betrayed, so hurt, so relieved, so happy and miserable. All the sounds of his emotions tore from his throat like a gush of blood.
“Have you nothing to say to me after all this time?” he cried, hoping that she would utter something to stop his heart from bursting in his chest.
Evangel lifted her head. “I am an Eastaphalian Warrior. That should be explanation enough.”
And that was it. There would be no apology. Her eyes said she would do it all again if she had to. She had no regrets. He lifted his hand to wipe those words from her face.
“Hold!” the wizard cried, catching his arm.
Conraydin pulled out of his grasp. He forced words past his constricted throat: “There is not enough gold in all this earth or any other that will induce me to work with that creature!”
Conraydin turned back the way he had come, stumbling down the hall. He wandered around the endless corridor, slamming and opening innumerable doors, tearing portals from their hinges as he sought an escape.
“You cannot get out that way,” the wizard said, walking up behind him.
“Then tell me the way out!” Conraydin demanded.
“For each of us it is different,” he shrugged.
Conraydin turned away, dragged Gaynor from its scabbard and began hacking at a locked door.
“Only with the talisman may you truly escape this place,” the wizard said.
“Then how am I to fetch it if I cannot leave without it?” he asked after kicking open a silver pantry.
“That is the way out for you.”
“Make yourself clear!” Conraydin demanded, finally leveling the sword at the wizard, who turned it aside with his power
“This castle is made by an intricate balancing of paradoxes. You, Conraydin, are trapped here until you do my bidding and retrieve the bauble. You can either do this with Evangel Armantia or remain here for an eternity. It is your choice. I have offered you gold and your heart’s desire; what else can I give you?”
“Her heart on a stick.”
“If that is your desire when you return with the talisman, then it is yours.”
Conraydin turned away. “I just want to get out of here.”
“Be that as it may,” the wizard insisted, “tell me, what is your will? Shall I bid my sister have the linens changed or have provisions packed?”
“Provisions,” he muttered.
“Good,” the wizard said. “You have three days to accomplish the task, but know this, Conraydin, if you fail or if you change your mind, you will return here and be my prisoner for all time, with your heart separated from Evangel’s forever.”
Later that afternoon, the wizard spelled them back to town, right in front of Conraydin’s favorite ale house. He stood facing the doorway, aching for a drink, for a way back to his old hell, as this new one was that much worse.
Evangel stood reading from the curled brown map the Wizard had given her.
“This way,” she said finally, pointing to the West, now turbulent with sunset.
Conraydin refused to meet her eyes or to move. He waited until she turned away, her auburn hair twirling as she walked off. He watched her go some distance, then decided to follow. He had no choice if he wanted to avoid the Wizard’s prison. He let the long lines of her golden legs glinting in and out of the shadow of her skirt, the promising sway of her full hips, lead him out of the town and into the woods.
Here, framed by sky, earth and wood, Evangel seemed such a natural creature. Nature spoke her name as they walked over hills and through valleys. He heard it even in the high screaming tones of the califers racing the sunset, their skinny arms snatching from branch to branch, their autumnal colors stark and alluring in the dense pink canopy of trees.
But then, always then, when she seemed to blend, to fit somewhere between Conraydin’s heaven and earth, he would see it, that white unnatural thing like death against the lively brown of her thigh: her soul’s sword, forged by her hands in Eternal Fire. The hilt, while still white-hot, had been impressed into the flesh over her heart. She had told him long ago that from that day her heart, her soul and body belonged to none other but her sword. He and that weapon had been enemies from the first hour he set eyes on Evangel, wounded and embattled by a horde of barbarians.
In a purple meadow, at the edge of a golden wood, she had stood, an angel of death, with men falling before her majestic blade. He had seen and not believed that death could be so beautiful. Her hair rained over her shoulders like the blood of the dying upon the earth. She wore a crown of gold that glittered lightning, blinding her foes. Then she fell. Conraydin went mad, hacking at men who were no more his enemies than grass, killing until he stood alone in the meadow with her in his arms.
