Borkin the Archer E-Book

Frej Wasastjerna

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 513

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

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.

Leseprobe

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to real events in our universe is coincidental. The events described here took or will take place in some other part of the multiverse, so distant in time, space or whatever dimensions may separate universes, that the distance cannot even be defined, much less measured.

LEGEND

In Borkin's time most of the continent of Vallan and the nearby islands was inhabited, but most of the states covering that continent are not shown. They were too small to be shown in a small-scale map and/or they are irrelevant to the story and would just clutter up the map.

Karalenn was uninhabited except for the Nurasagi colonies. Eskasag was entirely vacant.

Southern hemisphere of Ernall

Azimuthal equidistant projection

Northern hemisphere of Ernall

Azimuthal equidistant projection

HOSPERA (northern Nurasag)

KRAHATSING (southern Nurasag)

Author's note

While Borkin Krauk, a major character in Ernallian history, would certainly deserve a proper biography, this isn't it. Instead, this is a fictional view of a pivotal era in the history of Nurasag, a small but culturally important country on the planet of Ernall, seen mostly through Borkin's eyes but to some extent also through the eyes of other people. Accordingly, I have tried to make it vivid rather than absolutely accurate – in other words, I have used a lot of poetic license.

I thank all the people who helped me find out what happened or helped me write about it, especially the following:

Fredrik Lindroos

Ville and Eero Hurmalainen

Niko Mikkanen

Tommi Vainikainen

Steve Hand

Walter Nelson

Mike Mc Morris

Bob Lyle

Ulla-Maija Lonka

Hilla Saarela

Table of Contents

Dramatis personae

Prologue

Part I: War

Part II: Peace

Part III: War

Part IV: Peace

Part V: War

Epilogue

Appendix A: Basic facts about Ernall

Appendix B: The Nurasagi calendar

Appendix C: Religion

Appendix D: Languages

Appendix E: Military organization and terminology

Appendix F: Ships

Appendix G: Exploration and trade

Appendix H: Nurasagi measures and weights

Appendix I: Kerpeif

Readers who wish to know something about the world described here before they enter it are encouraged to read at least Appendices A through C first. Those who want to know how to pronounce the names should read the second part of Appendix D. Those who would rather plunge straight in are welcome to do so.

Dramatis personae

Generally only characters mentioned in at least two chapters have been included. The positions given here are those they occupied when first mentioned.

Banat, Gastag

Liberal Chief of Intelligence

Benaron, David

Berger's successor

Berger, Germut

Commander of Jistrani expeditionary force

Elbailor, Dhagur

Head of a Syndicate family, cousin of Helman Varkazhkei

Eldraktash, Kylyn

Shuirelian colonel

Estrenha, Jair

Admiral of the Syndicate navy

Faris

King of Magahalin

Fedresh, Garhan

Commander, Nurasagi Standing Army

Fytesh, Hosson

Sailor

Geios, Maris

Leader of Volshan mercenaries

Gontha (1st name)

