White Sand

by Sanderson, Brandon

  She heard talking in the hallway beside her—more people coming to wait in line. N’Teese was right, the Lord Artisan certainly was busy. She was surprised he … .

  Khriss froze. Three forms had just walked into the room. A Kershtian in a dark daysider policeman’s uniform, the familiar curly-haired man who dressed like a darksider, and … Kenton.

  He strode confidently, his bright white robe shining in the room’s sunlight. The golden sash at his waist seemed to glow like one of the strings of the sand he could control. Kenton walked directly up to the Artisan’s steward, who immediately stood and began to bow obsequiously. A mumble ran through the room as those waiting noticed Kenton.

  The steward bowed a few more times, then pulled open the Lord Artisan’s doors and slipped inside. A moment later, the man the Artisan had been meeting with—a Kershtian whose robe bore the symbol of a stonemason—walked out, followed by the steward. The big-eared man bowed one last time to Kenton, gesturing toward the still-open door.

  Khriss watched with stupefaction. “He is important,” she mumbled. Then, moving before she missed her chance, she jumped off the bench and rushed forward to grab Kenton’s arm.

  The sand master jumped in surprise—he obviously hadn’t seen her in the corner.

  Khriss smiled sweetly at the confused steward, and rested her head on Kenton’s shoulder. “Tell him I’m with you,” she ordered under her breath.

  Kenton looked down in confusion. “Khriss?”

  “Tell him,” she pled.

  “Didn’t you slap me twice just earlier today?”

  Khriss blushed. “You deserved it,” she defended.

  Kenton chuckled. “You might be right,” he admitted. Then he mumbled something to the steward, who was looking at Khriss suspiciously. “You can come,” Kenton continued in Dynastic, “but only if you promise to be good.”

  “Good?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Kenton said. “The Lord Artisan is a busy man—try to restrict yourself to a dozen or two questions.”

  Khriss snorted, dropping his arm now that her ploy had worked and stalking triumphantly through the open door. Kenton followed with a shake of his head.

  The Lord Artisan’s meeting room was simply decorated, containing only a rug, a few paintings, and a table—which appeared to be constructed from plates of carapace. The table was stacked neatly with papers and ledgers. The Lord Artisan wore a simple gray robe, loose at the front instead of tied, with a tan underobe on beneath. He was a middle-aged man with a large, oval face and a businesslike attitude.

  He set a ledger on the desk as Kenton walked in, greeting him in Lossandin.

  “He says ‘Greetings, Lord Mastrell. You travel with quite a large group. I fear my simple office barely fits them all.’”

  Khriss looked down, grateful for N’Teese’s translation. The Lord Artisan was right—with Kenton’s group and Khriss’s, the small meeting room was rather full. Baon and the Kershtian trackt quickly moved to opposite corners at the back, however, watching each other carefully. The move freed up a little room in the center, making it seem less crowded.

  “I apologize for the intrusion, Lord Rite,” N’Teese translated Kenton’s response. “I’ve found that my company has become increasingly popular since we last saw one another.”

  The Lord Artisan smiled slightly. “You will find that such is the norm for those of our position. How can I help you?”

  “I believe you know, Lord Artisan,” Kenton replied. “I need your vote.”

  Khriss frowned. Kenton’s words were polite, but he obviously didn’t have any experience with politics. His attitude was defiant, even antagonistic.

  “Yes, I assumed that was what this was for,” the Lord Artisan said with a quiet sigh. He reached over, selecting a ledger from the table. “I appreciate your position, Lord Mastrell. But you know it would be difficult for me to give you any kind of support.”

  “The only thing I know, My Lord, is that the Diem has been treated unfairly,” Kenton countered. “Instead of confronting its problems when they should have, the Diem’s opponents are taking advantage of its weakness to brush it away. You think this will let you ignore us, but I promise you it will only bring further problems.”

  Khriss watched the interchange with interested eyes. Her first evaluation had been wrong—Kenton obviously had experience with politics. Or, at least, he had experience with debate. His stance, his inflections—he knew how to argue. However, he obviously wasn’t handling the situation very well. The Lord Artisan had welcomed him amiably at first, but now the man was getting defensive, reacting to Kenton’s attacks.

