The Prowler weaved and dodged through the asteroid field. The fast-attack craft soared in a graceful curve around one planetoid body only to stand itself up on a wingtip the next microt as it skimmed between two equally large heavenly masses of meteor-scarred rock.
Andar gripped the back of the pilot's seat in front of him with white knuckles as the ship straightened out only to completely invert the next moment as it dived under the next asteroid that rose up in their flight path.
"Couldn't we have gone AROUND the asteroid field?" he asked the beautiful young Delvian woman in the pilot's seat.
Malika smiled to herself. "What's the matter? A little claustrophobic?" she asked. An immense flat piece of planetoid at least four and a half metra long appeared before them and the woman brought the Prowler down on the deck over the rock. With a sort of savage glee, she opened both Prowler engines up as far as they would go. The asteroid's landscape flashed passed and Andar glanced out the small rear windows of the cockpit to see the fantail of dust and debris the craft's engines were kicking up on the surface behind them as they passed over it. He swallowed hard as he realized they had to be running full out just mere drec above the solid stone. Malika's hands were light and almost casual on the control wheel as she deftly made minute adjustments that kept the craft hugging the contours of the planetoid.
Andar forced his voice to not show his nervousness as he answered the Delvian.
"No. I just thought it be nice not to end up splattered all over an asteroid because you sneezed at the wrong moment."
Malika's grin grew. "Delvians don't sneeze," she said.
"Liar," Andar muttered to himself and then continued in a more normal tone, "Wouldn't it be easier to look for the Pod OUTSIDE the field?"
The Delvian shook her scarf-covered head. Having just taken the first vows of the Seek, Malika had shaven her head as was sometimes custom. She wasn't use to being bald yet and the occulars that helped her pilot the Prowler felt strange pressing on the bare skin there and distracted her... thus the scarf.
"Zhaan wants every sector of this parsec checked for Chiana and Berret's Pod... that also means the field," she told the man behind her.
"And so naturally you volunteered to check the asteroids," said the man.
"Can I help it if I drew the fun sector of the area to search?"
Andar frowned slightly, "I thought Pa'ues weren't suppose to care all that much for 'fun'?" he asked.
"Where'd you hear that?" she replied and then spiraled the ship between a number of rock bodies, coming so close to some of them that Andar was sure she had scraped paint off the Prowler's gun-mounts.
"I just reasoned it out," Andar said as he felt his stomach drop out from under him.
"You're the one who ask to come along," Malika told him. "You should have stayed aboard Moya or joined Rygel and D'argo in a Pod if you don't like the ride."
"And listen to Rygel's complains and D'argo yelling at him to shut up the entire time? No, thank you," Andar replied with a snort. "Besides, I though you'd take the search more seriously that you are. Aren't you at all worried about them?"
The Delvian girl shrugged her slim shoulders. "There have been no signs of trouble or anything odd going on. We're well outside the PK and Scarran war zone," she said. "Look," she continued while turning in her seat so she could see the Sebacean man's face. "I think everyone's getting all carried away over nothing. Berret and Chiana were just bonded and it makes sense to me that they might have gotten a little caught up in each other... and maybe lost track of time. I don't think we should worry because they're a little late."
"You think so?" asked the ex-teacher.
"Sure," she replied turning back forward to look out the cockpit's screen. "It's probably nothing more sinister that a little romance." Malika then pursed her lips as a thought hit her and than added offhandedly, "Though with Chiana involved... it might be something a bit more on the physical side then romantic."
Shocked, Andar almost stared wide-eyed at the Delvian. She seemed almost to be hoping that their crewmates had stopped for a truly romantic interlude. She had let slip a side of herself that Andar rarely got to see from the closely guarded new Priestess.
"My," he said, "I never would have taken you for the hopeless romantic type in a million cycles."
Malika gave her head a tiny shake as she realized that she slipped up in front of the man, and Andar wasn't about to let her get away with it without some teasing. She kicked in the Prowler's afterburner and jogged the attack-ship hard over to the starboard. The Sebacean man was pressed backwards and thrown to the left unexpectedly.
"Ouch!" Andar exclaimed as he hit the cockpit wall.
"Opps!" replied Malika with a hidden grin as she leveled the ship off.
Andar frowned at the back of Malika's head as he rubbed at the side of his own where he'd just bumped it against to cockpit canopy. He'd more than gotten the message that tormenting his crewmate and sometime lover with his observation might turn out to be less than healthy for him... at least until they got back to Moya.
Berret followed Bearl and several of the other men including the suspicious Pherely to the big blacksmith's shop across the dirt road from the Inn. Chiana had insisted that he take the men up on the offer to go hunting, seeing it as an opportunity to learn more about these people they had fallen in with and the planet they were stranded on. At first Berret had resisted the suggestion, as he feared leaving his bond-mate alone and unprotected. Chiana slyly produced a very sharp knife taken from the Inn's table sometime during breakfast to show her husband she wasn't totally defenseless. Berret almost frowned at the theft but then decided that with what he'd paid so far for their lodging that the Inn could afford to let them "borrow" the knife for the length of their stay. After Chiana promised to stay in their room or close to Mistress Orrella, Berret left with the group of hunters, stopping by the Blacksmith's where Bearl said he had a spare hunting bow the ex-assassin could borrow for the hunt. By the hints of amusement in the other men's eyes, Berret felt there was something more to the offer then was obvious.
