'bout time I included a disclaimer. Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit.
Updated to correct a few problems, courtesy of my fine reviewers. Please keep feedback coming! Is too fast? Dragging out? Bad transitions?
Chapter 4 – Companion's Dilemma
- Natoli felt a shiver of excitement as she watched the scriber in Kahlen's hand glide furiously across the large sheets of brown paper tacked across the wall in the back room of the Compass Rose. This was not a class, as such. Master Levy had been asked to assess the Herald Collegium's newest student for placement in her mathematics classes. Instead, he'd questioned the girl for nearly two hours, then told Natoli not to bother with placement and directed both women to join him in the back room of the Compass Rose. Master Ashoke had joined them a short time later, watched for a time, then promptly cancelled his classes for the rest of the day, staring with growing fascination at the equations the small, bronzed skin woman placed on the boards.
"This term, young lady?" He stepped forward to tap the strange symbol.
"'Est' leronain 'nai…." Kahlen stopped, eyes closed in frustration as she hunted for the words. "It's a short-cut symbol for summation of the collected energy terms." The small hand darted forwarded, added two more notations. "These symbols represent the limiting factors, and they can be expanded to the limits of the energy available." The girl's dark eyes were bright with animation, but Natoli noticed the faint shadows under them. They'd been at it, after all, for three hours.
"I think, Master Levy, we'd best think about a rest." Natoli pushed her own chair back, stretching. "And some food."
The masters glanced at her in surprise, then turned to look at the mechanical clock, a new addition to the room's decor. "You're right, my dear." Master Levy's eyes returned gleefully to the board, covered now with row on row of neat notations. "And best get a student in here to copy this down. An excellent proof, my dear Kahlen. Well, Ashoke?"
"The Heralds will never let you have her, Levy."
"Of course not," The Master replied cheerfully. "But she's scheduled for mathematics this term, and mathematics she shall have. But not with the usual classes, my dear. We shall …" He glanced conspiratorially at Natoli, "have to put her in Master Natoli's advanced class on theoretical mathematics."
Natoli raised a finely arched brow. "The journeyman class I've just started?"
Both masters smiled at her, eyes glinting in approval. "Don't be surprised at the occasional visit by…interested masters." He said casually. Natoli nodded, her sharp eyes bright with understanding.
Kahlen sat next to the old master, her dark eyes glowing in the warm light of his approval despite the cramping in her fingers. Kindred souls, these. She looked around the room and sighed. The lighting could be improved with some mage lights, but the food was wonderful, and the freedom to speak her thoughts – to disagree with impunity – intoxicating. She thought guiltily of Josseran, who would be looking for her at lunch. :Rand? Would you let Josseran's Companion know that I won't be meeting him at the dining hall today? I don't want him to worry.:
:I will.: Rand's mood was light, almost paternal. He glanced at the slate boards through her eyes and gave a mental chuckle. :You'd best eat quickly, Chosen. You've weaponswork next.:
Kahlen closed her eyes, her face going suddenly blank. She hadn't wanted to think about it. She'd managed to endure two weeks of lessons without antagonizing the instructor, Jeri, but the woman's quiet eyes had followed her relentlessly. They'd only used the wooden practice weapons so far, and she dreaded being asked to handle live steel. She'd done a bit of practicing with the younger students – set moves designed to strengthen muscles – but nothing more. She had not sparred, and she wasn't going to. She didn't dare. She ate a bit of the excellent stew the masters had ordered, but her appetite was gone. Better to get it over with, then. Pushing back from the table, she made her excuses, agreed to meet Natoli on the following day, and gathered her things.
Kahlen arrived at the salle early. Jeri was still out in the yard, drilling the younglings at archery. Two men in guardsmen blue were working out at the far end of the salle. Kahlen watched for a moment, then stowed her book bag and went to pick out one of the practice swords. She paused, though, to look over the array of steel weapons. The assortment amazed her. So many sizes and styles… she'd trained on such weapons once, had sworn never to do so again.
"This one should suit you." The weapon was flying at her even as she turned. The steel shocked her hands, reverberated in her bones before she could think to drop it. The man facing her wore, not heraldic whites, but a brown leather training vest over a crisp woolen tunic of deep green. A folded scarf bound thick blond hair out of his eyes. Dark, sardonic eyes watched her with speculation and faint amusement. The gold rings flashing on his hands marked him as noble. She'd seen him several times in the salle, had distantly noted his fighting style as fast and unpredictable.
"You're not armored, so I'll leave my tip blunted." No more warning than that, he attacked. Kahlen never thought. Her body arched backwards in a shallow dive, hands striking the floor despite the sword gripped there, rolling away from her assailant, spinning, twisting, righting herself into a defensive stance. The man's face registered surprise, but he'd already moved forward into an attack position.
