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

by Sarah Ashwood

  “Nay, my lord, we are not fools. We both know the necessity for the Simathe High-Chief’s summoning. You will undergo Joining with the Artan, for she requires the highest protection possible. Protection of a sort only your ki—”

  Rittean stopped short, feeling her face warm as she realized what she’d been about to say.

  If offended, he did not show it, but gestured instead for her to carry on. “Continue, please. You were saying? Regarding the Simathe—my kind?”

  Rittean peeked up timidly through snowy lashes. “Forgive me, my lord. I meant no offense. Truly I did not.”

  “It matters not,” he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “We are both aware our fellow Aerisians mistrust my race. To them we are a kind, something less than human.”

  Helpless to do otherwise, Rittean chose to ignore that statement. She had apologized; best to let the incident pass with no feeble attempts to deny his accusations. Which were, sadly, true. Instead, she addressed the issue he had raised in the first place.

  “Why do you wish to speak of the Artan, my lord?”

  Not a muscle in his face so much as twitched. His eerie eyes bored straight into hers.

  “Is she the Artan? Do you believe?”

  “My father believes.”

  “I did not ask about your father. Doubtless he believes, else this stranger would not be here and I would not have been summoned.”

  “I think, I hope…” Rittean faltered, unable to escape the straightforward question, “that this young woman is indeed who my father claims. The attack, last night—” Here she paused, and the warrior could see her nibbling her lower lip.

  “Aye…the attack?” he prompted.

  “It is only that, The Evil must believe she is the Artan, else why would they have wasted their time in seeking her out this soon?

  “May I be honest with you, High-Chief?” she went on boldly.

  Something distressed her, Ilgard saw. He nodded in agreement.

  “I—I find myself concerned. The attack last night…it was too soon. It frightens me to think the Dark Powers have discovered her arrival so quickly. I cannot help wondering if—” She broke off, leaving the sentence dangling.

  “One of The Evil walks among us, disguised as friend?”

  “Yes!” The word rushed out. “If so, what can we do? How can we know?”

  She stepped forward, and to his surprise—although he did not betray it—grasped his arm with both hands, lifting her face to his.

  “Lord Ilgard,” she beseeched, “I know the Simathe never Join unless it be of the utmost necessity. I realize this maid is young and untried, and that she will neither trust nor favor you for a long while, if ever. Nevertheless, the voices of my people speak to me in the hours of the night, when the soft rays of moonlight spill across my floor. They say this is she, she who will deliver us. I believe—I believe it. I believe my father, too. This must be her. Although you’ve been marked for a difficult task, we are in desperate straits. You must Join with her as soon as possible, for her life may depend upon it. You know the Dark Powers—they’ll stop at nothing to destroy her!”

  As he studied her face, delving deeply into her eyes, the Simathe saw clearly that Moonkind Rittean, despite her earlier hesitation, fully believed this stranger was the prophesied Artan. Moreover, she loved her already as a friend.

  He was not unmoved by her passion. The Simathe were, above all else, a brotherhood, bound together in ways ordinary humans could never understand. Because of this, there was nothing a Simathe respected more in a non-Simathe than true friendship.

  Not unkindly, he removed the Moonkind’s fingers from his arm. Retaining her left hand, he raised it to his lips, brushing a gentle kiss across the back of her knuckles.

  “Moonkind Rittean, rest assured if one of The Evil does walk among us, he will be discovered and dealt with. Furthermore, have no fear for the lady’s safety. When Council decrees, I am ready to commit myself to her protection, whether she desires it or nay.”

  Releasing her hand, he straightened. “I will Join with her. Be at peace. No harm shall befall your friend.”

  He nodded once in farewell, turned, and left the enclosed courtyard on perfectly silent feet. Alone with only her thoughts for company, Rittean observed his departure, thinking hard. If she cared to admit it, the Moonkind realized she was honored. A Simathe rarely spoke, and when he did it was with a marked scarcity of words. Such a long speech for the purpose of reassuring her meant the High-Chief must have seen something in her that he favored. The kiss to her hand was a sign of deepest respect.

