Chapter 3 – The Language of God

"Our prisoner. A Companion Chose our prisoner, the empire mage." Elspeth closed her eyes, rubbing absently at the ache in her forehead. "Gods."

:Rand knows what he's doing.: Kantor said softly. Alberich saw the Herald-mage wince. No doubt her own Companion, Gwena, was saying the same.

"So. What are we dealing with? Suicide attempt?"

"I don't think so, Princess." Josseran spoke diffidently. He'd been the one to find them, drawn by the fire that had broken out in the small wooded copse on the narrow peninsula a the turn of the river. Rand had let him throw his cloak over the girl. His throat still ached at the damage she'd done to her hands. Again. "She said they'd put it in the blood. Those marks on her arms? Before she was chosen for mage training - they keep slaves in the empire, and she – she said," He swallowed. "It had been put in the blood, tested on slaves. That's how she saved me, because her blood fights it."

"We don't know that this plague is even real." Kevren said bluntly.

"It matters not." Alberich said heavily. "She believes it. And Josseran reported truly. Those people died…If she thought we'd take it, use it…"

"No healer would dare -" Kevren's face flushed, outraged.

"No healer in Valdemar." The Intelligencer said firmly. "In the Empire?" He shrugged. "Not so different were Karsite sun-priests, when first I came here. Had they means to loose such a thing on Valdemar, yet to spare those of Karse, they would not have hesitated." He caught the young healer's eye. "The Healing Gift does not guarantee virtue, Kevren. But healers she did not accuse. Lifemakers, she called the ones who made this disease. And what they are, I know not."

Kevren fell silent, still fuming. It went beyond outrage, that anyone would dare accuse a healer of creating a disease – let alone a horror such as this one. If it was even true..

:Kantor. What does Rand say?:

:Rand says we're damned lucky her shields held that first day, Chosen. He's got her sleeping now. Real sleep, with shields down and Kevren's people finally able do something with those burns.:

"The Council is never going to accept an empire born Herald-mage." Daren said morosely. Alberich looked at the Lord-Consort, and suppressed a smile.

"Better to ask, my lord, how we're going to get our new recruit to accept what has become of her. Companion's Choice is not the Council's decision. Nor is it young Kahlen's."

"True enough." Elspeth raised her head, smiling wearily. "Mother's backing Rand for now, and letting the Council chew on it. Anyone else who wants to argue, she's sending to you." Alberich nodded. To be expected, it was. "Lanier made it in this morning. He'll try to Farsee this evening, after a meal and some sleep. I've asked Sejanes and Darkwind to join us, in the Heartstone room."

"It's gone." The herald said shakily. "Nothing but ash and bones. Not – not even a tree." Lanier rubbed gently at his temples. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking. He'd never stretched his gift this far. Even in concert with Elspeth, who shared the Farsight gift, supported by both Companions, and Elspeth tapping into Valdemar's Heartstone. He shivered, then drank the tea the healers had prepared for them to blunt the expected reaction headache. He could tell it was going to be bad this time. He wanted to get drunk. And forget. The young herald looked pleadingly at Elspeth. The princess pressed his arm for a moment, then nodded, her eyes sympathetic. Lanier rose and left quickly.

The old mage, Sejanes, leaned back and looked over at Elspeth and the hawkbrother Darkwind thoughtfully. "Gone, indeed." He said, greatly troubled. "She did not lie, then, this Kahlen."

"No." Elspeth said quietly. "She did not lie. But we don't know if she told all the truth. And there may be yet more she hides from us, unknowing." The princess pushed away from the stone table, "I'm debating asking Firesong to come to Haven." She looked searching at her mate. "That kind of earth damage…is the province of a healing adept." Darkwind nodded gravely, then reached up to stoke his bondbird. He'd not seen land blasted to extremis like that, not even in the worst of the damaged lands in the Pelegirs.

