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

by Sarah Ashwood

  Lord Ilgard yanked the horse to a quick halt before it entered the melee. The animal stopped so short it reared, and the Simathe jerked its head around viciously so that it whirled and came down facing our pursuers. Arrows whizzed through the air as the little creatures stood upright, fitting more feathered shafts to bowstrings. I heard my companion grunt as he was struck and wanted to ask if he was alright. But it was all I could do to twist my face against the horse’s neck to where I could see some of what was going on.

  Again, the Simathe lord spurred his mount forward, charging the tiny drocnords. Only three remained of the original group that had jumped us, and they tried to scatter. They didn’t make it far. The animal under us lashed out in perfect fury, striking with deadly, iron hooves. How he managed to move so agilely with both of us on his back, I don’t know; however, I’d already guessed this was no ordinary animal. He’d undoubtedly been trained for combat, even against miniature foes like these.

  Guided by his rider, the black beast turned impossibly fast from side to side, smashing with his hooves, even butting with his head—and with the help of the black-haired warrior who came rushing up, the three drocnords were soon lying dead on the ground. Our skirmish won, we turned and saw that the main battle still raged, even though the enemy were falling at a rapid rate to the weapons of the Simathe. I thought we might actually survive…till I heard more babbling cries, and yet another host of drocnords burst from the swaying plants.

  “No,” I heard myself moan, my mouth pressed to the horse’s mane. Would this nightmare never end?

  The Simathe stationed beside our mount looked up at us. “Take the Artan to the palace. We’ll finish here.”

  The High-Chief nodded curtly.

  I figured if it wasn’t for his pledge to protect me, he would surely have stayed and fought alongside his men. Instead, “Clear a path!” he called loudly enough to be heard above the battle strife.

  His warriors didn’t pause their cruel work. While the man beside us jogged forward to join his comrades, Lord Ilgard put heels to the horse’s sides. Even as we leapt forward, a lane of sorts opened through the cluster of fighting drocnords. The Simathe were pushing them apart, holding them at bay with swinging swords and striking hammers.

  We galloped through. More drocnords must’ve been trampled. I heard the cries of creatures in pain, but didn’t look back to see as we rode hard for the palace. The sounds of the fight quickly receded, replaced by the pounding of our mount’s heavy hooves. Four Simathe on horseback waited at a bend in the path. Falling in, two on each side, they kept pace the rest of the way, escorting us back to the safety of the palace. When we reached the great drawbridge spanning the moat, the men racing beside us fell back, stopping at its mouth as we thundered across.

  Into the open courtyard we flew, past several small outbuildings and the vast stables, not slowing until we approached the huge double doors of the palace’s main entrance. Here we were met by a small crowd that came running toward us, led by the Ranetron High-Chief, Lord Garett.

  “What has happened?” someone cried.

  “My lady, you are not harmed?”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Please, Light, no!”

  “My lady?”

  “Lady Hannah?”

  Their voices swirled like a whirlpool, echoing each other in a messy verbal dance. Into all this, the Simathe High-Chief finally pulled his horse to a stop. The poor beast was quivering, its black coat flecked with sweat. At last, the warrior rose, pulling me up as well. Immediately, I twisted to look at him.

  “You were hit—the arrow. Are you alright?”

  “Aye.”

  A hand touched my foot. It was my Moonkind friend, Rittean. “My lady, what has happened? Tell me you are unharmed!” she begged, cutting off any chance of further conversation with the man who’d just saved my life.

  I swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in my throat. The noise of the battle still reverberated in my brain, pulsing into a headache. Tears welled, tears of relief that I was finally safe combined with tears of fright, pushed back and delayed until now.

  “I-I’m okay,” I managed feebly.

  The arm of steel that had grasped me so tightly throughout the whole ordeal finally relaxed, and suddenly I could breathe. Lord Ilgard dropped the reins to a stable lad, who snatched them up. While the Simathe swung off his horse, Rittean released my foot, backing away as he proceeded to run both hands soothingly over the animal’s neck and face, stroking it, muttering calming words in the same odd language I’d never heard till coming here.

