondered whether he should wipe off the excess paint or leave it alone. If he tried to wipe it off, it would probably smear.

He decided to experiment, wiping off the lower end of the line with a piece of cloth he had in his pocket. Sure enough, it smeared, and he couldn't rub off the smear. Best to leave it alone and try to scrape it off when it had dried.

Soon the painters had done their work. Aral, who also had a freshly painted yellow triangle on his helmet, shouted, Now – we march to war!

The tall plumed man – presumably Kuartsha himself – mounted a horse that another man had just brought to him, and the troops started marching back out through the gate. Outside it they turned northwest, marching along a wide, straight road into the heart of the city. As they entered the city proper, people lined up on the sides of the street gazing at the troops or looked out through the windows of the three- or four-story brick buildings – many of these windows also had glass panes. Arching over the street and even over the buildings were masonry structures that must have been the famous Nurasagi aqueducts.

Borkin tried to gauge the mood of the people looking at the soldiers. This was difficult, as they were mostly silent and impassive, but apart from a few scowling faces they seemed neither hostile nor particularly friendly, mainly curious.

At a market square – that was actually triangular in shape – they turned northward, marching up the valley. After a while, something started seeming strange about the streets they crossed. Soon Borkin noticed what it was – every second street was deserted except for an occasional cart, always driven by a young woman. When these passed near, Borkin noticed a smell of urine and excrement. There was nobody who knew more about Nurasag beside him in the column, so he had to save his questions for later.

* * *

They had long ago left the city and marched for several hours with occasional stops to rest. The sky was turning dark over the mountains framing the valley, when they reached a stream crossed by a bridge. They did not cross the bridge but halted on the southern bank of the stream, and Kuartsha issued orders to make camp. Then he summoned the commanders of the various troop