The Sunset Lands Beyond (The Complete Series, Books 1-3): An epic portal fantasy boxed set

by Sarah Ashwood

  I hadn’t been able to help it. His was the most startling face I’d ever seen. And his eyes—they were black, infinitely, unfathomably black, and darker still. The blackness consumed the entire eye, blotting out both the whites and the pupils. I’d never seen such a nightmarish feature on a human being; hadn’t believed it existed.

  Nothing else about the man registered. Those alien eyes held mine, captivating my soul with their strange darkness. Under their spell I sat frozen, incapable of movement or rational thought. Neither of us shifted until he finally dropped the cloth, released my hair, and rose to his feet. Catching my shaky hands, he also drew me to mine.

  The attack, the nausea, the shock had weakened me. My knees threatened to give and I stumbled. Before I had time to regain my balance, the man caught me with an arm around the shoulders, offering support without which I surely would have fallen. I clung to him unconsciously, staring wide eyed into his remarkable face. I couldn’t think to protest. Couldn’t think of anything except those eerie black eyes. If he found my gaping impolite, the stranger ignored it as he led me back to my bed, settling me carefully on its edge. Immediately Rittean and Lady Elisia were there, one on either side, fussing over me.

  “Our thanks, Lord High-Chief,” I heard one of them murmur.

  The stranger acknowledged her gratitude with a nod, but his gaze flickered to me. “My lady, I must ask what you saw.”

  I swallowed hard—because I had to address the stranger? Or because my mouth was bone dry, yet tasted of vomit? Either way, the man noticed the gesture and bid Rosean fetch me more water. When she handed me another glass I was able to drink safely, and I did so deeply, gratefully. Emptying the cup, I restored it to the servant girl with a quiet, “Thank you.”

  Although I would’ve postponed this conversation indefinitely, I’d run out of delaying tactics. Unable to avoid it any longer, I lifted my gaze timidly to the dark stranger. “Wha—what’s your name?” I stammered, hating myself for the catch in my voice.

  His tone, when he replied, was like his face: expressionless. Absolutely devoid of emotion or feeling. Both were cool and hard as glass.

  “I am Lord Ilgard, High-Chief of the Simathe,” he stated.

  I felt my eyes widen. This was a Simathe? One of the mysterious people Rittean had mentioned earlier? No wonder she’d seemed ill at ease and unwilling to explain her remarks!

  My first impression was that everything about him, including his strange, strange eyes, set him well apart from his fellow Aerisians. The man was imposing, well over six feet tall, which levered him above most of the men in the room. He had an athlete’s body, with wide shoulders on top of a broad chest that tapered into a lean waist. Bare arms, displayed by a sleeveless leather jerkin, were taut with muscle definition.

  Whereas the Aerisian men I’d met so far tended toward smooth, lighter skin, this Simathe’s was like burnished bronze. Their eyes were very human, ranging from light to dark green; his were a deep, inhuman, evil black. His hair, the same impossible color as his eyes, stood out in sharp contrast to the pure white of the Moonkind, the reddish blonde of the Aerisians, and the soft grey of the Elders and other aging Aerisian folk.

  There was nothing meek or mild, really nothing even soldierly in his persona. Indomitability, raw strength, and tremendous physical capability exuded from the stranger standing before me. He was Simathe, which marked him as different. But in what ways beside the obviously physical?

  It was too much. My muddled mind couldn’t comprehend him, couldn’t reconcile his rough exterior and alien eyes with the gentle hands ministering to me during my sickness. Unable to meet his gaze any longer, I dropped my head but managed a subdued, “Thank you for your help.”

  “My lady.” The calm strength of his voice echoed throughout my tired body, bidding me look up and face the speaker. When I couldn’t, he chose to overlook my impoliteness, asking again, “I must ask what frightened you so?”

  The tension evoked by his presence dissolved as memories resurfaced of the intruder inside my brain. Bile curdled my stomach, burning my throat, but I shoved it down. In halting tones I told the whole story, unaware of how I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering, as if recounting the tale summoned that bone-deep cold.

