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. Kahlen belongs to me!

Chapter 8 – Social Complications

Lady Maeve of Ravencroft was not pleased. Her arrival at Haven had gone unannounced, as she preferred. She needed time to think carefully, and to gather additional facts about this herald-trainee that seemed to have stolen her son's wits. Common-born, by all accounts. Worse, a foreigner. She was not deceived by the motives behind several messages that had arrived at her country seat, presenting her with these facts. Families seeking a marriage alliance with Ravencroft were quick to play the game, and even quicker to close ranks against a perceived, outside threat. It would have been amusing, if it had been anyone but her son, Lord Orwen. Orwen had a duty to the Crown. He stood high in the Queen's favor, and still held a Captain's commission in the Royal Guards. And there were several families in the nobility who'd sounded her out about strengthening trade alliances with closer kin ties. So far, Orwen had avoided making any commitments, or even being brought to table, to discuss the possible advantages.

Maeve had sent her own bailiff to inform the Seneschal of her arrival. She would be making her courtesies to Selenay at tomorrow's court, and had begged the favor of a private audience at the Queen's convenience. Selenay was a sensible woman. She'd know best how to wean Orwen away from this … infatuation. As a practical matter, a herald had no time for marriage, much less the duties of the nobility. The Queen would surely understand.

Josseran was not happy. He continued with his assigned task, collecting fresh herbs from the gardens for the Collegium's cook, Mero, but all his attention was fixed on the two young noblewomen seated on a stone bench nearby. Lady Jerolyn and Lady Ista were court favorites, he knew, and neither particularly inclined to gossip. But they were gossiping now, and every word made his blood boil.

"He's making a fool of himself over that common-born herald-trainee." Ista sighed with exasperation. "And he hasn't offered to escort me to the Harvest Feast this harvest and Sovvan less than a month away!"

Jerolyn gave her a curious look. "Captain Ashton asked you, didn't he?"

Ista flushed. "I haven't said yes. I keep hoping …but if Orwen's not attending Council, he's in the salle, sparring with his newest…protege."

"Orwen shouldn't encourage her." Jerolyn was dark-haired, with sultry green eyes and a vivacious smile. She wasn't smiling now. "It's cruel, and will only embarrass them both in the end. She's pretty enough, I suppose." Josseran ducked his head to hide a smile. Kahlen was beyond beautiful, in his estimation. Her hair was silver by moonlight, but palest gold in the sun, and hung in a thick, braided rope down her back. Her eyes were a deep amethyst, with odd flecks of gold when the light caught them just right. Her face was lean, the cheekbones high and sculpted, the brows winged bronze. Beside Kahlen, these two looked bleached out and insipid.

"Lady Maeve won't give a fake copper for that." Ista retorted. "She has plans for our Lord Orwen. He's on Council now, and has the Queen's eye. Selenay won't waste him on a commoner, Jero, even if it is one of her precious heralds. I'd heard she has him on liaison duty with the Taleydras delegation that arrived yesterday – a little diplomatic seasoning for our young hero. He's to attend them at a formal reception tonight."

"Yes." Jerolyn's eyes narrowed. "It might open his eyes if he were to see her in company with the court – and among her betters." The young woman rose. "I think, my dear, we'd best have a word with Lade Maeve."

Joss held his peace as they walked away, but his mind was awhirl with anxiety. Few in the court had paid much attention to Kahlen, as few in the nobility had actually been at Court when she'd so precipitately arrived. Their three day ordeal after she'd literally fallen out of the sky in Companion's Field had captured the heralds' interest, and that of the healers, but few nobles had been at court that week, nor in the week that followed. Not in the thick of the harvest season, and certainly not those two. Once chosen, most had likely dismissed Kahlen as simply one of the several chosen on the eve of the new schooling year.

The boy's hands grew suddenly still, as several things occurred to him. They didn't know, save perhaps for Lord Orwen. They didn't know that Kahlen had come from the far side of the eastern empire. Did they even know she was mage-gifted? Did the heralds want them to know? It was not his problem, the boy finally decided. What was his problem was that two high ranking noblewomen had taken a exception to his Kahlen, and were planning ….

"Mischief." Gaytha, the housekeeper who oversaw the trainee's quarters and their personal needs, told the boy, her eyes narrowed in anger. "Plain mischief, Josseran, no more. We've a request for trainees to serve at the reception tonight for the Taleydras delegation that arrived last evening. Lady Maeve specifically requested Julia and Kahlen to attend her and her ladies." The woman closed her eyes, sifting back through the schedules of classes of the double dozen new trainees, and sighed. Kahlen had not been scheduled for the classes in social graces. Yet the girl was innately well mannered, even gracious when she was not dragging in dead tired from the training regime Herald Alberich was putting her through. The housekeeper frowned. She needed to talk to that man about the girl's schedule. In the meantime, there was something she could do.