Inside the shop, Bearl presented Berret with a beautiful bow with polished limbs made out of spring steel and a quiver full of study hunting arrows. Bearl made a show out of apologizing that the bow belonged to his wife and that it was only extra one available at the moment. The other men grinned broadly as Berret felt the tension on the bow's string and concluded that weapon's draw had to be in the neighborhood of his own weight without armor. He suddenly got the joke as he realized that a normal man wouldn't be able to draw the weapon. He almost chuckled out load as he considered the fact that it was probably the townsmen's favorite prank to pull on unsuspecting visitors. However, they had never had the experience of having to deal with an expert prankster like Chiana.
"I know the bow's probably a little lighter than a knight is use to drawing, Sir Berret," Bearl said with an innocent smile, "But if you wish, you can test it on the target on the far wall."
The blacksmith pointed at a roughly painted large white circle with a red center that was on a group of boards hanging from the back wall of the shop.
Of course, Berret understood the basic principals of archery thanks to his Shrike programming.
"Thank you, Bearl," replied the Shrike. "I think I will give your wife's bow a try."
Berret pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocked it the bow's string. As he faced the target, the men behind him began to snicker. He caught Bearl's own smile die out of the corner of his eyes as he drew the bow to full draw. As Berret's right-hand thumb locked into position below his right ear at his jaw line, he felt the muscles in his arms tense to the point of almost tearing from the strain of the bow. Heat began to fill his muscles as the microbe's augmentation kicked in. The snickering stopped as he sighted along the thick arrow's shaft. He released the three fingers holding the arrow and bow string and the shaft cut the air in a mean hiss, followed by the solid thud of the projectile burying itself almost to the feather fetching in the wooden target.
Berret turned to find the group of men regarding him in open-mouthed amazement.
"You're right," Berret said casually as he examined the bow, "It's a little lighter than I am use to using, but I can make due with it." He looked back up and pretended not to notice the other men's stares. "Shall we get going now?" he asked.
"Yes, Sir Berret. Right away," muttered a stunned Bearl.
"Oh... and if I don't get the opportunity. Please thank your wife for the use of her hunting bow for me, will you?"
"Of course," replied the blacksmith as he motioned for Berret to precede him out of the shop. As he passed the group Berret allowed himself a small smile. It was obvious that the men had meant no harm with the stunt but he was sure that Chiana would be proud of him the way he'd turned it around on them. His bond-mate was always one to appreciate a well-executed prank.
The villagers lent Berret one of the riding animals they called an Y'ahgar. The animal's broad back came up to the Shrike's eye-level. Four-legged with single hoofs and a long coat of course hair, the Y'ahgar also had a wicked pair of horns protruding from its equine head.
Berret half-expected the beast to be another practical joke by the hunter's, readying himself for the animal to rear up as soon as he mounted. To his surprise, his Y'ahgar remained calm and simply regarded him with dim curiosity before turning its attention back to whatever it was chewing in its mouth.
After a quick instruction in rein commands that his mount would respond to, the party sent off.
Berret quickly found the rhythm to riding with his trotting Y'ahgar so when the rest of the group switched into a ground-eating gallop it wasn't hard for the ex-assassin to stay with them. They traveled half an arn from the town, stopping several times to inspect game trails but found none that had recently been used. Berret recalled some of the areas from his trek carrying the unconscious Chiana and directed the party to several places he recalled seeing traces of game animals. The finally hit fresh sign and Bearl knew by his long experience as a hunter which way the herd would be heading. The group left larger main trail and took a logging road off into the hills where the blacksmith claimed the herd would be resting that time of the day.
They were only a short way along the path when they heard several sudden crashes. Most of the group looked wary at one another; before Berret could ask any question there came a final crashing sound immediately followed by several cries of alarm in the distance. The hunters seemed to know what was up and without explaining, they all spurred their mounts into a hard run up the logging road. Berret followed with them, having to wait for an answer as to what was happening up ahead.
The hunting party broke into a sudden clearing where the cries had originated from to find a logging operation. The clearing was full of stumps from the trees that had been fell in the past, but the trail-path they had been following remained stump free right up to the group of loggers that had amassed beside what looked like a prone body on the ground. The hunters reined in their mounts as they came even with the workers and Berret suddenly caught the smell of ozone in the air.
"What happened, Arleth?" Bearl called to a nearby man.
An older man in the group of loggers looked up and sadly shook his head.
"Solamon was cutting tops on the leeward side of the hilltop when a tempest formed... he was struck by a flashbolt before he could climb down and get clear."
