Cregan abandoned the sacks and raced after the other man. What could he do? If Arton died, the council would act to banish Cregan. In the past he’d heard of one challenger being sent from the citadel for a year. The man had never returned. If he had he would have been named a second level wizard.
As Cregan ran after his rival, he planned his story. He had to cast the blame on Arton. If Mecador believed Arton had stumbled and fell into the bushes, there would be no punishment. If the worst happened Cregan vowed to survive and fight for his rightful place, even if he needed to wand duel every council member. He was Mecador’s son. He deserved a council seat.
* * *
The ancient dragon stirred. A faint voice crying for help had roused him from his dreams. Slowly memories oozed into his mind. Though he tried to stop the cascade, he couldn’t. Once he’d been a young green preparing to take his place as guardian to young reds and blues of his line. Then disaster had arrived on white sailed ships.
The men known as wizards had come from afar. The screams of slaughtered dragons filled the air. Three lines had been obliterated. One line had fled to the mountains. His kin. Many of them had died in the attempt to cross the towering peaks. He had been left behind because he’d been too young to make the journey. The cave system had been his home. When the last voice of his kin had faded, an ancient yellow had sent him into the deep hibernating sleep.
How many cycles of the sun had passed since his sleep had begun? Why had he roused? He searched for the voices of other dragons and met silence. Anger fueled by memories filled his thoughts. He sensed the presence of wizards. Not the ones who had first come, but others. A desire to see his kin avenged roared through him. He needed someone to hear and speak for him. Would the voice he’d heard be the one?
He dragged his aching body to his feet. He lumbered to the entrance into his sleeping place. Slowly he moved along the wide corridor past the cold room and the one where his people’s belongings had been stored. Humid heat drew him to the cavern where heated water bubbled in a pool. The steaming water eased his aching body. He continued to search for the voice that had awakened him.
* * *
A man’s roar of pain startled Lorana. She slid the cauldron from the fire. A guard shouted an order to halt. She ran to the gated entrance to the outer courtyard and peered through the grille. A bare-chested man with thorns protruding from his back and arms staggered inside. White streaks of flame shot from his wand.
Lorana dropped to the ground just before a bolt struck the grille. A matron of the hareem screamed and slumped against the wall. A wizard knocked the wand from the man’s hand.
The grille hung askew. The man’s scream pulled Lorana to her feet. No one should suffer such pain. She ran to the fallen wizard. One by one she pulled thorns from his skin.
Someone grasped her shoulders. Steel-like fingers dug into the muscles. “What are you doing?”
Despite the pain she continued removing the spines. “For him to have a chance of survival these must be removed.”
“No one survives such a dose.”
“Let her continue,” Mecador demanded.
The hands on her shoulders loosened. She looked up. “He’ll need much care.”
“Can you save him?” someone asked.
Lorana looked over her shoulder. “I’ve saved five men since my arrival, though none bore as many thorns. I can’t promise he will live, but I can try.”
Mecador nodded. “I’ve seen this one work. Soon after she arrived she healed one of the guards but he only bore two thorns.” He shoved the burly wizard away. “Cregan, tell me what happened.”
“He carried thorns he’d collected in his shirt and helped me fill my quota. He tripped on a half full sack and fell into the tangle.” He kept his head lowered.
Lorana glanced up at him. A shifting of his eyes made her wonder if he’s lied. She continued removing thorns. Her concern was for the wounded man. His breathing was shallow and she could barely feel the beating of his heart.
Mecador touched her head. “If you can save his life, tell me what you need.”
“Some herbs from the storeroom. I don’t know their names but I do know the scent and taste. I’ll need water to bathe him. The poison will drain through his skin.”
The chief wizard pulled her to her feet. “Gather what you need. We’ll take him to his suite and return for you.”
Lorana nodded. “I’ll do this.” She lowered her head. Perhaps she could learn more about the ways of these men.
“Cregan, use your wand to maintain Arton’s life. You know the consequences if he dies.”
Lorana pulled the last thorn from the man’s shoulder. She rose and backed away. Four men arrived. They rolled Arton onto a cloth attached to wooden poles. The man called Cregan pressed his wand against the wounded man’s chest.