"Do you have a preference, child?"

Kahlen stared blankly at the array of clothing choices laid out on her bed. "My regular grays aren't suitable?"

She listened carefully as Gaytha explained the duties that would be expected of her and Julia this evening. Julia, who'd been asked to step into Kahlen's room by the redoubtable housekeeper, listened with appalled fascination. Her face was flushed and angry by the time Gaytha had explained the need for discretion, and the likelihood of an attempt to embarrass the older girl.

First was the request that she serve at the court on such short notice, despite having received no training on court protocols. At least Josseran had alerted the housekeeper in time to provide her with suitable clothing. "You have several choices, my dear." Gaytha said. "You can wear dress grays, for one. This set is near enough your size that I can have it tailored in time. It was made for Lady Elspeth when she was a trainee, and the fabric's a bit finer than most. There are also several formal dresses, which we keep on hand for our female trainees for such occasions. Your attire need not outshine these nobles, only be of sufficient quality to leave no cause for censure."

Kahlen frowned, and fingered the dress grays, and a tremor passed through her. They were of silk – and of a quality she'd not seen before in Valdemar. Her heart beat a little faster. Pure, the fabric seemed, and unspelled. And they offered it freely, not reckoning its worth to the mage-born. "Why?" Kahlen asked quietly. "I am not exceptional. Why should this Lady Maeve seek to create this – this confrontation?"

Julia turned to her in surprise. "Lord Orwen's mother? Kahlen, think! He's in the salle, practically every time you have lessons. He's spars with you every chance he can." She flushed an even deeper red. "He's left off spending time with any of the noble ladies at court. It's starting to get noticed."

"Lord Orwen?" Kahlen's expression would have been comical, if she hadn't looked so stricken. "Orwen has been of great help to me in learning the ways of Valdemar…"

"Lord Orwen is making a fool of himself." Gaytha put in tartly. "Unless you're …inclined toward him, perhaps?"

"Inclined?" Kahlen looked from Gaytha to Julia in confusion, then blushed fiercely. "No!" Her stomach roiled in confusion. Such matters had been proscribed, save as directed by her I'nadazi masters. And Sethren … the old grief was there, still. But Sethren Morrene had loved her as a younger sibling. Kahlen had once dreamed of more, but anything they might have shared had died in the plague that destroyed Granite. Unnerved, her mind reached out to Rand.

His reply was gentle, and a bit amused :Such matters are entirely your choice, Chosen.:

Gaytha smiled. "Well then. Should you become so inclined – for Lord Orwen, or for any other young man at court, please come and speak to me beforehand. There are precautions – for heart and body -"

"Please, no!" Embarrassment had given way to a very real distress. Gaytha blinked. She was accustomed to reticence with many of the younger herald-trainees, but Kahlen had seemed older, more self aware than most. But not, it seemed, knowledgeable in matters of the heart – or in dalliance. This changed matters. If Lord Orwen were actively pursuing the girl, thinking her fair game – he would have to be warned off. She would speak to one of the Herald instructors.

"Of course, child," she answered gently.

Julia, too, had opted for dress grays. Hers had been a gift from her parents at last Midwinter Feast, and tailored to her measure. She had a fleeting regret that there was not time to do the same for her friend, but the apparel Gaytha had managed was at least a decent fit. A smiled flickered across the girl's face as she rapped on Kahlen's door. "Kaylen, let me in. I've brought ribbons -" She gasped as the door was pulled open and Kahlen grasped her hand and pulled her quickly inside.

"Well?" The older girl demanded, her face flushed, her eyes glinting.

Julia stared in amazement at her friend. The dress grays had been changed somehow. They fit perfectly now, and had been subtly altered in both style and color. The gray tunic's piping had been reworked with braided silver thread, with tiny flashes of blue worked into the shimmering gray silk. The skirts gleamed, sweeping from dark grey at the waist to almost black at the hem. Kahlen's boots had been polished to a high sheen, and her hair pulled back and worked into a thick, intricate braid. What caught and held Julia's eye, however, was the large, impossibly deep amethyst focus stone that rested on a thick silver chain at the girl's throat, and lent color to cheeks and lips.

"Where did you …"

Kahlen glanced down. "I brought it with me. It was …" a shadow crossed her face and lingered in her eyes, "a gift from my gateward."

