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

by Sarah Ashwood

  I smacked the tabletop to make it sound final. Every eye in that room was fixed on me, and many mouths were gaping at my audacity. Before anyone could object or reply, I whirled and raced from the room, dashing up that long, steep flight of stairs, and under the high, arched doorframe.

  Numb, I stumbled down corridors until luck was with me and I found an unlocked door leading to the outside. This I flew through and out into the courtyard beyond, glancing about desperately for an escape route. To my frustration, there was none to be seen. Of course. After all the excitement out in the fields, it wasn’t likely any gates had been left open.

  Forget this!

  Catching sight of the massive stables, I decided to try my luck there, hoping to find a dark corner and hide. Maybe they wouldn’t find me. Maybe I could sneak out next time the gates were open. Somewhere outside these palace walls, there had to be a way home or someone who could help me get there, if only I could locate them. I searched frantically until I found the darkest corner of the immense stables, where I squeezed in between two bales of hay. Safely alone, I buried my head in my arms, biting my lower lip to keep from falling apart

  Unwelcome Intruder

  As she fled from the Council chamber, Ilgard half rose to give chase, as did Lord Garett and several others, but the Moonkind Tredsday forestalled their pursuit.

  “Pray, my lords, allow my daughter to follow her. Rittean is her friend, and it may be that she can reason with the Artan when no others can.” He added, “Also, every gate to the outside is barred by now. She cannot venture beyond palace grounds.”

  “Very well,” the High Elder consented for them all. “We shall do as you suggest. Moonkind Rittean?”

  The white-haired girl nodded and left the Council chamber. By asking servants she met in the halls, Rittean soon ascertained that the Artan had indeed left the palace. Outside, another servant pointed her toward the outbuildings. She began scouring each one, starting with the smallest, calling her friend’s name but receiving no answers. Finally, most of the palace’s outlying buildings had been searched. Only the stables and one or two others remained, and since the stables were near at hand, Rittean entered them next.

  She slipped inside the building’s spacious, dim interior. Walking down each aisle, she spoke quietly to the sleek, shining horses who put their heads over stall doors, observing her passage with friendly interest. Sometimes she paused to stroke a velvety muzzle and check the roomy stalls for extra occupants. No stable lads were present, so Rittean listened closely for any sounds that might signify another human presence.

  It was not long before she fancied she heard a muffled sob. It was so faint, she initially took it to be one of the many strange noises produced by the stables’ resident mousers. Her hand stilled on the neck of the tall roan she stroked until, listening intently, she heard it again, accompanied by the faint rustling of straw. Giving a final pat to the animal’s nose, she drifted toward the spot the sounds came from, stopping every so often to listen. Soon, she saw stacks of hay and heard more rustling. Stooping, she peered inside a couple of bales with a crack wide enough to admit a girl.

  “Lady Hannah?”

  Her head lifted. Rittean saw weary, red-rimmed eyes, and pale, splotchy cheeks.

  “Rittean?”

  “Aye, ’tis me. My lady, are you well?”

  The face dropped back onto her knees, and she shook her head in denial.

  Reaching inside, the Moonkind rested a palm on her friend’s brunette hair.

  “My lady, we mean you no harm. Truly we do not. This is all for your welfare.”

  No reply. Her shoulders trembled; clearly, the Artan was fighting back tears. Rittean’s soft heart melted a little more at such obvious distress. Moving aside one of the bales, she sank to her knees beside the other girl, pulling her into her arms. Cradling the Artan’s head on her shoulder, Rittean wished she knew words of comfort to offer.

  “It’s just not fair!” her friend protested. “Everybody says they know what’s best for me. I-I think I know what’s best for me too, and that’s to go home, back to my family. Why can’t you let me, when that’s all I want?”

  “I know it is,” Rittean murmured. “But, my lady,” and she lifted the other woman’s chin with a hand in order to secure her attention, “sometimes we must set aside what is easiest for us so that we may do good for others. Sometimes, through our own pain, we bring the deepest joy to another person’s heart, the brightest smile to his lips. When this is so, and our own torment of duty is past, then we will understand that all we’ve suffered was indeed justified.”

