Khriss nodded. “I remember being awakened by Baon. He had gone off with the captain and lieutenant to scout ahead while the rest of us got some sleep. He rode back into camp in a flurry, and warned us that the border patrol was near.”
“Yes, well …” Acron continued. “I couldn’t sleep that day. I don’t know what it was, but when the rest of you set up camp and went to bed, I just sat in my tent thinking. Just before Baon rode into camp, I heard to pistol shots. Only two. They were in the distance, barely audible, but I did hear them. I swear it, My Lady. I’m not making this up, I heard them.”
Khriss frowned. Two shots? What was Acron implying?
“There were only two,” Acron continued. “Don’t you see? Baon said the border patrol was chasing them, and shot the captain in the back. Shouldn’t there have been more shots? And why didn’t they shoot at Baon?”
“What are you implying, Acron?” Khriss asked.
“I don’t know,” the fat man admitted, rubbing his hands nervously. “It’s just that … I’ve never been able to trust that mercenary since. I don’t think he told us the truth that night.”
“Baon, lie?” Khriss asked incredulously. “Acron, you’re worried for no reason. Perhaps the captain was shot further away, and the two shots you heard came from the patrol as it chased Baon.”
“Yes, of course, My Lady,” Acron agreed. “That must be it.” The overweight man smiled, though she could tell he wasn’t convinced by her explanation. He nodded to her anyway, and waddled toward the other room.
Oh, Shella, Khriss thought with frustration. I don’t need this right now. However, now that Acron had planted the seed, she couldn’t help but be a little suspicious herself. There definitely had been something strange about that night. Why had the captain and Baon suddenly decided to scout ahead together? Why hadn’t she noticed any sign of pursuit, despite Baon’s insistence that a border patrol had nearly found them? Once her curiosity had something to dig at, it wouldn’t let her simply ignore such questions.
With a sigh, she moved to join the others.
#
“He wants to see you,” N’Teese said. She didn’t bother with formalities or hellos, she just proclaimed her news as soon as she walked through the sitting-room door.
“When?” Khriss asked, sitting in one of the plush chairs beside the fire, sipping at her tea.
“Right now,” N’Teese informed.
“Now?” Khriss asked with surprise. “No waiting?”
“Well, you can probably wait if you want,” N’Teese said with a shrug. “If you want to meet him later, I could …”
“I’m coming,” Khriss said, nodding for Baon to follow. “You two,” she said to Acron and Cynder, “keep looking for information about the prince.”
“You want us to go out again?” Acron asked with a frown of displeasure, one mimicked in a less-exaggerated way by Cynder. The two had just decided to play a game of conquest on the sitting-room’s gameboard.
“Yes, again,” Khriss insisted. “We didn’t travel across the world to play games.”
She followed N’Teese out of the house and toward the nearest exit from darksider town. Soon they were back in the increasingly-familiar daylight, though Khriss could still only last a few minutes before she had to put on her glasses. She didn’t know how Baon did it.
N’Teese led her to what had to be the most run-down, decrepit section of Kezare. It sat next to the market, but had none of its flamboyance or colors. The buildings here seemed to lean against each other, struggling to remain upright. Perhaps only the closeness of the walls—most of them built right against one another—kept them from collapsing. Of course, that meant that if one of them went, the rest probably would as well.
What alleyways there were appeared to be inhabited by slime-covered families, people who made roofs out of garbage and turned the narrow passageways into homes. Normal people passed through the streets with determined steps, trying their best not to look to either side, trying not to notice the lame, the poor, and the unfortunate huddled by the buildings.
N’Teese’s path ended in a dirty corner between two tall buildings. Khriss wrinkled her nose at the smell of garbage and sewage. Inside, she could see several forms huddled beside a wall. N’Teese walked into the alley, and Khriss followed reluctantly, trying to step in places that were a little bit cleaner than the rest.
The huddled forms turned out to be a man with several hungry-looking children. Their house, if it could be called that, consisted of what looked like the shell of a sandling. A form in a brown robe stood stooped beside the father, mumbling quietly in a comforting tone. Nilto. He patted the father on the shoulder, and handed him a small bag of something, then stood.
“Let us go,” he said in his hissing whisper of a voice, motioning for Khriss and N’Teese to follow him out of the alleyway. Khriss did so happily.
Nilto stopped when they reached the street outside, and once again Khriss was struck by the cruel deformity that was his face. His very bones seemed twisted and misaligned, his skin scarred and melted. He walked with a very pronounced limp.
“I sicken you so, woman of darkside?” He spoke in Lossandin, waiting for N’Teese to translate.
Khriss wasn’t certain how to answer. “What makes you think that?” she asked with as much tact as she could manage.
“Your face,” he responded, leaning down to take a seat on the rocky ground beside the building. “Sit.”
“Here?” Khriss asked incredulously, eyeing the dirty floor.