  The people who’d rushed out to greet us lingered about our trio, peering up at me with anxious, troubled faces. Even the Ranetron lord, Garett, looked a bit worried as he too stared up at me. I realized they were waiting for me to dismount, to stand on my own feet and prove I was really okay, like I’d said I was.

  I felt stupid, dull, tired. The rush of adrenaline surging through my body when I’d first glimpsed the drocnords had begun to fade now that we were safe. At this point, I felt rather trembly myself, like the beast under me, and didn’t think I had the strength to climb off this giant of a horse under my own power. I certainly hadn’t gotten up here single-handedly, and comforted myself that I was justified in seeking help from the person who’d stuck me on the animal’s back in the first place.

  Weakly I called, “Lord Ilgard? Can you help me down, please?”

  He ducked under the animal’s neck and came to me, extending his arms. I leaned into them, felt their reassuring strength as his fingers closed about my waist, lifting me down.

  “Thank you,” I murmured as I slid past his chest.

  But when my feet hit the ground, my legs gave out, and I nearly fell flat on my face. The Simathe asked no permission as he slipped an arm around my waist, supporting me like he’d done last night when I was sick. I bit my lip, cursing myself for my weakness, but even more for wanting to turn my face into his shoulder and sob out the crazy mix of emotions roiling inside of me.

  “She is harmed!” Rittean exclaimed.

  “She is only frightened,” the man returned firmly. “High-Chief,” he went on, addressing Lord Garett, “they were drocnords.”

  The concern for me transformed itself into hard lines of anger on the other man’s face. “Drocnords,” he repeated angrily. Jerking his head in the direction from which we’d come, he asked, “Need I go?”

  “My men are there.”

  “Aye…the city, then?”

  He seemed to take it for granted that no drocnords would survive, that neither he nor his men were needed to assist the Simathe.

  “You’ve a garrison in the city?”

  “Aye, a strong one.”

  The Simathe nodded his approval. “They will not attack the city, then.”

  With that, the Simathe lord left off to escort me into the palace. Part of me wanted to tell him I was fine and didn’t need his help. I knew I should prove to those present that I wasn’t some proverbial helpless female. No woman wants to be thought of in that way. At the same time, the more sensible side of me knew it would be a lie. Without this man’s help, without his warriors’ help, I would be dead at this very moment.

  That realization was enough to shake anyone—especially someone who’s never faced a life-threatening situation. The feminine side of me, the side that craved the security of a warrior’s arm, won out. I didn’t argue his help; instead, I accepted it, going so far as to lean more weight against him as he led me in.

  He didn’t betray any opinion of my reaction, just strode for the open doors of the palace. The crowd followed us inside, speaking softly among themselves of the Artan, The Evil, drocnords, and why they’d attacked this secure place when there’d been no similar occurrences for scores of years. I ignored them all, doing my best to settle my stomach and my nerves by telling myself repeatedly that here in the palace, with this Simathe, I was safe and nothing could harm me.

  The Joining Explained

 
The warrior-lord guided me through the palace, down the steps leading into the Council chamber, and right up to the table where Council sat assembled and waiting. They must’ve received prior news of the attack, because I wasn’t assailed by any anxious inquiries. Instead, when we reached the table, the High Elder rose and beckoned to one of the people following us.

  “Bring a chair.”

  It was brought, and the dark-eyed warrior lowered me carefully into it. My eyes locked with his as I again offered my thanks, but despite that and my previous show of dependency, he hadn’t softened a whit. His eyes were still devoid of expression and his face equally unreadable.

  “Our gratitude, Lord Ilgard, for your service to the Artan,” said the High Elder. “Council?”