  “I care nothing for inter-Profession arguments, Lord Mastrell,” Rite said frankly. “You know that I have tried my entire career to avoid them. My only concern is to care for those who have elected me their leader. It is in their interest that I voted against you, not because of any personal enmity.”

  “The new A’Kar is calling for blood, Lord Rite,” Kenton responded. “Times are changing. What will the members of your Profession think when this new DaiKeen overruns Lossand? Is it in your interest to destroy your country’s longest, and most fearsome, source of protection?”

  Rite paused for a moment, then shook his head. “You’re right, Lord Mastrell. Times are changing. I don’t know about the A’Kar or his warrior priests. I do know about one group of thieves even more fearsome, however. One who has been pillaging Lossand for centuries. A group that has been taking what does not belong to them, offering no payment, and leaving good workmen destitute.

  “The sand masters are without law, Lord Kenton. Their mastrells take without need. They hoard works of art and demand our precious creations more out of spite than of want. Beyond that, they give nothing back to Lossand. Nothing. They offer no goods, they perform no service, and they give no reason we should keep them. I cannot, with good conscience, allow that to continue.”

  There must be a vote of some sort coming, Khriss guessed. N’Teese said the Taisha wanted to disband the sand masters.

  However, at this rate, Kenton would never gain any support. He was too argumentative—he would be better at convincing enemies to support him than friends. He needed compromise right now, not hostility.

  “N’Teese,” Khriss whispered. “I want you to translate exactly what I tell you.”

  #

  Kenton frowned. His biggest problem was the fact that he agreed with Rite. The Lord Artisan was right to vote against the Diem. Kenton would have done the same in his position. No amount of arguing would change the fact that over the last few centuries the mastrells had acted more like bandits than protectors.

  Kenton needed to rethink his strategy—the current one was obviously getting him nowhere. Rite was said to be the most level-headed and honest of the Taishin. If Kenton couldn’t convince him …

  “You say that the sand masters stole from your people,” Khriss said suddenly. “What kind of recompense would you need to forgive their trespass?”

  Kenton looked up with a frown. What was she doing? She had no idea what the argument was even about. The little girl at her side—the one who had been with her earlier—translated the words into Lossandin.

  “Ledgers have been kept of what the Diem owes my Profession,” Rite replied, speaking as if Kenton had said the words. He obviously assumed that Khriss was one of Kenton’s aids, speaking on his authority. “It isn’t what is owed that bothers me,” Rite continued. “The possibility of future thefts is always more worrisome than what has happened in the past.”

  “And if the thefts stopped?” Khriss asked.

  “They will not,” the Lord Artisan replied with a shake of his head. “The fact is, the Diem needs what the other Professions produce. It can’t eat without the farmers’ food; it can’t function without the Hall’s scribes; and it can’t survive without my cooks and servants. Even if you agree to stop taking works of art from my craftsmen, the thefts will continue as long as the Diem is in existence.”

  Kent
on watched, uncertain whether to be angry for the intrusion or thankful for the distraction. Perhaps if Khriss continued with her eternal questioning, Kenton could think of a way to bring the Lord Artisan to his side.

  “Then, is there a way that the Diem could pay for what it takes?” Khriss asked.

  Rite shrugged. “I don’t see how. The only money the Diem has it receives as gifts from the other Professions.”

  “Yes, but can you ignore that sand mastery is a wondrous tool?” Khriss asked, walking forward, to stand beside the Lord Artisan’s desk, speaking more friendly.

  “I do not deny that,” the Lord Artisan replied, seating himself on the side of his desk. “Unfortunately, its practitioners have squandered its potential.”

  “That can change,” Khriss assured. “You yourself said the future is more important than the past. Is there no way the sand masters could be of use to the members of your Profession?”