“You requested an audience. Well, this is my office,” Nilto replied, waving a hand toward the streets. “If you want to speak with me, you will have to do it here.”
Khriss frowned again, carefully seating herself on the ground, trying not to imagine what she might be sitting on. She cleared her mind, however, remember the prince, she told herself. If this man could help her, then it was worth any injustice to speak with him.
As she took her seat, Nilto waved to a small boy waiting in a doorway nearby. The boy, covered with dirt and wearing no shirt, ran over to Nilto. The Lord Beggar whispered in his ear for a moment, then the boy took off, dashing away on some errand.
“Now,” Nilto asked, “why are you bothering me?”
Well, it appears he has manners to match his face, Khriss thought. “I have been sent to you by the Lady Judge. She seems to think you might be able to help me.”
“I doubt it,” the Lord Beggar hissed.
Khriss ground her teeth, trying to remain diplomatic in front of his hostility. “I am looking for someone,” she said. “A man from darkside.”
“And why would I care about a darksider?” the Lord Beggar demanded.
“I don’t know,” Khriss confessed. “But it appears that you are the one who keeps track of such things. Hs name was Gevalden, and he was a prince on darkside. A son of a very important person.”
“A kelzi, then?” Nilto asked.
“Something like that,” Khriss agreed.
Nilto nodded toward the beggars lining the street. “We have little use for kelzi here, woman of darkside. Besides, perhaps, what we might be able to take from them, should we manage to trap them in an alley somewhere.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” Khriss guessed.
“And why not?” the Lord Beggar demanded.
“Because,” Khriss said. “The people of this city seem to respect you—the Lady Judge spoke favorably of you. They look at you as a savior, not as a murderer.”
The Lord Beggar grunted. “I know nothing of your darkside prince, woman.”
Khriss’s eyes thinned. The man was lying. She could see it in his eyes—or, at least, in the one that wasn’t scarred shut. “Where is he?” she demanded.
The Lord Beggar smiled slightly. “What have you gone through to find this man? Can he really be worth the trouble?”
“I promise you, he is,” Khriss shot back.
Nilto paused, looking up at the sky. Khriss followed his gaze, but couldn
’t find anything at its end. Nothing but the strange blue sky, void of stars.
“Gevalden of Elis is dead,” the Lord Beggar finally said.
Khriss felt herself grow cold.
“He was barely alive when they brought him into the city,” Nilto continued. “Something had happened on the sands, some sort of accident. I’ve been told he refused to die until he actually arrived in Kezare. He kept mumbling about sand wizards or something, and a kingdom on the other side of the world.”
“You lie,” Khriss shot back. However, this time she didn’t believe her own words. There was something in Nilto’s eyes—something chilling about the way he spoke.
“Loaten was the only one in darksider town who recognized him,” Nilto continued. “He cared for Gevalden during the last days of his life. I don’t know why I even cared. But, there was something about this man—something about the innocence in his face—that made me curious. Who was this man who had come across the world, dressed in his finery with dozens of attendants? Who was this individual who refused to die until he reached his goal? But, in the end, the sands took him like they take everyone.”
Khriss blinked against tears that threatened to come. “You lie,” she repeated.
The small boy had returned, carrying a cloth-wrapped package.
“Here,” Nilto said, handing her the package. “These probably belong to you.”
Inside were two things. A ring and a shiny silver pistol, well crafted with designs carved into its wooden hilt. Gevin’s signet ring and his firearm. There were blood-stains on the hilt of the gun.
“Oh, Shella …” Khriss whispered despite herself.
“Why should you care so much for this one, woman of darkside,” the Lord Beggar hissed. “Look around you. Dozens of these people die each week, and do you think their families grieve any less for them? Who cares for the ones who aren’t princes, who aren’t important. No one. Your nobility sickens me, woman. Be gone with you. You’ve found your answers, now scurry back to your comfortable home. Hide like the creature of darkness that you are.”
Khriss sat up stiffly, clutching the gun and ring to her chest. “I was wrong about you,” she whispered back. “You are a horrible man.”
“Oh, I know, duchess. I know.” Nilto smiled.
Khriss tried to stand, slipping as tears began to well in her eyes. Baon, however, caught her on the arm and hoisted her to her feet. She stood there for a moment, stunned. She didn’t want to move, she didn’t want to think.
Gevin can’t be gone, she insisted. He can’t … Her feet refused to move.
Baon took her arm, leading her back toward darksider town. And as they left, the sound of Nilto’s laughter chased them from behind.
Chapter Twenty
“You are a fool. What were you thinking he would do? Welcome you back with open arms?”
Eric paced in the sun, standing away from his father’s tent.
“He ignored you. That’s perfect. Neither of you have to deal with each other. Why are you so worried?”
Eric continued to pace.
“He disowned you. Your ties are cut. You can go back to darkside guilt-free and never have to even think of him again. What were you even thinking, coming back? You hate it over here. So bright, so hot and sticky … . What a fool. You should—”
“What are you doing?”