  Lord Garett, the Ranetron High-Chief, returned just as my story concluded. At his entrance, I finally glanced up from the marble floor.

  “My men and I discovered no intruders,” he announced, catching my eye. “It seems you are safe.”

  I nodded wearily. “Yeah, I’m all right. Physically, anyway. I—” I broke off, casting a pleading glance at Lady Elisia, still seated next to me on the bed. “You tell him, please,” I begged. “I don’t think I can go through it again. I just want to rest.”

  Tears crept back into my eyes. I knew I was being a baby, but I couldn’t have stopped them for the world. How much more was I supposed to endure?

  Thankfully, whatever anybody else may’ve expected from me, Lady Elisia graciously accepted the burden I laid on her shoulders. The Spinner stood, saying, “I will explain everything to the Ranetron High-Chief. We will go, my lady, and leave you to take your rest. Do not fear. I doubt further disturbances are likely.”

  Lord Elgrend, the High Elder, stepped forward. “I concur with Lady Elisia. Nevertheless, for our own peace of mind, as well as yours, we shall ask the Simathe High-Chief to keep your door. Will this suit?”

  At that point, all I wanted was for them to leave. Yes, I was still anxious, but exhaustion, probably increased by both the scare and sickness, quickly overrode fear now that the danger seemed past.

  Besides, I persuaded myself, nobody in their right mind would mess with me with somebody like this Simathe around. Nobody could be that dumb.

  “Yes, that’s fine,” I agreed out loud. “If anything happens, I’ll call for…the High-Chief.”

  Lord Elgrend nodded, offering a reassuring smile. “Very well. Find rest, my lady.”

  He beckoned to the others. “Come.” One by one, they filed outside.

  When all except Rittean had gone, the Moonkind girl squeezed my hand gently. “Have no fear,” she whispered. “No harm can befall you with a Simathe guarding you.”

  The statement was a little too bold. Maybe the chances of anything harming me were much slimmer with a Simathe guard, but they weren’t completely gone, and we both knew it. I didn’t bother arguing. Just offered a tired smile, a “Thank you,” and a “Good night.”

  With Rittean’s departure, I was left alone with the imposing Simathe lord. An awkward silence stretched between us, with me still refusing to look him in the face. He finally broke it by saying, “I will go. Should you require anything, call.”

  I nodded in agreement but kept my face down, studying the fingers in my lap. Without another word he exited, the heavy door swinging soundlessly shut. I sat listless on the edge of the bed for awhile before rising to slip out of the robe, pulling on the undergarments and nightgown set out earlier. That was the extent of my preparations for bed, I’m afraid. A tidal wave of homesickness hit and I crawled beneath the heavy coverlet and cried myself to sleep.

  Night Watch

  Assuming a position outside the round door, the Simathe High-Chief watched and listened for any signs signaling danger to the maiden within. He heard nothing, however. Save her. Even through the thick oak he could hear her muffled sobs; it seemed hours before they slowed. When she finally quieted, the warrior assumed she had passed into slumber.

  Good.

  Doubtless, she was in sore need of rest. The day must have been trying, considering these Aerisians and the irksome way they conducted matters. Not to mention the attack.

  That the creature called Jonase had already addressed her boded ill. It shouldn’t have been aware of her presence this soon. It should not have had the means or the opportunity to assault her, even remotely. Something must be done. The Simathe saw plainly that the woman needed immediate protection…his immediate protection. He only hoped permitting a night
’s rest rather than hastening matters toward a Joining was not foolish. At this vulnerable stage, even a short delay could be costly.

  It couldn’t be helped, though. Given her present condition, the High-Chief knew she could never have withstood the rigors of a Joining. Still, it must be done as soon as possible. On that, his mind was fixed. If she really was the Artan, the Dark Powers would hardly postpone further strikes. Jonase had already attempted; what might they throw at her next?

  Occupied by his grim musings, the tall warrior stood guard the remainder of the night. Every sense on high alert, he kept watch for anything that might spell danger. To his relief, there was nothing. Peace reigned the remainder of the night hours.

