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!

Kudos to my reviewers! I REALLY get inspired by R&R feedback hint, hint
jcbemis() – The vrondi was called by the truthspell Alberich invoked in Ch. 6. The truth spell uses an elemental vrondi (See VC concordance)
Rosakala – Thanks! Cliffhangers are an excellent tool used to lure the reader into turning the page to the next chapter.
Wolfwind – Thanks for the kudos! I've been writing intermittently for a long time, though. Also took some classes and read MANY books/articles on writing by noted experts in the field – including Ms. Lackey. Re. your Q - Firesong is quite capable of becoming a sorcerer adept – which is a term An'desha introduced in "Mage Storms" to describe someone like Ma'ar or Urtho. The question to ask is, would he wind up another Ma'ar, or follow in Urtho's footsteps? I'll confess to taking a few liberties. I'm assuming Firesong wasn't able to heal *himself* at the end of "Storm Breaking" because his personal energies were exhausted, and the level of pain he was in made it impossible to focus clearly.
Chapter 10 - The Heartstone

Darkwind rose slowly, seeking frantically for some sign of Firesong and the young trainee. Rain lashed against the shields he had taken from Firesong, flashing to steam as it struck the shimmering barrier. With the rain came a rising wind, wild and whipping, through the nearby trees.

"He's not dead." Silverfox whispered softly. "Goddess help us, he can't be dead." He scrambled to his feet, staring in numbed disbelief at people still trapped inside the shields. Only the healer, Kevren, the stranger, and Kahlen's Companion remained within the shimmering barrier. Silverfox spun about, Elspeth's hand still gripping his arm, searching frantically for his lifemate. Darkwind closed his eyes and shifted to mage-sight, looking with all his skill for some trace of Firesong. After a moment his eyes snapped open, tense and worried.

"Ke'chara, please, you must take the shields." He raised one hand to lightly touch Elspeth's cheek, giving her Firesong's last warning in a desperate burst of thought. Then he turned and began running, back towards the Palace. Elspeth watched him uncertainly, but stayed with the kestra'chern, her mind reaching out to firmly grasp the faltering shields.

Firesong struggled to move through the thick, heavy fog that had stolen the light, the air, and his sight, sound and breath. He was fading, freezing, thinning into a thin mist of ice and dark and death. Something clung to him, hot and fiery, that drew him like a moth to flame. He needed that heat – yet recoiled in horror as he realized he was leaching the life out of someone – or something. Drowning in the dark. Blessed Goddess, help me. A mindless scream lashed at him, struggling to turn them both, to pull them toward…. he sensed it then, a subtle, roaring power, deep rooted in the earth, potent and oddly familiar – and oddly tuned to him. He struggled toward it, still praying, desperate for another source of energy. He would not take it from another living being. Star-eyed, lend us wings… He was able to help that driving force a bit now, though feebly, as the black, cloying fog gave way before the growing light. The presence he'd sensed seemed to pull them both faster, struggling desperately toward it. Fire seared him then, lashing the new burns, dragging him down into pain and a searing void – then the blessed relief of the dark.

Kahlen was sobbing by the time she'd flung the gate back into the physical plane, and plunged them both into the strange power pool. Embedded in stone, enclosed within stone walls, yet near enough that it had called to the Tayledras adept – and through him, to her. Pulling him toward the light was like wading through living fire. She paused on the edge of it, then looked with dread and wonder at the shimmering energy, and at the man who, though barely alive, had almost dragged her into it. He was unconscious now, blessedly unaware of the burns that lacerated face, arms, and hands, trapped and shifting between flesh and fire. The power roared through them both, unfettered, willing to be tamed to his will – and he could not use it. I can't do this, she thought despairingly.

Her own vision was wavering now, seared by the power beating against the adept and fading with the sluggish blood that flowed from her half healed wound. :Rand…: Her Companion was a faint, distant presence that battered futilely against the shields that trapped him, struggling to reach her, and failing. She was losing them both. She had brought the adept this far, and he was fading as she watched. I can't do this. Weeping softly, Kahlen put her hands into the shifting light and focused her mind down, down into the life pattern that yet remained. She caught it, made it part of her, and pulled the power into him, willing the patterns that defined him to renew, to reform, to take the light and make it flesh. Patterns. She could see them now, pulled them into the language that shaped her power, mastered them. The power reacted, pulled back, poised to strike out and destroy her – and paused.