The younger girl examined her carefully, then grinned and rubbed her hands briskly together. "You'll do, Kahlen. You'll more than do. Now sit down." Kahlen sat patiently while Julia carefully worked the black silk ribbons into her braid. They checked each other's appearance, then walked swiftly from the trainee's wing and reported to the steward.

Julia noted with satisfaction the dismay on Lady Ista's face when they entered the reception hall and took their assigned places. Josseran, she was relieved to note, was also on reception duty. The boy was neatly fitted out in dress grays modeled after Heraldic Whites. His eyes went swiftly to the gathering of court ladies, then back to Kahlen and Julia, and he smiled briefly in satisfaction. Both girls did the heralds proud, but Kahlen outshone even his expectations. Grinning broadly, he nodded to two of the queen's pages and directed the boy to begin serving the small foods and drinks.

Kahlen sighed uncomfortably. As best Gaytha had explained, she and Julia were to be little more than ornaments at this affair. They would direct the pages if it proved needful, but would perform no actual serving duties. They were to act as hostesses and dinner companions for the younger members of the delegation, and speak politely when spoken to.

She studied the gathering carefully. Treyvan had spoken with pleasure of the members of this delegation, many of whom were old friends. One, a Taleydras adept, had been instrumental in deflecting and ending the mage storms several years ago, and had been mentor to both Lady Elspeth and Adept Darkwind. She hoped to meet him, and to find an opportunity to discuss the grounding techniques she'd been unable to explain to Darkwind.

"Come." The young noblewoman who'd come to stand before her was frowning. Kahlen studied the woman curiously, then nodded and followed her toward the gathering of richly dressed courtiers. "Lady Maeve, Lord Devin, may I present -" She eyed Kahlen dubiously, as if uncertain of how to present her. Kahlen's eyes narrowed.

"Herald-mage trainee Kahlen Morrene." She offered quietly, and sent a small pulse of energy through her mage stone, making it flare briefly. Lady Ista glanced sharply at the oval shaped pendant, and stepped back uncertainly.

"So. This is Orwen's young protégé." Lady Maeve regarded the reserved young woman before her with growing curiosity. Whatever she was, she was no commoner. And a herald mage trainee? No one had thought to mention that fact. Mages were rare yet in Valdemar, even among the Chosen. Her estimation of the girl began to change.

"Lord Orwen has been very gracious in assisting with my training, Lady Maeve." Kahlen replied, giving the woman a half curtsey. She could see the resemblance between this regal, stern woman of middle years, and her son.

"Training?" Lord Devin moved to offer her a glass of wine. The man was young, dark-haired, with black eyes and a sardonic smile. She'd seen him several times in Lord Orwen's company, but had not known his name. "I understand you've been …sparring with him." Several of the nobles exchanged knowing glances.

Kahlen accepted the glass, and met the man's dark eyes, her own unreadable. "Herald Alberich limits my sparring partners, Lord Devin." She replied calmly. "I may only spar with him, with Weaponsmaster Jeri, and Herald-Captain Kerowyn, I may also practice with Captain Ashton and Lord Orwen, but only with a Herald present."

The man's look changed from amusement to puzzlement. "Indeed. Does he think so highly of your skill then, child?"

Kahlen gave him a smile with no mirth in it. "Hardly. My early training was …intense. Injuries and death were not uncommon." She shrugged. "It is different here, in Valdemar. Herald Alberich prefers that trainees not injure or kill each other." She would not discuss Rand's calming influence before these people.

"You're from outkingdom, then, Trainee Kahlen?" Lady Maeve asked, her eyes unusually bright.

"Indeed." She sampled the wine, slowly, then set it down on a nearby table and turned her attention back to Lady Maeve. "Is there aught else, Lady?"

"There most certainly is." The woman said sternly. "Are you aware that my son -"

"Is here." Lord Orwen said sharply, coming to his mother's side. He gave Kahlen a plaintive look, then turned to regard his mother with barely suppressed anger. "I do apologize for my late arrival, mother. The seneschal had several questions regarding tomorrow's arrangements for our guests." He took the woman's arm and turned her, then nodded toward the far doors.

