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

by Sarah Ashwood

“Hmmm?” I mumbled around a mouthful of food, curious about the odd note in her voice.

  “There is something I intended to inform you of last evening. However, in the joy of your homecoming, the matter fled my thoughts.”

  “Oh? What’s going on?”

  “There are…there are visitors with us in Laytrii,” she replied hesitantly.

  I noticed she was shuffling the food around on her plate, looking uncomfortable and no longer hungry. The others had also stopped eating.

  “Visitors?”

  “Aye, besides you and your party.”

  “Okay, go on.”

  “These visitors—they claim to have heard of the Artan’s arrival. They say they have come out of a desire to pledge their allegiance to the Great Lady.”

  “The Great Lady?”

  “That is what they call you.”

  “Ah, I see. Go on.”

  She paused, taking so long to speak that I finally prompted, “And?”

  “Well…” Her fork stilled, and she flicked a nervous glance at the table’s other occupants, all of whom were watching the two of us in silence.

  “I think—that is, I feel something is not—not quite proper about them.”

  I frowned. “You do? What does everyone else say?”

  Again that nervous glance. “They do not feel the same.”

  “You don’t?” This time my question was aimed at my other breakfast companions.

  Garett, the first to speak, said, “We do not, my lady. No other members of Council find anything amiss with these visitors.” He looked at Elisia, and his next words were offered almost apologetically. “Loath as I am to disagree with my lady Elisia, I fear I find no fault with these people.”

  “Nor do we,” spoke up Risean. Beside him, Rittean nodded her head firmly in agreement.

  This is weird.

  “Okay then, Elisia, why do you feel this way about them?” I probed.

  Her smooth brow wrinkled in thought. “It is difficult to say, really. But, for one thing, they seem to know so much of you. How can this be, when you have dwelt in Treygon these past months?”

  “Elisia,” the Ranetron High-Chief broke in, voice gentle. (It didn’t escape my notice that he dropped her title and called her by her given name.) “The Simathe High-Chief continually sent reports to Council of the lady Artan’s welfare and doings. Perhaps these were intercepted or overhead by the servants. And servants will talk. News like this cannot remain private for long, nor have we been overly diligent to keep it so.”

  “I know, I know,” she agreed, though she still looked worried. “But that is just it: how did this news reach them, when even the people of Laytrii remain ignorant of much of it?”

  “We’ve no way of knowing, my lady, who overheard what and who spoke which words to whom. Possibly some of the servants have kin close to or among our guests.”

  This explanation was offered by Rittean, who’d previously sat silent during the exchange.

  “Wait…wait,” I broke in with an upraised hand. “Who are these people anyhow? Where do they say they’re from?”

  “They name themselves as the Adragon and claim to reside in the village of Adrago. It is far west of here,” Elisia clarified.

  “Adrago? I haven’t heard of it. I guess I thought Aerisia didn’t have any other towns besides Laytrii.”

  Seated on my other side, Rittean laughed. “Oh no, my lady, far from it. Laytrii is our principal city, but Aerisia is a large land with many other cities, townships, and villages. We had never heard of Adrago either, but they say it’s a small place and unremarkable, save for its fierce loyalty to Laytrii and the Artan.”

  “So are you buying their story?” Everyone’s faces went blank. “I mean, do you believe their story,” I clarified, “about being from this village nobody’s ever heard of and all that?”

  “It isn’t so much that I disbelieve them,” Elisia started to say, but her explanation was cut short by a stentorian voice from the doorway of the breakfast room.

  “My lord and my ladies,” intoned Dilk Wy’ Kraux, the palace’s Chief Steward. I’d met him for the first time last night. “If you have concluded breaking your fast, an emissary of the Adragon awaits. He has requested an audience with my lady Artan.”

  Glancing down at the food on my plate, I realized I’d been so caught up in the conversation that I’d forgotten to eat. The white cheese and colorful fruit slices—pears, apples, and oranges—had been cut into elaborate floral shapes that were almost too pretty to eat anyway. Finding I was no longer hungry, I nodded to Dilk.

