White Sand

by Sanderson, Brandon

  “My Lords and Lady,” Kenton said, breaking back into the conversation. His first appeal, four years ago, had been poorly prepared and pathetically executed. Since that time, he had spent a great deal of time teaching himself to do better. He’d needed some way to spend his time—all of his lessons in the Diem had been repetitious the first year around, let alone the eighth.

  “I understand this is difficult to believe,” he continued, “but I do have a witness who can prove my point.”

  “Who?” the Lord General demanded.

  “Undermastrell Elorin,” Kenton explained. “He was near the front of the proceedings, and would have been able to hear Lord Praxton give me the mastrellship. Unfortunately, Elorin was left powerless from overmastery, and has since disappeared.”

  “Not much of a witness,” Vey said with a snort.

  “Agreed,” Heelis said. “A man who can give no testimony is not a witness, young Kenton.”

  “Yes, but is not the possibility of my true-spoken words enough for you to hear my plea? All I ask is justice be done.”

  “Justice?” Reegent asked. “What right do you have to demand justice? You, who have used this Council as your personal tool of defiance. Your history of insubordination is well known, Kenton. You spite all that governs and creates order, and now you want us to give you the authority to rule over others?”

  “I have said nothing of requesting authority, Lord General,” Kenton said.

  “Are you saying your purpose here is not to name yourself as Lord Mastrell?” Heelis asked pointedly.

  “No, Lady Judge,” Kenton said truthfully. “I will admit that such could very well be a side-effect of what I have to say. However, I will be honest with you when I say I do not seek to be Lord Mastrell. In all frankness, I’d make a horrible Lord Mastrell. What Lord Reegent said about me is true—I have little patience for authority.”

  “Then what do you want, young Kenton?”

  “I come only to plead on the Diem’s behalf. Do not make Drile the Lord Mastrell. It doesn’t matter who else you choose—acolent or fen. Just don’t choose Drile. The man is a tyrant and a criminal. The Diem would suffer beneath his rule.”

  Heelis smiled slightly. “Young Kenton, we weren’t going to make him Lord Mastrell.”

  Kenton froze, blinking in surprise. “Excuse me, Lady Judge?” he asked.

  “Perhaps you should check to see what trial you’re attending before you stick your face into it, Ry’Kensha,” Vey said with a snicker.

  “These proceedings are not to ratify a new Lord Mastrell,” Heelis continued. “Though that may be what everyone assumes. The Council’s purpose is not to choose who will lead the Diem in the future, but to determined if there is even going to be a Diem in the future.”

  “What?” Kenton asked with shock. “You would . . . disband the Diem?”

  “Yes,” Heelis said simply.

  “But, you can’t destroy one of the Professions,” Kenton said with confusion. “What good would that do?”

  “Whining will get you nowhere, Ry’Kensha,” Vey snapped. “This Council may do as we please. There are provisions for it in the Law.”

  “Did someone say wine?” Delious interrupted, looking up from the place where he had been resting his head on the table. Everyone ignored him.

  “The Lord Merchant is correct, young Kenton,” Heelis said. “The Law says that if a Profession is left without leadership, irrevocably decayed or destroyed, that it can be removed—assuming that the function it provides is not vital.”

  “But, the sand masters are vital,” Kenton said. He knew the statement was weak, but he was trying to keep them talking while he reoriented himself. Dissolve the Diem? He had come intending to denounce Drile, not try and save an entire Profession.

  “Vital?” Reegent asked. “Boy, you sand masters are the most redundant, overpaid group on the sands. What do you do? You sit in your castle and look down at the rest of Lossand, sucking away its resources and giving nothing in return.”

  “We offer protection from the Kershtians,” Kenton rebutted.

  “We haven’t been at war with the Kershtians for centuries,” the Lord General said. “Not since the merchants took the power from the priests. Besides, can you really claim you could protect us? How well did you do in protecting yourselves?”

  He has a point, Kenton admitted to himself.

