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

by Sarah Ashwood

“Today I know all things.”

  “Then do you know that today you will die?”

  “If I do, then so shall you, and my appointed task will be complete.”

  “You are twice the fool! Would you throw away your life and your talents for nothing? For them?”

  The creature swept out a pale, ugly hand, encompassing Aerisia’s motionless warriors.

  She made no reply, and It pressed a step closer. “Join me,” It hissed. “Join me, and together we could rule this land for eternity. Nothing could stand in our way, not even the Powers themselves. We would need no warriors to fight for us, for everyone and everything would be subject to our rule. We would govern the land, the sea, the sky! We would be gods: immortal, dread, terrifying.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No,” the Artan stated firmly. “If you desire such power, then join me. Return to the light. Together, we could be great. No darkness would hinder our reign.”

  “Fool!” A third time, the Dark One exclaimed it. “I cannot pass into light. It would destroy me.”

  “No more can I pass into shadow. To do so would destroy me.”

  “Hannah—”

  “No! You’ve asked me many times to join you. Do not ask me again.”

  “Then it seems we are at a standstill.”

  “So it would seem.”

  Silence descended as the two studied, measured each other. Again, it was the Dark One who made the first move. Ilgard watched his lady as she watched her opponent slowly step back then, in a swift, sudden movement, hoist Its great staff, topped with the Ranetron’s severed head. Leveling the naked end at Its opponent, the Dark One cried, “Die then, foolish woman! Die as this one died. Before night falls, it will be your head atop my staff!”

  Raw magic, terrible and dark, unleashed itself, exploding from the end of the staff. The Artan threw up her hand, casting up another shield, but it was not enough to combat such darkness. Her enemy’s magic blasted through the shield and struck her, flinging her body backwards and into the air. She struck the ground hard but rolled as she fell, coming up on her feet.

  The Dark One advanced, staff pointed in her direction, but this time the Artan avoided its projectile, throwing herself to the side and countering with a blast of pure, white power. Her enemy was knocked to Its knees. The wind whipped up angrily as the Dark One roared in frustration, vaulting to Its feet. A second later, that cry of frustration had changed to alarm.

  The Artan had vanished!

  Turning this way and that, the towering figure swiveled Its veiled head from side to side, searching for her with staff brandished and ready. From where he stood, the Simathe High-Chief also saw his lady vanish. He started to run, instinct propelling him toward the spot she’d last been seen. Reason returned, halting him mid-step. Quickly, he sent a probe pulsing through their bond, trying to find her.

  As it turned out, the probe was unnecessary. Lightning flashed, signaling her return. Before the Dark One could respond, she was there, Laytrii’s sword in her hands. With one quick down-slice, steel divided wood, and the severed top half fell to the ground. As it struck, the whole weapon burst into blue flame, and the Dark One flung it away with a shout.

  Rounding on her furiously, It cried, “Do you think that will save you?”

  With a flick of Its arm, It struck her a blow across the face that sent her reeling. Twisting, she struck out with Laytrii’s sword. The tip of the blade slashed through robe and flesh. Black blood spewed, withering the grass on which it fell.

  “For that you will die!” her enemy snarled.

  Regaining her feet, the Artan rolled her shoulders and set her feet. “Kill me, then,” she panted.

  It tried. The air between them shimmered, crackling with raw magic as the two fought. The warrior-lord watched his lady pin her enemy with a powerful flaming ring, like that which Braisley had used to prevent his descent into the Underworld. The Dark One struggled against it briefly before managing to cast it off and turned the situation on end with a bolt of darkness and thunder that shook the earth. The Artan fell, temporarily paralyzed, but recovered in time to wrap her magic around herself, deflecting the blows her enemy rained down upon her. From there, the battle merged into a back and forth of shots and shields, strikes and counterstrikes.

  For a time, his lady appeared to have the upper hand, as she was also physically armed. With clever maneuvers she dodged and dove, weaving in and out, inflicting little strikes and cuts that caused more rage than actual pain. Her footwork, much of it learned from the weapons training Ilgard had insisted upon long ago, was infallible. However, as time ticked by, it became apparent that killing the dragon, along with the Dark One’s initial stroke, had wounded her more than he’d sensed through their bond. Was she blocking him now? He did not know, but he noticed fearfully that her movements were slowing and her reflexes less adroit.