The entire group abruptly looked crestfallen with the news. "Midg-damn-it," Bearl uttered in a low curse. "Sol was a young lad and just weaned a family for himself."
"I say its something else beside Midg that brought this bad omen," put in Pherely with a side look at Berret.
"Stuff that blather, Pherely, before I lump your fool noggin a good one," barked the blacksmith. "You know just as well as any this is tempest season."
Berret ignored the fidgety little man and his veiled comments about Chiana; instead he focused on the still smothering clothing of the unlucky logger. He didn't have to know what a tempest or flashbolt was in the local dialect to understand what had happened.
"This man was struck by lightening," he asked to confirm his suspicion.
"Aye, Sir Berret," supplied Simonn, "Tis the season where tempest form almost in the blink of an eye. A few quick flashbolts of lightening and then the sky is clear as if nothing happened."
"Its not uncommon for a man who works the outdoors to be caught by one," added the big blacksmith, "Loggers mostly are in danger as they work high from the ground with metal axes. On the ground it's not so bad as the bolts seek the trees first before they will a man. In the air... it best to drop your axe and cut your safety line and take your chances meeting the ground the hard way. It's a blessed shame when one so young is taken."
The entire group muttered their agreement with the large metal worker.
"Someone will have to take word to Willna," said a hunter named Orc.
"Aye... and sent the Old Mother to her," continued Bearl, "She's with their first child and the news will not be good for either."
Berret had jump down from his mount while the men discussed what had to be done. He approached the fallen man and none seemed incline to bar his way or ask what he was about. He knelt down and felt Solamon's neck for a pulse. As expected there was no signs of life, but cycles spent as a dealer of death had left him with a fairly accurate internal gage to judge how long a body had been dead for. Solamon's body temperature informed the Shrike that he had been deceased less than one-sixth of an arn.
"When exactly did this happen?" Berret asked out loud.
"Beg pardon, Sir Knight?" replied Arleth with an uncomprehending blink of sad eyes.
"How long ago was he struck by the flashbolt?" he re-asked.
Arleth looked confused at the request but did his best to answer. "No more than a thumbnail's breadth of a candle, Sir Berret. Why do you ask?"
Berret ignore the question for the moment. Solamon's wool jacket still smothered from the lightening strike. "Its possible there is still time before brain damage sets in," Berret thought to himself.
Without considering further, he ripped open the fallen man's jacket and leather shirt. The others ceased their conversation and watched the armor-clad man in bewilderment. Solamon's pale silent chest faced Berret. The ex-assassin placed one hand over the dead man's heart and closed his eyes briefly. Without the rhythmic beating of the organ, Berret had to do his best to visualize where it was situated in his torso. He had killed more beings then he cared to remember with the technique he was about to try, but he had never tried to save someone with it. He calculated the location he needed and opened his eyes, letting them softly focus on the imagined target. He centered himself over Solamon's body and slowly drew back his right arm and locked it into a cocked position - fist almost even with his shoulder to deliver a straight-on driving blow. He kept the soft focus and curled only the first joints of his fingers, making a four-finger fist. Berret concentrated; the right amount of power with the right amount of snap... and the energy would travel to the exact point he wanted it too.
It was something one had to feel with instinct and he let his mind wander. Trusting the Shrike training of his body to know the right moment. Without thought his arm streaked forward and the first set of knuckles of his four fingers impacted Solamon's chest. The others cried out in disbelieve and outrage at the sudden hollow thump their friend's body made from the resounding blow. To Berret it seemed everything moved in slow motion. He felt the man's ribs compress under his knuckles almost to the breaking point. Just before his bones cracked, the Shrike's arm retracted backward a few henta with a snapping motion.
The energy from Berret's blow, with nowhere else to go, continued traveling downward into Solamon's still body until it came to the place it had been aimed at.
Berret's concentration was so deep he wasn't aware of the other men until Bearl, Arleth, and several other loggers and hunters dragged him away from Solamon.
"Are ye mad, man?" screamed Bearl at the Shrike.
Arleth hafted an axe and brandished it at the armored man. "Knight or not, touch Solamon's body again and I'll split your skull," the logger warned.
Berret's eyes came back into focus and the world seemed to speed back up to normal. "No... no, I had thought..." he endeavored to explain, and then realized that these people wouldn't understand what he was attempting even if he did explain it. He let the sentence trail off.
"Thought what?" asked the black smith, "That you can beat the life back into Sol?"
"Maybe it was a custom... a death ritual from his homeland," suggested another man in the group.
"Or maybe he's possessed," added in Pherely with a smug look.
Bearl waved any other opinion off. "Whatever it was..."
Whatever he was about to say was cut off as Solamon chose that moment to wheeze and draw in a long tortured breath. The group as a whole spun in the dead man's direction and several men jumped backwards as their deceased comrade hacked several more times. One man fainted when Solamon abruptly sat up and began panting in fresh air as fast as he could.
"Wh...wh... whut happen' " the former corpse slurred out a few microts later to the group of men staring at him.