Kahlen also turned, with no little relief at this timely interruption to what had been well on its way to a full-blown inquisition. She smiled as the gryphon envoy, Treyvan, entered. Beside him walked two strangers. Outkingdom, indeed, these two. One wore a – she could only call it a costume, in layered colors of creme and gold silk. A white streak ran through his jet black hair, which fell past his waist, and his eyes were kind. The other was even more exotic, in deep reds, gold and black, with a mask of finely hammered gold, intricately patterned over thin, black leather. Brilliant blue eyes gazed serenely out of it. The mouth was – scarred, she realized suddenly. As were his hands and forearms. Burn scars, she realized, old and faded. A large, white-plumaged bird rode in state on his left shoulder, trailing a shower of mage sparks. Her curiosity piqued, Kahlen ventured a few steps closer. The envoy's hair was brilliant white. Mage-born, she realized, and something about the man was oddly familiar. Treyvan nodded amiably to her, then paused to speak briefly to his companions.

Kahlen hesitated a moment, then invoked mage-sight. Treyvan glowed his familiar golden brown, with the complex patterns of light that bespoke his status as a master mage. The dark-haired envoy glowed a soft blue-green. Healer, or very like to one, she thought absently. She looked again at the exotic, white-haired envoy – and the man's aura flared white with a brilliance that nearly blinded her. Energy patterns, red and an intense green wove an intricate pattern through the sheer white fire that surrounded him. Her own aura flared in response and warding – she stepped back a pace, then two, fighting the impulse to turn and run.

I'nadazi.

For a moment, rage and despair threatened to choke her. The mage stiffened suddenly. The masked face whipped toward her, and his shields flared white in instinctive reaction, enveloping the gryphon and his companion. Hers responded, springing out in pale amethyst, encasing herself, the nobles gathered around Lord Orwen, and the two Herald-trainees. She did not reach for weapons that were not there – against such power, such shields, steel was a faint hope, not a weapon.

A touch on her wrist made her start, and almost scream. "Kahlen?" It was Josseran, his eyes troubled and confused. :Kahlen, it's all right. There's no threat here, I swear it.:

:He is I'nadazi!: But Josseran could hear the uncertainty in her mind-voice. Coupled with fear, for him and the others present, that had her trembling like a drawn bow. Trained battle-mage, he recalled. Oh Gods…

:He is Adept Firesong, the Tayledras envoy, and a guest of the Queen.: The boy responded firmly. :He. Is. No. Threat.:

:Chosen.: Rand's mind caught and held hers, implacably. :Kahlen, the boy is right. Master Firesong is a long-time ally and friend to Valdemar. Lower your shields.:

Almost, Kahlen rebelled. Yet she had never seen an I'nadazi so attired, or in such company. And he had not attacked, only watched her with a wary caution that bespoke extreme patience – or extreme confidence. She risked a glance as Josseran, then at Julia, who was plainly terrified – of her. Grimly, she lowered her shields and watched in amazement as the white haired mage did the same.

Treyvan came forward slowly, his crest raised in tension. :Kahlen – are you well, child? Your shields -: The gryphon watched her with growing unease. Her shields were lowered, but her aura was pulsing unevenly.

:No.: She answered, then, "I need to leave now, before -" Too late. The red clad mage had approached them, his eyes intent and challenging.

"So, Treyvan. This is your new student?"

"Indeed." The gryphon answered. The great raptor's head cocked sideways, watching her carefully. "Kahlen, may I make you known to Healing-Adept Firesong, and his mate, Kestra'chern Silverfox?"

Kahlen looked from one to the other, her panic growing. "Excuse me." She said abruptly, then turned and walked swiftly out of the reception hall.

Firesong stared after the young woman with narrowed eyes. Almost, he had attempted a forced reading through her shields. Almost, he had done the unthinkable in response to the threat he'd sensed – and the sudden surge of raw, elemental power. And in these close quarters, unshielded as they were, the results would have – he closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe deeply, slowly, as Silverfox had taught him. Selenay would not have appreciated crisped courtiers. The image brought a sudden burst of laughter. Gods, I almost...

" 'Ashke, are you well?" Silverfox' eyes were on him, and worried. The Kaled'a'in touched his wrist at the pulse point, then frowned. "What did she do to you?"

"I don't know." Firesong answered softly. Slowly, he brought his energy flows back into balance, and regained a measure of composure. "Caught me off-guard, and that is a thing that has not happened since my apprentice days." He turned serious eyes on the gryphon. "So, old friend. Why, think you, Selenay requested us?"