  In this perilous state, she made an egregious error. Ducking under her enemy’s arm, she leapt up, swinging her sword, going for the Dark One’s throat. She missed the target by inches, her blade catching instead the veil covering the Dark One’s face. The black cloth fluttered down like a sigh, drifting into a crumpled heap between their feet.

  The Dark One Revealed

  Unsure at that point exactly what to expect, I lifted my gaze very slowly. What I saw made my lips part with shock and chilled my bones to the marrow. Before me stood the massive figure of the Dark One, Its face naked and unveiled. Only, it was no man that I looked at, but a woman! Her hair was iron grey, and her face shockingly, deceptively beautiful. Smooth cheeks and ageless features defied the ravages of time. The only thing robbing her of perfection was a long scar from her eyebrow down to her chin that marred the contour of her cheek. It was long and thin and might have been made by the tip of a knife.

  When they saw the veil torn off, every last one of The Evil anywhere near the vicinity fell to their knees, putting their faces in the dirt, groveling in fear. At first, I was stunned. Then I recalled having once heard a rumor that nobody looked the Dark One in the face: it meant instant death. I hadn’t paid it any mind at the time, figuring the story was probably more figurative than literal, or else an over-exaggeration of the Dark One’s might. However, I noticed that as she stood before me, unmasked and unveiled, she was keeping her eyes tightly closed.

  That should have tipped me off. Maybe I was so stunned by the revelation that my enemy was not what I’d assumed her to be that I was caught off guard. Everything happened with a second’s time. One instant the veil was on the ground, the next The Evil were on the ground, and then the Dark One was reaching for me. Her hand was huge, gnarled, ugly— completely at odds with the beauty of her face. She thrust it out, grabbing me around the neck as I’d done to Jonase, earlier. Lifting me off the ground, she brought my face level with hers but still didn’t raise her eyelids.

  “Now you know,” my enemy said, continuing to use the ancient tongue. Her voice, like her face, had gone deceptively soft. Smooth. “Does the knowledge bring you joy?”

  I struggled to grab the arm holding me up with both of my hands and pull my body upwards, fighting to keep my air from being cut off.

  “I will be happy when you’re dead,” I panted.

  My captor laughed. “Even now you remain certain of victory. Can you not see I have you in my power? All I need do is open my eyes and you will be dead.”

  “Is that all? Then why not do it?”

  I shouldn’t have taunted her. The Dark One grew angry, and the hand clutching my throat trembled with rage.

  “Mock me not, young fool! I have lived many, many years within this body. Through the life forces of those gone before me, united now with mine, I have seen and done and been myriad things. Things you cannot possibly begin to understand or believe.”

  “What do you mean? Have you not always been? Didn’t the first Artan fight you? And Laytrii’s forces, as well?”

  “Clearly, then, today you do not know all things,” she j
eered. “I thought you did.”

  Ignoring her mockery, sensing she was about to reveal something vital to this battle, this fight, I held myself motionless in her grasp. Every atom of my being shouted I should take advantage of this pause, do something to catch her by surprise and regain the upper hand. I fought the instinct, using passiveness to encourage her to continue, even though her foul breath in my face made me gag.

  “I am indeed all who you asked of and more. I am the lives, the life forces of those who warred with your namesake long ages ago. I am the eyes, the arms, the power of those whom both Laytrii and Artan fought. I am all this and more besides.

  “I am Scraggens past,and drocnords dead. I am the magic of dragons and the brute strength of Dragonkind. I am every man, creature, and beast who has paid homage to my Masters. Through them I have killed, I have plundered, I have maimed, I have ravished, I have murdered, tortured, feuded, raided, destroyed, stolen, purloined, raised insurrections, lied, deceived.”

