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

by Sarah Ashwood

  It was easy to see, the prince thought, why Lord Ilgard had been chosen High-Chief even above Simathe centuries older than himself. The only warrior on the field rivaling his skill and steady intensity was his Chief Captain, Lord Norband. No two Tearkin had slain as many as this Simathe pair.

  At last, replying to the giant’s question, Ilgard observed, “Fate’s hand has been hard against us. Tomorrow we stand with just over half our original numbers.”

  “We need her,” the prince stated.

  Was it not she who prophecy claimed would defeat The Evil and crush the Dark Powers? How could this be, when she lay dying?

  “Aye,” the Simathe lord agreed.

  Hoof beats sounded in the flickering shadows beyond their fire. Kurban looked up as a rider garbed in a brown robe and mounted upon a bluish-grey cob approached. His white hair and beard gleaming in the light of the moon for which his people were named, Risean Wy’ Curlm slid off the animal’s back and strode hastily towards the fire, his staff in hand.

  “Prince Kurban.” He acknowledged the giant with a quick bow. Not giving the Tearkin a chance to respond, he turned to Ilgard. “High-Chief, the Artan has awakened. She asks for you.”

  The Simathe’s reaction was to raise his head very slowly. Looking the old Tredsday in the eye, he said without as blinking, “Impossible.”

  “My lord?”

  Clearly, the Moonkind was nonplussed at having his tidings so decisively rejected. Kurban, too, was surprised by his comrade’s out of hand treatment of what should have been the happiest of news.

  “Impossible,” Ilgard repeated, accentuating each syllable as if they were hard of hearing. Or hard of understanding. “Were she awake, I would know it.”

  Kurban opened his mouth to ask, “And how would you know?” but closed it swiftly. Of course the Simathe would know, or should. He had, after all, been Joined to the lass for many months.

  “Oh, I assure you, she is awake, my lord. You cannot feel her because the fairy Aemela blocked you from doing so as soon as she started to rouse. She did not wish you distracted on the battlefield by any concerns for the young Artan.”

  At this explanation, the Simathe’s legs seemed to coil under him. Springing to his feet, he dashed towards the Moonkind’s horse. Sensing his intention, the old man chuckled, “By all means, avail yourself of my mount.” But the humor faded straightway. Even as Ilgard swung up in the saddle, Risean tendered a word of warning. “She is very weak, High-Chief,” he said quietly. “Very weak.”

  Pulling the animal’s head around, the man galloped off into the darkness, giving no indication that he had heard. With a sigh, Risean moved slowly, painfully, to take a seat upon the Simathe’s vacated boulder. Dropping his forehead against his staff, he peered over the fire to where the giant sat. When their eyes met, the two men exchanged long, anxious stares.

  At the palace of the Portex, Ilgard leapt off Risean’s horse. Throwing the reins to a nearby servant, he hastened up the stairs to the second level where his lady lay. The chamber was thronged, several people having already gathered inside. However, when they saw who arrived, the crowd parted for him like waves before the figurehead of a ship. He caught sight of her, her mismatched eyes meeting his, and the block on their bond lifted. She smiled weakly.

  “Ilgard.”

  She whispered his name, and in that one word he heard all of her love.

  Uncaring of their audience, he fell to his knees beside the bed and took her hand within his, squeezing it as if to reassure himself she was truly there, truly alive, truly awake. She was, and when he felt her reciprocal grasp he bent over that hand and pressed his lips to her fingers, filled with gratitude as well as relief that she was still alive. Her other hand lifted to stroke his arm, and he heard her repeat his name in almost comforting tones.

  It was surpassing strange, her comforting him, but when he raised his head to study her face he understood why. Alarm coursed through him at the translucency of her skin, of how weak he felt her to be. Aye, she lived, but she was certainly dying. And when he looked into her eyes, he saw that she knew it, too.

