Wizards of Fyre (Island of Fyre Book 3) (20 page)

Mecador stood. He raised a wand and called the other wizards to order. “Let us depart. By midday or a bit later we will reach the next rocky area. There is water there. We will rest in the shade of the outcroppings and leave as the sun travels far to the west. Then we will make camp at the last group of rocks. In the morning we will clear out enemies from the land. No more will the clans rebel. Those men will form our army. We will depart in the traders’ ships and take control of the Island of Fyre.”

A cheer rose. Cregan shouted with the rest. He liked the plan but he, not Mecador, would lead the wizards to triumph.

As Cregan followed the eight wizards, he thought about his father’s plans for attacking the oasis. The plan was based on the clans’ warriors following their usual plan of attack. Would they behave that way? Arton rode with them. Could he persuade them to follow a different kind of attack? Cregan bit his lip. The possibility of his father being wrong excited him. If Mecador’s plan failed, the other wizards would desert him.

He kept his rear position. Mecador led. The sun inched across the sky pulling shadows from the land. New growth grass lightened the brown of winter. Some scattered shrubs sent forth new leaves. In the distance a herd of bovines grazed.

As the sun neared midday Cregan saw a towering tower of stone. Mecador reached them. Guards marched at his side. Seven wizards joined him. Cregan remained at the rear of the group.

A spear thudded on the ground landing at Mecador’s feet. After a moment of stunned silence, the chief wizard raised his wand. “Who dares?” he roared. He sent a ray of white fire toward the spot where he spear had originated.

“Leave. Return to the citadel. Gather your possessions and your families. Leave on the next trader’s ship. You are no longer welcome.”

Cregan threaded three wands between the fingers of his left hand. In his right he held the poison knife. He recognized the voice as belonging to his rival.

A searing yellow light as bright as the sun rose from the rocks. Cregan blinked until his sight returned. He started toward his fellow wizards. Three had fallen. They thrashed the way Arton had after being pushed into the fyrethron tangle. Mecador sent flash after flash of white flame toward the rocks. A hazy sheet in front of him meant he’d erected a barrier.

Spears and arrows flew through the air.
The time is now.
Though Mecador was protected from the missiles arising from those in front of him, he wouldn’t expect a blow from behind. Cregan aimed his prepared knife and threw. The blade slammed into the chief wizard’s back. His wand flew from his hand. He fell. His body thrashed. A spear pierced his chest.

Cregan laughed. Now to see Arton’s life ended. He took three more wands and fitted them into his right hand. He sent power to light the white stones. “Arton. Traitor. You stand against the wizards. I challenge you to a death duel.”

* * *

Arton drew a deep breath. He had to accept the challenge. He’d seen the knife slam into Mecador’s back. Cregan had killed his father. His rival could declare himself chief wizard. None of the other wizards could defeat Cregan.

Could he?

The dazzling yellow light faded. He saw Lorana standing in full view of the plain. “Get down,” he shouted.

She hefted her knife. “I will see Cregan dead.”

“The battle is mine.”

His eyes widened as six white rays shot toward Lorana. He leaped over a rock and pulled her to the ground. The sizzling flames flew over them. Shards of stone fell on and around them. Arton pulled a wand from his belt. More white fire hit the rocks where the clan fighters were hidden. He heard cries of pain.

“I will duel,” Arton shouted. He activated his wand. An orange spear of light shot from the stone at the end. “No.” He hadn’t meant to use the orange.

Cregan wheeled. “Do not think you can win.”

Arton saw his rival held three wands in each hand. He merged six flames into one blaze. The orange fire from Arton’s wand hit the white flame to form a blazing ball. The whirling white and orange circled above Cregan.

Arton felt the other wizard’s attempt to reclaim the fire. The white rays separated from the orange and returned to the wands that had created them. They traveled along the wood to reach Cregan’s hand. Flames shot up his arms beneath his tunic. A shrill scream filled the air.

Arton closed his eyes. When he opened them only the dragon skin clothes remained. Cregan had disintegrated, just as the wood and the fyrestones had. Arton dropped his wand and sank to the ground, pressing his hands against his face. He had never intended to wage an unfair battle with Cregan. They should have met as equals, white to white, not six white and one orange.

Lorana touched his shoulder. “Arton.”

He shuddered. “Using the orange against him wasn’t right.”

“Neither was his use of six wands at a time.” She knelt before him and clasped his hands. “Did he use fairness when he tried to kill me?”

Arton reached for her. “Cregan knew if he killed you I would be rattled. He believed he would win.”

She rose and pulled him to his feet. “Look down. The wizards who aren’t ill from fyrethron poisoning are kneeling in surrender. You must go and remove their wands.”

“Come with me. We are two united.” Together they climbed over the rocks to reach the plain. Those of the clan who hadn’t been injured followed. Arton counted the standing clansmen and women and found thirty.

One of the wizards raised his hands. “Arton, you are now Supreme. What would you have us do?”

Arton shook his head. “I’m not a wizard but something more. I will not rule you.”

“What are we to do?”

“Return to the citadel. Prepare to leave when the spring traders arrive. Any of the guards and hareem women who claim kinship with the clans can remain. Those who wish to join you are free to go. We will give you two days to be ready.”

“What if we barricade the citadel against you and use our wands together against people who have no protection.”

Lorana squeezed his hand several times. He remembered she had escaped the citadel without help. He raised the wand with the orange stone at the tip. “I can burn my way inside and set all ablaze.” He set a rock burning. He wasn’t sure how many wizards he could defeat before they overpowered him. “Go. Make haste.”

