Wizards of Fyre (Island of Fyre Book 3)

by Janet Lane-Walters

  He carried his pack to his room. There he picked up his cloak. Soon the cooler night weather would chill the days too. He checked the items on his belt. With quick steps he walked to the gate. The sun stood at midday. He could cover a few miles before the sun set.

  * * *

  After his meeting in the storeroom with Arton, Cregan returned to his suite to plan for his trip. He listed supplies on a slate and opened a map that showed part of the desert beyond the oasis.

  He left them on his bed. He could pack and leave now but why rush? He wanted an evening meal and to break his fast with a hearty morning meal before leaving. He stretched on the bed. The light Arton had produced with his wand intrigued him. How had his rival sent the blinding yellow light into the air? White wands usually created a ray of that color.

  Shame they couldn’t travel together. That would give him time to learn Arton’s secret. In the morning as they ate, he would make that suggestion.

  At the morning meal Cregan learned his rival had left the afternoon before. Could he catch him? Anger stirred. Why hadn’t he realized how tricky Arton was? Cregan finished his meal and dashed to his suite for his pack and cloak. He scurried to the storeroom and found Mecador waiting at the barred door.

  Cregan grinned. “Come to see me off?”

  “And to make sure you’re the winner,” Mecador said. “Your choice of the desert is the wisest one. She can find help among the clans. You must be careful when you take her. If the clans refuse to turn her over return, we will go as a group and destroy their families and bring her back.”

  Cregan smiled. So there was a plan to force all clansmen and women to serve the wizards. “What if I don’t find her?”

  “You will. I have faith in you. Walk to the gate with me.”

  “I have to gather supplies.”

  “No need. You’ll soon see why.”

  Cregan strolled beside his father. When they reached the gate he saw a burden beast loaded with packs and water bags. The gray equine looked sturdy. “Thank you.”

  Mecador patted Cregan’s shoulder. “There are provisions enough to last until the moon returns to its current phase. Don’t trust the clansman. Observe them in secret. They could kill a wizard who travels alone. How many wands do you have with you?”

  “Four and the makings for another pair.”

  Mecador handed Cregan two more. “A gift. Return after one full moon cycle. If you don’t find her, we will go in the spring with a group to capture her.”

  He grasped the lead rope. “I will succeed.”

  Mecador turned to the gate. “Be safe. Return in triumph.”

  Cregan led the equine along the road leading to the oasis. The grass along the sides of the road and in the distance showed signs of the changing season.

  The trip went faster with no elderly men to slow him. The road of beaten earth was straight. Until he neared the first of the heaps of rocks, the scenery consisted of grass, occasional bushes, some stunted trees, and the distant bovine herd.

  Three days later when he reached the third rocky area, though the sun showed mid-afternoon, he made camp. He wanted to reach the oasis in the morning.

  The next morning he came to an area where more grass than stones and sand covered the ground. Ahead he saw the towering trees with their leafy fronds. As he passed beneath them he knew he would soon be ready to search for his reward. No one remained at the oasis. The trees had lost their plump dates and large nuts. He sat in the shade to eat flatbread and cheese. After filling his water bags he searched the grass and earth for signs of a lone traveler. At the edge of the greenery he stepped onto the sand. He saw tracks showing the marks of equine hooves the clansmen and women rode. No need to follow the first ones he’d found, since they’d been made long enough ago to have the tracks partly sand-filled.

  Then he discovered the boot prints of a single person and an equine leading toward the east. He returned to the well and watered the burden beast. He decided to follow those tracks, though he knew no way Lorana could have found an equine.

  He followed the trail across the sand until the sun neared setting. He halted and used a wand to clear the area of pests and poisonous creatures. While he built a fire and waited for food to cook he drew a second wand from the sheath.

  He built a mind picture of Lorana. “Find her.” The wand twisted in his hand. A white line rose from the stone and pointed east and then turned north. Before he could determine the true direction the stone died. Was the wand his or one of the two Mecador had given him? He growled.