  “It’s not justified!” Lady Hannah snapped, jerking free of her embrace. Moisture gleamed in her eyes, but her voice was angry. “You people have no right to keep me here, a prisoner against my will! You had no right to kidnap me from my home and bring me to Aerisia in the first place. And you certainly have no right to force this immoral Joining on me! If I was your Artan, maybe—just maybe—it might be justified.”

  Here her voice softened, as well as her pretty, mismatched eyes, as she pleaded to be understood.

  “But I’m not your Artan, Rittean. I don’t have any magical, mystical abilities. I’m a plain, ordinary person from Earth. You’ve made a mistake. Send me home, and you can start searching for your real Artan, whoever she is.”

  The Moonkind sighed heavily. “You are our real Artan,” she chided gently. “Because you cannot perceive the magic inside you does not mean it’s not there. The flower cannot see the beauty it possesses or smell the perfume it wafts, but that doesn’t mean both are not there and a treasure to the one who finds them.

  “Following the Joining, the powers you possess will be further explained to you. You will be helped to discover them and learn how best to utilize them. However, you must undergo Joining first.”

  “I can’t!” Desperation colored her words. “I just can’t!” she repeated. “You think I want someone inside my head, feeling my emotions, knowing what I’m thinking, knowing where I am all the time? I don’t, and I won’t. If I have any choice in the matter, I’m saying no!”

  “You haven’t.”

  The quiet voice cut the air like a knife. Both women gasped, turning in unison to see the intruder. He stood with his back to the window, the light streaming in behind him casting his face into shadow.

  “You have no choice,” he reiterated, striding toward them.

  “You,” the Artan breathed.

  Rittean slipped a supportive arm about her shoulders. “I had thought, my lord, that I was given leave to seek out the Artan.”

  “You were. Yet you were gone so long, we feared you required aid.”

  Next to the Moonkind, Lady Hannah stared up fearfully at the warrior-lord. With her wide, panic-stricken gaze, she resembled cornered prey, frozen in terror before the predator. It was a look Lord Ilgard knew well, and he did not like seeing it on her face, directed towards himself.

  The Simathe High-Chief felt an uncharacteristic surge of pity. Kneeling before her in the straw, he gently captured one of her hands. She blinked rapidly, the enchantment broken, and instantly tried to pull it back. He held on firmly, yet without pain, looking deep in her eyes before speaking.

  “My lady, the Elders, Council, the Moonkind…all believe you are the Artan. Joining with me is for your protection. It is not to torture or to be cruel to you. It is to preserve your life.”

  “I don’t care, I don’t want to,” she murmured stubbornly, forcing the words past trembling lips.

  The warrior-lord glanced at Rittean, who could only sigh and shrug helplessly.

  Turning back to the young woman before him, he said, “I am sorry, my lady, but it must be done. Come.”

  He drew her to her feet, Rittean rising as well. The Artan strained against his grip, eyes wide and scared. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To your quarters. We leave tomorrow for the Unpassed Mountains.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Though she resisted wit
h each step, he didn’t relax his hold, and she could not help matching the pace he set.

  “We go to my stronghold.”

  “What?” The word was nearly a shriek. “Your stronghol—no! I’m not going there.”

  “You’ve no choice.”

  She whirled to face her friend. “Rittean, help! They didn’t say anything about going off with this guy. You didn’t say I had to go to his and his buddies’ hideout!”

  Rittean scurried around in front of the Simathe, who halted in the warm sunlight beyond the stable doors to accommodate her.

  “Lord Ilgard, is this really necessary? My father—”

  “It is necessary, Moonkind,” he cut her off.

  “But my lord…” His black eyes narrowed, and Rittean knew she was treading the thin side of his patience. Nevertheless, one glance at her friend’s petrified face convinced her that she must persist.

  “Please, my lord, why Treygon? Surely the Joining and your protection can both be given here.”

  “The Joining must take place at Treygon,” he explained shortly. “I’ve spoken already with the Elders. We leave at dawn.”