  The Lord Artisan set down his ledger, rubbing at his chin in thought. “If the stories are true—I can never be certain, considering how secretive the mastrells are—then there are many ways they could be useful. I’ve seen a sand master lift more than ten men, heard reports of a mastrell drilling a hole through a foot of stone with his mind. Those sorts of abilities would be extremely useful to the construction-oriented sub-professions. But, such speculation is useless. The sand masters would never lower themselves to such a level.”

  “And if they would?” Khriss asked.

  The Lord Artisan cocked his head slightly to the side, then shrugged. “If an arrangement could be made, then I would be much more amiable toward the Diem. However, I couldn’t allow them to continue taking wantonly. That kind of power is too easily abused.”

  Kenton lowered his hands to his waist, discarding his planned arguments. Khriss continued to speak through her diminutive translator, her voice encouraging. Slowly, the Lord Artisan’s eyes became less hostile.

  “They could take a percentage of the projects they help complete,” Khriss continued. “And apply that toward what they need from your members. That way, if you need more help for some reason, there is incentive for them to cooperate.”

  “Your proposal has merit, Lord Mastrell,” Rite said, standing and looking at Kenton. “You should have put this idea forward sooner. Perhaps if the other Taisha knew you were willing to give sand mastery a practical use, the previous vote would not have gone so strongly against you.”

  “It is a relatively … new proposal, Lord Artisan,” Kenton replied. “I haven’t even had much time to think it over myself.”

  Rite nodded. “So is what your associate says an offer or a postulation?”

  Kenton paused. It completely broke with tradition. Sand masters didn’t sell their powers for money—it was precisely that sort of transgression that had lost Drile his mastrell’s sash. But, if the money went to the Diem instead of individuals … . Besides, the Diem had been selling itself for years. It had been funded in exchange for protection from Kershtian threats.

  “It is an offer, My Lord,” Kenton replied.

  “Then I accept, My Lord,” Rite said after a moment’s thought. Then he held up a finger. “Provided the Diem can pay back its debts as a sign of good faith.”

  “How am I supposed—” Kenton cut himself off. He took a deep breath. “All right, My Lord. The Lady Judge has placed a similar restriction on me. You’ll get your seven hundred thousand Lak.”

  Rite shook his head. “Seven hundred thousand? I don’t know who has been giving you your information, Lord Mastrell. You owe us a hundred and fifty thousand, and the Fields another fifty thousand.”

  Two hundred thousand? Kenton frowned in confusion. Then to whom did the Diem owe the other five hundred thousand? The Lord Merchant?

  “You’ll get your Lak, My Lord,” Kenton promised, bowing slightly after the manner of Taisha, an action mimicked by Rite. “I understand you are a busy man, and …”

  Kenton trailed off, noticing a glaring look from Khriss.

  “Oh, just one more thing, My Lord,” Kenton said.

  Rite looked up from his stacks of papers. “Yes?”

  “My associate here, the Duchess Khrissalla, is searching for a friend of hers. His name is Prince Gevalden of darkside—he is a very important kelzi in her homeland. He would have arrived in Lossand a couple of years ago. Have you ever heard of him?”

  Rite paused thoughtfully, then shook his head. “I know little of the workings of darksiders, but I would probably recall if someone of that level of prestige came to meet me. I do not remember any such meeting.”

  “Thank you anyway, My Lord,” Kenton said.

  “And you, Lord Mastrell,” Rite responded. “I have often wondered what our two Professions could accomplish if we worked together. You may not realize this, but I have, over the years, offered the Diem many proposals similar to the very one you just gave me. I was always rejected.”

  “I hadn’t realized that, Lord Artisan,” Kenton said, blinking slightly in surprise.

  Rite nodded. “Good day, Lord Mastrell.”

  #

  Kenton strode out of the room much more optimistic than when he had strode in. It wasn’t a complete victory—he still had to pay of the Diem’s debts. Still, at least one of the Taisha seemed to have come to his side. If he could convince one, then perhaps …

  Of course, he hadn’t been the one to do the convincing. He turned as he left the room to find Khriss following behind, smiling with a self-satisfied air.

  “That was … well done,” he complimented thankfully.