  “I’m done. Where can we talk?”

  “With my lady’s leave, I shall arrange a sitting room.”

  His thin face and cool manner were as pompous as his voice.

  “Sounds good. Lead the way, please, Dilk. And have someone go ahead and bring in the Adragon emissary.”

  “As my lady wishes.”

  The sound of chairs scraping over the marble floor, followed by the echo of footsteps behind me, told me my breakfast companions, as well as Cole, were accompanying me to this meeting. With Elisia’s words of doubt ringing in my ears, I found myself relieved I wouldn’t be facing this stranger alone.

  The Adragon

  The sitting room Dilk led us to was spacious and well-appointed. Covering one wall was a massive tapestry embroidered with Ranetron in shining armor mounted on proud white horses. Simple, elegant furnishings were scattered about, including a small, carved table on which sat a delicate crystal vase containing a long-stemmed pink rose. Two huge floor-to-ceiling archways, side by side, led out onto the open balcony. Brilliant sunlight streamed into the room from there, lighting up all four corners, except one. It was there my visitor sat.

  He stood when we entered, rising slowly from a large wood and leather chair. “Great Lady,” he addressed me, dipping his head in deference. “May it so please you, I am Raycold Wy’ Foarage, emissary of the Adragon.” His deep voice rumbled in his chest, reminding me of a growling bear.

  All this holding audiences stuff was definitely brand-new territory for me. Learning good manners as a kid had never included how to handle suddenly finding yourself thrust into an antiquated-type position of authority in your early twenties.

  “Welcome, Lord Raycold, to you and your people,” I returned with a friendly smile, doing my best to sound both welcoming and properly formal. “Please, have a seat.”

  He did so, slowly. His every movement seemed a study in deliberateness.

  The rest of us quickly found places to sit, and in the moment of silence that followed, I had an opportunity to study my visitor. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed very oddly. His shapeless robe was some nondescript brownish-orange color I couldn’t identify. It wasn’t neatly belted, like the Moonkinds’, but fell loosely from shoulder to floor, hiding any hint of body shape or even a glimpse of his feet. I couldn’t see any jewelry or weapons, but he could’ve easily hidden the latter under the folds of that robe.

  Although his hair was the typical Aerisian strawberry blond, it was dull, shaggy, and looked none too clean. Lord Raycold also sported a long, scraggly beard with a few stray hairs longer than the rest trailing to the middle of his chest. I couldn’t help noticing that his hands, the only body parts visible besides his face and a bit of his neck, were smudged with dirt and his nails encrusted with grime.

  Part of me was amused by all this. Maybe the Adragon are the hippies of the Aerisian world, I thought, smothering a smile. Wonder if they’ll be smoking funny plants in their rooms here at the palace?

  The idea of that kind of behavior within Laytrii’s clean, pristine walls was pretty hilarious. However, I also couldn’t help a twinge of annoyance.

  You’d think he could’ve at least washed his hands before coming to see me. I mean, that’s just common courtesy when you visit anybody.

  Elisia, always polite, was the first to break the silence, inquiring graciously if the Adragon had found suitable lodging within the city.Tha
t was news to me. I guessed not all visitors were automatically invited to stay in the palace itself, which made me rethink my idea of a smoking fest here in the palace. However, the notion of it occurring within city walls was nearly as outlandish.

  Lord Raycold assured the Spinner that they had indeed found lodging. I noticed that while speaking he flashed a sweet smile her way, but afterward his attention instantly returned to me. He’d done nothing but stare at me from the first moment I entered the room. It gave me a creepy feeling, especially since his green eyes seemed so empty and his stare so flat.

  A fleeting memory of Jonase flashed in my brain, and I felt a shiver race down my spine. Quickly, I reminded myself that I was being judgmental. Just because this man wasn’t the cleanest guy in the world, and wouldn’t stop staring at me, didn’t mean I had the right to take an instant dislike of him. After all, maybe no one had ever taught him better.

