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 reviews
Shahanna – I'd never thought of that twist on the blood disease – it's a real possibility I'll need to explore.
PrettyKittyOreo, konekochan, Terryie – thanks for the encouragement!
Cat – As always, your advice and suggestions are priceless! Will try to keep pace balance, and production up!
Chapter 12 – Fire Bound
The adept looked at her uncertainly. "Only once, during my adept training. Not since. I would have needed a compelling reason." His hands, she noted, were trembling with reaction. He shifted uncomfortably, but did not resist as his mate urged him back down onto the bed, sliding an extra pillow under the adept's head. "Shape changing is … very dangerous, even for a healing adept. It's very easy to…lose oneself." His eyes closed in exhaustion. His companion, Silverfox, ran hands that trembled slightly just above his lifemate's forehead, then looked at her in growing concern. "What has happened to him?" His voice was low and even, belying the fear and uncertainty in his eyes.
"I'm not sure." Kahlen whispered, then looked from Silverfox back to the healer. "He was… shifting into light – into an elemental form – with no pattern and no knowledge of how to renew himself. I gathered what pattern I could, to draw him back into this plane." Her own hands were shaking now. "That - place he took us seemed to have some memory of him… it gave me echoes of his pattern. I used it. I tried to restore his physical form, but – the pattern was incomplete. I did what I could. Whether he can hold to this shape…" Her voice trembled, edged with hysteria. "Don't let him dream – no nightmares, at least. Don't leave him unguarded, not for an instant. He's untrained – his mind is strong and disciplined, but in this he is untrained." Kahlen rubbed shaking hands across her own eyes. They came away wet with tears. "I can't think what to do."
"We will tend him, child." Devan watched her carefully, then stepped forward and lifted her out of the chair. "Now you are going to lay down and rest and drink what I give you." Carefully, he placed her back into bed. He turned healing sight on the girl, then on Firesong. With great relief, he saw that the strange energy bond between them had dissipated to a faint whisper. Firesong, at least, looked solid and stable enough to his eyes. "I will have a healer in here with you at all times, and two more within call. But for now you need to rest." His sharp eyes swept the room. "All of you."
"She needs to eat." Darkwind spoke quietly, pushing himself away from the wall. "As will Firesong, when he wakes." The adept placed a compassionate hand on Silverfox's shoulder. "Come, my friend. There's an unused bed where you can stay within call, should Firesong need you."
"You should get some rest yourself, Darkwind." Devan cautioned, then raked a hand through his hair and sighed. "I intend to do the same."
"I will." The adept smiled wearily, and headed for the door. "But first I must speak to Elspeth – and the Queen."
* * *
"I have to see her." Lord Orwen glared blearily at the young healer barring his way. The frantic anxiety he'd struggled to contain these past two days fueled an anger that brought him near to breaking this young fool's head. He should have been there, at the field when the stranger had arrived – he'd known Kahlen was in danger, but not soon enough. He vaguely recalled standing among confused courtiers, then had suddenly found himself on the palace terrace, looking anxiously for Kahlen only moments after she'd fled the reception hall. He'd spotted her near the Companion's Field a bare moment before she and the Adept Firesong vanished from within that strange shield in a blaze of magefire. He'd nearly been run down by Darkwind as the adept rushed back into the palace. Orwen vaguely recalled dashing forward, heart pounding, only to slam into the oddly glowing barrier that separated the dying stranger, Kevren, and a Companion from Lady Elspeth and the hastily gathering heralds. When he'd wakened his head was blazing with pain, he was laid out in a room in the Healer's Collegium and Lady Elspeth was holding him down while a young healer bent over him, rain dripping down her nose and barely suppressed panic in her eyes.
They'd refused to let him leave despite his protests, and Elspeth had finally ordered him to stay in bed until the healers pronounced him fit to rise. That had been three days ago. The healers had been looking at him strangely ever since, and his head still wouldn't quite pounding.
"Sir, please. I've sent for Healer Devan, and -" The young man turned with undisguised relief toward the steps coming down the hall. Devan pushed gently past the apprentice and eased the noble back into his room.
"You can't leave yet." The senior healer murmured, eyeing him sympathetically. "Please, Lord Orwen, sit down. We need to talk."
- The young noble raked both hands through his hair – somewhat the worse for lack of recent grooming, then spun away from the healer before he did something unforgivably rude. "Devan, I have to -"
"Trainee Kahlen is mending nicely – for all that the blade went deep, it severed nothing vital."
"She was hurt?" And he suddenly saw it again, the flash of image that had caught him unaware in at the Hawkbrother envoy's reception and sent him plunging out into the storm. Kahlen, frantic to reach the stranger within the mage shield, passing through the shield the way she'd passed through his weapons in the salle. The healer Kevren clinging to her arm and following in her wake. The dagger, the stranger's slashed wrist, Kahlen blocking his attempt to slash himself with a second and mortal blow. "I should have been there." He murmured vaguely. The room had blurred into a pale, gray mist, and Orwen could barely make out the healer's form as Devan caught him and eased him onto the floor.