  The only two members not previously gathered, High-Chiefs Garett and Ilgard, moved to take their places at the Council table, leaving me in the chair at the table’s foot. The eyes of every man and woman in that vast chamber, save the Simathe’s, were fastened on me. For a long moment no one spoke. Even the crowd behind us had quieted. I caught only the shuffling and shifting of nervous people from them.

  It was the High Elder, still standing, who broke the silence.

  “We heard of the attack, my lady. We are thankful for your safety, and grateful to the Simathe High-Chief—” he paused, nodding in that man’s general direction, “and his warriors for protecting you.

  “Perhaps you wonder why The Evil have attacked so close to the palace.”

  “No kidding,” I muttered.

  His eyebrows rose at that show of impudence, but he made no reprimands.

  “Drocnords,” he explained without missing a beat, “are a part of The Evil, servants of the Dark Powers. Without being able to scry out the plans of the Dark Powers, I would guess they were forewarned that you were alone and took this chance to kill you. There was a high risk of failure, due to the numbers of Ranetron and Simathe about, so they appointed drocnords for the task. Their twisted minds will provoke them to attack even a Simathe, even though they must know they’ve no chance of victory.”

  “Wait—wait,” I interrupted.

  Closing my eyes, I planted my elbow on the table and leaned my forehead against my palm, taking a deep breath to calm myself.

  “You’re saying the Dark Powers—whoever and whatever they are—somehow knew I was alone, and even though there was only a small chance of killing me, they took it. They sent the not-overly-bright drocnords to do it, ’cause they’re the only ones dumb enough to attack with all these soldiers around?” I summarized, peering at him over my fingertips.

  “Aye, my lady. That is the size of it.”

  “So do you think I’m safe now? They can’t attack me here in the palace, can they?”

  “I cannot foresee any bodily attacks made upon you within the safety of Laytrii’s walls, no.”

  Bodily, I mused.

  I cut a glance toward the Simathe leader, but he was still staring frontward as if oblivious to it all. Slightly unnerved, I turned back to the High Elder.

  “But I’ve already been…mind attacked, or whatever you’d call that, while I was inside the palace. Is there a chance of that happening again?”

  “We do not know,” answered Lady Elisia, rising from her seat. The High Elder lowered himself back onto his bench.

  “We simply don’t know what treacheries have been planned, my lady. We know only that the Dark Powers will use all of the considerable means within their grasp to destroy you.” Her eyes pleaded with mine as she added, “That is why Council feels you must Join with the Simathe High-Chief as soon as possible. Your very life may depend upon it.” She paused to let that sink in. “We beg you, my lady, to accept Lord Ilgard as your protector and Join with him. It is imperative that you do this.”

  She glanced around at her fellow Council members, meeting their eyes, garnering nods of agreement before resuming her seat. Needless to say, I didn’t share in the gestures of harmony. My stomach twisted. They’d yet to explain exactly what a Joining involved, but the notion of any sort of tight bond with one of the implacable Simathe was a daunting prospect.

  Gathering my courage, I got to my feet, holding the table in a death grip until I was sure my legs would support me. Inhaling deeply, I lifted my gaze once more toward the Simathe. This time, he didn’t ignore me, but turned his head until his eyes met mine. I stared directly into their bottomless-pit black while I spoke.

  “Look, I don’t know exactly what this Joining process is. You’ve been talking about it since I arrived, but you’ve failed to explain exactly what it entails. From the name and the…feel…I get of it, I’m pretty sure I don’t want anything to do with it. Plus, I don’t see what possible difference Joining would have made in whether or not those creepy little whatever-they-were—”

  “Drocnords, servants of The Evil, creatures serving the Dark Powers,” a female Elder supplied.

  “Thanks,” I countered wryly. “Okay, drocnords. Surely they would’ve attacked anyway, even if I’d been Joined.”

  My eyes remained locked with the Simathe lord’s, but I was oddly beginning to feel as though his gaze had captured mine rather than the other way around. All was quiet, as if everyone were waiting on everyone else to speak. At last Lord Garett, the Ranetron High-Chief, rose to his feet.