Bearl's mouth dropped open. "By the Light Mother... the knight did beat the life back into him!"
The loggers and hunters all turned then to face Berret. Some made warding signs while a few others took hesitate steps away from him and Solamon.
"Uh-oh!" Berret thought to himself, "Perhaps restarting the injured man's heart wasn't the best idea he'd ha, considering the superstitious nature of these natives."
Once again, his association with his bond-mate saved the day. Cycles of observing Chiana had taught him to think quickly on his feet... and to lie quite convincingly. Almost as if the Nebari were right beside him feeding him the words, the story came to his lips.
"No, no... it's really something very simple," he started with a gentle dismissing wave of his hand. "In my homeland we have similar storms and the casualties from flashbolts. What I did to Solamon is common knowledge among my people."
"What did you do to him," Bearl asked after directing several other men to see to Solamon.
"Well... its very simple as I said," Berret continued forming the story. "The flashbolt is very powerful... and it stops the heart when it hits you. It stands to reason that another hard blow can restart it if delivered in time."
The hunters and loggers looked from one to another and a few eventually nodded their heads in agreement after a short discussion on the logic.
"And where did you learn this?" asked Arleth, still with some suspicion.
Berret sighed inwardly and began the verbal dance again. "As I said, my homeland has the storms also, especially on the boarders. Before a soldier can go on patrol duty he has to learn the technique. There is no telling when he might have to use it on a comrade or citizen while on his tour."
"That does make some sense," said Arleth after a moment's consideration.
Bearl agreed with the head logger then turned to Berret. "But how did your people come to learn about striking the heart to make it work again in the first place?"
Berret allowed himself to relax a bit. The look on Bearl's and the other men's faces told him they had bought the story. The blacksmith seemed genuinely curious with his question. The continuing story seemed to fill itself out in Berret's mind, the fantasy coming much easier now that most of the pressure of retaining his and Chiana's cover story was off. He smiled warmly at Bearl and the men who stood listening.
"And that is a rather odd coincidence," the Shrike began. "When I was taught how to do it, the story I was told about how the technique was discovered by my people generations ago went like this... Two hunters who grew up as best friends - closer than brothers - were out on a hunt one day in the hills of the boarder lands. Both men had bragged before leaving the village about which one would bring home the most game that day. The day was long and neither hunter had found any game. Just before it was time to head back home, one man wandered around a hill and there before him was the biggest stag either man had ever seen. In the blink of an eye the first man drew his bow and brought the stag down with one arrow. His friend then came over the top of the next hill and saw his boyhood comrade and his kill. The first man shook his bow in the air in triumph.
"Ah-ha!" he shouted up the hill to his friend, "I have taken the biggest stag the village has ever seen. Now you must come down and help me drag it back!"
His friend waved back and yelled something rude to the lucky hunter. But he smiled for his friend good luck and began the trip down the hill to join him by his trophy..."
The men were enraptured by the hunting story, as Berret knew they would be. They couldn't help but be drawn in by something so close to their hearts. Even Pherely was listening with quiet attention.
The Shrike relaxed even more and began to enjoy the yarn himself.
"Halfway down the hill," he continued, "A sudden storm arose as they commonly do. Before the first friend's horrified eyes, a bolt of lightening streaked out of the heavens and pierced the chest of his life-long friend. The man fell unmoving to the ground. The lucky hunter forgot all about his huge stag as he rushed up the hill to his friend.
When he got there, he found the second man lifeless. Tears filled his eyes for the man who was closer to him than a brother. He screamed at the sky at the injustice, pulled at his own hair in grief.
"He eventually sank to the ground besides his fallen comrade, so filled with his morning and grief he began to babble. He accused his dead friend of being jealous of his stag. That he purposely was struck by the flashbolt so that he wouldn't have to help him drag the grand beast back to the village of all their friends and familes to see. In his bereavement, he began to flail at his friend's body, beating on his chest with closed fists. Several time he struck his friend over the heart. He continued hitting the corpse until he no longer had any strength left in his arms. Eventually he collapsed on top of his comrade and sobbed. He cried until he heard his friend's confused voice asking, "Why are you hitting me?"
The men let out pent up breaths as they realized that was the end of Berret's story and that the friend had come back to life.
"And that is how your people discovered that striking the chest hard after a flashbolt strike can restart the heart?" asked a logger in slight awe.
"Yes," replied Berret with a small satisfied smile for the group.
Bearl raised his hand to interrupt. "But what about the end of the story?" he asked with anxious eyes.
"End of the story?" asked Berret somewhat dumbfounded. He had thought he had ended the tale perfectly. Chiana could not have possibly done better herself.
"Well, yes," added Pherely exasperatedly as if Berret had taken leave of his senses.
"I don't understand," admitted Berret. "The man lives and the technique is discovered. What more is there?"
Most of the men tisked to themselves and looked at each other almost as if they thought Berret had cheated them of something. Finally Simonn took pity and explained the dilemma.
"Well, did the hunters get the stag back to the village and was it truly the biggest anyone had ever taken?"