  “The fact is, young Kenton,” Heelis said softly, “that the other Professions are tired of supporting the Diem. You cost nearly as much in the people’s taxes as the Tower’s soldiers, yet you give nothing in return. The Mastrells are allowed to take anything they want from a merchant without offering recompense; they presume to rule over Lossand, always careful to maintain an air of mysticism and control. Sand masters are almost more famous for their arrogance than their powers.”

  “And now you do something?” Kenton demanded. “You strike when the Diem is weak and cannot defend itself? Why not speak out earlier, try to change the Diem before its arrogance led to its destruction?”

  Surprisingly, Kenton actually managed to create a tiny flash of guilt in Heelis’s even-tempered eyes. “Perhaps we should have,” she admitted. “But that time is gone now, and this is our chance to act.”

  “And what will the sand masters do?” Kenton shot back. “Dissolving the Diem will not get rid of us.”

  “We were going to decide that during the next Council,” Heelis explained.

  “Personally, I think exile is the best choice,” Vey announced, a thin smile on his lips.

  Kenton snorted. “What would you do, Lord Vey? Create a state where sand masters are hunted like sandlings? Turn this nation into a place of fear and prejudice?”

  “Sand mastery must be taught, young Kenton,” Heelis reminded. “I have studied your ways—I know how new sand masters are made. It is not spontaneous; it takes you weeks to even decide if a person has ability or not. Sand masters never just appear in the population.”

  “So you would exterminate the power entirely?” Kenton asked, suddenly feeling chilled. Heelis knew a lot—probably more than she should. It would be possible, if they made an effort, to get rid of sand mastery completely.

  “If a skill gives this people no benefit, then is it worth the trouble of its upkeep?” Heelis asked quietly.

  “To say nothing of its danger,” Reegent added.

  That’s what it is, Kenton realized, nodding silently to himself in understanding. They claim its the money, they say its our arrogance, but in the end its our power. Power they can’t control. The sand masters could have taken over Lossand at any time, and they all know it.

  “My Lords and Lady, you make many accusations.” Kenton said, searching for anything that would help him. He had memorized large chunks of the Law in his attempts to foil his father, but most of what he had studied dealt directly with the Diem. He hadn’t the background for an argument with more general application.

  “I won’t say that your claims are not true,” Kenton continued. “I fact, I will back many of them. As Lord Reegent pointed out, I have spent much of my life fighting against the Diem’s leadership. I know well their arrogance and selfishness. But, the Law was not created for the purpose of destruction. It exists to help Lossand. Should we throw away a tool simply because it has been misused in the past? The Law says ‘Let the Professions serve in their proscribed duties, for the benefit of the people and the nation as a whole.’

  “Well, that is what I ask of you. Let the sand masters serve. Now, when we are weakened, is the time to change us for the better, not the time to bury us in the sands. For who knows the day when you might need to dig us back out, only to find that we’ve were lost to the kerla’s winds long ago?”

  “You argue well, young Kenton,” Heelis acknowledged, her aged eyes searching Kenton’s face. “But, I fear your words come too late. We have waited for centuries as the sand masters grew in power and dominance. This tool is not just one that hasn’t been used, but one that has been broken an
d warped to the point that its original potential has been lost. Perhaps it is better that we cast it to the sands so we can become accustomed to working without it. But, I speak only for myself, not this entire Council. I believe, unless one of the other Taisha has something to add, that it is time for vote.”

  Heelis checked the faces of the other Taishin, who, except for Delious, who appeared to be asleep, nodded. She looked to the proceedings judge, who shook his head—Drile must have removed his name when he realized that Kenton’s arguments weren’t going to do any good.

  “Then we vote. Lord General?”

  “I vote to dissolve,” Reegent announced firmly.

  “Lord Merchant?”

  “I as well, Lady Judge,” Vey said, trying to look distinguished despite the fact that he sat at least a foot shorter than everyone else at the table.

  “Lord Farmer?”

  “Dissolve,” Gennel announced.

  “Lord Mason?”

  The red-headed emissary of Selcomb, Lord Mason—head of Lossand’s diggers and miners—nodded. “In behalf of my Lord Selcomb, I also vote against, Lady Heelis.”