  Be fair, I warned myself, and launched into the business of trying to make conversation with this stranger.

  From him, I learned that Adrago was indeed a small village far to the west, situated along the Swinde River. His people had never forgotten the terrible days when the Dark Powers had ruled the land or the first Artan who’d opposed them. They’d allegedly served her way back when and afterward had remained faithful, watching for the new Artan who was to come. Now that she was here, his people had sent emissaries to come pledge their allegiance, binding themselves forevermore to my service.

  During our interview, he appeared polite and eager to please. He answered each question we asked with a smile so sweet, so guileless that it felt almost fake. Not surprisingly, the longer we talked, the more I found myself wanting to agree with Elisia. There was something about this man and his saccharine smile that rubbed me the wrong way. On the other hand, several people in Aerisia had rubbed me the wrong way from the start—including a certain Simathe High-Chief—but I didn’t really distrust any of them. Bearing this in mind, I decided to try and give the Adragon spokesman the benefit of the doubt, at least until I found time to study him and his people further.

  After an hour or so, our meeting drew to an end, and we all stood to make farewells. As we exited the room, Elisia leaned close and whispered fiercely in my ear, “I do not care for that man. I simply do not like him.”

  I tossed a quick glance over my shoulder at Lord Raycold. Having risen from his seat for the farewells, he was now slowly following us at a distance and out of earshot. As he crossed the floor, stepping out of the shadows and into the light streaming in from the open archways, I saw him stop, pull the deep cowl of his robe up over his head, and let it fall forward, completely obscuring his face.

  Creeeepy, I thought, feeling another shiver snake down my spine.

  Days passed and the weeks went by.

  Now permanently ensconced at Laytrii as the ruling Artan—at least, according to them—I was given new duties to perform and roles to play, such as attending every Council meeting. Along with that, a steady stream of people from the nearby city of Laytrii and far beyond had started coming to see me. Every day I sat through long meet-and-greet sessions. The young and old, the rich and poor, the famous and even the infamous—nobody was denied a chance to meet the Artan. Many brought me concerns and grievances that hadn’t been settled by Council or the Portex—the city governor or mayor—to their satisfaction, and more and more I found myself peacemaking, placating, mollifying, and even judging. How well I did the job, I had no idea. There’d been very little in my former life to prepare me for this.

  At night, I frequently tumbled into bed worn and weary from another long, trying day. During the final moments before sleep overtook me, the day’s events would play themselves out in my head. Had I settled this affair correctly? Made the right call in that one? I second-guessed myself more often than not and wished I had someone wiser and more experienced not only in the ways of the world, but in the ways of this world to advise me.

  They tried, my friends here at Laytrii, and their help was invaluable. Still, much of the time they were either too kind or else too mindful of my position as the Artan to be painfully blunt, which was exactly what I needed. I couldn’t figure out why accepting my role as Artan made everyone think they needed to back off from offering advice. Just because I now knew a few magic tricks didn’t qualify me to judge affairs of state, which was pretty much what I was doing. Saying this aloud didn’t change much, though.

  Desperate, I even approached some of the Simathe attending me here at the palace, but they only let me know that it wasn’t their place and these matters none of their concern. I was sure, given the choice, they would’ve been glad to return to Treygon rather than stick it out with me at Laytrii. Here, they were constantly surrounded by people who disliked and mistrusted them. Some walked far to the side while passing them in the halls, while others stared wide-eyed or even trembled visibly in their presence. Those too proud to show fear masked it by cold indifference or haughty disdain.

  I knew the people around here were unaccustomed to having Simathe on their home turf since Ilgard himself had once told me he only rarely attended Council. However, I couldn’t help feeling a little exasperated with them for their attitude. I admitted my feelings had once been similar, but spending several months among the Simathe had forced me to acknowledge that, while they were definitely intimidating, they also weren’t going to pull out a weapon at the slightest provocation and go to work with it.

