The Staff of the Winds (The Wizard of South Corner Book 1) by William Meighan Page B

The great wooden gates had sagged, stones had fallen, and vines had grown over much of the walls.  Owen landed on the roof of the gatehouse and peered into the dark and deserted ruin.  It once had been vast and powerful, he thought.  The decay and lost glory saddened him.
    Gazing toward the West Wall, Owen could see a pass in the foothills leading to a deep cleft in the mountains. ‘ McDonald’s Break, ’ he thought. ‘ Could the gorn have found a way past the Wizard’s Moat? ’ Taking wing, Owen flew powerfully toward the Break and the wide lake at its mouth. The Wizard’s Moat lay calm and black beneath the moonlit sky. It filled a large valley, with the cliffs of the West Wall dropping straight down into it on the western side. Several large streams cascaded into it from the Wall, and a small river fed it from the north. A vast ancient landslide had damned the river to the south, causing it to fill the valley until it overflowed to the east and south.
    Flying high over the lake, Owen could see a long and very narrow stone bridge coming out of the Break and arching high over the lake.  Owen could not understand how such a bridge could have been constructed, but this must be how the gorn had crossed the Moat.  The crossing would have been perilous; the bridge was high and very narrow, with no guardrail or handhold to provide comfort to those who used it.  From the top of the arch, a fall to the lake below would likely be fatal.
    Owen followed the span on toward the pass. He noticed that it widened some after its zenith, so that while it was barely wide enough for one man to use all along the eastern half, four men could have walked onto it abreast where it left the western shore. Suddenly, on the far side, Owen spotted a robed man standing at the end of the bridge watching him approach. Startled, Owen wheeled violently to his left and dove under the arch of the bridge as the robed figure raised his hand to clutch the air in his direction.
    In the instant before Owen was able to put the bridge between himself and the robed figure, he felt a burning in his breast so intense that he almost blacked out with the pain. It felt like someone had reached into his chest and was yanking his heart out between his ribs—not just his heart, but his very soul seemed to be torn and shredded. A moment later, the contact vanished, leaving only the nearly overwhelming memory of the pain.
    Disoriented and groggy, Owen managed to regain control before tumbling into the cold black waters below, and flew low under the bridge as fast as possible toward the eastern shore, keeping the span between himself and the threat behind him.
    Suddenly, something huge loomed up from the depths below, and with a silver flash of water in moonlight, a long pale tentacle whipped out of the black lake in his direction.  Owen dodged franticly to the right, and clawed at the air for altitude.  Instantly, a second gray arm lashed up in front of him, and he dodged back to the left just brushing the slimy snake-like creature with his pinfeathers.  In a panic, dodging wildly and climbing, Owen barely managed to elude several more powerful strikes until he was able to climb high enough and the attack ceased as abruptly as it had begun.
    Exhausted, Owen managed to reach the eastern shore, where he crashed into the branches of a tall fir, clutched fiercely onto a broad branch and perched trying to regain his courage and his breath. His feathers were wet and disordered, and his wings drooped loosely down as he struggled to calm himself.
    ‘ Why was he still here? ’ Owen wondered. The previous night, when he had been attacked by the gorn in the watchtower, he had almost instantly found himself back in his own body.  He had ranged further this night; could it be the additional separation?  Or had the dark sorcerer at the other end of the bridge, for such it must have been, done something that prevented his instant return?  Owen hoped that it was the