“We’ll make camp here,” Evangel said, stopping and squatting to gather some dry sticks.
Conraydin blinked as he lost his daydream. He looked up at the close-grown trees. It would be night soon. He threw himself down on the ground in the cradle of tree roots, far from her.
“We’ll reach the village near the cave tomorrow,” she said, dragging out a pot and some utensils, “We’ll made good time on the back roads, better than the paved streets of the plague-infested cities. Not bad for a bag of gold each.”
Evangel set up camp, started the fire. Conraydin pulled some jerky from a pouch at his belt, chewed slowly as she labored. The long oval of her face shone with the birth pangs of the blaze, her full lips pursed as she worked. She buried a few roots to bake, then took a moist piece of meat from a pouch of leaves and laid it in her pan with a flash of spice that overwhelmed the needle smell of the evergreens, turning the wildernesses into a distant, mist-bathed herb garden.
“Would you like some?” she offered.
He continued to chew without answering. She fussed with the meat for a few minutes then swung around to face him. The tip of her sword scored the earth.
“If you still hold a grudge against me, why did you come?”
Conraydin spat out the grainy remains of his meal.
“Because you told the wizard that you wanted me to come with you.”
“I never said that.”
“The wizard said,” he insisted, sitting up, “that you told him I was the best warrior you had ever met, that you needed me to accompany you.”
“He lied to you,” she said, turning her meat. “I never. . . Con. . .!”
At that moment everything turned icy cold and slow. Even the pain that Evangel’s words had brought ebbed. The desire to get away from her consumed him. His blood coursed hot through his veins, then drained into icy bits. And there seemed to be an ever widening gulf between her and him that suited him just fine. He could hear the stone echo of the castle begin to envelop him. His vision narrowed and her face became the center of his universe. His name was frozen on her lips in the instant she had turned from her dinner to see him fading under the tree. He studied her features for infinity, realized that lines of pain were etched there, new lines that had not existed five years ago. He saw them deepen as she watched him recede. She cared. It was enough to bring him back.
“. . . raydin!”
She was by his side, pulling him from the tree roots, dragging him by his arm with all her strength. “You should never sit under Older trees. You started to fade!”
He let himself be taken to the fire. So, she didn’t know about the wizard’s curse. He watched her draw her sword, move around the trunk cautiously, stepping lightly over the twisted mass of roots, sensing for magic, but of course there was none.
Meanwhile, he made himself comfortable, pulling off pieces of her meal with his fingers.
“I’m glad you like my cooking,” she said, squatting beside him, taking up the scraps that he left her.
“It’s good,” he nodded, rolling the baked roots towards himself, making the fire spark and sigh, send up red stars to the heavens. He threw one hot green vegetable from hand to hand a few times before devouring it. Then he relaxed. Resting his arms on his knees, he watched
her eat, juice running down her delicate chin.
“I haven’t had such a good meal in a while,” he sighed, stretching and yawning. He wiped his fingers on his leather vest. “I can’t repay you in the like manner, but please allow me to tell you a tale my father told me many times, of how he met my mother. I will sing for my dinner, like all others who can do nothing more to deserve such hospitality.”
She raised a hand, shook her head as she choked down her meat quickly. “You have done more to deserve my goodwill than I can ever repay. I owe you my life. Perhaps it is I who should be telling you a tale.”
Conraydin struggled with himself, with what would have to be said between them, but he was not ready to listen to her, not yet, not tonight when things were just starting again.
“No,” he said at last, “tonight is my night.”
She acquiesced. He cleared his throat.
“In the land of Tamrin, where trees weave dreams in their branches by night, and the birds have voices like women singing, luring men to their deaths beneath an embrace of green diamond stars, my father saw a lady of such dark beauty . . . ”
The next day Conraydin rose early, with the sun biting into his lids. He inhaled the morning air and tasted strangers in it. He turned to wake Evangel, but she was already up and alert. Silently, they moved along the path, side by side, wary. Strangers had broken tree limbs and left strands of blue thread from their garments behind. The air stank of inquisitors.
Suddenly, there were men moving around