The Rock of Ivanore Read Free Page B

Illian Bay, safeguarded only by an ancient forest whose vegetation wound so tightly together that traveling through it was all but impossible. The only hope in navigating through the tangled Black Forest lay in the legendary map drawn by the island’s ancient inhabitants.
    The Agoran paced the beach, peering at every vine and leaf. He prodded branches and briars with the tip of his sword, but the centuries-old undergrowth was so dense that it seemed as though nothing could penetrate it. He studied the scroll again, tracing its lines with his finger and measuring each twist and turn of ink. Again and again, he walked the distance from one end of the beach to the other, each time comparing more closely the image on the page to the forest’s perimeter.
    He had just finished his fourth tour of the beach when something small, nearly indistinguishable, caught hisattention. A small green thread as thin as spider’s silk dangled from a single leaf. A sense of relief washed over him, for someone with eyesight less keen than his would never have spotted it at all. The patch of vegetation blended so perfectly with its surroundings that it was nearly impossible to detect its true material: delicate green cloth painted by the finest of artisans.
    The Agoran pulled away the false cover, revealing a narrow but definite trail. He rolled up the parchment and tucked it beneath his cloak. As he did so, his hand brushed against the leather pouch hanging at his waist. The first object in the fist-sized pouch had been with him for many years and had brought him, he believed, good fortune. It was a rare treasure, and he had killed and nearly been killed for it. The second item in the pouch was obtained more recently but was equally valuable to its new owner.
    The Agoran wrapped his palm around the pouch to reassure himself. It felt warm and soft in his hand. He rubbed his thumb along its seam and hoped it would bring him good fortune one last time. Then, stepping onto the trail and setting the shrubbery back in place behind him, he ventured forward into the shadows of the forest.

Four
    arcus spent the good part of the day walking in what he hoped was a straight course west along the northern edge of the forest. If he continued on that same course, he expected to reach Vrystal Canyon, the only passage through the mountains, by nightfall.
    Marcus stopped near a small brook and sat down. Just a few moments’ rest is all I need, he thought to himself. His eyes grew heavy and had barely closed when the loud snap of a twig jerked them open.
    â€œWho’s there?” he called out.
    A familiar voice called back. “It’s just me!”
    Clovis Dungham, the heavyset boy from the ceremony, ran clumsily forward. His pack, with its loose strap slung around his elbow, banged wildly against his thigh.His breathing was heavy.
    â€œI’ve been trying . . . to catch up to you . . . thought maybe . . . we could . . .” He paused, bent over, and gasped for breath.
    â€œAre you all right?” asked Marcus, concerned that Clovis might faint.
    Clovis nodded. “Couldn’t catch my breath at first,” he said. His round face was red and damp with perspiration. “Sometimes I have trouble breathing . . . when I exercise too much.” He took a swig from his water skin. “I thought, maybe . . . if you’re not opposed to it . . . I might keep you company . . . for a while at least.”
    Marcus considered telling him that he preferred to travel alone, but then he noticed the crossbow slung across the other boy’s back. “Can you really use that thing?” he asked. “How good is your aim?”
    Clovis sniffed. It seemed he was sniffling every few seconds. “Not half as well as my father. He can shoot a sparrow in flight. He lent me this,” he added, reaching over his shoulder and patting the bow fondly, “but made me promise to return it in good condition.”
    The two of them