"Stop." She said it harshly, for a moment tempted to simply drop the weapon. But she didn't know him, didn't know what this meant. And there was time yet, please the gods, before…
"Sorry, my dear." He circled her carefully, warily, but still confident. "Our heralds are too valuable – and too trusting of one of their own." A feint, engagement. Her arm ached at the clash of steel on steel, but she'd managed to block his move. Another feint, this one surer. She blocked it, her mind already registering, analyzing, the beginnings of his pattern. Her throat tightened with remembered panic. "Best to learn sooner what training you've had, and what you're made of. Before someone gets hurt."
"Stop it, please – I can't -" Block, move, thrust – she whirled into an attack pattern of her own, diving under his blade, rolling neatly back to her feet. A whistle of appreciation echoed from the watching guardsmen. She never heard Jeri enter the salle, never heard the weaponsmaster order the younger students quickly back into the yard. The man was relentless, pressing harder now, and there was no time to think, only to react, to survive. They continued sparing, moving lightly around the salle. When their next engagement brought them near the weapons rack, Kahlen thrust out one desperate hand and called – and a long dagger leapt from the rack and smacked, hard, into her left hand.
The noble hesitated, then pulled a similar, wicked looking blade from his belt. Jeri tensed and stepped away from the wall, but the man only shook his head and lunged forward. :Rand! Make them stop!: No time for more. She was trapped now, in the moves of the dance, deadly and inevitable. Intoxicating. The noble moved well, but she had his moves, his patterns now.
Jeri watched, eyes narrowed, as Kahlen slowly changed from merely defending to actively engaging her opponent. Kahlen's moves were fluid, mesmerizing, and oddly evocative of another style of fighting she'd seen but couldn't quite place. But she'd seen enough, and signaled Lord Orwen to disengage. The man ignored her, eyes narrowed, all his energies focused on the small whirlwind that was slowly breaking through his defenses, anticipating each move, countering with a speed that left him awed and increasingly aware that she was not sparring with him, but attacking in deadly earnest. He deliberately backed off, deliberately slowed his movements – almost, it seemed to work. The girl's dark eyes had turned black, almost blank with concentration. Tranced, he realized in dismay. He'd have to beat her, to stop her – if he could.
"Jeri – she's –" but the weaponsmaster had seen. With a startled oath she took up a staff and moved in to break up the match – swung the metal tipped staff into the melee – and stared in disbelief as Kahlen moved through the staff, through Orwen's blades, fading briefly like molten glass, and struck the noble across the chest with both forearms. They fell together, striking the wooden floor of the salle. For one terrible moment Jeri thought they were both dead. Then Orwen moved, gingerly lifting his head, raising both arms to shift the girl's hands away from his neck, and from the two weapons she'd buried to the hilts in the salle's floor.
"Well, Jeri." He said weakly, "You did promise me a good workout." His opponent said nothing, merely slumped bonelessly against him, breathing shallowly. He looked down, and anything else he might have said faded at the look of blank horror on the girl's face. "Heyla, child, you didn't do that badly…" She wasn't hearing him.
He looked hopelessly at the Herald, "Shock?" Together they began examining her for wounds or blows. Jeri glanced sharply at the watching guardsmen, who'd broken off their own sparring when things had gotten so…interesting.
"Get Healer Kevren." One nodded and ran out the door.
"You have…. a nice pattern… very complex." Kahlen said, her voice a bare whisper. Alive. He was still alive. Her hands fluttered lightly, cautiously, over the man's face and arms. Pressed hard against his chest, feeling the pulse. Life. She breathed unevenly, gulping the air. "I didn't - ?"
"Not this time." He replied, still short of air himself. His eyes, when they returned to Jeri, held a bit of humor. "Any more new students you want to spring on me today, cousin?"
"Not today, Ori." Jeri slumped to the floor and laid a shaking hand on the girl's shoulder. "Kahlen, I think you'd better talk to me, child. That was – incredible. And I'm sorry Alberich wasn't here to see it. But I need to know why – how?" She stared at the girl helplessly.
Kahlen turned her face away. "We aren't - weren't trained to spar." Her voice held an odd, dead quality. "In my battle cohort. We were trained to kill. With steel at first, then with power. It was quite simple, really. When our masters thought we were ready, they would put two of us inside a battle shield, with weapons of their choosing. When one was dead, they'd let the other out. It allowed them to weed out the weaker ones, you see." Lord Orwen stared at the girl curled into his lap, then looked helplessly at the weaponsmaster. "I survived seven such …training encounters." She said quietly. "On the eighth, Joran and I teamed instead, and did our level best to break the shield. We broke it, but he – he didn't – so they awarded the match to me." Jeri held her breath until it hurt. "On the ninth – Mordan died when we broke the shield. I killed the lifemaster who'd put us in there. I'd never have managed it, but he was so surprised that any would even dare…" She shivered, and stared blankly at the far wall. "When you first asked me to spar, I didn't think you meant until someone...after all, no one's died all week." Her soft laughter was tinged with hysteria. Her hands went again to Lord Orwen's face, trembled against his breath. "I'm glad I didn't kill you." She added quietly, then curled into his leather vest and simply shut them out.