  “Lord Artisan?”

  Rite, spokesman for Lossand’s craftsmen, nodded his solemn head. “It is for the best, I believe. Dissolve.”

  “And Lord Admiral.”

  Rite nudged Delious, who looked up disorientedly. “What’s that? Time to vote? What did Vey say?”

  “The Lord Merchant voted to dissolve the Diem,” Heelis said, her voice barely tolerant.

  “Well, I vote the opposite then,” Delious said with a yawn, smiling at the Kershtian Lord Merchant, who scowled back. In all four of Kenton’s appeals, only Delious had voted for him—and each time he only did so because Vey had voted against Kenton.

  “And I vote to dissolve as well,” Heelis said. “I am afraid, Kenton, that even if we made you Lord Mastrell, your reign would be brief. This Council has decided that henceforth there will be only seven Professions in Lossand. The Diem is to be dissolved. We will decide what to do with you in our next Council meeting tomorrow.”

  “Forbid them to practice their unholy art,” Vey encouraged, looking at Kenton with loathing eyes.

  “That will be decided on the morrow,” Heelis informed.

  Kenton felt his hand slide from the podium, stunned. Yet, at the same time, part of him was not surprised. He had come in to this argument half-expecting to fail. The last four times he had stood on the testimony platform, he had received similar responses. All his struggles had conditioned him to accept the fact that victories were rare. Very rare.

  He turned, stepping down from the podium as conversations erupted around the room. No more Diem. He had failed.

  And, for some reason, this failure felt different than the ones before. Kenton frowned, not quite able to understand the pained despair in his chest, the sickness, the feeling of utter frustration. He was used to failure—it had been a long time since he had let losing an argument bother him. Why was he so hurt this time?

  And slowly, as he thought about it, he came to understand. Every time before, his losses had only affected him. He had been fighting for himself, and he hadn’t really feared losing. He had been fighting just to fight—the outcome was immaterial. No one had been counting on him.

  He looked up, seeking out Dirin, who sat slumped beside a wall a short distance away. The young boy’s head was bowed, and Kenton could see him shaking from the sobs. How would the rest of the Diem feel, those whose entire lives had been spent learning sand mastery and serving in their places? They too were victims of the mastrells, but they were to be cast aside like a shattered weapon.

  That sickness you feel, the pain, he said to himself, for some reason forming the words with his father’s voice. That is responsibility. That is what you fought to receive all this time—it was the unnoticed reward of your struggle.

  The members of the Diem had been counting on Kenton, even if they didn’t know it. He had been representing them; it had been his duty to save them. This time, his arguments hadn’t just been for himself. This time, the decision actually mattered. And he had failed.

  “No!” Kenton yelled. He turned, stepping back up onto the podium and slammed his fist against its carapace. The front of the room began to quiet around him, people who had been standing to leave instead turning to look at the source of the sudden noise.

  “Kenton, step down,” Heelis counseled. Half of the Taishin were already out of their seats.

  “No!” Kenton repeated. “I demand this proceedings be declared void.”

  “On what grounds?” Heelis snapped.

  “On the grounds that I wasn’t informed that it would occur,” Kenton informed firmly. Passages of Law seemed to flood into his mind, forming connections and conclusions almost without effort. For the first time in his life, he had a purpose to go with his arguments.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Vey said with a snort.

  Kenton looked Vey directly in the eyes. “By the Law, as expressly stated in the Diem’s Charter, section the fourth, as soon as a Lord Mastrell dies from either natural or external causes, the mastrell who has served in his position for the greatest number of years becomes the acting head of the Diem. If he is unable to serve in this capacity, the title passes to the next senior mastrell and so forth. It is the acting head of the Diem’s duty to mediate the council of mastrells, who will choose the next Lord Mastrell, a choice that is then formally ratified by the Council of Taishin.”

  “Yes,” Heelis said. “And so?”

