Though he knew the reason for the unfairness, anger churned in his gut. A complaint wouldn’t work. Mecador favored Cregan. Arton led his four slaves from the citadel and down the road paved with slabs of stone. The ruts on the surface showed how long the road had been used. Green tufts appeared where the stones had cracked. Low bushes of spira lined the sides of the road. In the spring, lace flowers covered the bushes and filled the air with a sweet aroma.
When Arton saw the white sails of the ships his excitement grew. He had four slaves and he wanted to fill four darts with goods. He and his slaves reached the shore of sand and rocks. He led them to the long stone building where trading would take place.
Mecador entered the building and spoke to the ship captains and the cargo masters. He signaled Arton. “Captain Caug and Cargo master Magon will deal with you. Trade well.”
Arton nodded to the two men. Since he had never traded before, he hoped he appeared confident. The men followed him outside so they could view the slaves in the bright light of the sun. He noticed the other captain and cargo master stood with Cregan.
The bargaining began. Arton traded the first man for a cartload of cloth and metal tools. The second brought the beans to make the bitter brew, and grain. For the third he received a cart of assorted items like spices and seasonings. He prayed his fourth slave would be worth another cartload.
“I have something special,” the cargo master said. He pulled a sack from his belt. “These may be the last fyrestones we’ll ever have for trade. They are only found on this island. The priestesses of the Temple of Fyre have barred traders from their land. What will the wizards do when there are none to power their wands?”
The latent power of the stones in the pouch shocked Arton. He sank to his knees. His thoughts spun like a whirlpool threatening to pull him into the roiling water.
“Fyrestones are found in mountainous areas. We will hunt the hills and mountains for the stones. Others will be found.”
The captain laughed. “Are there many among you who are willing to go into mines to dig?” He patted Arton’s shoulder. “No matter. Let us show you these stones. Supreme suspects we have them. He’ll trade with us if you won’t, but he will not be happy when there are other things he desires.”
Though Arton sensed the power in the stones, he had to see them. The wizards only wanted white fyrestones but he sensed them all. He knelt and put a cloth on the ground. “Show me.”
The cargo master poured a cascade of stones, mostly white but with a few colored stones in the mix. Arton gasped. There must be more than a hundred whites.
“What do you want for them?”
“Your last slave,” the captain said.
Arton frowned. “There are still things I’d like to obtain. Several bottles of the spirits the hareem women use to make medicines would be good.”
The cargo master nodded. “We could do that. And to sweeten the deal I’ll add two bolts of cloth for the hareem women.” He pointed to a dark blue and a dark brown.
Arton nodded. Though he wouldn’t feel the fourth cart he thought the stones would make his score high enough to win. If not there would be a tie. He stooped to gather the stones into the pouch keeping five white and all the colored stones for himself. He carried the remaining stones to his carts and buried them beneath his other purchases. He walked to the bonfire on the beach for a heated drink and to watch the trade for the cordial and the poison.
Mecador’s skill amazed Arton. He obtained everything on a huge list. When he finished he raised his hands. “Let the celebration begin.” He opened a bottle of spirits.
Before long that bottle and a number of others made the rounds. Arton only took a small swig. He intended to sleep beside his carts this night to guard his goods.
Huge fish sizzled on spits over the flames. Sailors, wizards and guards feasted. He noticed the resemblance between the traders and the wizards. Both had glacial gray eyes and hair so fair the strands appeared white. Were they far kin? Had they had a good or bad parting?
He finished all the fish he’d taken from the spit and moved to lean against one of his carts of goods and to watch wizards, guards, and traders wander drunkenly along the beach. Clouds covered the moon. Tomorrow they would return to the citadel. Then the search for Lorana would begin.
In the morning Arton drank three cups of the bitter brew to wash down fish and flatbread. He stretched and brushed off his clothes. The moans and groans of the others made him smile. He was glad he hadn’t indulged in the spirits as heavily as most of the others had.
He checked the contents of his carts. All remained,, including the large pouch of white fyrestones he grabbed the handle of the first cart and gestured to two of the guards. After using his wand to cure their headaches, they pulled the carts onto the road. He took the rear position. He wondered why they didn’t use the burden beasts either to pull the carts or to carry packs. A better way of transporting the goods than pulling the carts. Once or twice he used his wand to move the carts over obstacles where the road had been damaged. With stronger wands they wouldn’t have to work so hard.
By the time he and his goods reached the citadel the sun had set. The council and Hag Mother stood in the courtyard and rated the goods. Arton feared he was behind his rival in the value of his trades. When he added the fyrestones the council members gasped.
Mecador rose. “Once again Cregan and Arton are tied. Tomorrow there will be another test announced. You are dismissed.”
Arton rushed to his suite. The unfairness of the trading mission angered him. By allotting Cregan two of the women slaves, his rival had received as much value from his trades as Arton had. Though protests had lingered on his tongue, he had no recourse other than acceptance.
Would the next test be hunting for Lorana? If so, her caring for him after the poisoning gave him an edge. So did the taste of her lips he’d stolen.