*!!? Herald? Herald.* It surged into her then, seeking to find and match her will. It flooded over her, overpowered what consciousness remained, and pulled her irresistibly into the magefires at its heart.

Darkwind pounded through the lower level corridors that led to the heartstone chamber beneath the Old Palace. He could feel the surge of roused, unfettered power, and a faint echo of Firesong's presence, but no conscious thought. Heart racing, he thrust open the hidden door and stepped inside. The Valdemar heartstone flared in recognition, its power surging toward him, then drew back into an iridescent fountain of light centered on the stone table that formed its core.

Darkwind paused only an instant, eyes scanning the room, then hurried to the small figure slumped on the far side of the stone table. Kahlen was breathing shallowly, but breathing. She seemed translucent, glowing with an inner light, but beneath the fading glow her skin was pasty and white. Her grey tunic was ripped and heavily blood stained. The adept cursed softly, then yanked off his own, long-sleeved tunic and folded it into a rough pad. He gently peeled back the grey silk, pressed the bulk of the fabric against the sluggishly bleeding wound, and used the sleeves to bind the pad tightly against it. Head bowed, he reached out to Elspeth . :Ke'chara, send healers to the Heartstone chamber. I think –:

A low groaning came from the far side of the stone table. Darkwind rose quickly and crossed the small chamber. Hope turned to uncertainty even as he knelt swiftly next to the limp form that curled against the wall, face down in the shadows. His hands were shaking as he reached for the man. Tattered, charred red silks half covered him, and a thin, crushed mask of half-melted gold lay discarded on the stone floor. Firesong flinched away from him, even half conscious, and curled into a fetal position. Sheth'ka, he whispered, hesitating to even touch him for fear of causing pain. Burns… Goddess, not again.

"Firesong?" he called softly, then steeled himself to touch the adept. "Don't move, shayana, I've called for healers…"

A harsh sob echoed softly through the small chamber, and a crushing despair spasmed through him as his fingers brushed Firesong's shoulder. She – he? - was standing inside a massive stone chamber, so large that faint sobs echoed hollowly within it. Several burns had scored his hands and chest, and his clothing was charred in several places. He knelt, panting, in the center of a mage barrier that pulsed with a deep, yellow glow. On the far side, Chansin knelt, his smooth, round face twisted into a mask of grief and horror that bordered on madness. Perhaps nine or ten, his hands trembled as he raised them yet again to strike at his opponent, then let them drop listlessly at his side. "No…no…" the boy whispered. The eyes, usually brimming with mischief and good humor, had gone vague and empty. "Please, Kahlen. End it."

He'd struggled to his feet, somehow. The thirst was the worst. No water. No food, but he doubted he'd eat, ever again. And he would not kill this child, who'd come to him, bewildered and disbelieving, when they'd first been ordered to prepare for this testing. "Chas…we have to fight. But together..not against each other. We have to – to break the mage barrier…" The boy only shook his head hopelessly, trembling uncontrollably. None of the students had ever dared such a thing – to fight the I'nadazi masters. Firesong – Kahlen? - glanced helplessly at nearest the mage circle beyond their own, where Hakan sat, tears streaming down his frozen face, staring at what was left of Kennu in mute disbelief. His brothers, of the only family they'd ever known. And they were killing each other – for that was the test – that two be sealed into the mage barrier, to challenge each other until only one survived. Only then, said the masters, would the barrier be released. Three days, they'd been held in this place, denied food, water, or any explanation. So had their masters decreed. Hakan abruptly raised his hands to his own temples and released a blast of mage energy.

Firesong's scream eclipsed Hakan's own as lightning shot from the other boy's hands, blasting head and chest to charred cinder – and Chansin struck at Firesong, his face desperate, his eyes shadowed with a feral rage that held nothing of sanity. His own shields flared instinctively, shaped themselves to capture the wild energies pouring from the younger boy to prevent their rebounding against the barrier – but Chansin threw himself forward, into the inferno, and fell in a pitiful heap of charred flesh and bone.