  With that he stepped around her, pulling the Artan behind him, headed for the palace. Forced to accompany him, Lady Hannah protested all the way. Rittean could only stand and watch them go.

  First the Joining, now Treygon, she thought empathetically.

  Indeed, it would take all of her friend’s strength to help her endure what was to come.

  Part Two

  Treygon

  Nighttime Escape

  I slept little that night.

  After our scene at the stables, Lord Ilgard had returned me to my room and deposited me there locked inside. Supper was brought, but I hardly ate, despite the servant’s admonition from the Simathe High-Chief that I should eat, as I would need strength for the journey ahead. I suppose it was partly stubbornness combined with the mention of the next day’s journey: my stomach tied up in knots, and the best I could do was choke down a few mouthfuls, helped along with liberal gulps of water.

  After supper, the servants went away. Left alone, I paced the floor for a long time. Finally, I flopped down on the bed without bothering to undress and tried unsuccessfully to go to sleep. Past midnight I managed to doze off, but not for long. My dreams were filled with drocnords attacking, leaping, running, licking their own ooze, shooting poison-tipped arrows. I couldn’t forget the sound of the arrow striking the High-Chief’s flesh. My brain replayed it over and over.

  I awoke with a start, bolting upright in the bed. The hair at my temples was soaked with sweat, and I was wide awake. Knowing there’d be no more sleep tonight, I got up and went out onto the stone balcony overlooking the courtyard. The trees sighed a refreshing breeze, and I gathered the hair off my neck with one hand, letting it cool me down.

  Gazing across the moonlit landscape, I couldn’t suppress a shiver. How could such a beautiful place contain so much pain? So much evil?

  Evil…

  At the remembrance of those hideous drocnords, I shivered again. Suddenly, I found myself wishing for a Simathe’s strong presence. Then I remembered those cool, all-black eyes, and had to rethink that wish. No, a Simathe’s presence could scarcely be called comforting.

  Instead, I thought about home and wished for my father. His was a comforting presence. I wanted to throw myself into his arms and feel them tighten around me. I wanted to bury my head in his chest and listen to his heartbeat, knowing he’d do his best to make things right.

  But it was not to be. I was beginning to fear I’d never see my father or the rest of my family again. Them, or my house, or my own Colorado Rocky Mountains, or anything else I loved on Earth.

  Despite these melancholy contemplations, I allowed myself a gloomy grin. Maybe this is how Rebecca of York felt when she was trapped inside the Knight Templar’s tower, I thought, recalling a scene from one of my favorite books and movies—the classic Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott. (I was a bit of a literary nerd.) With that thought, came another.

  In the story of Ivanhoe, I’d always wondered why, when Rebecca was being held prisoner by the Knights Templar, she hadn’t tried tying the bedclothes together and going out the window. I figured either she was scared of heights, or else they just didn’t do things like that back then. But we modern-day Americans did.

  I rushed back into my room, hurriedly stripped the sheets and blankets off my bed, and started tying them together. When the final two had been cinched tight, I dashed back to the balcony, tethering one end of my “rope” to the railing. Giving the fabric a kick, I sent it tumbling, but it fell a few feet shy of the ground.

  Rats!

  I’d have to jump the last little bit. And when I hit the ground—what then? I supposed I’d have to stick with my original plan, formulated back at the stables: hide out until I could slip free of the gates and find someone willing to help me. A Scraggen, maybe.

  Okay, so it wasn’t the most foolproof plan, but it was the best I could come up with on such short notice. Wasn’t like I’d had a whole lot of time to dream up anything better. After tonight, I’d be on my way to Treygon and a Joining with the Simathe High-Chief. After that, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be getting any more chances to slip out and hide. Tonight was the night. I was desperate. I didn’t have a choice. Anything was better than going with the Simathe.

  This is it.

  I stepped gingerly over the balcony railing, grasping the sheets in a white-knuckled grip as I lowered my body into space. For one thrilling, terrifying moment, I hung suspended in midair, spinning in slow circles. Then, locking my knees firmly around my makeshift rope, I began a slow, hand-under-hand descent. Reaching the end of my rope—literally—I pressed my eyes tightly shut, drew one deep breath, and let go. The last few feet sped by in a blur, and I landed with a thud.