  “My lady?”

  At the sound of his voice, the Simathe slowly blinked, and the spell was broken. I released the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, and turned my attention to the Ranetron.

  “Yes?”

  “My lady, had you been Joined with the High-Chief, the Dark Powers wouldn’t have wasted even drocnords in such a foolish venture. They would have known that, where there was one Simathe with the Artan, doubtless there would have been more.

  “Also, had you been Joined, the enemy would have been afforded no chance to attack. The High-Chief, sensing the danger to your person, would not have allowed you beyond palace walls.”

  “Hold on a second,” I butted in. “I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but it sounds freaky. Just how would he’ve known I was in danger?” Frustration hurried the pace of my words. “And what is this Joining anyhow? Would somebody please explain that little detail?”

  I was practically shouting by the time I finished. No one replied immediately, and my words hung in the air between us. The tension was so thick I could practically taste it.

  “Isn’t anyone going to answer me?” I demanded in a slightly more subdued tone.

  Everybody exchanged guarded glances, then peered uneasily at the Simathe. He alone was unmoved by the turmoil and the tension. Big surprise there.

  It was Risean Wy’ Curlm, the old Moonkind who’d started all of this for me, that finally took it upon himself to try and rectify the situation. He stood behind Lord Elgrend, staff in hand, looking grave and dignified as he spoke.

  “My child, I know you must feel like a trapped animal, surrounded on all sides by its hunters.” His eyes were warm, and his face gentle. “Believe me, my dear, that we do this for no pleasure of frightening you. We do it with regard to preserving your life and keeping you from harm.”

  I caught my breath, puffing out my cheeks and releasing the air in a soft whoosh.

  “Fine,” I acquiesced with a curt nod, “you’re doing this for my benefit. All right, I can accept that—if you’ll freaking tell me what it is you’re doing!”

  “Calm yourself, my lady.”

  “I am calm, I just want some answers!”

  Obviously I wasn’t calm, and the old man knew it. Proceeding anyway, he said, “Joining is…how shall I say it? A sharing of minds between the Simathe and the person with whom he is united. When you are Joined to the Simathe High-Chief, he will feel nearly everything that you feel: your fears when you are in danger, worry when your heart is troubled, and happiness when events bring you joy.”

  “Wait a minute,” I broke in, incredulous. “You’re saying this guy can basically read my mind?”

  I
couldn’t bring myself to look at the man in question.

  “Read it, no. He cannot expressly know your thoughts. However, as he can sense many of your emotions, he may deduce a great deal of what you are thinking.”

  I leaned across the Council table, pressing my palms flat against its glossy surface.

  “That’s not all of it, is it? Surely there has to be more.”

  “Oh, there is,” Risean replied levelly. “During your Joining, the High-Chief will be informed at all times of your whereabouts. He will sense threats to your well-being ere you are aware of them. Furthermore, should you ever be wounded, the imparting of his Simathe immortality will produce healing powers for your wounds.”

  He didn’t seemed finished.

  “And?”

  Lowering his eyes, he added, “The Joining will also lengthen your lifespan beyond that of normal humanity.”

  “How much longer?” I asked quietly.

  “My lady, I do not know.”

  “Not know? How could you possibly not know when you have everything else figured out down to a T!”

  He eyed me solemnly. “Simply because this procedure has been performed so few times since the Simathe were created. They do not Join often; why should they? They receive no benefit from it. It is only love of Aerisia and adherence to duty that causes their High-Chief”—he stressed the title to let me know how rare, how important this was, “to agree to a Joining with you. Really, all will be well. You’ve nothing to fear.”

  “Nothing to fear,” I repeated snidely. “Oh, that’s rich. I’ve got nothing to fear. Well, let me tell you something, buddy! I don’t want anybody inside my head. I don’t want anybody reading my emotions, deducing my thoughts, or even knowing where I am all the time! I don’t want them constantly knowing what I’m doing, either. I don’t want it, and I won’t have it!”