Borkin's original girlfriend

Haimesh, Sora

Gendarme, fighting for the Syndicate

Harons, Ejwin

Sharauthian mercenary longbowman

Hurashastra

Prophet, founder of Nurasag

Ifital, Arnai

Scion of a Syndicate family

Korazhden, Akrat

Commodore in the Syndicate navy

Kostravang, Dhagur

Chairman of the Far Trade Syndicate

Koviratsi, Pirok

State Notary of Nurasag

Kratshel, Uval

Sharauthian company commander

Krauk, Aral

Leader of Sharauthian mercenaries, Borkin's uncle

Krauk, Borkin

Sharauthian mercenary longbowman, Aral's nephew

Kuartsha

Saushan (spiritual and temporal leader) of Nurasag

Lieni Harlalsdaughter

Slave girl

Lomborsh, Hrakir

Governor of Imratsh, Orthodox rebel leader

Lomborsh, Istrif

Shuirelian general

Marana

Former Grand Duchess of Sharauth

Redkim, Ivrin

Governor of Imratsh, successor of Hrakir Lomborsh

Redkim, Riki

Ivrin's daughter

Santfyld, Shamat

Governor of Haddrolin

Shatrik, Tengrir

Governor of Mishashadar

Shawas, Dursa

Kuartsha's secretary

Talakar, Betshylet

Acting governor of Kiongbelo

Tenshin, Jamin

Commodore in the Syndicate navy

Urke, Dus

Ivrin Redkim's physician

Varkazhkei, Helman

Governor of Xerhoi, cousin of Dhagur Elbailor

Varsha, Ilf

Explorer

Vorzaka, Kylyn

Sailor

Wapinias, Shishok

Admiral of the Syndicate navy, Estrenha's successor

Wibarag, Kaxin

Scientist

Zamawara

Painter of a famous mural

Prologue

Cycle 1Month AshvestDay 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 117Month TistraDay 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 117Month FritaDay 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 contingents. Aral beckoned to Borkin to come with him to the spot on the streambank where Kuartsha was standing.

When Kuartsha turned towards them, Aral introduced Borkin, "This is Borkin Krauk, my scribe. I've taken him along, since I want him to record the history of this campaign."

Kuartsha nodded. "Did you say Krauk? A relative of yours?"

"My nephew."

Kuartsha nodded again and waited until all officers had gathered around him. Then he began, "We have a force of about 1600 men in 14 companies. One half of them are Nurasagis, two companies of spearmen, four of skirmishers – actually sailors – and one of medium cavalry. The mercenary forces consist of two companies of longbowmen from Sharauth, one of close combat infantry and one of skirmishers from Keldiz, a company of Volshan swordsmen, one of heavy cavalry from Igebur and one of mounted archers from Mihtoddi. Note that all of our men are volunteers of some kind. I decided not to conscript anyone, partly because forcing somebody to fight for a cause he does not support would be contrary to my principles, partly because I suspect that unwilling conscripts might be more a liability than an asset.

"According to my information, the enemy force is half again as large as ours, consisting of 18 spearman companies, two companies of light cavalry and one of medium cavalry. In particular, the enemy is vastly superior in close combat infantry. Against his 18 spearman companies we have only four companies that are suitable for close combat: our two spearman companies, the Volshans and one of the Keldizan companies. On the other hand the enemy has no missile troops at all, while we have a respectable firepower, with two companies of longbowmen, five of skirmishers and one of mounted archers. In cavalry strength we are numerically equal, but I think we have the advantage qualitatively.

"Since I have no combat experience myself, I welcome advice, especially now before the battle, but I'll need it during the battle as well. Aral Krauk, I believe you are the most experienced commander here?"

Aral nodded.

"All right, I'll want you by my side during the battle to advise me. Is that agreeable to you?"

"Yes."

"Good. In any case, we still have time to discuss plans. According to the reports I have received, the enemy can be expected to arrive here tomorrow.

"Considering our weakness in close combat infantry, I thought that it would be best to try to fight in a position where the enemy will find it difficult to get at us and we can use our superior firepower. This is the best such position I could find on a map close to Enghasa. Here the enemy will either have to cross the bridge or wade through this stream, Kahvar. I believe either option would put him at a severe disadvantage?"

Several of the officers nodded.

"Then I believe we had best plan to fight here."

The Keldizan commander raised his hand, "What if the enemy moves upstream or downstream and tries to cross somewhere else?"

"Then we have to shift our own position accordingly. As I understand it, our troops should be able to move at least as fast as the enemy?"

Aral nodded. "At least my archers can move a good deal faster than heavily armored spearmen, and as far as I can see we have no troops that are slower than spearmen."

"All right, then let's discuss our order of battle. I was considering putting the longbowmen here in this grove near the road..."

A long discussion of details followed, little of which Borkin managed to remember. When he finally got to the tent he shared he shared with his squadmates, he was too tired to be nervous about the coming battle, so he soon fell asleep. This night he did not have guard duty, so he slept till three hours before dawn.

Cycle 117Month FritaDay Tistra(117-20-12)

Time dragged on. The morning was chilly, but the clear sky promised – or threatened – a warm day. Just a day before its closest approach, Armanha presented a crescent more than three times the angular diameter of the sun. The morning passed without any contact with the Orthodox army, and the Kuartshist troops went to their siesta. By this time Borkin was getting nervous, so he got little sleep. In addition he had a spell of guard duty.