Sejanes tapped his hands together thoughtfully. He'd parted ways with the mages near the Emperor circles years ago, when he'd attached himself to Tremane's service. A weapon such as this young women had described would not have been beyond some of them – certainly, not beyond their ambitions. But the arrogance of it – and the recklessness – appalled him. The Emperors of the Eastern Empire were not known or chosen for arrogance – still less for recklessness. Yet some mages might well have been tempted, had provenance – or the mage storms – dropped such a weapon unsought into their hands. The old man sighed heavily. "I think – I'd best meet this Kahlen. At the least, I wish to examine the garments you described to me. The red wolf's head – that was not an emblem of the gatemasters."

Kahlen leaned trustingly against the white creature that lay beside her. Warm, he was. Safe. Odd, that she could trust someone so strange. But he wasn't strange, not at all. His fires didn't burn. And his mind-touch was open, calm, and fearless. He'd dragged her off the sandbar, stayed by her at the river, eased her onto his back for the pain-wracked, slow trip back to her prison and the healer's care, with Josseran talking frantically at her side. Had calmly dismissed the guards. And done something to make her sleep, while the healers finally got a chance at her hands. She'd lost track of the time spent sleeping, but her hands were almost well, with only light bandages. Healers. She shivered. Not all healers were lifemakers. She examined that thought, poking at it like a wound barely healed. But some are.

:I am with you, Chosen. I won't leave you. And you don't need guards while I'm here. But you do need words, and a history lesson. Shall we continue?:

"…and Valdemar is hearthbonded to Iftel, Karse and Hardorn."

:Hearthbonded?: Amusement colored the Companion's thoughts.

"Allied?" Rand nodded approval, then touched her softly on the neck. He liked her soft, husky accent.

:You're very quick. Chosen: She shivered, then looked ruefully at her bandaged hands. Still too tender for grooming him, as she'd seen others do. She'd watched Josseran tend Merrill a bit enviously. :And you need another Healing.:

"The healer – Kevren." She grimaced. "He's an idiot."

:He doesn't believe a healer – any healer – would do the things you told us.:

"He'd better." She whispered softly, shivering.

:You'll be ready to join the classes soon. It may be strange, being in with the younger trainees. It won't hurt that you're small:

She turned puzzled eyes on him. "Why?"

:Most are young – perhaps thirteen years. Very few are Chosen once fully grown:

Kahlen smiled suddenly, then looked directly at him. "How old do I look to you, Rand?"

The Companion turned thoughtful, sapphire eyes on her. Her narrow face was still too thin, the skin oddly bronzed in the dappled light that graced the north glade, but clear and unlined. He'd brought her here several times, away from the cautious, distrustful eyes of the Palace. Her eyes, though, were dark wells of uncertainty, and troubled. A few years past twenty, he thought, amused. :Old enough to make your own decisions.: He said gently.

"I have sixteen seasons." She offered quietly. "It's the fires, I think." A rueful smile met her Companion's astonished gaze. "Sethren says the gatefires shape us to our purpose. Once he brought me to the Ward, I grew faster than most. We're bred for it, I think…and we had so few who could hold the fires." The smile faded. :Have I lost it, Rand? I can still hear gatesong, but: She raised her hands, felt for the fires, then flinched.

:I don't think so, Chosen. You need time to heal, and to rest. The channels are damaged, and heal slower than flesh: He touched her again, nostrils flaring. He liked her scent. He also liked comtemplating the healer's likely reaction to this bit of news. :Nari, you'd best pass this on to Evan…:

Kevren rubbed his forehead, then looked plaintively from Herald Evan to Kahlen. "Sixteen seasons." He looked at his newest patient in frustration, and wished again he had mind-speech and could get behind those stubborn black eyes. "She's well enough to start classes." He said it reluctantly. Evan nodded. "She'll need to rest tonight, though, before testing."

Kahlen looked at the man curiously. "Testing?"

"We haven't pressed it, Kahlen," Evan answered patiently. "You have the Mage-gift. It goes with Gating, and has other uses. And Mind-speech. There may be others, and they all require training."

"Only two others, I think." She said uncertainly. "Power transfer, and the fires."

"The fires?" Kevren frowned.

"By the river. I called the fire…by the river." Grief spasmed across the girl's narrow face. "And for Zethren." She flexed her bandaged hands carefully, then looked cautiously at Kevren. "Thank you for the healing."