  Final Farewells

  I knew I wasn’t much longer for this world or any other, and there were certain things I needed to say to certain people. Hard as it was to send Ilgard away, I requested he, along with everyone else, wait outside as I spoke to each of my visitors in turn. Aureeyah, Aemela, Lady Tey, the Portex and his wife, Cole, even Norband… I had words for each of them. I wanted to express things like my gratitude for their friendship, their support, their help, during my time in Aerisia and in the city of Shayle. I had to offer an apology for having doubted someone who’d guarded my back practically from the time I arrived in this land. Norband shrugged it off, emotionless as always, but before Cole left he surprised me by kissing my hand, almost as his High-Chief had done earlier, albeit without passion—simply with genuine sadness.

  “You have been a light in the darkness,” he said, and went out.

  Finally, only Risean and Ilgard were left. My uncle entered, seating himself on the chair next to my bed that several others had already occupied tonight. Gently, he smoothed back my hair from my brow, and from somewhere I summoned up the courage for a smile.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered, trying to encourage him. “I’m not afraid. I guess I fulfilled the prophecy by killing the dragons. It must be up to you all to do the rest.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps,” he soothed, patting my hand absently before lapsing into silence.

  I studied him as he sat there, wondering why he didn’t speak. Was he angry about something? Like about me forging ahead with my plan to kill the dragons without asking his advice? I’d known at the time I was taking a huge risk: I simply hadn’t known how devastating the consequences would be.

  “Uncle Risean?” I said. “Are you okay?”

  His tropical-water eyes turned my way, but they were no longer smiling. In them I saw tears, and I understood then that he wasn’t angry, only sad.

  “Think not of me,” he brushed aside my question. “Let us speak of you. Do you know,” he mused, rubbing the back of my hand with a gnarled thumb, “that I loved you all those years I spent watching over you as you grew into Aerisia’s savior. I have loved you since you were a child and as dearly as if you were my own.”

  I offered his hand a squeeze. “I love you too, Uncle Risean.”

  He offered a fond, if somewhat melancholy smile. “I should leave so you may rest,” he said, and started to rise.

  “No, please wait, I want to tell you something,” I begged, craning my neck in order to peer up into his face. “Something I’ve never told anyone before.”

  He hesitated before lowering himself back into his seat. “As you wish, my child. Though if you feel the need to rest…”

  “I promise I won’t push myself too far.”

  It was a lie. I intended to push myself as far as I could possibly go. I was dying, and this was my last chance to relate a story I’d kept hidden nearly all of my life. I wasn’t about to quit until it was told.

  “This happened a long time ago,” I began quietly. My voice was sluggish and weak, but he listened patiently. “So long ago that it seems more like a dream than a memory. It was summer, and we were camping in the mountains, my family and I. I suppose I was about… four years old, maybe? Possibly five? That night, I woke up in the tent I was sharing with my older sister, Sammie. Can’t remember why, but I probably needed to, um, go relieve myself. I don’t know what I was thinking—I was just a kid—but when I went out to do it, I wandered too far and lost sight of the camp.

  “I ended up completely lost and couldn’t find my way back. I don’t know how long I was gone: I remember stumbling through the trees, looking for everyone else. It was pretty windy that night, and I guess nobody could hear me calling. My legs and arms were all scratched up, and they were stinging and bleeding. I started crying, wanting my mom. I don’t think I’d ever been so scared.”

  Adrift in thought, los
t in memories of that terrible night, my voice trailed off into silence. Staring absentmindedly at the ceiling, I recalled the goose bumps on my arms, the tingling scratches, the tears, and how badly I’d wanted my mother.

  I still wanted her. Especially now.

  My companion pulled me back to the present. “Can you continue, my child?” he asked. “Or would you rather conclude later?”

  I started. “Oh, I’m sorry. My mind must’ve drifted. I was just thinking about it. For years I’ve tried to suppress the memories, and now I’m trying to remember everything all at once. ”

  “It is nothing,” my uncle soothed, always considerate.

  Permitting myself to regress into darkness and trees, loneliness, and separation from the safety of the camp, I went on with my story.