  Balcony Incident

  I slept in the next morning. When I finally awakened, the sun was high in the sky, shining a bright path that splashed across the marble floor, my bed, my face. I sat up groggily, using my fists to rub the sleep from my eyes. With a huge yawn, I lowered my feet to the cool floor.

  It appeared to be a lovely morning, one beckoning me to step outside and join it. Seduced by glimpses of golden sunshine, blue sky, and cotton ball clouds, I rose and padded on bare feet out to the balcony. My breath caught at the view awaiting me.

  Maybe it was worth coming to Aerisia, if only to see this!

  Directly below me was the courtyard. Swept and washed clean, its pale marble fairly sparkled in the late morning light. The courtyard was huge and not all of it paved: only the main area in front of the palace and little trails winding this way and that between outbuildings. Like the palace, it was enclosed by a thick stone wall, perhaps twenty feet high and ten feet thick. Complete with battlements, it encircled the extensive grounds in an impressive ring of protection.

  Beneath me, servants dashed to and fro on various errands like ants crawling busily about their hill. Atop the wide wall, pairs of Ranetron soldiers strolled by at a more sedate pace. The gleam of their polished armor made me squint. In the stable yard, several horses of obvious quality were being put through their paces. At the byre, a few cows stood guard over sleeping calves.

  Encircling this vast outer wall, a deep moat filled with sluggish water proved an additional barrier. Beyond this were fields of waving grasses and tall crops that stretched for miles. To my right, somewhere beyond these acres and acres of fields, by shading my eyes with a hand I could make out the tall towers and soaring spires of a great city. This, I assumed, was the city of Laytrii, which bore the same name as the palace.

  On the opposite side of the palace, more fields quickly gave way to scattered trees which, in turn, yielded to a vast, dense forest. And encompassing the entire vista—city, palace, fields, and beyond—stretching as high and as far as the eye could see were great mountains, shimmering a bluish-purple sheen.

  Interspersed throughout the entire landscape were wide roads and slender lanes. Cutting and weaving their way through fields, forest, and savanna-like grasses, they disappeared into the forest depths, ended here at the palace, or continued on a journey toward the city of Laytrii, the mountains themselves, or even beyond.

  “On Earth, all roads lead to Rome,” I whispered aloud. “But where do you go?”

  The real Artan would probably know where they led. She’d know this realm like the back of her hand. Which meant I couldn’t be the real Artan. Beautiful as this land was, I felt no true kinship with it. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the view. In fact, I probably would’ve been content to stand there for hours, wordlessly soaking it all in, had not the clatter of hooves drawn my gaze from those remote mountains to the courtyard gates below.

  The riders approaching were Simathe; I knew it at a glance. After last night’s encounter with their High-Chief, I’d have recognized that alien black hair and those eerie eyes in my sleep. To a man, they appeared cursed with their lord’s more bizarre features. They wore neither armor or helmets, yet their pitch-black hair and bronzed skin gleamed as vividly in the sunlight as the weapons of the Ranetron.

  There were about thirty in the group. I had to admit they sat their saddles well, despite the antics of their high-strung mounts. Their horses were the most beautiful I’d ever seen. Even Mr. Cutter’s thoroughbreds back home paled in comparison. They were tall and muscular, with thick manes and long tails that nearly swept the ground. Most astonishing of all, their dark coats were the same crazy black as their riders’ hair and eyes. I’d heard of pets resembling their owners, but this was ridiculous! That color should’ve been impossible for a horse. Then again…until last night, I would’ve sworn it was impossible for a human, too. So maybe the fact that the Simathe and their horses shared similar coloring wasn’t so strange after all.

  Watching the proceedings from above, I wondered uncomfortably what these Simathe were doing here at Laytrii. Also, why didn’t they dismount after halting at the palace’s main entrance? Were they waiting for someone?

  My answer came promptly. The palace’s double doors opened with a crash and a man strode out, alone and unaccompanied. Glittering black hair, bare arms and shoulders: it was Lord Ilgard, the Simathe High-Chief. A cold chill skittered down my spine. The tall warrior was every bit as intimidating in broad daylight as he’d been last night in my room…and I didn’t want to be caught spying on him or his warriors.

