Free Wizards of Fyre (Island of Fyre Book 3) by Janet Lane-Walters

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.