* * *
Lorana watched the wizards return from trading with the slavers. Some broken branches provided a clear view of the citadel. She should have departed last night, but she’d been so tired she hadn’t been able to force herself from the tangle. And afraid. She had never been alone in a place she didn’t know. Tonight clouds hid the moon. She drew a deep breath. Fear of facing the unknown had to end. The dragon waited for her.
She organized all she’d taken from the storeroom. To make travel easier she had donned the trousers and tunic she’d taken from Arton’s room. She had a second set she’d found in the storeroom. She filled the travel pack and had items left.
Lorana tore her dress and used material from the skirt to make sacks to carry the things she would eat first. She cut several lengths and braided them to make a belt. She hung a pouch with the metal balls for the sling, a knife, and a fire starter on the braided cloth. The blanket would double as a cape. She pushed the pack with the attached cloth sacks ahead of her through the tangle.
Her gleanings of food should last a seven day or more. She had no idea how far she had to travel to reach the dragon. She emerged from the fyrethorn bushes and hoisted the pack to her back. The desert or the hills? Where was the dragon?
Though she hadn’t spent much time at home exploring the hills, she decided that would be her direction. ‘Dragon, I’m coming.’
Lorana’s heart thundered as she walked away from the citadel. The clouds covering the moon gave her hope she could climb far enough to avoid capture. She planned to find a hiding place, sleep and set out again. Before long she hoped to change her travel to the day without risk of being seen. Night travel and the sounds foreign to her memories frightened her.
She stopped at intervals to rest. All the days spent in the hareem had weakened her. She didn’t move as fast as she wanted. Each time she stopped she called Dragon and heard no response. Was this a fool’s trip?
As the sky lightened she searched for a hiding place. Fear almost caused her to run. She needed to find a spot where predators couldn’t reach her. She searched her memories for possib
le dangers. At home dragons had controlled the wildlife. She hadn’t seen or heard about wild animals from the women. The wizards didn’t hunt for other than the wild cattle near the citadel.
She studied the area ahead of her. A tree would be best but she lacked the energy to make the climb. Finally she found a place where three trees formed a small nook between the roots. She crawled inside and settled to sleep.
* * *
Dragon roused. How long had he slept this time? He lumbered outside the cave system. With relief he saw the weather hadn’t changed. Three days of feasting on roe deer had caused the deep sleep.
Lorana. He opened his mind. When he found her asleep, he realized she was no longer in the citadel of the wizards. She slept surrounded on three sides by trees. Could he protect her from afar? She was too close to the citadel for him to go for her.
Inch by inch he searched the area. Slinking toward her he saw a lepcat. The sly feline liked to hunt by stealth and store its kills in trees.
Dragon sent his image into the cat’s head. ‘Leave her. She is mine.’
At first the creature resisted. Dragon sent his message again and again. The feline departed. Dragon settled to keep a watch on Lorana.
Chapter Four
The next morning after breaking his fast, Arton sat at the table in the front room of his suite. He recalled his conversation with the guard about Lorana’s escape. If everyone remaining at the citadel had been questioned under the wand, she had found a way to leave the citadel on her own. How had she learned a way to bypass the guards?
He settled back and thought of the hareem. The women who resided there were able to move about the gated courtyard. Some of the women prepared the meals. Others made clothes from dragon skin and cloth.
He had seen Lorana stirring kettles, making the cordial and the fyrethorn poison for trade. She’d had access to the storeroom. Could she have used the door into the main part of the citadel and found a way over the wall?
Impossible. The door was barred on the outside with a heavy plank. If any guard or wizard had removed the bar, he would have confessed when questioned. There must be a hidden passage in the storeroom. He needed to explore and use one to see if he could discover her secret.
He rose and walked to the door. As he was about to leave his suite he heard Cregan’s sharp-pitched voice. Arton opened the door a crack. His rival walked with one of Mecador’s council supporters.
“Have no fear. I will win the seat.” Cregan said.
“How can you be sure?” the man asked. “You have no knowledge of the next test.”
Cregan laughed. “My father will prepare me. He wants this to look like that adopted mongrel has a chance. Look at the way my father added two slaves to my total. If he hadn’t, Arton would have two points and needed just one to win.”
“How true.”
“I’ll win the next test. Then we’ll duel with wands.”
Arton grimaced. When they used their wands Cregan’s chance of winning was good. Arton’s spirits sagged. Blocking the auras of power from all the stones often drained him. He must build his tolerance.
The older man halted. “What about the white flames shooting from his wand on the day of his poisonings?”
“Must have been a fluke. I will win. I am of the pure blood. Allowing a mongrel to be part of the council is wrong.”
Arton waited for the pair to vanish. His thoughts turned to the events of the clan gathering and Cregan’s wild attack on the clansmen after the bouts ended. That had been the first time Mecador had chastised his son. There were customs to be followed in meeting the clans. How long would the chief wizard follow the customs?
Arton fingered his pouch. He returned to the table and spilled the stones in a leather tray. He studied them by color. With one of the yellows in his hand he explored the contained power. Did the yellow always produce light? Why had the wand and the stone become ashes in an instant? The wythe had burned first rather than the stone dying. He dropped the yellow into the tray and scooped all the stones into his pouch.