  “Yes!” I whispered gleefully, doing a mental fist pump. “I did it! Home free.”

  Or so I thought.

  I took a step backward, prepared to turn and scamper off into the darkness…but smacked right into a hard chest and warm pair of arms. With a loud gasp I whirled, my heart in my throat. Was I under attack? Again?

  In the dim moonlight I could make out only stone-set features and a pair of glittering, dark eyes.

  “Lord Ilgard?” I questioned breathlessly.

  “Nay, my lady. Norband, Chief Captain of the Simathe.”

  “Chief Captain?”

  “Aye.” His eyes slid up my “rope” of bedding to the balcony high overhead. “Whatever are you doing?”

  I licked my lips nervously and retreated another step. His hands caught my wrists, a gentle reminder that I was not free to go. I couldn’t think of a logical answer to his question.

  One black eyebrow rose slightly. “An escape attempt?”

  I smiled sheepishly and ducked my head. No point in replying. What could I say? The evidence was right there. I couldn’t invent a believable lie. Besides, I’d never been a very good liar, anyway.

  “You must return to your chamber.”

  I didn’t look up.

  “You will remain there till dawn.”

  I stayed quiet.

  “No more escape attempts. Your door will be guarded, and I myself will keep watch beneath your balcony.” When I remained obstinately mute, he squeezed my wrists lightly. “Am I understood?”

  “I understand,” I muttered sourly.

  No more escape attempts. That was the understatement of the year. Like he said, no way could I get out my door, or even think of escaping by way of the balcony. Like it or not, I was headed for the Simathe stronghold tomorrow, and there was no way out of it.

  The Chief Captain assigned another hard-faced warrior to escort me back to my room. I didn’t bother trying to give him the slip—didn’t really give the idea more than a passing thought, knowing it would be futile. However, when we reached my room, the astonished expressions of the two Ranetron standing guard outside my door almost made my foiled escape see
m worthwhile.

  Betcha didn’t see that coming.

  One of them hurried to open the door for us, and my companion followed me into the bedchamber. He didn’t say a single word: simply went outside to untie and pull up my rope. Bringing it inside, he dumped the load unceremoniously onto my bed. An almost imperceptible nod, and he exited. Once more, I was alone.

  Depressed, devoid of hope, I slunk over to the bed and sank down beside the pile of sheets and blankets. Drawing my feet up under me, I snuggled against the fresh-smelling mound. Maybe I now knew the real reason Rebecca of York had never tried an out-the-window-tie-your-sheets-together-escape. Maybe she’d had guards beneath her window, too, and knew it would be just plain stupid.

  Burrowing my nose into a soft sheet, I breathed a forlorn sigh. It had been a long, wearying day. With no promise of sleep, it looked to be a long, wearying night, as well.

  Preparations

  The Simathe High-Chief forwent sleep that night, busying himself instead with preparations for tomorrow’s departure. A hard-riding Simathe on his Restless could complete the journey from Laytrii’s palace to Treygon, in the Unpassed Mountains, in little over two days’ time. This time, however, the journey would not be made by immortals alone. Aerisia’s most precious treasure would be accompanying them. She could not be pushed as hard as a Simathe, or even a Moonkind.

  That was what old Moonkind Risean had said with a rueful smile, no doubt remembering his own hasty flight to Treygon and back. Well over two days had been required for his journey—time the young Artan had spent in a deep sleep—but he’d still found the going difficult. With this reminder, the Tredsday had attempted to gently persuade Ilgard into making the forthcoming journey easier for the lass.

  The High-Chief frowned. Precious treasure she was indeed, should the magic of the Artan truly be hers. Some believed…why wasn’t he convinced? It was not that he’d no wish to be convinced. He did. It was not that he had seen little from the girl save recalcitrance or tears. He was certain genuine fortitude lay behind those mismatched eyes. Still, he doubted.