Berret looked around at the circle of expectant faces.
"Oh...!" he said in comprehension.
Andar gripped the back of the pilot's seat in front of him with white knuckles as the ship straightened out only to completely invert the next moment as it dived under the next asteroid that rose up in their flight path.
"Couldn't we have gone AROUND the asteroid field?" he asked the beautiful young Delvian woman in the pilot's seat.
Malika smiled to herself. "What's the matter? A little claustrophobic?" she asked. An immense flat piece of planetoid at least four and a half metra long appeared before them and the woman brought the Prowler down on the deck over the rock. With a sort of savage glee, she opened both Prowler engines up as far as they would go. The asteroid's landscape flashed passed and Andar glanced out the small rear windows of the cockpit to see the fantail of dust and debris the craft's engines were kicking up on the surface behind them as they passed over it. He swallowed hard as he realized they had to be running full out just mere drec above the solid stone. Malika's hands were light and almost casual on the control wheel as she deftly made minute adjustments that kept the craft hugging the contours of the planetoid.
Andar forced his voice to not show his nervousness as he answered the Delvian.
"No. I just thought it be nice not to end up splattered all over an asteroid because you sneezed at the wrong moment."
Malika's grin grew. "Delvians don't sneeze," she said.
"Liar," Andar muttered to himself and then continued in a more normal tone, "Wouldn't it be easier to look for the Pod OUTSIDE the field?"
The Delvian shook her scarf-covered head. Having just taken the first vows of the Seek, Malika had shaven her head as was sometimes custom. She wasn't use to being bald yet and the occulars that helped her pilot the Prowler felt strange pressing on the bare skin there and distracted her... thus the scarf.
"Zhaan wants every sector of this parsec checked for Chiana and Berret's Pod... that also means the field," she told the man behind her.
"And so naturally you volunteered to check the asteroids," said the man.
"Can I help it if I drew the fun sector of the area to search?"
Andar frowned slightly, "I thought Pa'ues weren't suppose to care all that much for 'fun'?" he asked.
"Where'd you hear that?" she replied and then spiraled the ship between a number of rock bodies, coming so close to some of them that Andar was sure she had scraped paint off the Prowler's gun-mounts.
"I just reasoned it out," Andar said as he felt his stomach drop out from under him.
"You're the one who ask to come along," Malika told him. "You should have stayed aboard Moya or joined Rygel and D'argo in a Pod if you don't like the ride."
"And listen to Rygel's complains and D'argo yelling at him to shut up the entire time? No, thank you," Andar replied with a snort. "Besides, I though you'd take the search more seriously that you are. Aren't you at all worried about them?"
The Delvian girl shrugged her slim shoulders. "There have been no signs of trouble or anything odd going on. We're well outside the PK and Scarran war zone," she said. "Look," she continued while turning in her seat so she could see the Sebacean man's face. "I think everyone's getting all carried away over nothing. Berret and Chiana were just bonded and it makes sense to me that they might have gotten a little caught up in each other... and maybe lost track of time. I don't think we should worry because they're a little late."
"You think so?" asked the ex-teacher.
"Sure," she replied turning back forward to look out the cockpit's screen. "It's probably nothing more sinister that a little romance." Malika then pursed her lips as a thought hit her and than added offhandedly, "Though with Chiana involved... it might be something a bit more on the physical side then romantic."
Shocked, Andar almost stared wide-eyed at the Delvian. She seemed almost to be hoping that their crewmates had stopped for a truly romantic interlude. She had let slip a side of herself that Andar rarely got to see from the closely guarded new Priestess.
"My," he said, "I never would have taken you for the hopeless romantic type in a million cycles."
Malika gave her head a tiny shake as she realized that she slipped up in front of the man, and Andar wasn't about to let her get away with it without some teasing. She kicked in the Prowler's afterburner and jogged the attack-ship hard over to the starboard. The Sebacean man was pressed backwards and thrown to the left unexpectedly.
"Ouch!" Andar exclaimed as he hit the cockpit wall.
"Opps!" replied Malika with a hidden grin as she leveled the ship off.
Andar frowned at the back of Malika's head as he rubbed at the side of his own where he'd just bumped it against to cockpit canopy. He'd more than gotten the message that tormenting his crewmate and sometime lover with his observation might turn out to be less than healthy for him... at least until they got back to Moya.
Berret followed Bearl and several of the other men including the suspicious Pherely to the big blacksmith's shop across the dirt road from the Inn. Chiana had insisted that he take the men up on the offer to go hunting, seeing it as an opportunity to learn more about these people they had fallen in with and the planet they were stranded on. At first Berret had resisted the suggestion, as he feared leaving his bond-mate alone and unprotected. Chiana slyly produced a very sharp knife taken from the Inn's table sometime during breakfast to show her husband she wasn't totally defenseless. Berret almost frowned at the theft but then decided that with what he'd paid so far for their lodging that the Inn could afford to let them "borrow" the knife for the length of their stay. After Chiana promised to stay in their room or close to Mistress Orrella, Berret left with the group of hunters, stopping by the Blacksmith's where Bearl said he had a spare hunting bow the ex-assassin could borrow for the hunt. By the hints of amusement in the other men's eyes, Berret felt there was something more to the offer then was obvious.
