Wizard’s Bridge

By Karen McCullough

Her fellow wizard is not the man she expects . . .

When invasion by a coalition of unfriendly neighbors threatens her home town, Alsa knows the seed of their salvation lies within her. But her talent for wizardry won't help them unless she can learn how to use and control it, so she goes to the local wizard, who lives in a castle high on the side of a mountain.

To reach his home, she must brave a bridge that appears to be made solely of light and the wizard's ferocious guard dragon. Neither the bridge nor the dragon is exactly what it seems. But then Alsa finds that a lot of things on the wizard's mountain are not what she expects, including the wizard.

The bargain she has to make with him to get the lessons she needs shocks her and the training itself bears no resemblance to what she anticipated. Alsa has a lot of adapting to do and not much time for it. It will take every bit of her intelligence, courage, and compassion to master the magic, her home's enemies, the dragon, and even the wizard himself.

Karen McCullough's first novel was published in 1990. Since then she's had many more published, ranging from mysteries to romantic suspense, to fantasy and paranormal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BelleBooks
• Release date: Aug 9, 2004
• ISBN: 9781610260510

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Other Titles by Karen McCullough from ImaJinn Books

Witch’s Journey

Wizard’s Bridge

by

Karen McCullough

ImaJinn Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

ImaJinn Books

PO BOX 300921

Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61026-051-0

Print ISBN: 978-0-975965-30-6

ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2004 by Karen McCullough

Published in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline.

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Cover design: Deborah Smith

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo/Art credits:

Girl with sword (manipulated) © Maximus117 | Dreamstime.com

Dragon scenery 3D render (manipulated) © Elena Duvernay | Dreamstime.com

:Ebwe:01:

Dedication

For all my family, who’ve been so supportive over the years, Dad (I miss you!) and Mom; my sisters, Sue and Barbara; brothers, Tom, Rob, and John; and all the in-laws (sorry but there are too many of you to mention individually!) But most of all to Jim for the many years of patient love and encouragement, and to the three best children a parent could ask for: Elizabeth, Joe, and Sarah.

One

IN THE EARLY afternoon sunshine, the bridge shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. Light shining off it splintered into masses of oranges and reds streaked with violet and indigo and green. Clouds of fiery yellow and serene blue swirled in its depth, constantly changing. Alsa couldn’t discern what the substance of the bridge truly was, or even if there were any real matter to it. The general shape was of an arc, but the glimmer obscured any actual outline.

She stared down the path that led to it. On either side of the bridge, the short down-slope ended abruptly at the brink of a chasm so deep she couldn’t see the bottom until she reached the edge and leaned out. Beyond it, on the other side of the rift, the path wound upward again, climbing the side of the mountain to the castle, still well above her.

Under ordinary circumstances, Alsa had too much sense to risk crossing a bridge of such dubious substance. But need rode her hard. The safety and survival of an entire town rested on her talent. That burden drove her to the span and forced her to attempt its crossing. She stepped onto it carefully, tentatively.

Beneath her, the colors whirled in oily, sparkling slicks and puffed out from the surface in misty clouds. Her boots seemed to press into and through the surface, touching nothing solid, only a soft, yielding cushion. She sank into it up to her ankles, but found it supported her weight without trapping her or hindering her steps.

The pliant surface inspired little confidence, nonetheless. Were she not so desperate, she would have turned back. Even now she badly wanted to, while she was still within reaching distance of the mountainside’s solid, rocky ground.

Too many people depended on her. She lifted one foot and set it down ahead of the other, wincing and rocking to keep her balance as it squashed into the cloudy nothingness that was something after all. The bridge was only a few feet wide, with no parapet, so she had to concentrate on keeping her balance. Each step planted at a different depth, and she could never anticipate exactly how much to adjust her shifting weight. Fortunately the attention required kept her from thinking about other things—like the fall she risked, or how far down the bottom of the rift was.

Each movement was an adventure, every stride an invitation to disaster. Even after she’d crossed almost half the span, it never stopped feeling as though her foot might slide all the way through whatever material comprised the bridge, dragging her body into a fall too horrible to contemplate.

With each step carefully considered, then just as precisely executed, it took a long time to cross. The end came upon her suddenly. After watching her feet so closely, she looked up finally to see the edge only a step or two away. Alsa gathered herself and covered the remaining distance in one giant leap that carried her onto solid ground.