"Damn it, Levon, get it here!" He turned back to the young noble. Not eating, he'd heard from the apprentices. He tapped Orwen lightly on the face, his eyes filled with concern. "Stay with me, boy. When did you last eat?"
"Not hungry." Orwen shoved his hand away and managed a sitting position. "Before the reception," he muttered.
"Not sleeping, either, I'm told." The healer's eyes narrowed. He ran sensitive hands over the young man's face, then checked his pulse. The concern he'd felt earlier deepened. "Orwen, just what do you remember? What happened at the reception? After Firesong and Silverfox ran out?"
Orwen raised a hand and rubbed fretfully at the bridge of his nose. "I felt something was wrong – that Kahlen was in trouble. I ran after her and the envoys, followed them out to the Field. She was inside some sort of mage shield, with the healer, Kevren. I could see it glowing in the rain. Firesong – dove through the shield and it seemed he – caught fire. The Kahlen touched him, and both of them were glowing, dissolving into light. She and Firesong vanished, but I could still sense them – almost as if the fire was some kind of gate. I ran forward until I struck that thrice-damned shield. I don't remember anything after that, until I woke up here."
The healer-apprentice, Levon, poked his head into the room, eyeing Orwen with an odd mixture of sympathy and fear. Devan searched the young noble's face carefully, then glanced at his apprentice. "Bring a light meal, and some watered wine." He ordered quietly. He helped Orwen into a chair.
"Lord Orwen, you never went out to the field." Devan said quietly. "You collapsed inside the palace a few moments after the envoys left the reception hall. Your mother and several of the other ladies panicked. Captain Ashton took charge, and someone finally ran to fetch Lady Elspeth -"
"This makes no sense." Orwen protested. "I saw Elspeth - she was in the rain, holding the shields – I think." He shoved himself out of the chair and began pacing restlessly. "I remember Darkwind shouting at her to take control, before he ran past me back into the palace. Then I hit that damned shield and – I can't remember anything until Elspeth woke me up after I was dragged back here."
"Orwen," Devan said gently. "You never left the reception hall. You collapsed there. You were brought directly here. We –" he hesitated a moment, then eyed the tray young Levon placed carefully on the small table against the window. "We thought you were dead, Orwen. I thought you were dead. No pulse, you weren't breathing, no sense of a living presence. And I still can't explain why you're not." The healer rose, poured a generous glass of wine, and pressed it into Orwen's numb hands.
"But I saw –" a wave of dizziness blurred Orwen's vision. "Damn." He drained the glass, then almost dropped it as a second wave of green fire caught him and swept the room away. Dimly, he could hear the healer shouting for help. Then even that faded.
He was standing in a spacious, wood paneled room graced with rich leather furnishings and a large, comfortable desk. Selenay looked oddly small behind it. Her eyes were bleak and sympathetic. "I'm sorry Orwen, but unless you're prepared to demand a hearing under truthspell, Lady Ista is within her rights. If you've dishonored her -"
"I haven't." He said heavily. "But if I repudiate her – Selenay, you can't afford this. You need her family's support in Council, and they've wanted this alliance for years. If Lady Ista demands her rights, I won't – I can't - contest it." He silently cursed himself for a fool. He'd known the girl was infatuated with him – half the young women at court were – but he'd never dreamed she'd go this far. To claim to be carrying his child? He'd never touched the girl. And Ashton would never forgive him. The captain loved the girl beyond reason. Ashton had already fought two duels on her behalf. When he heard of this, he'd likely be facing the captain over dueling sabers, and not in the salle. And Kahlen – he'd never be able to explain it to her. He turned away, despairing – and green fire flashed into his eyes, disorienting him -
"Orwen, damn it – don't do this to an old man – what happened?" Devan was leaning over him, his narrow face tense.
"I was in Selenay's office." He murmured distractedly. "At least, I will be…"
He stood frozen in the large throne room where the Queen received foreign delegations, his eyes on the exotically garbed envoys who stood before her. Selenay was seated in formal Whites, the Prince-Consort standing at her right hand, Queen's Own Talia at her left. Before them stood a delegation of three men, one clad in bold fabrics, heavily brocaded in gold, the others in jet black, with capes that were oddly familiar and the look of warriors about them. These moved back, subtly, as if in deference to their patron.
"You are not wise, Queen of Valdemar, to withhold the prisoners we seek. They will wreck the same havoc in your land that they did in ours. Yet with your…cooperation, we may yet find a means…" Fire erupted within the large, vaulted room, sending courtiers and servants alike shrieking for cover. A mage shield leapt into being between the Queen's dais and the outlanders, as a young Tayledras he'd never seen before leapt forward, hands outstretched, his power joining with that of Lady Elspeth and Darkwind. Kahlen lunged forward, eyes glowing, her face set and straining and melting into yet more fire…
:Orwen!: That harsh mind voice jolted him back into the past – or was it the present? :Gods above, Orwen, stay with us.: When he could finally open his eyes there were three healers kneeling around him – and Herald Alberich, his slate gray eyes narrowed in concentration. :Can you hear me now, Ori?: Alberich's voice resonated in his head, but his lips never moved.