In the early afternoon scouts reported that the Orthodox forces were approaching. The Kuartshist army took up its planned battle formation on the south bank of the Kahvar stream. The cavalry – the Nurasagi medium cavalry, the Igeburian heavy cavalry and the Mihtoddian horse archers – was stationed in front of the arched stone bridge, ready to cross the Kahvar while the Orthodox were still approaching and then harass their rear, if that seemed advantageous. The Sharauthians were positioned at the edge of a grove just left of the cavalry, the Nurasagi infantry left of the Sharauthians and the Volshan and Keldizan infantry on the right of the cavalry. Borkin was ordered to join Kuartsha and Aral again, until the actual fighting started, so that he could record what happened.

The road north from the bridge where the Kuartshists were waiting ran through the village of Nyarsiak, with its white limestone walls gleaming in the distance. Soon masses of men could be seen approaching that village from the northeast. The Orthodox army was in sight. But it did not appear on the southern side of the village, approaching the bridge. Instead, after a pause, it marched northwest from the village.

Kuartsha muttered, "What are they doing?" and took a map out of a case, spreading it on the ground in front of him. Suddenly he exclaimed, "Angramansh take it! They plan to cross this tributary of the Kahvar, the Khark, on that bridge!", pointing to a spot on the map.

Aral answered, "And there's no way we can reach it before them, not even if we leave our armored spearmen behind. They only need to march along the road here, while we must go the long way around this bend and also ford this stream here."

Kuartsha pointed out, "The only good defensive position if they do cross over there is this hill and village. Do you think that would be adequate?"

"Probably not," Aral growled. "We have to try to delay them. We must march to that bridge as fast as we can and send our cavalry to delay them."

Kuartsha wondered, "Will we ever see our cavalry again if we do that?"

"Probably not," Aral said again. "But we don't have much choice, and we certainly don't have time to stand here and think."

So the Kuartshist cavalry was ordered to attack. While it went clattering over the bridge, the infantry went marching off westward at full speed.

Borkin was fortunate in following Kuartsha and Aral at the head of the column rather than having to march in the dust raised by more than a thousand men. Even so, marching at high speed through the hot sunlight of a late summer afternoon was not pleasant. It was actually a relief to Borkin when they had to ford the Kahvar. The water wetting his trousers cooled him enough to be worth the discomfort of soggy boots. Then they turned northward, marching through the village of Gryfstra and continuing further north.

Now the clatter of weapons, shouts and screams from wounded men and horses could be heard in the distance. And soon infantry could be seen on the west bank of the Khark.

The Orthodox army had crossed this stream and the Kuartshist plan had failed. There was only one thing to do. The Kuartshists turned back, heading towards Gryfstra and the hill west of the village.

Aral ordered the Sharauthian longbowmen up on the hill. The Nurasagi armored spearmen were arranged in front of them on the northern slope and the Keldizans in the narrow gap between the hill and the cliff to the west of it. The Volshan swordsmen were stationed in front of the village and the gaps on both sides of the Volshan position were filled by light troops.

Borkin was now sent back into the ranks, but from the hilltop he had an excellent view. He could see all the moves of the approaching Orthodox army clearly. While he could not read the mind of Hrakir Lomborsh, the Orthodox commander, the view from the hilltop was a good substitute.

So when the Orthodox army took up a narrow formation in front of the gap between the hill and the mountain, it was not difficult to guess what was going on in Hrakir's mind. Having denied Kuartsha the terrain advantage offered by the Kahvar, Hrakir now had resolved not to let Kuartsha have any terrain advantage at all. For this reason he now planned to break through on the narrow stretch of fairly flat ground west of the hill.

Kuartsha and Aral were also on the hilltop, so they could also see what Hrakir was doing. To counter his deployment Kuartsha shifted both the Nurasagi armored spearmen and the Volshans to the gap. There was time to do this before the Orthodox army hit them. The light troops east of the hill had to spread out to cover both the former Volshan position in front of Gryfstra and the slope vacated by the armored spearmen. Kuartsha himself rode down on the western side of the hill to join his heavy infantry in the hope of raising their spirits, leaving the command of the army to Aral.

The narrow but deep mass of the Orthodox infantry, bristling with spears above its shieldwall and looking unstoppable, came marching toward the heavy infantry on the Kuartshist left flank, hit it – and stopped. The gap between hill and cliff was narrow enough for the few Kuartshist infantry companies suitable for close combat to hold it in adequate depth. Since they held against the first shock of the attack, the only way for the Orthodox forces to break through was to chop their way through the Kuartshists.

