Read Online Eye of the Wizard: A Fantasy Adventure by Daniel Arenson - Free Book Online
Authors: Daniel Arenson
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overcast sky.
When he returned his eyes to the island ahead, the fear only grew colder in his belly. A mile away, Hermit Island looked lifeless and gray, its few trees scraggly. While mallards swam through the lake, and gulls circled the raft cawing for food, no birds seemed to fly over the rocky island ahead. Even they don't want to live there, Scruff thought, lowering his head. Everything about today seemed dismal, from the rotting planks of the raft, to the weather, to the weight on his heart.
The ferryman was humming a tune even older than he was, and he was old indeed, all wrinkly skin and long white hair. As he hummed his song, he rowed the raft as leisurely as a nymph running her toes through a sunny stream. That suited Scruff fine; he was in no rush to reach Hermit Island, his new home. Once he set foot on that rocky shore, who knew if he'd ever leave it?
He turned to look at Jamie. She stood beside him on the raft, the wind ruffling her short black hair. Though she no longer needed a disguise, she still dressed like a boy; boy clothes were all she owned. She wore black leggings, tall leather boots, and a deep green cape clasped around her neck with an iron acorn. Her eyes dark and her lips tightened, she looked like Scruff felt—miserable.
Their only valuables were their weapons and scant armor. Jamie carried Moonclaw over her back, the filigreed sword that once belonged to Father. Scruff kept Norman, his oversized mace, slung over his own back. Both siblings carried wooden shields emblazoned with the Thistle emblem, a cluster of thorns growing around a tower. Dull iron vambraces protected their forearms, and greaves protected their shins. They owned no helmets or breastplates—such armor cost a fortune—and they had left their chain mail behind, for it belonged to Fort Rosethorn. Vambraces and greaves weren't much, but Scruff was grateful for any protection. The world was a dangerous place, swarming with moldmen, grobblers, and God knew what else. Out here in the wilderness, any weapons and armor were worth more than gold.
After what seemed like hours, the raft finally reached Hermit Island, docking at an abandoned pier that seemed comprised of more moss than wood. A sign stood atop the pier, crooked and moldy, the letters so old Scruff could hardly read them. "A home for outcasts; may they live their shunned lives here, hidden from society," he read out loud.
"Not the most hearty of welcomes," Jamie muttered, eyes narrowed.
The siblings stepped off the ferry and paid the ferryman. The graybeard pocketed his penny and rowed away, singing a bawdy old song, leaving Scruff and Jamie on the island.
Rubbing his neck, Scruff looked over his new home. The shore was bleak, and the rocky hills ahead looked even bleaker. Bare trees covered the hills like old, gnarled men who'd wandered outside naked. Otherwise, Scruff saw no sign of life. He heard nothing but the murmuring water, the creaking trees above, and the distant call of a gull. Spring bloomed across the rest of the kingdom, but had not found the island. It was cold. Scruff tightened his cloak around him, shivering.
I should say something, he thought, glancing at his sister. He cleared his throat. "Well, here we are. Hermit Island. Our new home for the rest of our lives." He tried to keep his voice cheery, but heard the gloom in his words.
Jamie covered her face. "Great. Just great."
Scruff sighed. "Let's go explore," he said, clumsily putting a hand on Jamie's shoulder.
She pushed his hand off, muttering. Scruff shrugged and walked away from the shore, Jamie following silently. The trees seemed made of nothing but twigs, and the rocks looked like chipped, rotting teeth. Soon they reached a hill and hiked up, stepping over fallen logs coated with snails. Mushrooms and moss covered the ground, but barely any grass. Scruff hoped to find other hermits who might share some food and a fire, but saw no sign of habitation. It was hard to climb with Norman
When he returned his eyes to the island ahead, the fear only grew colder in his belly. A mile away, Hermit Island looked lifeless and gray, its few trees scraggly. While mallards swam through the lake, and gulls circled the raft cawing for food, no birds seemed to fly over the rocky island ahead. Even they don't want to live there, Scruff thought, lowering his head. Everything about today seemed dismal, from the rotting planks of the raft, to the weather, to the weight on his heart.
The ferryman was humming a tune even older than he was, and he was old indeed, all wrinkly skin and long white hair. As he hummed his song, he rowed the raft as leisurely as a nymph running her toes through a sunny stream. That suited Scruff fine; he was in no rush to reach Hermit Island, his new home. Once he set foot on that rocky shore, who knew if he'd ever leave it?
He turned to look at Jamie. She stood beside him on the raft, the wind ruffling her short black hair. Though she no longer needed a disguise, she still dressed like a boy; boy clothes were all she owned. She wore black leggings, tall leather boots, and a deep green cape clasped around her neck with an iron acorn. Her eyes dark and her lips tightened, she looked like Scruff felt—miserable.
Their only valuables were their weapons and scant armor. Jamie carried Moonclaw over her back, the filigreed sword that once belonged to Father. Scruff kept Norman, his oversized mace, slung over his own back. Both siblings carried wooden shields emblazoned with the Thistle emblem, a cluster of thorns growing around a tower. Dull iron vambraces protected their forearms, and greaves protected their shins. They owned no helmets or breastplates—such armor cost a fortune—and they had left their chain mail behind, for it belonged to Fort Rosethorn. Vambraces and greaves weren't much, but Scruff was grateful for any protection. The world was a dangerous place, swarming with moldmen, grobblers, and God knew what else. Out here in the wilderness, any weapons and armor were worth more than gold.
After what seemed like hours, the raft finally reached Hermit Island, docking at an abandoned pier that seemed comprised of more moss than wood. A sign stood atop the pier, crooked and moldy, the letters so old Scruff could hardly read them. "A home for outcasts; may they live their shunned lives here, hidden from society," he read out loud.
"Not the most hearty of welcomes," Jamie muttered, eyes narrowed.
The siblings stepped off the ferry and paid the ferryman. The graybeard pocketed his penny and rowed away, singing a bawdy old song, leaving Scruff and Jamie on the island.
Rubbing his neck, Scruff looked over his new home. The shore was bleak, and the rocky hills ahead looked even bleaker. Bare trees covered the hills like old, gnarled men who'd wandered outside naked. Otherwise, Scruff saw no sign of life. He heard nothing but the murmuring water, the creaking trees above, and the distant call of a gull. Spring bloomed across the rest of the kingdom, but had not found the island. It was cold. Scruff tightened his cloak around him, shivering.
I should say something, he thought, glancing at his sister. He cleared his throat. "Well, here we are. Hermit Island. Our new home for the rest of our lives." He tried to keep his voice cheery, but heard the gloom in his words.
Jamie covered her face. "Great. Just great."
Scruff sighed. "Let's go explore," he said, clumsily putting a hand on Jamie's shoulder.
She pushed his hand off, muttering. Scruff shrugged and walked away from the shore, Jamie following silently. The trees seemed made of nothing but twigs, and the rocks looked like chipped, rotting teeth. Soon they reached a hill and hiked up, stepping over fallen logs coated with snails. Mushrooms and moss covered the ground, but barely any grass. Scruff hoped to find other hermits who might share some food and a fire, but saw no sign of habitation. It was hard to climb with Norman
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