Wizards of Fyre (Island of Fyre Book 3) (3 page)

Her face heated. Her breasts felt heavy and her nipples peaked. A tendril of heat flowed to her private places. As quickly as possible she washed sweat from his legs and pulled the covers over him.

She slumped in the chair beside the bed. Why was heat cascading through her? She didn’t understand what had caused these sensations. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

‘Escape. Come to me.’

Her eyes flew open. Had she heard a dragon’s voice? How could that be? Many years ago the wizards had killed the dragons of this land. All but the ones who had fled over the mountains had died beneath the power of the wizard’s wands. These evil men used dragon skins to make their clothes.

Arton moaned. Lorana rose. She made another brew of herbs and encouraged him to drink. One thing she knew, if he survived the massive dose of thorn poison he would be immune.

Lorana returned to the chair and dozed. Sounds from the other room startled her. She cowered and pressed further into the chair. Until the sounds ceased she barely breathed. Cautiously, she crept to the door and saw a feast had been placed on the table.

She shredded meat and minced vegetables to add to a bowl of broth. She cut pieces of fruit into small bites. She fed Arton all the broth and most of the fruit. When he slept, she went to the outer room and ate most of what remained. She hid the hard rind fruit in the bottom of the basket beneath the cloth tunic and trousers she had found in a corner of his wardrobe.

That night and all of the next day, she dozed and roused, dozed and bathed, and fed him. Each time he drank the potion and sweated, he became more responsive.

On the third day he sat propped by pillows and fed himself. The door opened. Lorana went to see who had entered knowing this wasn’t the time meals were delivered.

Cregan stood with his arms crossed. “Mecador wants to know if Arton has improved. In six days he must be ready to leave for the clan gathering. He will face a challenge there.” He cupped her face with his fleshy hands. “He will lose, and after one more contest you will be mine.” He crushed her lips with his in a brutal kiss. He wheeled and marched from the room.

Lorana stared at the door. She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her dress. In six days or less she would return to the hareem and plan her escape.

Chapter Two

A child screamed. “Mommy! Mommy!”

Rough hands pulled the small boy from the woman’s arms.

A boat. The citadel. A man. “I am now your father.”

What was true? What false?

The jumble in his head seemed impossible to untangle. Arton moaned. His eyes felt like someone held them closed. He wasn’t sure how long he’d drifted without thought or knowledge.

Retreat to the beginning.
He wasn’t sure where that was. Slowly emerging memories burst the cocoon tightly coiled in his head. Cregan had pushed him into the fyrethorn tangle. Thick spikes had pierced his skin. Pain had been constant and excruciating. His body had heated like he had been immersed in the sun. Bitter drinks swallowed had brought hot perspiration and gentle touches.

He tried to sit. The lies and the truth meshed. He opened his eyes. Her sky blue orbs reflected her smile.

Who was this comely woman? Her hair was as dark as midnight. She wore a drab gray dress hiding her body from his sight. Memories of her gentle touches swamped him.

“Who are you?” His voice rasped as though unused.

“Lorana. Do you feel well enough to sit up? You’ve been four days recovering from a massive dose of fyrethorn poison.”

Her response gave the answer to one of his questions. His gaze focused on her mouth. Her lips were pink and the upper formed a perfect bow. Had she kissed him? His hand touched his forehead and he felt s trace of heat.
There? Yes.
His fingers brushed his lips. Though he wished she hadn’t kissed him there. Could he remedy her omission?

“Can you sit up?” she asked again.

“I can try.” Using his elbows he managed. Dizziness made him waver. He gulped deep breaths.

She slid his legs to the edge of the mattress. He swayed but managed to remain upright. Lorana dropped a robe over his head. He slid his arms through the openings. The soft black cloth settled around his body hiding his reaction to her nearness. He inhaled the sweet scent of lace flowers rising from her skin. Beneath the aroma he smelled not just any woman but Lorana.

Regaining his strength became important. There were other challenges he must win. More than anything he wanted to win the council seat and the reward.

She placed her hands at his waist. “Clasp my shoulders and set your feet on the floor. The moment you stand we’ll pivot and you can lower yourself into the chair.”

He drew a deep breath filled with her intoxicating aroma. His dizziness had vanished. He followed her directions and before long he was seated in the chair. He kept his hands on her shoulders. Her lips tempted him. With slight pressure he urged her closer.

His lips brushed hers. He stretched in an attempt to take more than a fleeting taste. His body responded to the scent and taste of her.

Lorana backed away. “No more. What we’ve done is forbidden. I am only a woman of the hareem. Only wizards can touch me. You are a fledgling.”

“Soon I will be more and you will be mine.” What did the flash of anger in her eyes mean?

The sound of a door closing caused him to straighten his spine. She placed a small table in front of him. “I’ll fetch your meal.” She walked to the outer room. A moment later he heard her voice rise sharply. “Do not touch me. This is forbidden. Supreme won’t like your boldness.”

Cregan’s laughter caused Arton to press his hands against the arms of the chair in preparation to stand. His foot hit the table leg. The piece of furniture thudded on the stone floor. Lorana ran inside. Cregan followed. With an effort Arton remained on his feet.

“So you have survived,” Cregan said. “Will you be ready to go with us to the clan gathering? If you absent yourself you will lose a second bout. Even if you join us you will fail.”

Though his legs shook, anger kept Arton erect. He glared. “I’ll be ready. I’ll win the next challenge.”

Cregan stepped toward Arton. He held his hands out as though the intended to push him. “Perhaps it’s time for your caregiver to leave.”

Lorana lifted the fallen table and blocked Cregan. She placed the tray on the table. “Arton, sit and eat.” She faced Cregan. “You will leave.”

“You have no right to order me.” Cregan whirled at her, his hands balled into fists.