"I see." Kevren said it weakly, looked helplessly at Evan. "You'd best explain this."

"Firestarter." Evan said it quietly, suppressing a surge of incipient panic, his mind racing through the faces in the Circle – until he recalled that Griffon had that gift, that Dirk had successfully trained him. He'd have to check Dirk's training roster... "I have to ask, Kahlen. Can you control it? Completely?"

She looked at the men, confused. "It is myself. Control is – it is not a separate thing."

:Nari?: Quickly, the Herald relayed his concern to his Companion.

:Rand says she's not a threat. The channels are too raw, for one thing. And the gift isn't tied into her emotions.: The Companion shuffled unhappily. :Chosen. The last Firestarter… Valdemar doesn't get a Gift like this unless…: Evan waited patiently. :Unless it's going to be needed.:

* * * *

Josseran plopped his breakfast tray down next to Kahlen, and was rewarded by a shy smile. Her hands were still lightly bandaged, but the burns on her face had faced to a few pale marks, like splashes of silver on the warm gold. The other trainees, he noted wryly, were keeping their distance.

"A fair morning, Josseran." She said gravely, her voice warm and husky.

"You've got more words." He grinned impudently.

"And you've got your arm back." She touched it lightly, then resumed her meal.

"Have they assigned your classes yet?" Kahlen shook her head.

"Rand has been showing – teaching the history, and the words." Her eyes grew warm as she spoke of her friend. "The Healer, Kevren says care for him I can, now." She flexed her hands gingerly, then reached for the spoon. "And I'll have classes soon. Evan takes me to the dean this morning."

Evan stood by the door of the cluttered office while Dean Teren questioned the newest recruit.

"So, you speak several Empire languages? And Rand has been teaching you Common."

Kahlen nodded cautiously. The old man was kind, but a bit unnerving. "History you'll need. Now, mathematics. Have you numbers?"

Two hours later the dean was still staring hungrily at the slates propped against the wall of his study. "…and the terms collect, so, then inf'ansion - integration. You see?"

Mathematics, he'd said dazedly. She thought in math the way a Bard thought in music. Notes and scales, curves and shape. Power and time. "My dear, however did you learn this?"

"The numbers?" She laid the chalk down, then shook her cramped hand, and flashed him a brilliant smile. "Ivan'ari mellornai A'shanar." Her eyes closed a moment, then opened on him curiously. "It is the language of God, and of the fires. You don't find it so?"

He shook his head ruefully. "I'll have to get our artificers to look at this. They'll likely agree with you, my dear." He consulted his class schedules. "Four, I think. History and Law. Languages. Math…I'll have to consult with ..." He jotted down the choices and handed them to Evan.

"She'll need weapons work." The Herald noted, handing the list back. The dean nodded, then added a fourth class. "Best clear it with the healers."

Kahlen watched quietly, then followed the Herald out of the building and across the grounds. "We've time yet. I want to show you something." They entered the salle at the heels of a departing class of youngsters. Kahlen caught Josseran's quick grin as he darted past, chasing his classmates, then turned curious eyes on the large, open space. Warm woods, unfinished but rubbed smooth, covered the walls. High, narrow windows brought in ample light.

A woman in heraldic whites turned to smile at them, her arms filled with wooden practice swords. 'A new student, Evan?"

"Once the healers agree, yes." He turned to Kahlen, who stood quietly, eyes bright with curiosity. "This is Weaponsmaster Jeri, Kahlen. She trains the Heralds and Bardic students. Herald Alberich still occasionally teaches, but he stepped down as weaponsmaster a few years ago to work on…other things." He finished uncomfortably. "She'll train you in sword craft, among other things."

"Weaponswork? You want me to fight." Kahlen's face went suddenly remote..

The two Heralds exchanged uneasy glances. "We want you to be able to defend yourself." Jeri said quietly. "Heralds protect people. Sometimes we have to protect them from enemies. Sometime slavers, or bandits when we're on circuit. We train our students in the skills they need to survive. You'll start by sparring with younger trainees -"

"No." The girl said quietly. "No sparring. Ever." She backed up a step, then another. "I have to go now." By the time she reached the door, she was running.