While he wanted to experiment with the colored fyrestones and different kinds of wood, now wasn’t the time for exploration. Only when he became a council member would he speak of his discovery. Until then Mecador could try to force him to reveal the secret.
He opened the door into the hall. One of the fledglings tore down the hall toward him. “Chief Wizard Mecador waits for you in the workroom.”
“What does…?” Arton groaned. The boy dashed around the corner before he could ask more. What did Mecador want? There’d been no mention of Cregan. Was this about the challenge, or something else?
He strode along the corridor until he reached his destination. He paused in the doorway. Mecador paced from one side of the room to the other barely missing a collision with tables and deftly avoiding the chairs. When Arton stepped inside, Supreme wheeled to face him.
Arton bowed his head. “I’m here in response to your summons.”
Mecador walked to Arton. “How did you manage to tie my son? You aren’t one of the blood, yet you have gained mastery of the wand.”
Arton stared at the chief wizard. “My mentor taught me well. He was pleased with my progress.”
“What troubles me is your strength. The energy you sent into your wand after the poisoning is strange. When a wizard is injured, the power usually does not strengthen. Then there was the blinding yellow light you emitted at the oasis. How do you explain those anomalies?”
“I have no explanation. Maybe fear gave me added power.”
Mecador stepped back. “If you can use fear as a catalyst, you can defeat any of the council members except me.’ He turned and walked away. “Sit and wait for Cregan. When he arrives you will learn about the next challenge.”
Arton settled on a chair in a dark corner of the room. The chief wizard’s compliment surprised him.
Cregan dashed into the room. “You must name me to the council seat today. This competition is futile when you know I will win.”
Mecador crossed his arms. “You do not command or tell me what to do. I may be your father and mentor, but I won’t break all the rules for you.”
“You owe me that seat.”
“I do not. Like any other wizard you must earn your place. You may end up a man of the second rank. I’ve given you a chance to be one of the first rank.”
Arton rose from the shadows and approached the pair. Did Mecador fear his son’s ambition?
Cregan whirled. “What is he doing here?”
The chief wizard’s brow wrinkled into a scowl. “He’s here for the same reason as you are. To learn about the next test.”
“Let us begin.” Cregan pulled a wand from his sheath.
“Put that away,” Mecador ordered. “This isn’t the time for a duel of wands. There is no reward for the winner. The other possibilities among the girls in the hareem are too young.”
Cregan sheathed his wand. “Go to the clans and find one who is the right age.”
Mecador grasped his son’s shoulder. “You do not give orders. Would you have the clans rebel before we are ready to make our conquest of them complete?”
“If they fight they will lose.”
“Perhaps, but there are hundreds of them. Once before, the wizards tried to conquer a land and were nearly destroyed by the number of opponents. Not all wizards would survive a battle. Our numbers have dwindled since the days when we landed here. This is your next test. You will leave the citadel. Search for Lorana. He who brings her back will then have two points.”
Arton drew a deep breath. He now knew why his rival had been given extra slaves to trade. He should have won with the traders and held the advantage. He vowed to take Lorana. “Where do we look?” He had no desire to spend a lengthy time with Cregan.
“You will choose your destination. Remember, she must remain untouched.”
“What if she fights?” Cregan asked. “She could have cuts and bruises.”
Arton held his laughte
r inside. “That’s not the untouched Supreme means.”
Mecador laughed. “Your rival is smarter than I thought, my son. Think about what I mean. One of you should go to the desert and the other to the mountains. Decide which area will be yours. I look forward to showing you how to tame your reward.”
Arton watched the older man retreat. He turned to Cregan. “Desert or mountains. Your choice.”
Cregan leaned against the wall. “Since there are clans on the desert and no one living in the mountains I think she’ll go to where she believes she’ll find help. Desert is my choice.”
Arton nodded. “I’ll travel into the hills.” He strode from the room to plan his supplies.
In the suite he slid all his fyrestones into his belt pouch. He used his knife to clean several pieces of fyrethron so they could be used as wands. He opened his travel pack and added his second set of tunic and trousers plus some socks. He rolled a blanket and fastened it to the pack’s bottom. Carrying this he strode to the storeroom. He lifted the bar and opened the door. With a lit taper he walked the rows to check the walls for secret doors. He found no sign of one. His fingers lingered over the carved dragons on the far wall.
With a shrug he returned to his pack and filled a sack with a variety of dried foods. He selected two more knives, a lidded cooking pot, and a metal cup to fasten to an empty water flask.
Cregan strolled into the room just as Arton fastened a bow and a sheath of arrows to the pack. “Planning to hunt?”
“I may need to. No people live in the mountains and there is only so much food I can carry.”
The other man laughed. “The clans will provide all I need. If they refuse, a few touches of flame from my wand will persuade them.”
Arton walked to the door. Would the clans be at the oasis where the gatherings were held? From what the guards had said they only came there in the spring and autumn.
Wizards of Fyre (Island of Fyre Book 3) Page 5