Treyvan cocked his head toward the two, then looked toward the double doors through which Kahlen had fled. He considered intervening nobles, all carefully not-listening, and wished fretfully that Lady Elspeth and Darkwind were here. :Because my student is from out-kingdom, and came here by way of a single gating – from the far side of the empire. Her comrade did not survive the journey, and when the Farseers scried it, the place they came from looked like a mage-storm had taken it.:

Firesong's eyes widened behind his ornate mask. "Indeed. Then perhaps we should -" He felt it then – a disturbance in the ley lines that fed Valdemar's heartstone – and a lash of power that he – almost – recognized. And he was running, Treyvan and Silverfox in his wake, his mind already reaching out for Elspeth and Darkwind. Beyond the Palace steps, power trembled in the sky, flashed crimson against the night, and struck the dark earth. :Elspeth, guard the Queen! Darkwind, to me.:
Kahlen felt the power even as she fled toward Companion's Field. :Rand!: The Companion waited by the fence, his head turned skyward, following the power signature. Lightning flashed suddenly through a cloudless night sky, searing the stars, a wild Gate ripping through the heavens, tearing down, into the field. :The Companions!: She didn't stop to think – no time – only reached, pulled, and held. The force of it crushed her to her knees, and her vision went red, then black.

:Chosen – hold fast!: And power came. A trickle at first, then a rush, then a torrent. Kahlen cried out, then grasped the power flowing from Rand – and from others of the Companion herd. The Gate fought her, then slowly began to yield. Focus. Hold. It burned in her, through her, raging for control. She fought it, called to it, her mind bending, flexing it into patterns that could be guided, given strength enough.

:I can't hold it!: And yet more power came, unasked for, questing, merging flawlessly with her own. Kahlen pulled at the Gate, coaxed it, and finally felt it hesitate, yield, and come to rest against her shaking hands. Gate – then shield. The gifted strength pulled back then, slowly, gently. Something fell through the Gate, fell into her shields, releasing the Gate back into the Void. The black-garbed figure within her shield groaned softly, then pulled off the faceless helm.

And Kahlen stared, white faced and shaking, at Drisae. Gatemaster and guardian. Friend and brother. She sank back onto the ground, dropping her ravaged hands to her knees, and stared at him in disbelief. Felt his wavering shields rise to match her own and seal against them, locking into irrevocable place. Sealing her out. "Dris?" It came out a hoarse whisper. "Drisae!"

Drisae shuddered, then pushed himself into a sitting position. The dark eyes were rimmed in shadows, and his face was pale, too pale. He coughed weakly, and fought to look beyond the shields. And she saw the bruising on his face and neck, the discoloration about his mouth, and could have wept with frustration and grief.

"Firechild." His voice was hoarse, and a scarce above a whisper. "Is Sethren…"

She shook her head, her eyes blurring with tears. Drisae had taken the infusion, had fought off the plague – or so she had thought. She'd hoped – prayed – that he had escaped the horror that had been Granite, and perhaps the others of her ward..

"I followed his gate pattern, hoping…" he shook his head, then groaned. "Kahlen, I haven't much time."

"No." She said hoarsely. "They've healers here – Dris, they have to try!" Because he would die, as Sethren had died, and she couldn't bear it.

He laughed softly, his eyes dark with regret. "I won't risk a healer…I came for Sethren – and for you, Firechild, if all else failed. In hopes that you could fight this plague, as you fought the one before it. And to warn you. We failed, at Granite. My group was captured, the survivors taken. Those who created it were…much unsettled, that we had not succumbed. They made changes – made it worse, if such a thing were possible. And I fear – I fear it has spread, beyond the control of those who made it. It may be loose, even now, in the empire. And they will loose it here, against the storm makers. They have little to lose now, and they are desperately afraid." He coughed again, and this time blood stained his narrow face. His eyes passed over her, grew wide at the sight of the Heralds gathering behind her. One dark brow raised in fleeting humor.

"So, Sethren made it, after all. And you, Firechild… have you found a home here?"

Kahlen felt, rather than saw the Healer Kevren drop down beside her. And the white-haired mage who'd fed her power, at the last. Both watched her carefully, but made no move to interfere.

"Dris, let me in." She said it firmly, hoping even now that he would relent. Her hands flared with power as she withdrew her shields. Dris eyed her with a world of regret. And drew a dagger from his belt, then calmly slashed it across his left wrist.

She was moving before he completed the stroke, screaming, pounding recklessly against his shields. The healer Kevren moved with her, one hand clutching her shoulder, his face blanched in horror. And Kahlen phased, through the shield, desperate to reach Dris. She had not meant to drag the healer through the shields with her. Had not meant to fall, sideways, against the gatemaster's faltering grip as he attempted to shift the weapon to his left hand. Had not meant to fall, hard, against the weapon that buried itself between her ribs, shocking her with the cold length of it, and the lethal promise carried in Dris' blood that yet stained it to the hilt.

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A/N – Please R&R. Too slow? Too fast? Virtual chocolate for reviewers – the good stuff! Also repost Chaps 1 through 4, mostly cleanups.