Firesong stared in disbelief at the work of his hands – he'd meant to save the child, not destroy him. His strength failed him, and he sank, trembling, to the ground. Hakan…Hakan had known. They would be rematched, after a short rest, to be tested – and retested – until the masters were satisfied that only the strongest remained. His heart pounded unevenly, throat closing in denial. I won't – I can't. He felt, rather than saw, the mage barrier come down. Master Soren approached, and he could sense the I'nadazi's pleasure and surprise. Rage and grief welled up in him, that these adepts – these masters – could set them to destroy each other. Better to die fighting such evil, than to kill at their orders. Firesong raised his hands, turning to face Soren –

:Firesong?: Not Soren, that voice. And not his memories. Gasping, the Tayledras adept opened his eyes. Darkwind's worried face slowly came into focus, hesitant and confused.

:Darkwind. Gods above, I thought you were Soren – I almost –: Gods, he hurt all over. His face and body felt unfamiliar and oddly disjointed. He could not stop shaking, and his soul was bleeding. For a moment he simply clung to Darkwind, seeing Chansin's face. "The trainee, Kahlen?"

"She's here, but very weak. I stopped the bleeding, I think. The healers are -" Darkwind could hear them pounding down the corridor. "But Firesong -" He looked down at his friend, helpless to explain, at raven black hair, without a streak of silver, and a face out of his first memories of the k'Treva adept, smooth, unscarred and flawless. And eyes that were no longer the familiar silver, but deepest amethyst. Kahlen's eyes.

:Dizzy.: That thought came sluggishly, with a burst of nausea. :Can't… seem to find my balance…: The doors burst open and chaos ensued as four healers entered. Deven dropped down beside Darkwind and reached for the Tayledras.
"Please, don't try to move, Envoy -" The master healer paused in astonishment, then looked at Darkwind, who only shook his head. Mutely, Deven turned back to his patient. "I want to make you sleep, Firesong, if you'll permit." His voice was mild and soothing, but his hands shook slightly. "We're going to move you to your quarters, and ensure you're safe and your – injuries treated."

Firesong nodded hesitantly. "Don't let me dream…" he murmured. "I almost - I could have killed…" He drifted off as Deven pressed his fingers lightly against the adept's forehead, willing him into a deep sleep.

Darkwind shivered. "He was caught up in a memory – or a nightmare – when I found them, Master Deven. "Kahlen's, I think, and very –" He hesitated, then rubbed his face. "I caught a fragment. It was bad. I think – I think you'd best send for a mind healer. And I – I had best talk to Silverfox." The younger healers had brought two carriers, and moved Kahlen as carefully as possible onto one of them.

Darkwind followed them out of the chamber, then suddenly gripped Deven's arm. "Look." He said hoarsely. Deven followed his gaze, then looked more carefully. Something ran between his two patients, tangled and glowing for those with healing or mage gift. Something that pulsed with dual heartbeats, and stretched and attenuated as the two were moved farther apart, Firesong toward the ambassadorial suites, the girl toward Healer's Collegium. Firesong moaned softly, and Kahlen roused, whimpering in real pain, then suddenly went into convulsions.

"Stop." Deven was sweating now, sensitive to the power surging fitfully between the two. "Healer's Collegium." He said finally. "Both of them."

Darkwind closed his eyes. :Elspeth. We found them, both alive. Master Deven is moving them to Healer's Collegium. Firesong has…changed. You'd best bring Silverfox. The others?:

:Still shielded, ashke.: Her mindvoice was strained. :But the stranger is failing, and Kevren with him.:

Kevren was no longer aware of the shield, or the worried, strained faces beyond it, or of the howling wind that made speech through the shield impossible. All his mind and gift were focused solely on the limp, unconscious form before him, the face shadowed with exhaustion and bruised from the disease that was swiftly taking him, despite all the healer could do. Nothing he had tried had done more than slow it down, and now he could feel it slowly eating into his own defenses. Hours, a day or two at best, and it would have them both. Dimly, he recalled Kahlen's words - fire could kill it, she'd said. Panic rose in the healer as he realized he had no means of raising fire, of burning it from within before someone decided to open the shield. Deven might do it, too, he realized despairingly, rather than let a patient or one of his healers die. He glanced mutely at the Companion, wondering if he could make him understand. Slowly, the creature nodded its head. The healer's hands shook as he reached for the stranger's knife.