Jeri walked away, nauseous. That anyone – anywhere – would abuse children in their care, outraged her. That anyone would condition a killing reflex into such children was obscene. And what was she supposed to do about it? She took a deep breath. The girl was a Herald, albeit a trainee. And she had to be able to defend herself - without killing - save in direst necessity. Her eyes went again to the weapons imbedded in the salle floor. That was simply not possible. No human could – and the girl had somehow moved through her staff, and Orwen's blade, like light passing through a windowpane. And that was not possible either.
I'm out of my depth here. Magery and weaponscraft, merged into an integral weapon? She'd have to take this to the Circle. Jeri went to kneel by the girl, noting uneasily that Orwen's arms were now firmly entrenched around Kahlen's slender waist, her head tucked securely into his shoulder. Damn. Her cousin had always been a bit of a romantic. She opened her mouth – and whatever she might have said was interrupted by the guardsman's return, with two healers in tow.
Kevren took in the situation as a glance, then turned sharply to the weaponsmaster. "I said she was ready for training – not sparring with this maniac." Which was a bit harsh, since the healer had himself sparred on several occasions with Lord Orwen. "Kahlen?" He knelt by the girl, noted her pale complexion and glassy eyes. "Shock." He said tersely, and bent to take her from Lord Orwen.
To his surprise, the young lord shook his head, then grabbed the healer's shoulder and pulled himself up, the girl still in his arms. "I'll take her." He said grimly. "And Jeri – you'd best find an answer for this. For the Circle and the Council." But his grip on his burden was oddly protective as he followed the healer out of the salle.
* * * * *
:I tried, Chosen: It took Kahlen a moment to place the voice – and the room. Back in the healer's care. She sighed and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. :I told Jeri's Companion to make her break off the match, but I couldn't - : she felt the crushing guilt that colored Rand's thoughts, and flinched away from it. :I couldn't reach you! The weaponsmaster tried, Chosen, but if you hadn't managed to divert that last blow – you'd blocked me out, and I couldn't…: Enough. Kahlen pushed herself up, then rolled to a sitting position. Her greys were piled on a nearby chair, and no healers were near enough to order her back into bed. She dressed quickly, debated her chances, then slipped out the window and hurried down the garden toward Companion's Field. She found Rand waiting near the bridge, and flung herself against the bowed, silvery neck. :I'm sorry.: She said gently. :I didn't mean to – I thought–: She drew a shaky breath. :I thought if you knew – you wouldn't want me.:
:Chosen. There is nothing you could do, nothing about you that would make me reject you.: The Companion nudged her closer, then sidled toward the fence, inviting her to mount.
:I'm not human, not really. Or not fully, anyway.: She blurted out, then closed her eyes. :I don't know what I am. The lifemakers never told us.: There. It was said. Incredibly, her Companion chuckled. :I'm not exactly human either, Chosen. And there are others, at the Queen's Court that you've yet to meet, who would hardly qualify. Yet they are of Valdemar, and are welcome here, and call it home.:
:Home?: Tears blurred her eyes. :Home was my gateward, and they're dead now. All I have left of them are memories…and the clothes I arrived in: She gave a shaky laugh. :I'd best track them down, too, before they're thrown out for rags:
:But not this moment, Chosen.: She could feel his taut muscles slowly relaxing under her hands. :You missed your equitation class, and I could use a good run: Kahlen yielded with good grace, and pulled herself onto his back.
:Just remember, I don't ride nearly as well as I…do other things.: She sighed though, and fell into the rapport that enabled her to follow his lead as he shifted from an easy walk, to a canter, to a thundering run that took them on a wide circuit of the field. When he finally slowed, they were near the ruins of a small temple, in sight of the bridge leading back to the palace grounds.
:Better, Kahlen?: She could tell he was still anxious for her, and nodded, reaching to stroke his crest. :Kahlen…I want you to consider something. You know you need weapons training…more, you need to be able to train without confusing a training exercise with a true threat.: Kahlen nodded, not trusting herself to speak. :I can do that for you, Kahlen. If you'll let me in. Until you can trust yourself to know the difference:
Kahlen was silent for so long he feared he'd offended her. :If I let you …there would never be any going back. For either of us. And you would have to guard my… privacy:
:There is no going back, Chosen, for either of us.: He said it firmly, on solid ground with her, at last. :You may surprise me. You will never drive me away.:
Kahlen's laughter was tinged with hysteria. : I'll hold you to it, then.: And opened her mind fully to her Companion – who started in shock, then simply stood there, trembling. Battle-trained, indeed. :Well?: He could feel her hope, and her uncertainty, and her fear that he would reject her, despite the bond. Battle-mage, she named herself. The reason for her conditioning was painfully apparent now. With such a weapon, nothing less would serve. And this was what was sent to Valdemar, in time of need. Gods.
:It is as I said.: He answered gently. :Nothing is going to separate us.: He moved forward again, but his heart grieved. For Valdemar. For Kahlen. And he wondered if Yfandes, Companion to Vanyel Ashkevron, had felt this same sense of helplessness when confronted with the full scope of his powers – and the threat that required it.
Okay – enough foreshadowing already. Anyone who hasn't figured out who Rand is yet?
Please, please review!