Inside the shop, Bearl presented Berret with a beautiful bow with polished limbs made out of spring steel and a quiver full of study hunting arrows. Bearl made a show out of apologizing that the bow belonged to his wife and that it was only extra one available at the moment. The other men grinned broadly as Berret felt the tension on the bow's string and concluded that weapon's draw had to be in the neighborhood of his own weight without armor. He suddenly got the joke as he realized that a normal man wouldn't be able to draw the weapon. He almost chuckled out load as he considered the fact that it was probably the townsmen's favorite prank to pull on unsuspecting visitors. However, they had never had the experience of having to deal with an expert prankster like Chiana.
"I know the bow's probably a little lighter than a knight is use to drawing, Sir Berret," Bearl said with an innocent smile, "But if you wish, you can test it on the target on the far wall."
The blacksmith pointed at a roughly painted large white circle with a red center that was on a group of boards hanging from the back wall of the shop.
Of course, Berret understood the basic principals of archery thanks to his Shrike programming.
"Thank you, Bearl," replied the Shrike. "I think I will give your wife's bow a try."
Berret pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocked it the bow's string. As he faced the target, the men behind him began to snicker. He caught Bearl's own smile die out of the corner of his eyes as he drew the bow to full draw. As Berret's right-hand thumb locked into position below his right ear at his jaw line, he felt the muscles in his arms tense to the point of almost tearing from the strain of the bow. Heat began to fill his muscles as the microbe's augmentation kicked in. The snickering stopped as he sighted along the thick arrow's shaft. He released the three fingers holding the arrow and bow string and the shaft cut the air in a mean hiss, followed by the solid thud of the projectile burying itself almost to the feather fetching in the wooden target.
Berret turned to find the group of men regarding him in open-mouthed amazement.
"You're right," Berret said casually as he examined the bow, "It's a little lighter than I am use to using, but I can make due with it." He looked back up and pretended not to notice the other men's stares. "Shall we get going now?" he asked.
"Yes, Sir Berret. Right away," muttered a stunned Bearl.
"Oh... and if I don't get the opportunity. Please thank your wife for the use of her hunting bow for me, will you?"
"Of course," replied the blacksmith as he motioned for Berret to precede him out of the shop. As he passed the group Berret allowed himself a small smile. It was obvious that the men had meant no harm with the stunt but he was sure that Chiana would be proud of him the way he'd turned it around on them. His bond-mate was always one to appreciate a well-executed prank.
The villagers lent Berret one of the riding animals they called an Y'ahgar. The animal's broad back came up to the Shrike's eye-level. Four-legged with single hoofs and a long coat of course hair, the Y'ahgar also had a wicked pair of horns protruding from its equine head.
Berret half-expected the beast to be another practical joke by the hunter's, readying himself for the animal to rear up as soon as he mounted. To his surprise, his Y'ahgar remained calm and simply regarded him with dim curiosity before turning its attention back to whatever it was chewing in its mouth.
After a quick instruction in rein commands that his mount would respond to, the party sent off.
Berret quickly found the rhythm to riding with his trotting Y'ahgar so when the rest of the group switched into a ground-eating gallop it wasn't hard for the ex-assassin to stay with them. They traveled half an arn from the town, stopping several times to inspect game trails but found none that had recently been used. Berret recalled some of the areas from his trek carrying the unconscious Chiana and directed the party to several places he recalled seeing traces of game animals. The finally hit fresh sign and Bearl knew by his long experience as a hunter which way the herd would be heading. The group left larger main trail and took a logging road off into the hills where the blacksmith claimed the herd would be resting that time of the day.
They were only a short way along the path when they heard several sudden crashes. Most of the group looked wary at one another; before Berret could ask any question there came a final crashing sound immediately followed by several cries of alarm in the distance. The hunters seemed to know what was up and without explaining, they all spurred their mounts into a hard run up the logging road. Berret followed with them, having to wait for an answer as to what was happening up ahead.
The hunting party broke into a sudden clearing where the cries had originated from to find a logging operation. The clearing was full of stumps from the trees that had been fell in the past, but the trail-path they had been following remained stump free right up to the group of loggers that had amassed beside what looked like a prone body on the ground. The hunters reined in their mounts as they came even with the workers and Berret suddenly caught the smell of ozone in the air.
"What happened, Arleth?" Bearl called to a nearby man.
An older man in the group of loggers looked up and sadly shook his head.
"Solamon was cutting tops on the leeward side of the hilltop when a tempest formed... he was struck by a flashbolt before he could climb down and get clear."
The entire group abruptly looked crestfallen with the news. "Midg-damn-it," Bearl uttered in a low curse. "Sol was a young lad and just weaned a family for himself."
