Wizard's Bridge by Karen McCullough

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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 himself. 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.

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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 ofthe 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."