  Hopefully that meant I’d matured somewhat. Hopefully, over time, others would do the same. As I bluntly told more than one dignitary who dared question the necessity of a Simathe presence, “If having them as my bodyguards is good enough for me, it’s good enough for you.” I didn’t think they cared very much for my candor, but I didn’t let that bother me. The more I witnessed of the prejudice against the Simathe, the more I understood why they spent the majority of their time in solitude.

  During this period of my life, even as I settled into a new world, a new place, and a new role, I was often caught unawares by heart-wrenching waves of homesickness. I thought I’d dealt with the loss of my family some time ago, but how could one ever permanently deal with a grief like that? Sometimes the loneliness and homesickness swept aside during the day would overtake me at night. I cried myself to sleep more than once. Many times I’d get up the next morning wondering where I would find the strength to face the day ahead. Some days, all that kept me going was the knowledge that, somewhere on Earth, my family loved and missed me and that there were also people here in Aerisia who loved and believed in me.

  And then there was Ilgard.

  I wanted him to come back; I didn’t even try to deny it anymore. I knew if he were here, I would actually have someone who would pull no punches while giving me the advice I needed. He might make me mad, but hey—at this point, I half-wished I had somebody around at whom I could blow off some steam. Also, if he were here, that would be another reason to keep going and not give up. Precisely why that was, I couldn’t say, but I knew it was true.

  He didn’t come back though, and the weeks went by without a single word from him. If the Simathe here knew something, they couldn’t or wouldn’t tell. It was up to me to keep myself occupied, which wasn’t too hard, considering everything I had to do. Along with everything else, I went back to weapons training on a daily basis with one or more of my Simathe guards. I knew what Ilgard had once told me was right: I needed to learn to defend myself on every level, so we made use of the Ranetron’s practice facilities for our training.

  Sometimes the Ranetron themselves or Lady Tey would be there. I observed the Cortain Pronconcil with admiration. She was strong, but she was also clever, quick, and nimble. Watching her, I realized the key for a woman to defend herself physically against a man was more a matter of outthinking and outmaneuvering him than physically overcoming him. Clearly, she knew what she was doing since she could more than hold her own in any of the mock battles she entered.

  In the evenings, w
ith only Risean or Rittean present, I practiced the things Aureeyah and I had worked on in the privacy of my own bedroom suite. I still felt unsure about all this—the very concept of these skills was so foreign and new. However, as the days went by and I kept trying, I gradually grew more comfortable calling on my magic, bending it to my will, and exploring its depths. I still kept someone nearby who would be able to help, should something go wrong, though.

  I remained uncertain what to do or think about the Adragon. They were often about the palace and consistently showed me nothing but extreme deference. To the casual observer, they seemed to want nothing more than to please, but were they a little too eager? Something about them didn’t sit right. Their shapeless clothing—the same for men and women—the loud, hacking cough they all suffered from, and their continual uncleanness didn’t help form a good impression. I also found it really weird how they always wore those deep hoods whenever they passed into direct sunlight.

  I’d finally questioned Lord Raycold about this, and he told me, “Great Lady, my people’s village lies in the perpetual shadow of a mighty mountain called Zor. The sunlight is kept from us by its high peaks and never shines with full strength upon our homes. Since we rarely leave our homeland, we are a people unused to the brightness of this place. That is why we wear these hoods to shade our eyes and skin.”

  As he spoke, his voice was sincere and his smile endearing. I didn’t contest his story, although it seemed pretty farfetched to me. On the other hand, I reminded myself, maybe it was true and I was simply being unfair again.

  All that aside, the way the Adragon glided about the palace in those shapeless robes and deep hoods, generally silent except when overtaken by one of their horrible coughing fits, unnerved me. Like my Spinner friend, I couldn’t quite bring myself to like or trust them, although almost everybody else saw only their devotion to the Great Lady and their willingness to serve wherever needed. Were Elisia and I the ones being duped, or were they? Were we being harsh and overly critical, or were they being naïve?