His mouth was too parched to manage so much as a croak. He nodded cautiously instead. Every muscle ached, as if he'd been running – or fighting – for hours. The incessant pounding in his head seemed to echo with hundreds of voices. His mind roiled in confusion. But I don't have mindspeech – that, or any other gifts.
:Well, you do now.: Alberich's mental voice was taut with concern. :Try to focus on me –shield you I can, I think.: The voices abruptly went silent. Orwen closed his eye in relief – yet another flash of green took his vision – Ista stared at him, her face flushed with shame and rage, her eyes brimming with tears. Ashton stood behind her, blade drawn, face taut with a bleak misery that made his own heart ache in sympathy.
"I will not deny you, Ista." His own voice was gentle and pitying. "But I will not lie for you, either, and certainly not to the captain. If you are indeed with child, it is none of my doing." His eyes went to the Captain. "Thann, I will not meet you here or on any other field – least of all Lady Ista's…honor. I will grieve for the loss of our friendship." He bowed slightly and turned away, his mind already turned toward the upcoming Council meeting. He never saw the misery in Ashton's eyes turn to blind fury, or the sword sweep forward with deadly purpose…
Devan's hands were still shaking when they finally got Orwen back into bed, with enough sleeping draught in him to keep him there. Alberich seemed just as shaken. "What was that?" The healer demanded harshly. "His heart stopped – again! It's like he wasn't here."
"Foresight." Alberich said shortly. "But of a kind I have not seen before, and much different than my own, which only manifests if threat there is, and imminent." He sighed heavily. "Forcibly wakened, late and out of control, I think. The mindspeech forced as well, and no shields, which would have wakened apace with it." Kantor's support and silent comfort eased his mind a bit. Orwen, he thought somberly, had no such comfort. "You'd best send for a mindhealer, Devan. We need to know what we're dealing with, and swiftly."
* * *
Firesong had drifted in and out of consciousness so many times that Silverfox hesitated to believe he was truly awake and aware. But the deep amethyst eyes that turned toward him were lucid now, and calm. "I can see you, ashke." He murmured softly, then struggled up out of the bedcovers. "Heyla, is there something to eat in this place?"
All the tension melted out of Silverfox's shoulders, but his hands shook slightly as he reached for the water jug, poured a small cup, and handed it to Firesong. "I was beginning to think you'd never waken." He said hoarsely.
"I had … strange dreams." Firesong murmured, then stared down at the hands holding the cup and nearly dropped it. "My hands…" the eyes returned to Silverfox's face, searching. "It wasn't a dream."
"If you mean falling through a strange mage shield, and gating into the Palace heartstone room with Trainee Kahlen, no. You…both of you… seemed to have shared each other memories. She managed to pull you both back into the corporeal world, but…there were changes." Silverfox took his lifemate's hands. Strong hands, unchanged in size or shape, but – the skin was smooth and flawless. Nothing remained of the scars he'd taken in that last mage storm. "I'm afraid you've lost a few years, ashke. And a bit more." Cautiously, he reached for a small hand mirror and held it up.
Firesong stared for several moments into the silvered glass, then raised tentative hands to his face. "Gods…it's not…" A stranger's face – vaguely, he recalled his younger self. The shape of it seemed to echo out of a distant memory of the past, but the eyes were – strange. No longer the familiar silver he'd inherited from his distant ancestor, Herald-mage Vanyel Ashkevron. And his hair – for a moment indignation washed over him – and uncertainty. He'd never seen himself as an adult – or even a youth – with the jet black hair so common to Tayledras or their Shin'a'in cousins. Panic struck him, that his mage gift, so central to his very being, had also been reft away – and the room began shaking, a deep rumble emanating from the floor and walls. No! The quaking stopped abruptly but left him deeply shaken, gripping his in-most energies with iron control, lest they escape again. No, his mage-gift was still there – but different, grown restless, barely contained. He shuddered a moment, then opened his eyes – stranger's eyes. Silverfox watched him with compassion and undisguised worry.
"I need to move to the ekele." He said unsteadily. "And I need an adept – and a mind healer." His hands sought out the kestra'chern's. "I can't ask you to -"
"Don't be more foolish than you have to be, ashke. You can't make me leave you." Silverfox pulled him into a fierce hug. "And I am a mindhealer. We will deal with this, shayana." He ran shaking hands through his beloved's hair. "There are already strands of silver returning."
Firesong relaxed into his lifemate's embrace, but only for a moment. "Young Kahlen. Is she…"
"She's mending well." Silverfox relaxed a trifle. Firesong's mind, at least seemed undamaged by his ordeal. "Her blood fought off fever the stranger carried, though it left her weak. The Healer's are more concerned with Lord Orwen. He's – something happened to him, the night you were injured."
Firesong listened with growing alarm as Silverfox recounted the young noble's apparent collapse and recurring seizures. "There are no other healing adepts in Haven that I know of." He said heavily. "I think I'd best see to him."