  With a second wand he thought about his rival. The wand indicated north and east. He withdrew the power. Should he continue further into the desert? At present his water sacks were almost full. The supply would last for several days but he had no idea where the next source of water could be found.

  If he returned to the citadel to report to Mecador, Arton might find Lorana and return with her. Cregan knew he had to find her first. Defeating Arton without a witness wouldn’t matter if he returned with the reward.

  * * *

  Lorana stretched. Her legs felt stiff but she’d slept for hours without being disturbed by any forest creatures. She relieved herself. Then she drank water to wash down slices of cheese cut from the block she’d taken. When she finished, she gathered her belongings and left the cluster of trees.

  When she saw the tracks on the ground she froze. A gasp escaped. A quick look at her surroundings located no lurking animal. Her heart raced with fear of what might have happened. Why had the creature left? Was someone watching over her?

  ‘I am.’

  The voice in her head startled her. Her knees buckled. She grabbed the bole of a sapling to keep from falling. ‘Dragon.’

  ‘Yes. You are coming to me.’

  ‘How many days must I travel?’

  ‘In three or four I can fly to you without being seen by the evil men. Then there will be more walking to reach my caves.’

  Lorana settled the straps of her pack over her shoulders and picked up the other bundle. ‘There was some wild animal sniffing around my sleeping place. The creature remained at a distance.’

  ‘A lepcat. I send the feline away. Though I cannot come to you, I can watch over your nights.’ Some of her fear melted. She recalled the days before she was sold and how she could speak to all the dragons in the keep. Now she had one for a friend. Maybe she could ride him.

  ‘You cannot. I am too small and am an aging green turned yellow.’

  ‘How did you live so long?’

  ‘I slept.’

  She didn’t understand what he meant, but his presence brought comfort.

  As she continued through the forest, she studied the variety of trees. Some had leaves turning into autumn colors. Others bore dark green needles. She noticed gray furred climbers in the trees scurrying over branches as she passed. Birds fluttered in the air.

  Though the dragon could protect her from night prowling beasts, she needed to be able to protect herself. She took the sling from her belt and pulled several metal balls from the pouch. She practiced and felt pleased when she hit a leaf and when she knocked an okala nut to the ground. In the years since the days when she snuck from, her nurse she hadn’t lost her skill. Knowing she couldn’t find others, she retrieved the metal balls. She studied the ground searching for round stones.

  With firm steps she walked in the direction of Dragon’s voice. A crashing of brush startled her. She ducked behind the trunk of a large okala. A roe deer bolted past. She wished for a bow or a spear to kill the animal. She shook her head. The creature would have provided meat for many days but much would be wasted. She had no way to smoke or cure the meat. With a sling she could take a climber or a leaper.

  That afternoon she had a chance to test her skill with moving animals. Four leapers cavorted in a meadow. She stood at the edge of the trees and loaded her sling. The first round missed but the second stunned the largest of the four. She slit its throat, opened the abdomen to remove the offal th
e way she recalled the men at home cleaning animals before butchering.

  As she continued across the meadow she gathered greens. Near sunset she found a place where an overhanging rock left room beneath for her to make a nest. She gathered wood and started a fire. Over the flames she hung pieces of meat taking care to turn them so the meat cooked evenly.

  She ate the meat with the gathered greens and saved some for the next day. Pride filled her. She hadn’t forgotten how to hunt. She only wished she had a way to know if any of the wizards had left the citadel to search for her. She curled on the blanket.

  ‘Dragon.’

  * * *

  Her call woke Dragon from his dreams. ‘I am here.’

  ‘Am I being followed?’

  ‘I will check.’ He searched along her back trail, seeking wizards who had left their lair. He found two. One traveled toward the mountains and the other toward the desert.

  He told her what he’d seen. ‘The desert-bound’s thoughts are cruel. He means to harm you and the hill-walked.’

  ‘Is he old or young?’

  ‘Both men are young.’