And that was not easy. On the contrary, it soon became clear that the Volshans and the Keldizan melee infantry, more experienced and better armed than their enemies, were doing most of the chopping. Nurasagi spears stabbed from both sides, Volshan swords thrust or slashed, Keldizan axes chopped arms or necks. Once again, Borkin heard the sounds of battle, now much closer than an hour ago. Steel clashed against steel or thudded against wood or hide, wounded men screamed, feet tramped, now and then somebody shouted an order or curse.

All the while Borkin and the other Sharauthian longbowmen were pouring arrows into the Orthodox spearmen from the hilltop. When loosed into such a dense mass few arrows missed. Most of them were stopped by the shields or armor of the Orthodox armored spearmen, but some hit faces, arms or thighs unprotected by armor. A few even penetrated the armor, if they hit a weak spot squarely.

After a while Hrakir apparently realized that he could not break through this way. Leaving those of his spearman companies that had already engaged the Kuartshists to carry on the fight west of the hill, he ordered the rest of his troops to spread out eastward, to attack the hill and the village.

The Sharauthians poured more and more arrows into the Orthodox spearmen now marching across their front, presenting their unshielded right side to the longbowmen. But most of the arrows still failed to penetrate the armor and the Orthodox troops continued on their way. Then they turned right and attacked the village of Gryfstra.

And the Kuartshist light troops actually held – though only briefly. The houses broke up the already depleted Orthodox ranks, and many of the light troops had climbed up on the roofs, slinging stone after stone into the enemy mass. At the same time the Kuartshist heavy infantry was cutting down the Orthodox spearmen in the west.

But the unarmored light troops could not hold out for long against their armored opponents. Some of these climbed up on the roofs, closed with the light troops and cut them down. And the Orthodox light cavalry came galloping up the east side of the hill, swinging into the rear of the Sharauthians.

Aral shouted, "Archers, about face! Repel cavalry!" Now Borkin could no longer follow the rest of the battle, as the Sharauthians turned around to face the oncoming light cavalry.

Borkin's place was in the rearmost rank of the Sharauthian archers, so that he could go there without getting in anybody's way if Aral kept him busy until the battle had started. But now that the longbowmen had turned around to face the charging Orthodox cavalry, Borkin was in the front rank. He loosed one arrow at the enemy cavalry and missed, then he grabbed his axe with his right hand, fixing his eyes on the lance of a rider heading straight for him. At the last moment he ducked. The head of the lance passed over him. Behind him he heard something between a grunt and a strangled scream. He tried to strike the rider who had just passed him, but that one was already beyond reach. Then another horseman approached, and Borkin had to use his bow to parry another lance aimed at him. The second rider stopped in front of Borkin, dropping his lance and grabbing at his sword. While he did that, Borkin rushed forward, aiming an axe blow at the rider's belly, then pulling his axe back out and raising his bow above his head to parry the sword. The sword hit the bow, but the blow was weak. Borkin jumped backward, in front of the second rider's horse, to avoid the lance of a third rider. Then he dashed forward on the other side of the horse and again hit the second rider in the belly with his axe. That rider screamed and pulled on his horse's reins. The horse sprang backward, then turned and galloped away from the archers.

And the third rider followed. The enemy cavalry was fleeing.

Borkin looked around. The ground was littered with dead or dying riders, horses and longbowmen. Some of the wounded men and horses screamed or moaned. The air stank of excrement and blood.

At least the Sharauthian archers had driven off the cavalry attack, and more of them were still standing than lying on the ground. A few loosed arrows after the fleeing enemy. Most missed, but a couple of horses were wounded.

Poor horses! Borkin thought. These human conflicts aren't their fault. We had to fight them too, though. Then he noticed that the top of his right shoulder hurt. He hung his axe back on the belt where it belonged, took his bow in his right hand, touched his shoulder with his left hand and looked at it.

Blood. He must have got wounded. When had it happened? It must have been that first rider's lance, maybe I didn't duck quite quickly enough.

Then Aral ordered the archers to form ranks again. The ranks took up less space than before, but Borkin wound up standing near the corpse of Ejwin Harons.

Ejwin's place had been in front of Borkin. When the archers had about-faced to receive the cavalry charge, Ejwin had wound up standing behind him. Now he was lying on the ground with a lance all the way through his chest. Apparently he had taken the lance that Borkin had ducked.