  Some of the fear plaguing her vanished. With the men of Treygon searching, no one serving the Dark Powers could remain undiscovered for long. With the Simathe guarding the Artan, any further attempts by The Evil to harm her would end in disaster—for The Evil. And since the Simathe High-Chief had given his word to Join with her, what need had she for further fear?

  Reassured, Rittean walked slowly from Laytrii’s courtyard. She would find her father and tell him all that had transpired this day. She would tell him the High-Chief was willing to Join with the Artan.

  Perhaps she’d not found the legendary wisdom she sought, unless one considered the High-Chief’s being present as the Tree’s way of providing answers. As she considered it, Rittean realized that, during the course of her conversation with the Simathe, she had indeed solved the quandary of how best to be the Artan’s friend…and that solution was the High-Chief. She had confided her fears to him, and he had pledged himself to the Artan’s defense. By rising beyond herself and above her reservations, by speaking to him so frankly, she’d been true to her friend. By speaking to her father, requesting he press Council to set the Joining sooner rather than later, she was doing all she could to ensure the Artan’s well-being and safety.

  Upon further reflection, the young Moonkind decided she had most certainly discovered both wisdom and the resolution of her problems here at the Living Tree. Even if it was not in the conventional way.

  Rittean smiled to herself as she walked.

  Drocnords

  The sun was uncomfortably warm on my shoulders. Beads of sweat dotted my forehead, and a couple of flies buzzed in circles around my head. I waved first one hand then the other in a vain attempt to drive them off. By now, the palace was well out of sight, and I was surrounded by crops taller than my head. I was alone, really alone, for the first time since coming to Aerisia, with no daunting bodyguards outside my door or demanding Council members to plague me.

  By this point, my head of steam had somewhat dissipated. I stopped walking, and used the back of my hand to wipe the perspiration off my face. Squinting, I looked up at the sun, trying to gauge the time. It really gave me no clue.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, I sank onto the grass bordering the path I’d been following. Closing my eyes, I pictured home: my slender, brunette mother setting the table for dinner. The evening sun, streaming in through the dining room’s bay windows, would catch the diamonds on her wedding band, forming miniature rainbows that danced on the wall. My strawberry-blonde father, getting greasy during a repair job on the car, and George and Harli Jean loafing around, eating popcorn while watching TV.

  Tears clogged my throat, but I wouldn’t permit myself that luxury. Instead, wrapping my arms around my knees, I rocked back and forth, back and forth, trying to shut out the insanity of the new world into which I’d fallen.

  I don’t know how long I sat there before the faint clomping of horse hooves reached my ears. I stopped rocking, but didn’t raise my head. Let them come, whoever they were. Friend or foe: at the moment I couldn’t have cared less. In this strange place, even the people claiming to be my friends sometimes seemed more like enemies.

  The hoofbeats grew louder as the rider approached, pulling up alongside me. I heard the rider swing to the ground. A heavy hand settled on my shoulder.

  “My lady?”

  My head jerked up wildly and I jumped to my feet, shaking off the hand. It w
as Lord Ilgard, the Simathe High-Chief whom I’d met last night. He towered over me, the top of my head not quite reaching the level of his shoulder.

  Wary, I edged a step backward. “What?”

  I thought a tiny smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, but it vanished so quickly I figured I must’ve imagined it.

  “Council has assembled. They call for you.”

  Folding my arms, I rolled my eyes toward the sky. I did not want to attend their stupid meeting, and I didn’t care if they’d called for me or not. Doubtless, they were going to keep trying to persuade me I was the Artan, and I just didn’t want to hear that. Not today.

  Besides, hadn’t something been said about Council declaring a Joining today? A Joining with this Simathe facing me, so tall and silent and imposing? I still didn’t know what a Joining was, as I’d left before Rittean had gotten to that part of the story. My fault. Should have stuck around and heard her out.