  I stepped back quickly from the railing, planning to turn and sneak inside, but clumsiness cursed me. When I stepped backward, my heel tangled in the hem of my long nightgown. I tripped, losing my balance. Arms flailing, I tried to recover, but it was too late. A shrill scream escaped as I plopped heavily on my backside and nearly my back.

  Are you kidding me?

  Humiliated, swearing at myself for being such an idiot, I rolled over onto my hands and knees, scurrying back into my bedroom as fast as I could crawl. I could feel my face flaming bright red. Why, oh why, did this have to happen in front of the daunting Simathe High-Chief and his men? Some “deliverer” I’d turned out to be: a clumsy idiot who couldn’t even keep her balance.

  The Artan?

  His head snapped up at the sound of a woman’s cry, and the Simathe High-Chief caught sight of the lady Artan just as she stumbled backward, wavered, and then fell. To his astonishment, she didn’t bother to rise, but retreated into her bedchamber at a crawl in a comical parody of a scuttling insect or a creeping child. He could feel his men’s incredulous amusement at the ridiculous sight, although their facial expressions never changed.

  Lord Norband, his Chief Captain and second-in-command, spoke, but not so any bystanders could hear. Using mindspeech, the Simathe method of noiseless communication by use of the mind alone, he said, This is the Artan? This, the hope of Aerisia, a lass who cannot walk upright?

  So I am told, his High-Chief replied slowly.

  Can she fulfill her duties? another warrior, Lord Contrey, wanted to know. Has she the strength to defeat the enemy?

  I am little acquainted with her, replied his lord. Difficult to say, as yet. However, if she is the Artan, she will possess hidden strengths.

  “Come,” he finished, forsaking the subject and speaking aloud for the first time. “Stable your mounts, then meet me at the Council chamber. We’ve business with the Elders.”

  A Simathe salute, and he left them in the courtyard, hying himself back inside the palace. His men’s questions were fair, for identical inquiries had weighed heavily on his own mind throughout last night’s long watches. Thoughts of the Artan, and thoughts of the role legend and prophecy spoke of her playing in a final battle for this land’s future. Nay, its very survival.

  The young woman he had seen last night lacked the wise face of Moonkind Rittean and the studied diplomacy of Lady Elisia, the Spinner Pronconcil. Least of all did she resemble Lady Tey, the Cortain. Last night he had seen her sobbing in the Moonkind girl’s arms after the mind attack by Jonase, vomiting after one swallow of the calming drink, and shrinking back in fright from himself. In his lifespan, he’d encountered many leaders of many stripes. This newcomer from
another world hardly seemed someone who could command, could fight, could deliver, could save. Could be the Artan.

  Nevertheless, his instincts told him that beneath the clumsiness, the confusion, and the terror beat a heart of courage. Courage that would not fail her, if only she could discover it for herself.

  As he considered this, the Simathe lord thought not for the first time of how different from Aerisia’s women she was, this woman from Earth. Hair like hers he had never seen before. A shining brown, the color of wood, it tumbled down her back to the level of her shoulder blades. It was soft too, like the finest of silk, as he well knew from holding it in his own hand the night before. Although red and swollen from tears, her eyes had been beautiful—really the most beautiful thing about her. And so unusual. As with her hair, he had never seen their like. They were mismatched, one the emerald green of an Aerisian’s eyes, and the other a dark brown, like the color of her hair.

  The High-Chief had seen many lovely women in his lifetime and, compared to them, the girl herself was not beautiful. One could scarcely compare her to the radiance of Lady Elisia, or the statuesque beauty of Lady Tey. Still, she did stand apart because she was different. So utterly different.

  And her hair was very soft.

  Now was not the time to surrender to such reflections, he reminded himself sternly. Regardless of any positive or negative impressions, this young woman from Earth would soon be his to safeguard. Should anything befall her, the blame would be his.

  As he strode through cool corridors of marble pillars and tapestried walls, the Simathe High-Chief shoved further consideration of the newcomer to someplace far distant, emptying his mind in preparation for the meeting with his peers. Picking up his pace, he headed toward the Council chamber and away from the young Artan so much the faster.