The four wizards turned. All but two of the guards arrived with the burden beasts. They placed the ailing wizards on the beasts and left.

Arton released a sigh of relief. He turned to the clansmen. “Send for our steeds and bring the injured to me.”

Before long he’d used the red-tipped wand to heal the worst of the injured. Four of the men and two women had died. When he finished, he couldn’t stand. Lorana brought him broth and a number of rolled flatbreads.

* * *

“Come with me.” Lorana shook Arton awake. “Dragon follows the wizards at a distance.” She grabbed a flask of water and more of the rolled flatbreads.

Arton clasped her hand. “The wounded…?”

“Are recovering.” She sat on the blanket. “Will the wizards leave with the slavers?”

He shrugged. “We will see. Once they’re barricaded in the citadel, they might fight again.”

“Would you really use the orange to burn our way inside?”

“Perhaps. How did you escape? All who remained at the citadel were questioned under the wand and had no idea of how you left.”

“There is a secret passage.”

“I thought there might be, but I searched and found nothing.”

“The passage is well hidden, and you would have to know the trick to opening the wall.”

“How did you know?”

“I found a scrap of paper when they kept me in the dungeons.”

He leaned forward and kissed her. “We can use that way and surprised them.”

Lorana moved into his arms. Her tongue met his questing one. Without words they undressed and pulled the blankets together to make a single pallet. Quick touches became caresses. Arton rose over her. Soon they united. As they moved together, he kissed her lips. Before long all thoughts except how he made her feel vanished.

She felt as though she rode a dragon, soaring higher and higher. She peaked and the sensation of falling to rest in Arton’s embrace swept through her. He shouted her name. She released his on a breath.

Little kisses brushed sweaty skin. “I love you,” he said.

“As I love you.”

He pulled his dragon cloak over them. The sun had just risen. She reached for her clothes and dressed.
‘Report.’

‘They traveled all night. They are almost to the citadel.’

Arton stretched. “What news?”

She told him what Dragon had said. She walked to look at the plain. “The steeds are here.” She dressed and started down.

Arton followed with his cloak and the blankets. He went to check the men he had healed.

Once the ailing were on their way back to the oasis, the remaining clansmen and women mounted the steeds. Food was eaten while they rode. For two days they continued toward the citadel. On the morning of the third day, several scouts returned. The men halted near the leaders. “Wizards are on the wall. I doubt they will allow us free access.”

Arton nodded. “I believe that is the case. There is a way for us to end this.” He turned to Lorana. “Tell them how you escaped.”

She drew a deep breath. “I was held in the hareem. There is a secret passage from the storeroom leading to the outside. The storeroom opens into the hareem and also to the main corridors.”

“So how do we do this?” Temerol asked.

“The group will approach the gate but will remain at a distance,” Arton said.

“They will send fire from their wands,” the green leader said.

Arton shook his head. “I will erect an invisible barrier like the one Mecador raised. The fire from their wands will not penetrate, nor will any weapons.”

Lorana stood beside him. “He can burn the gates using the orange. I’ll lead a group into the tunnel. When he burns the gate we will divide into two groups. One will enter the hareem while the other moves into the main corridors and take the wizards from behind.”

“How will we know when to attack?” Temerol asked.

“Dragon will tell me.”

The red leader stared at her. “Some of us will die.”

“To drive them from our land will be worth a sacrifice,” Temerol said.

Arton clasped Lorana’s hand. “We will win.” He kissed Lorana. “Stay safe.”

“You, too.” She rested her forehead against his chest and then straightened. She gestured to the men and women who would follow her. “We must find a place to rest until dark.”

In the darkness of night she crept toward the citadel. When she reached the wall Lorana ran her hands along the stone until she found the carvings of dragons. She hit the sequence. Part of the wall opened. “Follow me. Keep one hand on the wall to guide you through the dark.”

Her heart pounded. She drew several deep breaths to calm her racing emotions. Excitement, fear, and dread of returning to the place where she’d been kept as a prisoner filled her thoughts. Finally she stepped into the passage. Twenty men and women followed her.

‘Dragon, can you hear me?’

‘I hear. I watch.’

‘Good.’
Lorana moved forward. She sensed the men and women at her back. She slid her hand along the stones lining the escape route. Acid curdled the contents of her stomach. She drew a deep breath. This wasn’t the time to be sick.

“I’m here to help.” She repeated those words over and over. Confidence rose. At the end of the tunnel, she felt the stones for the carvings. She pressed them in the correct order for opening the entrance.

Lorana led the group to the door leading to the main corridor. They cut the leather hinges. Fifteen would enter into the main halls of the citadel. She told them as much as she could remember about the halls. The other five would follow her into the hareem to capture the woman and children
. ‘Dragon.’

‘The sun rises. Arton and his group approach the gates. He builds the barrier. “Open the gates,” he shouts. One of the wizards sends a white ray. The barrier stops the flame. A clanswoman fires an arrow. The wizard falls. Arton burns the gate.’

“Now.” Lorana opened the door into the hareem. She heard the other door fall. She and her companions rushed into the main room. Quickly they rounded the women, girls and small children into one of the rooms. She counted each person as they passed. Where was Hag Mother? She crossed to the room where the older woman slept. She peered inside. An arm snaked around her neck.

“Traitor.” The old woman spat. “You killed my son.”

“Cregan threw a knife into Mecador’s back.”

“I don’t believe you. Cregan is dead, and there is no one to confirm your story.”

Lorana felt the coldness of a blade at her throat. The older woman pushed her into the main room.

“You can’t win,” Lorana said. “Arton burned the gate and the clans are now fighting any who resist. The wizards are gone from the walls.”