"I say its something else beside Midg that brought this bad omen," put in Pherely with a side look at Berret.
"Stuff that blather, Pherely, before I lump your fool noggin a good one," barked the blacksmith. "You know just as well as any this is tempest season."
Berret ignored the fidgety little man and his veiled comments about Chiana; instead he focused on the still smothering clothing of the unlucky logger. He didn't have to know what a tempest or flashbolt was in the local dialect to understand what had happened.
"This man was struck by lightening," he asked to confirm his suspicion.
"Aye, Sir Berret," supplied Simonn, "Tis the season where tempest form almost in the blink of an eye. A few quick flashbolts of lightening and then the sky is clear as if nothing happened."
"Its not uncommon for a man who works the outdoors to be caught by one," added the big blacksmith, "Loggers mostly are in danger as they work high from the ground with metal axes. On the ground it's not so bad as the bolts seek the trees first before they will a man. In the air... it best to drop your axe and cut your safety line and take your chances meeting the ground the hard way. It's a blessed shame when one so young is taken."
The entire group muttered their agreement with the large metal worker.
"Someone will have to take word to Willna," said a hunter named Orc.
"Aye... and sent the Old Mother to her," continued Bearl, "She's with their first child and the news will not be good for either."
Berret had jump down from his mount while the men discussed what had to be done. He approached the fallen man and none seemed incline to bar his way or ask what he was about. He knelt down and felt Solamon's neck for a pulse. As expected there was no signs of life, but cycles spent as a dealer of death had left him with a fairly accurate internal gage to judge how long a body had been dead for. Solamon's body temperature informed the Shrike that he had been deceased less than one-sixth of an arn.
"When exactly did this happen?" Berret asked out loud.
"Beg pardon, Sir Knight?" replied Arleth with an uncomprehending blink of sad eyes.
"How long ago was he struck by the flashbolt?" he re-asked.
Arleth looked confused at the request but did his best to answer. "No more than a thumbnail's breadth of a candle, Sir Berret. Why do you ask?"
Berret ignore the question for the moment. Solamon's wool jacket still smothered from the lightening strike. "Its possible there is still time before brain damage sets in," Berret thought to himself.
Without considering further, he ripped open the fallen man's jacket and leather shirt. The others ceased their conversation and watched the armor-clad man in bewilderment. Solamon's pale silent chest faced Berret. The ex-assassin placed one hand over the dead man's heart and closed his eyes briefly. Without the rhythmic beating of the organ, Berret had to do his best to visualize where it was situated in his torso. He had killed more beings then he cared to remember with the technique he was about to try, but he had never tried to save someone with it. He calculated the location he needed and opened his eyes, letting them softly focus on the imagined target. He centered himself over Solamon's body and slowly drew back his right arm and locked it into a cocked position - fist almost even with his shoulder to deliver a straight-on driving blow. He kept the soft focus and curled only the first joints of his fingers, making a four-finger fist. Berret concentrated; the right amount of power with the right amount of snap... and the energy would travel to the exact point he wanted it too.
It was something one had to feel with instinct and he let his mind wander. Trusting the Shrike training of his body to know the right moment. Without thought his arm streaked forward and the first set of knuckles of his four fingers impacted Solamon's chest. The others cried out in disbelieve and outrage at the sudden hollow thump their friend's body made from the resounding blow. To Berret it seemed everything moved in slow motion. He felt the man's ribs compress under his knuckles almost to the breaking point. Just before his bones cracked, the Shrike's arm retracted backward a few henta with a snapping motion.
The energy from Berret's blow, with nowhere else to go, continued traveling downward into Solamon's still body until it came to the place it had been aimed at.
Berret's concentration was so deep he wasn't aware of the other men until Bearl, Arleth, and several other loggers and hunters dragged him away from Solamon.
"Are ye mad, man?" screamed Bearl at the Shrike.
Arleth hafted an axe and brandished it at the armored man. "Knight or not, touch Solamon's body again and I'll split your skull," the logger warned.
Berret's eyes came back into focus and the world seemed to speed back up to normal. "No... no, I had thought..." he endeavored to explain, and then realized that these people wouldn't understand what he was attempting even if he did explain it. He let the sentence trail off.
"Thought what?" asked the black smith, "That you can beat the life back into Sol?"
"Maybe it was a custom... a death ritual from his homeland," suggested another man in the group.
"Or maybe he's possessed," added in Pherely with a smug look.
Bearl waved any other opinion off. "Whatever it was..."
Whatever he was about to say was cut off as Solamon chose that moment to wheeze and draw in a long tortured breath. The group as a whole spun in the dead man's direction and several men jumped backwards as their deceased comrade hacked several more times. One man fainted when Solamon abruptly sat up and began panting in fresh air as fast as he could.
"Wh...wh... whut happen' " the former corpse slurred out a few microts later to the group of men staring at him.
Bearl's mouth dropped open. "By the Light Mother... the knight did beat the life back into him!"