  “I am power,” she hissed, “real power. The Dark Powers themselves sustain and nourish me. Long ago, they chose me as the recipient of their gift: the life forces, the essence, the magic of all who ever served them. I am them, and they are me.”

  I shook my head against her hold. “I was chosen by the Powers of Good as Artan because of my birth, my heritage. Why did your Powers choose you? Who are you?”A wicked smile surged across the woman’s beautiful face. “My Masters knew there would one day be war between the Powers. They knew you would come, and they raised me up to be their weapon. I was chosen because I was the strongest, the greatest, the mightiest…”

  She paused, her fingers tightening unmercifully on my windpipe.

  “The mightiest… what?” I gasped.

  “Scraggen,” she whispered. “The mightiest Scraggen that has ever lived or ever shall be. Oh, yes, Hannah Winters from Earth, you see me now. You know the truth. You know the awful, awful truth.”

  She chuckled deep in her throat, laughing as though this were the best joke imaginable.

  “I am flesh of your flesh, blood of your blood. Your forbearer.” Pulling me even closer, the Dark One hissed the final, hateful words. “I am your father’s mother. Your grandmother, Hannah the Artan. I am your grandmother.”

  And then she opened her eyes.

  I found myself looking into the gaze that could kill. Pure, unadulterated evil peered back from those milk-white orbs. Like with Jonase, there were no irises, no pupils, no cornea, no color. There was only white, covered by a rheumy, liquid film. I wanted to run but couldn’t flee. I wanted to scream but could make no sound. I wanted to breathe, but the fingers around my neck prevented air from feeding my starving lungs. I wanted to close my eyes against my enemy’s gaze, but it was too late.

  The pain started deep inside; it felt as if my very bones were melting. As the eyes began to change, the pain spread until it was tingling on every nerve, dancing from every brain wave. The Dark One’s eyes continued to shift. First they were a beautiful, silvery grey: a woman’s eyes. Then a feline yellow: a deathcat’s. And suddenly they were changing and changing and changing from every shape and shade under the sun to the next. They became a sickening, dizzying blur, and I understood I was looking into the eyes of all those whose life forces were now a part of the former Scraggen.

  Sickness caused by the horrifying display boiled up in my stomach. The pain intensified until I feared I’d explode. In my ears I heard the voices. People and animals, adults, children—oh, light, even babies!—wailed and screamed in terror, in pain, in suffering. In the changing eyes I saw the terrible deeds that were done. I saw men tortured and murdered, women assaulted, children abused, infants slaughtered. I saw the worst sorts of crimes mankind can commit, crimes so heinous, so brutal they shouldn’t be mentioned, much less seen. I saw atrocities so cruel they would cause the strongest man’s face to whiten with shock. On top of that, I heard the voices of the victims.

  I tried to block it all out, but the pain was so great and the display so intense I couldn’t summon my magic. There were many ways I’d foreseen this battle going. There were many weapons I’d anticipated my enemy throwing against me. I’d never predicted this. This was more than mere magic or power. This was awful, victorious evil. This was the Dark Powers. And suddenly, I understood why no one had ever looked into this woman—no, this creature’s eyes—and lived. No one could survive such malevolence seeping into their every sense, boring into their very soul. Nobody could live through that, no matter how good and how strong.

  Not even the Artan.

  Becoming…

  The combination of increasing pain, the Dark One’s wicked gaze, the fingers crushing my throat, and my already weakened state, finally did their work. When the bubble of power upholding my life and spirit burst, the scream clawing its way from the deepest recesses of my being was probably heard over the entire plain of battle. It was so dreadful that many of those nearby shrank back, unsure whether to stand their ground or flee. Some actually did run.

  Nevertheless, as our army faltered, The Evil rejoiced. Their celebratory cries pierced my consciousness in spite of my agony. As they rejoiced, so did the Dark One. Roaring in triumph, she swept me up, lifting me high above her head as if to display her prize to the world. Then she threw me with all of her considerable strength. I felt my body hurtling through space, felt myself strike the ground hard. I rolled over once and lay still.