She stumbled as she landed and fell headlong. Winded, she lay stretched out on the ground while she struggled to regain her breath and her confidence. Her fingers dug into the thin layer of dirt over rock, clinging to its warmth and solidity. It felt like a mother, holding her to its bosom.

Only after she turned her head and noted the position of the sun did she push herself upright and set off again. No more time to waste if she wanted to make it to the castle before dark. The path wound steeply upwards, in a series of narrow bends and sharp curves, with occasional short detours around downed trees or fallen rocks. Above and ahead, the tops of several slender towers appeared, their sharp, pointed tops spearing the clouds.

The smell gave the first clue to the next hazard she faced: a compound of sulfur, smoke and something animal. She hesitated and sniffed and suspected, but having braved the bridge, she refused to let a little thing like a guard-dragon stop her. Or even a big thing, which the guard-dragon surely would be.

The rumble made her pause again, after only a few more yards of progress.

The creature surged into view from behind the castle’s stone walls. Its long neck wove a graceful curve as it reared up, while sunlight glinted off its scales. Alsa ducked behind a nearby stone and then poked up her head to stare at it in frank admiration, despite the inadequacy of her cover, and with full knowledge that the dragon would likely char her on the spot.

It must have extraordinary hearing to detect her approach from such a distance. She’d tried to keep her movements quiet and thought she’d succeeded. Wrong.

Little mortal!

The dragon’s harsh, grinding voice boiled like a volcano. Its giant eyes trained on her. Gleams of colored light whirled in the depths of slitted pupils.

Its sudden laugh had both the crack and rumble of thunder. Little mortal, what do you here? it asked. We have visitors so rarely.

Alsa risked poking her head out from behind the rock again. I’m not surprised. Your hospitality is legendary.

The blast that followed was probably the dragon equivalent of a chuckle. Did you come to look at me? Your people seem to enjoy the challenge. I hear that in the town they say it’s good luck to have looked on the dragon and lived. Since few do survive, I suppose it can be rightly said they are lucky.

I’ve come to consult with your master.

Master? A puff of steam billowed from outraged nostrils stretched wide open.

Perhaps I phrased that badly. I wish to talk to the wizard. Would you grant your permission?

The mountain shook as the dragon bellowed its amusement. Of course not. But thank you for asking.

Even if—

I haven’t had a good laugh for some time, the dragon went on, ignoring her plea. Perhaps I’ll let you get as far as the castle door, if you care to make the attempt. Perhaps. Have you the courage to risk it, little mortal?

Alsa abandoned the dubious protection of the stone, stood up and moved into an open area. Yes.

Then walk. You’ve had no trouble finding the path so far.

It’s well enough marked.

The wizard may not like commerce with your people, but he still has need of food and supplies.

You’ll let me go on?

I said ‘perhaps.’ Take your chances.

I will then. Alsa said it with more confidence than she felt, hoping dragons weren’t as good at reading human emotions as they were at hearing human footsteps. She began to walk up the path toward the castle. And the dragon.

I like the ones with spirit the best. The dragon, it appeared, was in a chatty mood. There haven’t been many over the years. Plenty come to look, but mostly they turn and run the other way when they see me. Or sometimes when I loose the first blast of flame.

The dragon reared back and made a sound like a giant sneeze. A sheet of fire poured from its mouth. The flame singed grass and trees directly behind her. Alsa kept moving, trying to ignore it, though the stench—a combination of sulfur and burning wood—made her gag, and the heat warmed her cloak more than felt quite safe.

What did those poor trees ever do to you? she asked.

The dragon nodded its head to one side, the dragon equivalent of a shrug, she supposed. The woods need to be cleared out periodically. Encourages new growth. You’re braver than most. That sent the last three who dared the path running for cover.

Have you lived here long? Perhaps if she kept the dragon talking, he’d forget about frying her.

What is long? A hundred or so cycles of seasons. I confess the last few cycles have begun to feel rather meaningless. I mean, we’re born, we grow up, we flame a few people, consort with a wizard or two, and we die. What’s the point of it all?

You’re making me cry. Perhaps if you tried planting trees rather than blasting them, you might find a clue.

Do you think so? I’ve never been much for gardening. I tend to trample things.

Your size. I suppose that does make it difficult.

Extremely. So, tell me why you’re so eager to see the wizard.

