Wizards of Fyre (Island of Fyre Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

nodded. He ran his hand through sun-bleached hair. “When we camp tonight we will go aside and show you how the clansmen fight.”
    “Do you think I have a chance?”
    The man shrugged. “All life is chance. You are quick and wiry. With some tricks we can teach you there is a chance you will have some wins.”
    Arton smiled. “Why are you helping me?”
    The guard’s dark eyes showed concern. “You are nothing like Cregan. With him on the council Mecador can set his plans in motion and change all our lives.”
    “What plans?”
    “To completely rile the clans and turn the men into an army.”
    Arton swallowed. Why would the chief wizard need an army?
    That night Arton began his lessons. He stripped to his breechcloth and faced a guard who was similarly clad. Arton circled the man who grabbed him and flipped him onto his back.
    Arton struggled to his feet. “I don’t stand a chance.”
    The guard chuckled. “Stevos will teach you step by step how this is done.”
    For two nights Arton learned the moves. On the third evening they camped near a mound of rocks. The ground had changed from grass to rock-strewn soil. For the first time that evening he managed to defeat Stavos.
    The training continued for the next two nights. Both times they camped near rock formations. When they set out the next day, the rocky soil had become sand. By late afternoon Arton saw trees in the distance. They approached the oasis where clusters of tents were pitched. Some bore red stripes and others yellow.
    “What do the colors mean?” Arton asked.
    The guard at his side halted. “Colors mark the clans. There are two missing this year. They are red and green.”
    “What can that mean?”
    “Many things. Rebellion. Dry water sources. Disease and death. Life on the desert is hard.” He strode away.
    Mecador walked toward the clustered wizards. “Two clans have failed to arrive. When the council is full we will deal with the ones who show disrespect.” He folded his arms.
    What did he mean? Arton helped the guards erect the massive gray tent where the wizards would sleep. He heard mutterings from the guards. When the tent towered over the smaller clan dwellings, Arton carried his pack inside. He chose a sleeping spot at the rear of the structure.
    The chief wizard strode back and forth in the confines of the tent. His anger erupted in bursts of speech. Arton’s skin prickled when he saw Mecador draw one of his wands. Would the man start trouble?
    A stream of clansmen dressed in hip length robes and flared trousers carried kettles and platters of food. Arton heard one of the wizards speak in a near whisper. “No beauties to serve this year. These slaves need a lesson.”
    “Not with a divided council,” a second said.
    Arton swallowed his question. Was this why Mecador had refused to grant Arton his mentor’s seat? He strode to the offerings and filled a plate. After eating he retreated to his mat. The conversations lulled him to sleep.
    At sunrise he woke. He removed his trousers and tunic. He looked at the newly arrived offerings of food and chose some slices of tart fruit. He washed them down with water dipped from a pail. Then he left the tent.
    Cregan strolled in front of the tent flexing his muscles and posing for the women strolling past the tent. He gazed at Arton and grinned. “You’re rather scrawny.”
    “I’ll hold my own.”
    “I bet I get two to your every one.” Cregan walked over to watch the guards. His pale skin showed beads of perspiration. When one of the guards offered to cover Cregan’s body with an oily substance Cregan shook the man off. Already the sun shone in a bright cloudless sky. Cregan would regret not accepting the oil. His skin would burn since he never worked outdoors unless he was fully covered.
    The blare of a horn signaled the games were about to begin. The wizards left the tent and formed an escort for Arton and Cregan. They marched to the cleared area where two circles marked where the