  ‘Oh. The one going to the desert is Cregan. Can he find me?’

  ‘He is far away.’

  ‘And the other searcher?’

  ‘He is young and different from the other wizards.’

  ‘Can you see into the citadel?’

  ‘Not sure, unless I can view through someone’s eyes.’

  ‘This is a picture of the worst of the wizards.’

  A man with fair hair and frosty gray eyes flowed into his thoughts. He searched the man’s surface thoughts. Though he couldn’t hear if the man spoke to anyone he had little to share. ‘He prepares for bed. He thinks about you.’

  Slowly she drifted to sleep. Dragon left the heated pool and went to the outer cave. He spread his wings to dry. Soon he took flight, gliding beneath the waning moon. He spotted a large boar. After capturing the beast, he returned to the cave to gorge.

  * * *

  For five days Arton walked through a forest. He wondered how Cregan fared, but he didn’t use a wand to search for his rival. He had three wands and some stones, but he hated to waste them. As he walked he cut wythes from other trees he came upon. He considered testing his theory about other woods and fyrestones but he hated to use any of his remaining whites.

  He heard crashing in the brush and readied his bow. As a roe deer came into view he shot an arrow and downed the creature. With haste he gutted and butchered his kill. He took enough meat to last for several days allowing him to save the dried foods in his pack for a time when he couldn’t hunt.

  Sometime later he came to a meadow. He started a fire to cook the meat and used his wand to check his direction. Lorana, her scent, her taste, her touch, and her voice flowed into his thoughts. He joined the picture with the energy of the stone. Her direction became clearer. He must continue north and a bit east. He couldn’t see her because the area where she hid was blank. After eating, he packed the rest of the meat and used his wand to protect his camp. He rolled in his cloak and slept.

  In the morning wisps of frost covered the ground. He gazed at the gathering clouds. The autumn storms loomed, and they signaled the last days of the season and the coming of winter.

  As he set out, a slow drizzle began. Arton scowled. Had the weather changed early this year? He donned his yellow cloak, glad the material shed water.

  All day he trudged through the misting rain. As the day moved toward evening he found a cave carved into a hillside. Not a deep one but the hollow was large enough to provide shelter for the night.

  After using his wand to drive away a lurking feline, he built a fire. When water heated he added chunks of the roe deer meat and some dried legumes. He leaned against the wall. A wave of heat centered on his back. With a gasp he pulled away.

  Fyrestones. Not the ones in his pouch but stones buried beneath the rock wall. He stripped the pouch from his belt and turned to touch the wall. He came to an area where his hand seemed ready to burn. He laughed as he remembered speaking to the trader captain. He’d been right. There were fyrestones in these hills.

  Using the hilt of his knife he tapped the stone around the hot spot. Chips of the sandstone dropped to the ground. He exposed a seam of the stones. One by one he extracted them. A wave of excitement flooded him. He could now experiment with a variety of woods.

  He returned to the fire and studied the assortment of colors in his find. There’d only been a dozen. Nine were white. He ate the nearly burned stew and curled on his blanket to sleep.

  In the morning water poured from the dark clouds in a steady stream. He decided to remain in the cave. He fastened a cover for the fire and smoked most of the remaining roe deer meat. He ate some and held his water flask outside to fill. Feeling chilled he returned to the fire, thankful for the shedding ability of dragon skin.

  What now? He hated being idle. In the citadel his hours were filled with activity. After he’d been assigned to help with the butchering of the bovines and the occasional boar, many of his hours had been filled. Did Mecador realize that the assignment he’d given provided an essential survival skill?

  He remembered the wythes of other wood he’d added to his pack. Four kinds waited to be tested. He had whites available to use. He selected four and bound them to the four woods. All the wands burst into blames soon after the stones were powered. He barely escaped burning his fingers. The only difference was the stones hadn’t charred.

  What did that mean? He considered what he knew. Fyrethorn remained the only wood capable of being used for wands, but the stones often died if used too frequently.