  Miraculously, I was still alive. The world was a haze. It felt as if my innards had been smashed flat. My breath was heavy, my heartbeat slow. All I could think was, She’ll be here in a minute to finish me off. I was too tired, too broken, too weak to care.

  Until Ilgard dropped to his knees beside me, gathering my head in his hands, lifting it from the trampled grass. I heard him call my name, felt him wipe away the trickle of blood leaking from the corner of my mouth.

  “Ilgard?”

  Letting go of the Dark One’s language, I called his name, struggling to focus my vision. His alien eyes pierced the fog over my eyes, my thoughts, offering me a focal point to grasp.

  “I’m here,” he said, and I clung to the strength in his face, his voice, despite the fact that his bronze skin seemed pale and his features taut. I realized he must have felt the tremendous pain of the Dark One crushing my magic. He would have experienced my suffering as though it were his own.

  “Ilgard, get me up, I have to—”

  Breaking off mid-sentence, I gasped, “Ilgard, behind you!”

  Clutching me close, he spun to see what I’d seen: the horned head of a colossal green dragon bearing down on us. Its grinning jaws were splayed wide, preparing to devour or breathe flame. Either way, there was no time for either of us to react. Suddenly, Cole was there, flying out of nowhere, his sword raised. The dragon’s head jerked up at the Simathe’s cry, but there was no time for the beast to save itself. One terrible stroke of the warrior’s sword, and that horned head was lopped off and rolling across the grass. The massive body of the beast surrendered, collapsing with a crash that shook the earth.

  “Cole!”

  He was climbing to his feet and didn’t hear his High-Chief’s warning in time. Another dragon appeared, snapping him up in its lethal fangs, shaking him from side to side like a dog shakes a rodent before flinging him away.

  “Help him, Ilgard!”

  He threw a glance from my face to the body of his fallen warrior. The scarlet, winged beast was advancing on Cole again, and directly between it and him were several Ranetron. Not only were they in the beast’s path, they were also hemmed in by the Warkin, who, sensing the tide of battle turning in their favor, were preparing to strike. Without help, they were dead.

  Whether the assistance of one Simathe, even the Simathe High-Chief, was enough to save them, I didn’t know. However, I did know Ilgard couldn’t face the Dark One in my place. This was something I had to do myself, no matter that the power sustaining me was gone. Maybe all I had left was sheer determination, but mayb
e that was enough.

  “Get me on my feet, and get out of here. Go help them,” I implored. “Let me see this through, whatever the outcome. If I don’t make, it’s up to you and your men to mount some kind of resistance, to give Aerisia all the help you can.”

  He was Simathe. I shouldn’t have been able to read his thoughts, but I could see written all over his face that he despised this choice. He hated leaving me. He hated himself for doing it. He hated the circumstances forcing it upon him, but he also knew I was right. He rose, pulling me up. His hands clutched my shoulders, his fingers digging painfully into my flesh. His eyes were fierce, almost wild.

  “Hannah…”

  He began to speak, but I shook my head. There wasn’t time. Whatever he wanted to say had to be left unsaid. I watched him take off, drawing his sword as he ran, before turning slowly, painfully in place to watch my enemy approach.

  A foul-smelling wind heralded the Dark One’s return. I must have injured It during our fighting earlier, or else when It wounded me—bursting the bubble of my strength—It had been wounded as killing the Warkin several days ago had damaged me. There was a limp to Its gait, and one arm hung at an odd angle, yet the blackness surrounding It was deeper than before, pulsing beneath the surface of Its skin.

  Its face had changed. The beautiful, iron-haired woman’s face, which I assumed had once been my grandmother’s, was gone. A gruesome head akin to a Cistweigh had taken her place, which seemed fitting for a creature comprised of the lives and deeds of so many servants of the Dark Powers. The eyes were the same rheumy, milky white, but the hair was now matted clumps of grey and black. The scar’s narrow, thin line was now a thick, open wound leaking pus and infested with maggots. The teeth in rotting, bleeding gums were yellow, and the lips cracked and scabbed. One ear was missing, and the nose was broken, a hump distorting the bridge. This woman, this creature, was Death and reeked of it.