The loggers and hunters all turned then to face Berret. Some made warding signs while a few others took hesitate steps away from him and Solamon.
"Uh-oh!" Berret thought to himself, "Perhaps restarting the injured man's heart wasn't the best idea he'd ha, considering the superstitious nature of these natives."
Once again, his association with his bond-mate saved the day. Cycles of observing Chiana had taught him to think quickly on his feet... and to lie quite convincingly. Almost as if the Nebari were right beside him feeding him the words, the story came to his lips.
"No, no... it's really something very simple," he started with a gentle dismissing wave of his hand. "In my homeland we have similar storms and the casualties from flashbolts. What I did to Solamon is common knowledge among my people."
"What did you do to him," Bearl asked after directing several other men to see to Solamon.
"Well... its very simple as I said," Berret continued forming the story. "The flashbolt is very powerful... and it stops the heart when it hits you. It stands to reason that another hard blow can restart it if delivered in time."
The hunters and loggers looked from one to another and a few eventually nodded their heads in agreement after a short discussion on the logic.
"And where did you learn this?" asked Arleth, still with some suspicion.
Berret sighed inwardly and began the verbal dance again. "As I said, my homeland has the storms also, especially on the boarders. Before a soldier can go on patrol duty he has to learn the technique. There is no telling when he might have to use it on a comrade or citizen while on his tour."
"That does make some sense," said Arleth after a moment's consideration.
Bearl agreed with the head logger then turned to Berret. "But how did your people come to learn about striking the heart to make it work again in the first place?"
Berret allowed himself to relax a bit. The look on Bearl's and the other men's faces told him they had bought the story. The blacksmith seemed genuinely curious with his question. The continuing story seemed to fill itself out in Berret's mind, the fantasy coming much easier now that most of the pressure of retaining his and Chiana's cover story was off. He smiled warmly at Bearl and the men who stood listening.
"And that is a rather odd coincidence," the Shrike began. "When I was taught how to do it, the story I was told about how the technique was discovered by my people generations ago went like this... Two hunters who grew up as best friends - closer than brothers - were out on a hunt one day in the hills of the boarder lands. Both men had bragged before leaving the village about which one would bring home the most game that day. The day was long and neither hunter had found any game. Just before it was time to head back home, one man wandered around a hill and there before him was the biggest stag either man had ever seen. In the blink of an eye the first man drew his bow and brought the stag down with one arrow. His friend then came over the top of the next hill and saw his boyhood comrade and his kill. The first man shook his bow in the air in triumph.
"Ah-ha!" he shouted up the hill to his friend, "I have taken the biggest stag the village has ever seen. Now you must come down and help me drag it back!"
His friend waved back and yelled something rude to the lucky hunter. But he smiled for his friend good luck and began the trip down the hill to join him by his trophy..."
The men were enraptured by the hunting story, as Berret knew they would be. They couldn't help but be drawn in by something so close to their hearts. Even Pherely was listening with quiet attention.
The Shrike relaxed even more and began to enjoy the yarn himself.
"Halfway down the hill," he continued, "A sudden storm arose as they commonly do. Before the first friend's horrified eyes, a bolt of lightening streaked out of the heavens and pierced the chest of his life-long friend. The man fell unmoving to the ground. The lucky hunter forgot all about his huge stag as he rushed up the hill to his friend.
When he got there, he found the second man lifeless. Tears filled his eyes for the man who was closer to him than a brother. He screamed at the sky at the injustice, pulled at his own hair in grief.
"He eventually sank to the ground besides his fallen comrade, so filled with his morning and grief he began to babble. He accused his dead friend of being jealous of his stag. That he purposely was struck by the flashbolt so that he wouldn't have to help him drag the grand beast back to the village of all their friends and familes to see. In his bereavement, he began to flail at his friend's body, beating on his chest with closed fists. Several time he struck his friend over the heart. He continued hitting the corpse until he no longer had any strength left in his arms. Eventually he collapsed on top of his comrade and sobbed. He cried until he heard his friend's confused voice asking, "Why are you hitting me?"
The men let out pent up breaths as they realized that was the end of Berret's story and that the friend had come back to life.
"And that is how your people discovered that striking the chest hard after a flashbolt strike can restart the heart?" asked a logger in slight awe.
"Yes," replied Berret with a small satisfied smile for the group.
Bearl raised his hand to interrupt. "But what about the end of the story?" he asked with anxious eyes.
"End of the story?" asked Berret somewhat dumbfounded. He had thought he had ended the tale perfectly. Chiana could not have possibly done better herself.
"Well, yes," added Pherely exasperatedly as if Berret had taken leave of his senses.
"I don't understand," admitted Berret. "The man lives and the technique is discovered. What more is there?"
Most of the men tisked to themselves and looked at each other almost as if they thought Berret had cheated them of something. Finally Simonn took pity and explained the dilemma.
"Well, did the hunters get the stag back to the village and was it truly the biggest anyone had ever taken?"
Berret looked around at the circle of expectant faces.
"Oh...!" he said in comprehension.