  Stupid, Hannah, stupid.

  But, all things being considered, and being vaguely afraid if I told my companion I didn’t want to go that he’d make me go anyway, I decided to acquiesce. Lowering my head, I looked him straight in the eye.

  “Might as well get it over with. Let’s go,” I said shortly.

  “As you wish.”

  He grasped the bridle of his horse, pulling the animal’s head about until the beast was standing directly in front of me.

  Oh my goodness.

  This was a big horse. Not like the streamlined purebreds my neighbor raised, but really big. The same sort of black beast the High-Chief’s warriors had been riding this morning. Its coat gleamed as pitch-black as its master’s eyes. No way was I, an inexperienced rider, going to mount such an animal.

  “You really expect me to get up on this—this mountain of a horse?” I asked incredulously.

  “If you ride my mount, I know you’ll not attempt flight.”

  I blinked at him. Well, that was a little insulting, him thinking I might try to actually run away from him.

  “I’m not getting on that horse,” I said, backing away from them both.

  “He’ll not harm you.”

  “No, he may not mean to, but if I do something clumsy and—and fall off, I’d be sure to end up with a concussion and…die or something. Sorry, not happening.”

  There was no response and no altering of those hard, blank features. It was a very weird feeling to get into an argument with someone who never changed facial expressions.

  He offered a simple command, “Catal,” to the horse, and dropped its reins. The animal went stock-still, apparently oblivious to the battle of wills being waged between its master and myself.

  The Simathe was coming toward me now, matching my retreat step for step. His eyes never left mine, but they flashed me no warning before his hands suddenly snaked out, grabbing me around the waist. In one fluid, easy motion, he had tossed me high onto the saddle, where I landed hard, one leg barely hooked over the animal’s side.

  I cried out, half in anger, half in fright, struggling to pull myself upright in the saddle. Gripping the short pommel in both hands, I glared daggers down at the warrior, who was completely undisturbed by my wrath.

  “Thanks for the help. Don’t think I could have managed it on my own,” I said icily.

  “Anything to aid my lady.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet,” I muttered sourly, turning away.

  He made no answer to that, either not having heard or not caring. Instead, he grasped the horse’s bridle in one hand and took off walking, leading us back to the palace. Glaring at his back, I decided he was the rudest person I’d ever met.

  However, even as I made that decision, memories of him holding back my hair while I vomited and gently washing my face afterward tried to intrude. Annoyed, I pushed them staunchly away. Instead, focusing on the surrounding scenery, I did my best to ignore the man in front of me.

  Anyway, from the back of this tall animal I had a much better vantage point from which to check out the area. Now I could actually see over the plants on either side of the path rather than peering in vain through rows of tangled leaves. My gaze flitted back and forth from plants to sky to the mountains in the distance, to…a very broad pair of shoulders.

  Um. Wow.

  During all the recent turmoil, I guess I hadn’t noticed just how broad and rounded with muscle those shoulders were. Neither, it seemed, had I noticed the small golden hoop in one ear, winking lazily in the sunlight, or the long, black hair hanging to the man’s shoulder blades, the sides pulled back from his face and tied with a leather thong. It would seem I’d failed to notice a lot of things about the Simathe accompanying me. Nevertheless, as soon as I realized the direction of my thoughts, I cursed myself for being such an idiot and forced my gaze to different…scenery.

  For several minutes, we traveled in silence. My feet were not even close to reaching the stirrups. I had to grip the horse’s sides with my thighs and knees, which soon got tired and began to ache. I tried to avoid looking at the ground, since from up there it seemed so far away.

  Without warning, my guide suddenly stilled. His horse also jolted to an abrupt halt, sending me tilting.

  “What in—”

  He severed my exclamation with an upraised hand and a hiss for silence.

  Okay…

  I shut up but rose in the saddle to look around. Didn’t see anything. I listened hard. Still nothing. Ahead of me, the High-Chief’s head was slightly cocked as he too listened. Abruptly, his chin jerked up and he whirled to face me.