There was no time to think about this right now. Aral ordered the Sharauthians to set off in pursuit of fleeing Orthodox infantry. As Borkin looked up from his immediate surroundings, he saw that the morale of the Orthodox troops had evidently broken, they were fleeing everywhere.

* * *

The company medic had dressed Borkin's wound while the uninjured soldiers pursued the fleeing Orthodox. It was a minor one, little more than a scratch, but the medic had put some herbal powder and a bandage on it and told Borkin to leave it alone for four days, then report to him for an examination, earlier if the wound began hurting worse.

Now Borkin was ready to resume his duties. He made his way to a tent where the higher officers had gathered. Here he got a new shock – Kuartsha was lying on a stretcher, alive but pale and visibly in pain. Aral told Borkin in a subdued voice that Kuartsha had been wounded in his right leg while personally commanding the heavy infantry. This, together with the bloodshed in general, made the mood of those in the tent gloomy, in spite of the victory.

First Aral had Borkin write down an account of the battle. What Aral dictated was already mostly known to Borkin, though he hadn't known what happened after the Kuartshist cavalry rode off to try to delay the Orthodox. He learned that the Kuartshist heavy and medium cavalry had routed the Orthodox medium cavalry but then been surrounded by the Orthodox infantry and light cavalry. A few men had managed to break through the light cavalry but then been pursued and killed. The horse archers had tried to block a couple of fords crossing the Khark, but were soon driven away by Orthodox forces crossing the stream elsewhere. They had fled, rejoining the Kuartshist army when it became clear that the Orthodox had been defeated. At this Aral scowled and muttered, "They should have rejoined us right away, of course, but what can one expect of Mihtoddians – no, don't put that in the account!"

Borkin also learned that while the Sharauthians had repulsed the Orthodox light cavalry, the Kuartshist heavy infantry had broken the Orthodox right flank and started rolling up the Orthodox line. This had soon broken the whole Orthodox army.

After he had written about the battle, Borkin was sent out with the two Sharauthian company commanders to find out who had been killed, wounded or otherwise lost. Then he reported the Sharauthian casualties to Aral.

Aral said quietly, "I noticed you had a particularly unhappy expression when you mentioned Ejwin Harons. Was he a good friend of yours?"

Borkin shook his head, "It wasn't that – it's that I was sort of responsible for his death." Then he told Aral what had happened.

After he had finished, Aral nodded and said, "An unpleasant business. But – would you rather have been hit by that lance yourself?"

Borkin again shook his head, slowly. "No, not really."

"Well, this sort of thing happens in war. People get killed, of course. That it was him rather than you was tough luck for him, but you don't have any real reason to feel guilty. In battle everyone has to survive as best he can. Some people make it, some don't."

Borkin felt a little better, though not much.

Cycle 117Month FritaDay Anaita(117-20-13)

Kuartsha's right leg had been amputated during the night, and he was now resting after the operation. The other officers present thus had to make their decisions without him, and Aral, as Kuartsha's second in command, had called a meeting to be attended by all company commanders and higher officers, except the wounded or dead. Borkin was also present to record the proceedings.

After some preliminaries, the first item on the agenda was what to do with the prisoners. Aral opened the discussion on this subject, saying, "We can't keep the prisoners bound permanently. Is there some prison in Enghasa to which they could be taken?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure there's room for that many prisoners in it," answered one of the Nurasagi officers present.

Another interjected, "We could use the slave compound on Kuitats." Seeing the puzzled looks on the faces of some of the mercenary officers, he continued, "That's where slaves from the New Sea area are kept waiting for transshipment to Gefroin or Jistran or just recovering from their voyage here. It is, in fact, the only place in Nurasag where slavery is permitted. It's big enough that there should easily be room for our prisoners."

"Very well," replied Aral, seeing that nobody had any other suggestions. "You command a skirmisher company, I believe?"

"Yes," the officer who had suggested the slave compound answered.

"That should be fine for guarding prisoners. Take them to Kuitats under guard by your company, leaving a few of your men here to help identify and bury the dead..."

A stir went through the assembled Nurasagi officers, some of them recoiling in shock. "Bury them?" one of these exclaimed. "No! That may be the way you do it on the mainland, but we don't desecrate the ground by burying corpses in it!"

"Oh, sorry..." Aral began, but before he had got farther, a Keldizan officer asked, "What do you do then? Burn them? That would be fine..."