I have a deal to offer him.

Oh, ho! Perhaps I will let you get there. The last person who wanted to make a deal still has a nest in a corner of the chimney. He paused, and one eye half-closed. Unless that was the one caught in the trap in the pantry last week. Oh well.

Alsa refused to consider the implied threat. I think I can offer something he wants.

And how would you know what a great wizard wants?

I’ve heard enough talk.

In your puny town. What do they know about a powerful wizard?

There are a few who’ve had . . . rather close contact with him.

Apparently the dragon knew what she referred to. It grew quiet for a moment, and then it loosed another hot, foul-smelling blast of fiery gas that cleared a new path through the trees, passing no more than three feet from where she walked.

Alsa didn’t stop, didn’t even pause in the process of picking her way around rocks in the path. You’ve really got to do something about that breath problem, she muttered, low, though, since she didn’t see any use in offending the creature.

For the last hundred yards or so, the path rose steeply to the castle door. Rocks littered the way in such abundance, it became more a stone staircase than a path, except they tended to roll out from underfoot or wobble when stepped on, making for chancy purchase. Alsa fell once, scraping a knee, but got up and continued, taking more care with her steps. She had no more attention to spare for banter with the dragon.

When she reached an immense wooden door, she stopped and looked up. The dragon still watched her. Its huge head and neck were off slightly to her left and almost directly above, so she had to lean well back to see it. Thanks for lighting the way for me, she offered.

Steam hissed from its nostrils and its body rocked a little. A strange gurgling noise—another chuckle—issued from its throat before it responded: The pleasure was all mine, I’m sure. Best of luck, little mortal. You’ll need it.

The dragon gathered itself, flapped enormous wings and launched itself into the sky. The backwash of air almost knocked her down the hill again. Alsa had to grab a nearby sapling and cling to it until the whirlwind passed and the sinewy, gleaming body of the dragon disappeared somewhere behind the castle.

Two

AN IMMENSE knocker decorated the massive door, situated so high she could barely reach it. The ogre’s-head base didn’t exactly welcome visitors, nor did the heft of the knocker’s bar—almost too heavy to budge—offer any encouragement. She managed to lift the bar high enough to let it fall with a clang against the bronze ogre’s chin. The resounding bong sounded out of proportion even to the enormous size of the metal parts. The noise echoed in her ears, making her bones rattle.

Long minutes passed with no result, and Alsa started to wonder if there was a back door she might tackle. The precarious perch of the castle on the mountaintop, bordering on a sharp drop-off behind, didn’t offer much hope of success in finding an alternate entrance. About the time she’d decided to try to find one anyway, a metallic snap sounded, and the door began to swing, slowly, ponderously, inward.

Thank you for seeing me. I know you don’t often admit visitors, but I thought you might want to . . .

She faltered in her prepared, oft-rehearsed speech as the opening grew wide enough to admit outside light to the darkened hall within. No one stood there. After a moment’s debate, she stepped into the gloomy interior and peered around. A large antechamber surrounded her with high ceilings and walls of dark stone, lined with huge, dark tapestries. A very empty room. She even glanced behind the door. No one was there.

She fought a quick urge to run out again when the door began to reverse its course and slide shut. But she’d braved an insubstantial bridge and a fire-spitting dragon to get here; little things like a door that moved on its own and a gloomy, unwelcoming room shouldn’t terrify her. Her shaking hands didn’t seem to get the message, though.

The door crashed to a halt in its frame, and the echoes reverberated off the stone walls for some time. When they died down, and her head stopped ringing, she considered her next move. Wait for someone to show up to greet her? Or risk appearing discourteous by wandering around the castle uninvited?

Alsa called out Hello? in the loudest, most forceful voice she could manage while still sounding friendly.

Her query seeped into the emptiness of the cavernous rooms and shadowy passages leading off it, then disappeared, sucked into the vacuum. No response came.

She waited a few more minutes, drew a deep breath when she still had no answer, and set off into the passage that led to the right. Occasional globes of phosphorescent material hung on brackets along the hall, lending an unsettling radiance to the stone walls and floor. They weren’t the strangest feature of the corridor, however. Pieces of sculpture and pottery adorned its length, sitting on shelves or in deep notches in the wall, some in traditional shapes, others depicting weird, twisted knots or creatures she didn’t recognize. They cast arrays of bizarre shadows around them.