  Khriss snorted. “Don’t mistake me,” she replied. “I’m still angry at you. I just thought I would intervene before the Lord Artisan had us thrown out of the building.”

  “I’m sorry about your prince,” Kenton said.

  Khriss frowned. “I don’t really know what I expected,” she confessed. “Why would he know anything about darksiders? You people don’t even know what nobility is. Anyway, where are we going next?”

  “We?” Kenton asked with raised eyebrows.

  “I assume you’re visiting the Taisha, trying to get support so they don’t destroy your Profession.”

  Kenton raised his eyebrows in surprise. She knew a lot for having only been in Kezare for a day. “True,” he admitted. “But I won’t be able to do any more today. Most Taisha close their offices at third hour.” He nodded toward the closed doors before them to prove his point. The waiting room, nearly full when he had arrived, was now completely empty—its occupants would have to return the next day to continue their waiting.

  Khriss muttered something in Dynastic Kenton didn’t catch. “All right,” she said. “Tomorrow then? Who will you visit tomorrow?”

  “I was planning on going to see the Lord General,” Kenton explained.

  “He’s gone,” Khriss replied. “He went on a hunt of some sort.”

  “A hunt?” Kenton asked with confusion. “To the deep sands? Why would he … .”

  “He’s trying to avoid you,” Eric said, pouring himself a drink from the room’s water basin. “Father always goes on hunts when he thinks a lot of people are going to try and visit him. He does it just to spite them.”

  “Father?” Khriss asked with surprise.

  Eric smiled, raising his cup as if in toast, then gulping it down.

  “Who are you?” Khriss wondered.

  “Someone of absolutely no import,” Eric replied, “and determined to stay that way, thank you.”

  “I don’t have time to wait,” Kenton said, frowning. “I assume he’ll head for the closest deep sand.”

  Eric nodded.

  “It’s only about a few days away …” Kenton mused. “Less if you have a quick mount.”

  Eric smiled. “Father won’t take kindly to having his hunt interrupted.”

  “I don’t see that he’s left me much choice,” Kenton said.

  “I’m going with you,” Khriss announced.

  Kenton sighed. “Khrissalla, I am no
t going to drag you all the way to the deep sands.”

  “I can—”

  “No,” Kenton interrupted. “The deep sands are dangerous enough for those who have lived their entire lives on dayside. I’m sorry, but I can’t bring someone I need to watch over.”

  “After what I just did for you?” she asked incredulously. “You owe me!”

  Kenton sighed. “Not again … I appreciate what you did in there. The Lord General is different than Rite, however. He won’t react to negotiating or sweet-talking. I’m still not sure how I’m going to convince him.” Then, to head off her continued objection, Kenton raised a hand. “Look, I’ll ask him about Gevalden for you.”

  Khriss frowned. “And what am I supposed to do while you’re gone? None of the Taisha will see me.”

  “I’ll give you a letter of recommendation,” Kenton replied. “You can use it to get in to speak with them.”

  Khriss frowned, then shot a look at Baon that Kenton couldn’t quite read. Finally she nodded. “All right. N’Teese, go with him and get the letter. Bring it back to our house.”

  And, without another word, she pushed open the doors leading outside, and strode out.

  #

  Kenton looked at the constructions with an interested eye. Between the time he had left to visit the Lord Admiral and his return, the Diem’s courtyard had gone through a transformation.

  Workers had erected scaffolding and were proceeding to build a broad stairway leading to the upper floors. The men worked efficiently—they couldn’t afford to displease the Lord Mastrell—but quickly—they also knew they probably wouldn’t be paid for their efforts.

  “Do you like it, sir?” Dirin asked anxiously. “I thought, I mean, since the ladders didn’t work, that …”

  “It’s a good idea, Dirin,” Kenton replied approvingly. “Exactly what I was looking for. Thank you.”

  “They’re going to build one in every corner,” Dirin explained. “Then everyone will be able to get to all three floors.”

  “Perfect,” Kenton said. The steps weren’t ready yet, however, so he called his sand to life.