"NO! Polluting fire with corpses would be even worse! Don't you try to introduce your heathen customs here!"

"But what do you do then?" the Keldizan repeated.

"Put them on a daxma."

The officer who had suggested the slave compound apparently had a good eye for expressions of incomprehension, for he spoke up again, "That's a stone platform, raised well above the ground, on which we put corpses. There they lie and are eaten by carrion birds or rot."

Most of the mercenary officers scowled. "We'll have none of that!" said Uval Kratshel, commander of one of the two Sharauthian archer companies, not the one to which Borkin belonged. He went on, "By Loka, if we leave our dead to rot and be picked at by carrion birds, we could have a mutiny on our hands!"

Expressions had hardened into grimness among both the Nurasagis and the mercenaries, some of them even clutched at their sword hilts. Aral raised his hands and shouted, "CALM DOWN!"

In a calmer voice he went on, "There's only one thing to do. The Nurasagis will have to take care of their corpses in their way, and ours must be sealed into coffins, as airtight as possible, and sent back to their home countries for burial."

Nobody was enthusiastic about that solution, but eventually all agreed that it was the only feasible way. It was decided to order a batch of airtight coffins from craftsmen in Enghasa and surrounding areas as quickly as possible.

Cycle 117Month FritaDay Furkat(117-20-21)

Again there was a thunk behind Borkin as the headsman's axe severed the head of another rebel officer. Borkin was glad that his guard duty didn't require him to look at the executions. Instead he was facing outward, standing on the scaffold together with a number of other Sharauthian archers, at parade rest but with his new bow strung and ready in his left hand. (The old one had suffered a nick in the battle nine days ago and been replaced.) His right hand was ready to grab an arrow from the quiver at a moment's notice, in case there were rebel sympathizers in the audience and they succeeded in overrunning the Volshan soldiers on guard below the scaffold.

He had killed in battle and that didn't bother him much, even afterward. After all, the men he had killed would have killed him if they could. But he had no wish to see the heads of bound and helpless men being chopped off. Hearing it was bad enough. Though, of course, they must all have known, when they agreed to join Hrakir's rebellion, what their fate would be if they lost. Come to think of it, they had reason to be profoundly grateful for the humane laws of Nurasag. In many other countries the fate of captured rebels would have been much worse: in Volsha they would have been crucified, in Magahalin impaled, in Jistran... no, better not to think about things like that. Maybe he should pay attentions to the faces in the crowd gathered on a meadow north of Enghasa.

They showed many kinds of reactions. In some faces a sick bloodlust was clear, others – relatives of the prisoners, maybe? – showed profound grief, others a range of different emotions...

But now the herald who had announced the executions spoke up again. In a voice that did not seem all that loud, but which must have been clearly audible at the farthest corners of the square, he proclaimed, "That was the right and proper fate of those who led the rebellion against our rightful saushan, Kuartsha. In his wisdom and mercy, Kuartsha has seen fit not to order the rank and file of the rebels killed. However, they will be sold into slavery abroad. Know that death or slavery will be the deserved fate of all rebels!"

At the first mention of slavery, many people in the square gasped. Borkin didn't – quite. He did inhale sharply and raise his eyebrows a little. Wasn't enslavement of Nurasagi citizens strictly prohibited in Nurasagi law?

* * *

Later that evening he asked exactly that question of Aral. Aral replied, "Yes, so the law says. But remember, the saushan makes the laws, so he can change them as he sees fit."

"But don't you think the people will resent him for changing the law like that – retroactively, too?"

"Hmm... very likely some will. Others will fear suffering the same fate themselves and will be deterred from rebellion. I can't really say whether this idea of selling rebels into slavery will strengthen or weaken Kuartsha's position.

"Anyway, from what I've heard Kuartsha was in a bad mood when he passed sentence on the rebels. It seems that he's always in a bad mood nowadays... Have you seen him lately?"

Borkin shook his head.

"Well, I have, and he was scowling fiercely while he limped along on his crutches and wooden leg. Probably he's annoyed at having become a cripple, and, from what I've heard, the stump of his leg still hurts.

"Possibly what clinched the decision was what he could do with the silver he'll get for them, when they are sold in Jistran or Gefroin. Have you heard of cannon?"

"Wasn't that a new weapon tried by the Ronovans in their wars with Jistran some twenty cycles ago – with little success as I remember?"