  “And,” Kenton said, punctuating the word with a snap of his voice. He spoke with determination, his voice authoritative, “in the general Law Charter, section the fifteenth, subsection the first, the laws for governing the removal of a Taisha, either formal or acting, from his place are set forth. He must be given two weeks notice to prepare for the Council meeting that will remove his title for any reason.

  “At the deaths of the other mastrells, I immediately became acting head of the Diem. This Council this day, in attempting to dissolve the Diem, has by tangential effect removed me from my place. That cannot have happened unless you gave me warning of this meeting two weeks before this day.”

  “But the Diem hadn’t even been attacked two weeks ago!” Reegent protested.

  “The Law is explicit,” Kenton said.

  Reegent snorted. “I thought you didn’t want to be Lord Mastrell.”

  “That is not what this is about, Lord General,” Kenton shot back.

  “Heelis,” Reegent said, “tell this boy he is a fool, and let us be going.”

  The Lady Judge, however, had slowly settled herself back into her chair, her face deep in thought, a slight frown on her lips.

  “Heelis?” Reegent asked again.

  “He is right,” she finally whispered.

  “What!” Reegent demanded.

  “This judgement is void, Lord General,” Heelis informed. “The boy is right—the Law is very specific. No Taisha can be removed unless there is at least two-weeks warning given. Actually, the announcement is supposed to be made to the entire Profession, not just its leader. We acted too hastily.”

  The other Taishin had stopped, and the room had now fallen nearly silent.

  “As Lady Judge,” Heelis said in a firm, if resentful, voice, “I must declare the proceedings of this Council void. The Diem is not to be dissolved.”

  Vey hissed in surprised, but Reegent only shook his head in anger. Kenton, however, felt as if a massive weight had slipped free from his back.

  “But,” Heelis continued sharply, “I am hereby formally giving you notice, Kenton. In two weeks this Council will meet again, and there we will decide whether or not to dissolve the Diem. I suspect the votes will not magically change during the wait.”

  “You give me notice,” Kenton said in response. “Does that mean this council accepts and ratifies me as Lord Mastrell?”

  Heelis paused.

  “There is only one mastrell left, m
y Lords and Lady,” Kenton said. “If you don’t ratify me, then you will have to ratify someone. You have to make the formal announcement of the trial directly to the Lord Mastrell.”

  Heelis caught the eyes of the other Council members, who shrugged.

  “No,” Heelis finally decided. “You are not Lord Mastrell—but you are acting Lord Mastrell. I can deliver the announcement to you anyway.”

  “What difference does it make?” Kenton asked.

  “You are the one who is so strict about the Law, young Kenton,” Heelis informed. “Well, the Law says that the Council cannot ratify a new Taisha until it is satisfied that the person has actually been chosen. Since your mastrellship is still in doubt, we cannot ratify you. That also means that you do not get a vote on this Council.”

  “All right,” Kenton said slowly.

  “In addition,” Heelis continued, “under the Law I am going to consider the votes of this Council today the decision of a preliminary hearing.”

  Kenton frowned. She was getting into the parts of the Law he hadn’t studied. He was no lawyer, even though he had done some research.

  “In case you don’t know what that means,” Heelis continued, sensing his confusion, “a preliminary hearing is one held before a preset date—such as the two week rule you spoke of. Its decisions are binding unless its members decide unanimously to throw it out.”

  “Unanimously?” Kenton asked.

  “That is right, acting Lord Mastrell,” Heelis said, standing and taking Reegent’s offered arm. “In two weeks this Council will meet again. And, unless you can convince every member of its body to vote in favor of the Diem, your Profession will be dissolved. Good day.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ais stood beneath the sun’s divine power, feeling its heat surround him. His formal trackt’s uniform amplified the warmth, its black colors sucking in heat and holding it close. Many new trackts complained about the dark color, though they soon became accustomed to it. Ais had never complained. Black was the color of justice—it was straightforward, unmistakable, and impossible to adulterate by adding other colors. In addition, the color was avoided by most other people, and so trackts always stood out in a crowd. When there was danger or a problem, people knew that they would find aid where they saw the distinctive blackness of a trackt uniform.