  He took one of the yellows and selected a fyrethorn whythe. He meshed the power. Once again a yellow light filled the cavern before the wand burned and the stone died.

  Arton leaned against the wall. He had a theory but no way to test the validity. Until he found a wood strong enough to contain the power he could do no more. Did such a wood exist?

  Chapter Five

  Dragon woke from a slumber caused by his latest flight. He checked the area around his cave for intruders. The search yielded no lurking predators or any edible animals. He rose to his feet and lumbered from his sleeping lair to the cave opening to the outside.

  ‘Dragon! Help! Help me!’

  Panic filled the cry. Lorana was in trouble. Though he wanted to leap into action he had to find where she was. Just taking off and heading south meant too much territory to cover.

  He focused on her cries and found her. She clutched to a sturdy bush. Only her face and shoulders were above the surface of a mud pool. ‘Hold on. I am coming.’

  ‘Help. Help.’

  Dragon stepped into the clearing. A misting rain fell. He shook his wings to remove the falling rain. A memory from long days past emerged. The men and women who partnered with the red and blue dragons always ran for shelter when water poured from the sky. Their hides didn’t shed water like his did. Only his wings could be coated with the precipitation.

  He opened his senses and sought landmarks surrounding Lorana’s position. He calculated the distance. Though flying through the chilling rain meant stopping a time or two to clear his wings of all ice, all Lorana had to do was hang on. He sent his message to her again.

  He exercised his wings and soared through the chill sky water. Tiny pellets of ice struck him. They stung. Each time he stopped to clear the water away he sent the message again.

  ‘Hurry. Hurry.’ He would reach her in time. She was the only one who heard and spoke to him, the only one since the evil ones came.

  Finally he saw the landmarks. He searched the area and saw she still clung to the bush. The mud now covered her arms above her elbows. Her weakness troubled him.

  ‘Lorana, wake. I am here.’

  ‘Help me.’

  He edged as close to the bush as he could. He extended a leg. ‘Grab my leg. I will pull you free.’

  For a time she stared. Slowly she released one han
d’s grip on the bush. Her fingers curled around his leg. Then she loosened the other hand and clung to him.

  Step by step he backed away. ‘Just hold tight.’ He pulled her from the pool. The mud seemed to fight to keep Lorana in the pool. He heard a smacking sound and then a pop. Her body slid free. She sprawled on the ground. A clump of mud clung to her back. ‘Crawl to me.’ She inched forward and sprawled near him. ‘Rest.’

  Her body shook so hard he feared she would fall to pieces. He curled around her. The violent shaking changed to tremors and then ceased.

  ‘Wake up,’ he cried. ‘We must move. You must walk. I cannot carry you.’

  ‘My pack. My blanket.’

  ‘Wait here.’ He edged toward the pool. On the surface of the mud he saw a piece of cloth. He hovered in the air and snagged it with a talon and drew the material to the edge. A plump sack popped free. ‘This?’

  She grabbed the sack and cloth. She clutched them to her chest.

  Dragon didn’t know why she wanted these mud soaked things. ‘You must walk.’

  She stumbled after him. Three times she collapsed and slept. He waited until she roused. Then they moved on. The rain stopped. Clumps of mud fell from her clothes and things. The sun set and rose again before they reached the system of caves.

  * * *

  Rain. Wet wood that wouldn’t take fire. Mud sucking her down. She slid toward a dark pit. She gripped something with her hands. Help! Help!

  A soothing voice in her head shouted constantly ordering her to walk. And so she trudged, one foot after another and on and on. Her head ached. Had she fallen again?

  ‘Rest. Walk. Rest. Walk.’

  Who spoke? The voice didn’t belong to Arton. This person spoke with a low rumbling sound. Neither Cregan nor Mecador sounded like this. There was no kindness in that pair.

  ‘Lorana.’ When she heard her name, she stumbled. Her hand hit a hard surface. Rock but not like the stones in the citadel tunnel.