  “Drocnords.”

  It was not a shout, not a warning, only a simple statement of fact.

  “Drocnords?” I echoed, confused.

  He didn’t go into any explanations. Approaching the horse’s side, he placed one boot in the stirrup and swung up behind me, crushing my hips against the saddle horn. Cramped for space, I was going to complain, but changed my mind when an arm of steel wrapped itself around my waist, pulling me against an equally hard chest. Holding me so tightly I could hardly breathe, he took the reins from my hands, kicking the horse’s flanks with his heels.

  “We must ride.”

  The animal responded with a powerful leap forward, and then we were tearing down the narrow path at breakneck speed. I was jostled unmercifully, my teeth rattling together, yet I couldn’t have fallen had I wanted to, he held me so tight. I had no idea what a “drocnord” was, but I was about to find out.

  First, I heard the ugly, gurgling cries, which grew louder and louder until five or six tiny monsters burst out of the plants on either side of the path, charging straight for us. I heard myself scream as if from a distance. Never had I seen anything so hideous, nor have I since except in my nightmares.

  They were the size of a child, but with enormous heads far disproportionate to the rest of their bodies. On their backs were small quivers of arrows, and each creature grasped a child-sized bow in its long-fingered hands. Stringy hair of an odd bright yellow mixed with ash grey fell about their faces, almost reaching the ground. Huge, blood-red eyes situated clumsily on either side of a large, misshapen nose stared out from those filthy wisps of hair.

  The puckered grey skin of their faces and arms was covered with huge welts that oozed a thick, yellow-white pus. That same pus dripped from their noses and seeped from their eyes. Their mouths were small, but displayed rows of needle-sharp teeth and a swollen, purple tongue with which they swiped at the pus secreted by their own bodies. Their arms were also disproportionately long, and they hunched over as they ran, sometimes flying along on all fours like an ape or a monkey.

  A frenzied cluster of them now blocked the path in front of us. “Watch out!” I shouted, but instead of trying to avoid the monsters, the Simathe lord pulled me even tighter against himself and rode right into the middle of them. I heard gurgling screams as his horse plowed into the pack, crushing some with his sharp hooves. Those not wounded by the huge stallion chased us down the trail at an amazing rate of speed. They n
ipped like dogs at the horse’s heels, drool running freely from their mouths. Six inches more, and they’d have the animal’s hocks. One bite from those deadly maws would tear into tendons, laming him.

  With my neck craned awkwardly, I was watching our pursuers until I heard the fierce rustling of leaves, and a fresh horde of drocnords suddenly spilled onto the road ahead of us.

  “High-Chief!” I screamed.

  “Get back!” He wrenched me against his chest with a thud, holding me unbearably tight.

  “What are we gonna do?” I begged, almost in tears.

  There were way more this time, and they were clustered across the road in tight knots. We couldn’t possibly ride through them: they would bring the horse down. We were almost upon them and I couldn’t see any means of escape. The drocnords chasing us threw back their heads, emitting savage howls of victory, while those awaiting us squealed, danced, licked, gurgled. Some pulled arrows from the quivers on their backs, fitted them to bowstrings and let fly.

  “They’re shooting at us!” I shrieked.

  The man behind me said nothing but hunched low in the saddle, pushing me down across the saddle horn. “I can’t breathe,” I tried to protest, but my face was in the horse’s mane and my voice was muffled by his hair and sweaty flesh.

  “Stay down!” the Simathe ordered sharply. Not that I had any intention of getting up. Was he going to try to ride through them?

  Just as we reached the frenzied band, I heard more furious movement among the foliage.

  More drocnords, I groaned. Great. We’re dead.

  I was wrong. Instead of the monsters, a half-dozen Simathe suddenly burst into the midst of the pack, war hammers swinging and swords slicing. They fought with brutal ferocity, their weapons an extension of their arms. The drocnords squealed as they were cut down where they stood. Those with weapons tried to fight back—but what can one do against an enemy that can’t be killed?