  “I remember finally hunkering down next to a big tree, wishing I could see something, anything: wishing I could see in the dark. And just as I thought it, I also thought about our pet cat, Midnight, and I remember wishing I could see in the dark like she could. Crazy as this sounds, I immediately felt this—this chill go through my body, and all of the sudden…”

  “You could see,” my uncle guessed.

  “Yes! I mean, it wasn’t perfect, but I could definitely see much better. My hearing was also a lot sharper, and it wasn’t long before I found our camp. I got back to my tent and crawled into my sleeping bag with waking Sammie up. I was young, but I was smart enough not to tell anyone, especially when my eyes had returned to normal the next day. Oh, and I probably also figured I might get in trouble from my parents for wandering off like that,” I admitted with a chuckle.

  “I’ve never forgotten that night,” I concluded slowly. “Over the years, I tried to. It was such a traumatic experience, especially for a kid. I did my best to suppress it because, until now, I had no explanation for it.”

  Risean smiled gently. “Even then, your magic was within you, waiting to be summoned.”

  “I guess it was. I have no idea how I called on it that night, but obviously I did. Crazy, isn’t it?”

  He smiled agreement then stooped to drop a fatherly kiss on my forehead.

  “Thank you for sharing this, my dear. I know the recollection was unpleasant; nevertheless, it has fortified my beliefs that you are the Artan, and I do not think prophecy has loosed its hold upon you yet. There is still much for you to do.”

  “I don’t see how I can do it, Uncle Risean. I’m dying; I know I am. When I killed the Warkin—”

  “I know,” he interrupted. “Let us not speak of it. What is done is done. Howbeit, I believe your life is not fully spent.”

  “Nay, do not argue,” he insisted, “for I must leave you now. A mighty warrior awaits without, one who doubtless grows impatient with our delay. I would not call down his wrath upon my head.”

  I laughed weakly. “Don’t want to risk that.”

  “Nay, we do not. Good night, my beloved child.”

  “Good night, Uncle Risean.” But when he was out of earshot, I changed the farewell to a “Goodbye.” He didn’t hear.

  Ilgard entered and lowered himself to a seat on the bed beside me. His obsidian eyes raked me, and he said shortly, “Why, Hannah?”

  I expelled a frustrated breath but didn’t feign ignorance. “It had to be done. You know that. If I hadn’t—”

  “You would not be dying.”

  “Yes, and there’s no telling how many of our troops would be dead,” I fired back. “There’s no telling how many people would’ve been killed because I failed to act, because I—” My strength was sapped, and I turned away. “Never mind. There’s no point in discussing it. It’s done, anyway.”

  “Hannah...”

  He leaned over me, supporting himself with his hands on either side of my torso. Any further words were lost when I looked up. Our eyes met. Something silent and sweet passed between us, dissolving arguments and releasing pain. Bending, he kissed me gently. I began to cry. Lowering his face into the pillow, he put his cheek against mine, and I could feel the bristles of his unshaven jaw.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  “I’m so sorry,” I wept, grasping his forearms like a lifeline. “So sorry it had to come to this. I knew killing the Dragonkind might hurt me—they were being fed by a darkness, a-a power I couldn’t comprehend. But I had to do it, anyway. You understand that, don’t you? I had to save our people.”

  “I know,” he said, rising.

  “You should rest,” I sniffled, wiping away my tears, noticing how the lines in his face seemed to have deepened. “I bet you haven’t slept in days.”

  “I am not weary.”

  He was, but if he didn’t want to sleep I couldn’t make him.

  “We may have little time,” he explained quietly. “I would not squander it on rest.”

  I had no argument for that.

  “Then stay with me,” I whispered, twining my fingers with his. “There’s nobody I’d rather have with me at the end.”

  He shook his head stubbornly. “We won’t speak of that.”

  If I’d had more strength, I might’ve protested. I might have tried to force him to accept the fact that neither he, nor Risean, nor the prophecy, nor anything else could stop this. However, I didn’t have the strength or the heart for it, so I let it go and instead moved over to make room for him on the bed. Still fully dressed, he laid down on top of the heavy, quilted comforter that covered me, stuffed a pillow behind his back, and then lifted me up, tucking me under his arm.