Unlike the pale-haired man, the fallen one had hair streaked with the colors of fire, and she wondered why he was so different. She scurried to the storage room to gather what she needed to treat the fyrethorn poison.
In the large room she selected a massive basket. Jar after jar on the shelf containing herbs and spices were searched. She dropped the ones she needed into the carrier and added one of tallow to use as the base for a paste. A small container of cordial and one of poison completed her search of the shelves. She found cloth for dressings. After stopping in her cell for two dresses she carried the basket into the courtyard.
She called to two of the women and told them how to brew the last jug of poison needed to fill the quota for trade. She lifted a mortar and pestle and added them to the basket.
At the gate she found Mecador and a guard waiting. He gestured to the guard. “Carry the basket.” He grasped Lorana’s arm. “Just a warning.”
His deep voice raised a shudder. “About what?”
“Not only does Arton’s life depend on you saving him but also Cregan’s.” He led her to a set of stairs and started up.
“I’ll do my best, but fate rules the outcome.”
“Your life is also at risk.”
Lorana sucked in a breath. Though death was an escape from slavery, she had no desire for that end. If dead she couldn’t find a way to destroy the wizards.
They reached the second level of the citadel. The chief wizard’s giant steps along the dimly lit corridor forced her to trot or risk having her arm pulled from the socket. He halted so abruptly she nearly fell. The guard hit her with the basket. She winced as pain shot down her leg.
Mecador opened a wooden door and pulled her into a room. A fire in the fireplace on the wall next to the entrance to a second room burned cheerfully. A table and two chairs stood against the side wall. Hooks adorned the other wall.
She saw comfort such as she recalled from her home. The chairs were cushioned. An oil lamp on the table waited to be lit. Through the doorway she saw a sleeping chamber. A massive bed with wooden posts and curtains that could enclose the bed, a cushioned chair, a small table, and a long one completed the furnishings.
Mecador dragged her into the sleeping chamber. “Three times a day food will be delivered. You may eat what he doesn’t. There is no reason for you to leave these rooms, and if you are found in the hall without an escort you will be punished.” He pointed to a doorway on the side of the room. “The necessary for washing and all other matters is in there.”
Lorana walked to the massive bed. A blanket covered Arton’s lower body. She turned to the older man. “He needs to be turned to his stomach so I can see and treat the puncture wounds.”
He snapped his fingers. Cregan appeared immediately. Lorana tensed. Would the burly man be constantly present? Would he prevent her from finding things to aid in her escape?
“Turn him on his stomach,” Mecador commanded.
Cregan pressed close enough to run a hand over her hip. She edged back and nearly collided with the older wizard.
Lorana approached the bed. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the men had left. She placed her sup
plies on the table where a cluster of fyrestones formed an intricate pattern on a leather tray. She returned to the bed and touched the places where the thorns had penetrated his skin. Several retained bits of the tips. She needed a knife.
His blue dragon hide trousers hung on the edge of the bed. A sheath on the belt produced a knife. She cleaned the blade with liquid distilled from pine sap. One by one she cut the skin around the wounds and removed the foreign matter. She mixed drops of the poison with an equal amount of the cordial. She added this to a bit of lard and treated each area where thorns had pierced his back and arms. She covered the treated areas with cloth and managed to turn him onto his back. The ends of the cloth were tied to keep the dressing secure.
His labored breathing troubled her. In a large cup of hot water taken from the bathing room she blended a mixture of herbs. After adding sweetened syrup and a measure of spirits, she returned to the bed.
She raised his head with a pillow and spooned liquid into his mouth. At first she had to massage his throat to encourage swallowing. He managed the last of the dose on his own. Soon his breathing steadied. A sheen of perspiration covered his face and chest.
Lorana filled a basin with water and wiped away the river of perspiration. Her fingers stroked his chest feeling the way the hair swirled. She edged the blanket lower to expose the rest of his body. As she wiped the cloth over his abdomen she saw his male part grow longer and thicker.
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.
Wizards of Fyre (Island of Fyre Book 3) Page 2
