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

have no knowledge of the next test.”
    Cregan laughed. “My father will prepare me. He wants this to look like that adopted mongrel has a chance. Look at the way my father added two slaves to my total. If he hadn’t, Arton would have two points and needed just one to win.”
    “How true.”
    “I’ll win the next test. Then we’ll duel with wands.”
    Arton grimaced. When they used their wands Cregan’s chance of winning was good. Arton’s spirits sagged. Blocking the auras of power from all the stones often drained him. He must build his tolerance.
    The older man halted. “What about the white flames shooting from his wand on the day of his poisonings?”
    “Must have been a fluke. I will win. I am of the pure blood. Allowing a mongrel to be part of the council is wrong.”
    Arton waited for the pair to vanish. His thoughts turned to the events of the clan gathering and Cregan’s wild attack on the clansmen after the bouts ended. That had been the first time Mecador had chastised his son. There were customs to be followed in meeting the clans. How long would the chief wizard follow the customs?
    Arton fingered his pouch. He returned to the table and spilled the stones in a leather tray. He studied them by color. With one of the yellows in his hand he explored the contained power. Did the yellow always produce light? Why had the wand and the stone become ashes in an instant? The wythe had burned first rather than the stone dying. He dropped the yellow into the tray and scooped all the stones into his pouch.
    While he wanted to experiment with the colored fyrestones and different kinds of wood, now wasn’t the time for exploration. Only when he became a council member would he speak of his discovery. Until then Mecador could try to force him to reveal the secret.
    He opened the door into the hall. One of the fledglings tore down the hall toward him. “Chief Wizard Mecador waits for you in the workroom.”
    “What does…?” Arton groaned. The boy dashed around the corner before he could ask more. What did Mecador want? There’d been no mention of Cregan. Was this about the challenge, or something else?
    He strode along the corridor until he reached his destination. He paused in the doorway. Mecador paced from one side of the room to the other barely missing a collision with tables and deftly avoiding the chairs. When Arton stepped inside, Supreme wheeled to face him.
    Arton bowed his head. “I’m here in response to your summons.”
    Mecador walked to Arton. “How did you manage to tie my son? You aren’t one of the blood, yet you have gained mastery of the wand.”
    Arton stared at the chief wizard. “My mentor taught me well. He was pleased with my progress.”
    “What troubles me is your strength. The energy you sent into your wand after the poisoning is strange. When a wizard is injured, the power usually does not strengthen. Then there was the blinding yellow light you emitted at the oasis. How do you explain those anomalies?”
    “I have no explanation. Maybe fear gave me added power.”
    Mecador stepped back. “If you can use fear as a catalyst, you can defeat any of the council members except me.’ He turned and walked away. “Sit and wait for Cregan. When he arrives you will learn about the next challenge.”
    Arton settled on a chair in a dark corner of the room. The chief wizard’s compliment surprised him.
    Cregan dashed into the room. “You must name me to the council seat today. This competition is futile when you know I will win.”
    Mecador crossed his arms. “You do not command or tell me what to do. I may be your father and mentor, but I won’t break all the rules for you.”
    “You owe me that seat.”
    “I do not. Like any other wizard you must earn your place. You may end up a man of the second rank. I’ve given you a chance to be one of the first rank.”
    Arton rose from the shadows and approached the pair. Did Mecador fear his son’s ambition?
    Cregan whirled. “What is