  I laid my cheek on his chest and closed my eyes. Behind my eyelids, tears wanted to flow. Tears of rage that the future I’d barely dreamed of was being ripped away; tears of grief that I was leaving behind both my friends and the man I loved; tears of remorse that I’d failed as the Artan, and my people would have to continue the fight without me. They ached to fall, those tears, but I wouldn’t let them. I’d made my choice when I decided to attack the Warkin. I refused to think I’d been wrong.

  Instead, I forced away the grief by listening to the heartbeat thundering beneath my ear. It was strong, steady, and sure… just like him. I knew, were it in his power, he would trade away every beat of that heart so mine would never stop. Which it was, slowly. I could feel myself weakening by the minute. In fact, I thought I could actually feel my life slipping away.

  No, that’s not true. My life is here, beside me.

  I opened my eyes, angling my face so I could see up into his. Sleep was waiting to take me. I’d fought it as long as I could, afraid that if I surrendered I would never awaken. At this point, however, knowing I couldn’t last much longer, I called his name.

  “Ilgard?”

  Sometime during the past span of silence, his eyes had drifted closed. Still, when I spoke, he was instantly alert, turning his head to look down at me.

  “Aye, lass?”

  “Ilgard, I want to tell you something.”

  “And what is that?”

  I hesitated, uncertain if I should actually admit what I was planning to say. Once these words were spoken, my deepest longings, my inner soul, were stripped bare. There was no going back from that. On the other hand, neither would there ever be another chance to say what I needed to say. So I plunged ahead, fully aware these might be the final words he heard me speak.

  “Ilgard, I-I wanted so badly to come through this. I wanted… ”

  My breathing was becoming quick and shallow. My eyes were weighted and heavy. Sleep was winning this fight. I fought to finish.

  “I wanted to marry you, Ilgard. I wanted to be your wife.”

  His eyes flickered with pain. “Hannah…”

  “No, let—let me finish. I wanted to marry you, and I wanted to—I would’ve loved to have…” Sighing, I lowered my face into his shoulder. “…Given you a child.”

  He groaned, rolling over to pull me completely into his arms. Burying his face in my hair, he held me so tightly I could feel his arms trembling. I wanted to say more, to comfort him somehow. But I couldn’t think of
anything to say. Nothing except to murmur, “I love you.”

  Then my eyes were sliding shut, and this time I couldn’t force them open. I surrendered. And slept.

  Silver Rose

  Dawn had yet to break when the High-Chief of the Simathe left the palace of Shayle’s Portex. He had slept little throughout the night, and lightly, listening to his lady’s breathing while feeling the waning of the life force Joined to his.

  She was unutterably weak, with a weakness both the fairies and the Moonkind were powerless to restore. She unutterably weak, with a weakness she, herself could not heal. Her spirit had already released itself and was hanging on merely by a thread… a strange thread he didn’t understand. His own strength he gladly would have given her, but she was unable to accept it, and he feared forcing it on her might cause that mysterious, slender thread to snap. He could not run that risk.

  She was lost to him. The shadow of death clung to her face, and he could no longer even sense her magic. He did not think she would reawaken. And her last whispered words, I love you, had echoed over and over in his mind as the night hours passed. A sweet but painful refrain that continued to torment him. Once, he had told her that, should she die, she would take his life with her. He hadn’t thought then that it would actually happen, and the dreadful realization that it was going to happen, that he could not prevent it from happening, was a burden too heavy to bear. An immortal he might be, but when her life ended, he knew his would too.

  Galandorf First Captainess, Silver Rose Galad, was uneasy. It was night still, that darkest of all hours just before dawn. The world seemed hushed, as though mantled in shadows and sleep. Even the sea felt gentler and the echoes of the waves muted. She cared little for this hour. It put her on edge. It was too dark to see anything and so black that it almost felt like one could not hear. As if the oppressive darkness blinding the eyes also plugged up the ears, making one lose all control over their senses.