Periodically, rooms opened off the hallway. She glanced into a few that had open arches and no doors, but most were so darkened by heavy drapes at the windows she couldn’t see anything of their contents. The few that were lit contained basic furniture, a bit more of the artwork, but no other person nor much indication of use by one.

A thread of sound floated her way, soft strains of music echoing down the passage from somewhere well ahead. She followed the notes along the corridor to an immense, arched doorway. One of two large panels stood partly ajar. The music came from within.

When she squeezed past the narrow opening, an enormous hall, like a vast ballroom, with a raised dais at one end lay before her. The platform was empty. A fire crackling in a niche along one side wall provided little help against the chilly feel of the room. A single armchair faced the fireplace, drawn up close to the warmth, and angled so she couldn’t see if anyone occupied it. She glanced around, searching for the source of the music and found nothing to account for it. The sound surrounded her, a melody woven with strings and backed by a deep percussion, coming from every direction at once, but no instruments were visible.

As she hesitated, the music stopped and a voice emanated from the vicinity of the chair. You’ve come this far, you might as well come all the way in. The words boomed, then echoed off the bare stone walls and floor.

Alsa shrugged and marched into the room, heading toward the chair.

You’re a bold one, walking in here as though the place belonged to you.

The door opened. I got the impression I’d been invited. By sheer force of will, Alsa made the words sound confident and fearless.

Rumbling laughter ensued. The door will let anyone enter. The trick is making it let you out again.

I’ll deal with it should the time come. She moved forward until she could see around the high back of the chair. And stopped there, momentarily frozen in shock.

The huge, booming voice had come from a form so wizened and shriveled it reminded her of an oversized, dried gourd with a small, wrinkled head on one end and stick-like arms and legs. Standing, he wouldn’t be as tall as she. The face was a mosaic of deeply incised lines and folds of loose skin. Thin, scraggly gray hair clung to the scalp. Only the eyes—buried deep in the sockets, but a clear, brilliant green with a spark in their depths—suggested anything of the power it was said the man wielded. This was the great wizard? The man the girls in the village whispered about and occasionally even sighed over? Had those who’d actually had contact with him lied? Or did he assume a different form to avoid disgusting them?

The homely features didn’t encourage her to get any closer as he let his gaze roam over her from head to foot and back again.

You’re prettier than most of them. he said.

I’m more than a pretty face, Alsa answered. But it did seem like it might be helpful. I’m aware you’ve found use in an attractive body before. I presume you’re the wizard everyone seems so concerned about.

For a moment he didn’t react, then he loosed a roar of laughter so deep and resonant it threatened to shake the entire castle. She simply couldn’t reconcile that voice with the form.

"You’re an impudent young woman. An imprudent one, too, to bait the lion in his den with all the doors locked behind you.

I have your attention.

Which only serves to prove my second point.

You haven’t heard why I’m here.

Then perhaps we should come to that. First, though, you might want to consider what kind of creature you’d like to spend the rest of your life as. I have a reputation to maintain. And while a pretty face works to your benefit, I doubt you can offer me anything I can’t find elsewhere.

But perhaps I can offer it to you in more convenient form.

His expression changed suddenly from sarcastic amusement to surprise, then onto speculation and a genuine, if dangerous, interest.

You came to offer yourself to me?

I came to discuss a deal, but before we go any further, I want it clear I came here of my own free will, and I must have the option to leave in the same way. And in the same form in which I arrived.

You walk into my home uninvited and think you can dictate the terms of any consequent discussion? You presume much, woman. He stood, but his diminutive size muted the impact of his approach. Still, scraggly gray eyebrows lowered into a dangerous scowl that narrowed his fierce green eyes into glowing slits.

Perhaps, she said, refusing to step back and admit he intimidated her, but I won’t go any further with the discussion until I have your promise.

His voice thundered out the reply. This is my home, and I’ll decide what we discuss.

Alsa forced herself to assume an appearance of casual nonchalance. I can wait for you to think about it.

There’s nothing to think about. You’ll tell me why you came or I’ll turn you into a fish and throw you in the moat.

If it suits you. But then you’ll never know what you might have gained from me.

For a moment she saw the anger begin to collect in a mist of power wreathing his head. A grayish cloud, slashed with angry red streaks, briefly obscured his features. Then it dissipated. He frowned and reached up to scratch at