“Until Mecador releases me, this sick room is mine to control. Leave at once.” She strode to the door. “I’ll call a guard.”

Cregan laughed. “I will have fun taming you.” He brushed past and knocked her into the wall.

Arton sank on the seat of the chair. While he admired the way Lorana had stood up to Cregan, no woman had the right to discipline a man. Did she think she was an equal?

He attacked the meal eagerly but left some fruit, meat, and bread for her. He watched her tuck pieces of the thin bread in her basket. Why? Wasn’t she fed in the hareem?

In time he would learn. Lorana was the reward. He would protect her. When he won the challenge, Mecador would be forced to allow Arton to fill the empty council seat. When a mentor died, his student was given the seat. Mecador’s unfair decision rankled.

Arton finished his meal and told Lorana to eat. She finished the last bite of fruit and carried the tray to the front room. Arton prepared to leave the chair and walk to the necessary. He heard Mecador’s voice before he saw him.

Arton stood. “Supreme.”

“I see you’ve regained part of your strength.”

“I’ll recover rapidly now. Cregan mentioned we were leaving for the clan gathering in six days.”

Mecador grasped Lorana’s arm. “Is the fyrethorn poison gone from his system?”

“Yes, Chief Wizard.” She stared at the floor.

Arton’s anger soared. How dare Mecador touch her? If he’d had a functioning wand available he would have attacked the older man. Why this strong desire to protect her? He could see Mecador’s lust. Why? Supreme had his own reward and a wife as well.

Mecador put his hand beneath Lorana’s chin. He brought his lips to hers. Her body shook. The chief wizard laughed. “In time you’ll learn how to please the one who receives you as his reward. I will enjoy the instruction period.”

Arton’s hands tensed. She didn’t belong to the older man.

Lorana lifted her basket and scurried from the room. Arton hated to see her go. He would miss her gentle touches that set him on fire.

Mecador laughed. “Are you regretting her leaving? Don’t worry. You’ll have a chance to win her. If you are the lucky one, you can watch me show her how to please a wizard.” He wheeled and strode from the room.

Even after he heard the door close Arton remained standing. Anger propelled him to the necessary. Though his feet dragged and he had to use his hands on the foot of the bed as a guide, he reached the bathing room. Inside he set the huge basin filling with hot water. He pulled off his robe. After sliding into the water, he washed his body and thought longingly of Lorana’s gentle touches.

His teeth clenched. Mecador couldn’t have her for any lessoning. Arton knew he would find a way to stop that.

Once he pulled himself from the basin and dried, he donned a dragon skin tunic and trousers. In the bedroom he pulled on his dragon skin boots. Though tired he sat at his work table and took one of the wythes and mounted a white stone at the tip. He tested the wand and smiled. His encounter with the fyrethorn poison had increased his ability to call and direct power. An idea of how to save Lorana started to form. First he had to build his physical strength and stamina.

Arton stared at the stones on the leather tray. A single white remained from the legacy of his mentor. At least the stones hadn’t been seized by the council when his rightful seat had been denied. He touched the colored stones and felt their latent power. Again the question arose. Could their power be released and what could he achieve by experimentation?

He shook his head. Now wasn’t the time for experimenting. As a fledgling, any new use of the stones would be seized by the council. Until he became a member he must keep his thoughts and ideas secret. What if…? His forefinger lingered on one of the yellows. He gave into temptation and mounted the gem to the end of a wand. If he had the chance to be along he would test his theory. He retreated to his chair and rested for a time. Then he left his suite and walked the corridors knowing exercise would build his strength.

For the next four days Arton balanced exercise with wand practice. He ate his meals at the candidates table, avoiding any heated discussion with his rival. He ate every scrap of food on his plate. Cregan’s glares held a warning. Arton wondered if any of the council members had chastised Cregan for the poisoning.

At the end of the third meal on the fifth day Mecador rose. “Tomorrow a group of council members and a hand of guards will leave for the fall clan gathering. Cregan and Arton will accompany us. There, they will face their second challenge. Instead of the guards competing in the bouts, our senior fledglings will win slaves for trade when the ships arrive. The one who wins the most will earn a point toward the three needed for the seat.” He pointed to Arton. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Arton said. “My pack is prepared.”

“Have you learned how to control your wand?” Cregan asked. “I’ve noticed you in practice. I also saw what happened after the poisoning accident. I’ve never seen such a violent discharge of energy as your wand produced.”

Arton pulled a wand from his belt sheath. When he saw the white stone at the tip he drew a deep breath. “Would you like to test my control?”

Mecador pounded the table. “There will be no premature duel. The two of you will compete as I direct.”

Arton returned his wand to the sheath. “I hear and obey.”

Cregan scowled. He thumped into his seat and finished his meal.

Arton swallowed. He had to remain cautious if he hoped to win the reward.

* * *

The steam from the heated pool freed Dragon’s frozen joints, especially those of his wings. Cautiously he spread them on the water. He gazed up and watched steam spiral through the small opening in the dome. In the far side of the large cavern an opening allowed water to leave the pool. At the front edge, flat rocks of various sizes jutted from the wall.

Once again he heard the sorrowful voice crying for help. The sound was clear enough for him to discern the distance. The woman was in the citadel, once the home of the dragon riders of his line. He sought her and touched frissons of fear. The woman struggled to reach him. Around her he sensed the closed minds of the wizards.

Before he could help her, he must regain his strength. He lumbered from the pool and shook the water from his body.
Time to hunt. Time to eat.
He slowly made his way through the corridors past as series of caves to the outer one. He sniffed the air. Autumn and the animals were fat in preparation for the coming winter. He braced himself, stepped forward and pumped long unused wings. After a shaky start he soared. He fled until he found a herd of roe deer.