Eric looked up with surprise. The Kershtian trackt, Ais, stood a short distance away.
“Were you talking to yourself?” Ais asked with a frown.
“Of course not,” Eric said briskly, turning to stride away from the trackt. Were was Kenton, anyway? How long would it be before he realized Reegent was just playing with him? Eric knew his father, recognized the duplicity behind the man’s smile. He didn’t know why Reegent was acting kind, but he was fairly certain Kenton would not leave the deep sands with any kind of commitment from the Lord General.
Eric squinted, looking across the sands in the direction his friend had gone.
“This entire trip was a waste,” he mumbled with a frown. He thought he could hear something.
Men screaming … ?
#
Kenton dashed over the top of the dune, calling his sand to life with a flash of light. Beyond he saw a sandling so enormous it made the creature at the end of the Mastrell’s Path look tiny.
Legs large as buildings, a triangular head that could have swallowed ten men whole, a body that rose like a mountain out of the sand. Each step threw up a ripple of sand, scattering warriors holding tiny hammers. At least a dozen men lay half-buried by the wave sand that the creature’s emergence must have produced.
Reegent was one of those half-buried. Even as Kenton watched, the Lord General tried to pull himself free of the dune that buried his lower half. His motions became more frantic as one of the creature’s feet lifted, moving toward Reegent …
Kenton jumped into action, adrenaline and sand boosting his leap off the dune, propelling toward the battle at a horrific rate. He had to get close enough to grab Reegent with his sand.
Kenton landed beside a couple of soldiers who were scrambling away, dragging a wounded comrade. Kenton leapt again, spinning through the air toward the creature itself. One of the beast’s tails roared through the air toward him, and Kenton pushed himself higher in the air to flip over the tail. At least fifty feet in the air now, Kenton let himself fall, the KaRak’s second tail whipping over his head, the speed of its motion carrying so much wind in its wake that it created a miniature sand storm.
Kenton coughed in the sand, blinking his eyes clear as he plummeted toward the ground. He began to slow his decent, but then he noticed Reegent. The creature’s leg was about to crush him.
Kenton shot his sand away from himself, hurling it toward the Lord General at a speed no other mastrell could ever have obtained. The sand flew like a spear, slamming into Reegent and grabbing him in its grip and ripping him free of the dune just as the KaRak’s leg crushed the sand.
Kenton slammed into the ground, the impact making his vision flash with pain and he cried out, involuntarily loosing control of his sand. He shook his head, trying to regain his breath. Reegent, no longer held by sand, dropped through the air, crashing to the sand about twenty feet away. The Lord General moved limply, his leg was twisted at an unnatural angle.
Kenton tried to stand, but collapsed back to the sand. The motion pointed his eyes upward, and he saw a sight terrifying enough that he lost track of everything else around him.
The massive sandling was looking at him. Its head lowered slightly, dark black eyespots focused directly on Kenton. Though the carapace was incapable of showing emotion, Kenton almost felt like he saw an expression on its inhuman face. Anger. Intelligent, vengeful, anger.
The KaRak lifted its tails, moving to whip them toward Kenton and the Lord General.
I can’t lift us both! Kenton thought with alarm, forcing his sand back to life.
Suddenly, a black form fell from the sky, crashing to the sand beside Reegent. A black, triangular form with tall, powerful hind legs and small forefeet—a rezal.
Eric tumbled from the rezal’s back, grabbing his father and throwing the still-moving form over his shoulder. Though he looked a little plump, Eric moved with the speed and reflexes of one trained for battle, quickly jumping back on the rezal and grabbing hold of its saddle. He shot Kenton a nod before snapping his foot against the rezal’s head, sending the creature into a wild leap to the side. The rezal’s hind quarters pushed off, shooting Eric and Reegent high into the air, narrowly missing the monstrous tail.
Kenton mimicked the rezal’s actions, using his sand to propel himself to the side. The tail nearly crushed him, but he used his sand to push against the creature’s carapace, giving himself extra leverage.
Kenton rolled to the side, the tail hitting the sand just a few feet behind him. He regarded it with amazement. He was missing something … something important.
His sand had touched the creature’s carapace. It hadn�
�t fallen stale.
Kenton cursed himself, gathering his sand around him. Recently so many things had been terken—the Kershtian assassins, the creature on the Mastrell’s Path—that he had forgotten something important. Terken sandlings were rare. Most of them were as susceptible to sand mastery as humans—more so, because they didn’t have blood to wet the sand and make it stale.
Kenton smiled. He launched himself into the air as the KaRak lifted its tail for another swing. Kenton landed on the tail itself, running along its length, his sand steadying him on both sides. The creature turned toward him, it’s arrow-like head focusing on him.
Kenton jumped again, putting all of his might behind the leap, hurling himself upwards. He shot through the air, wind rippling his robes, his hands clenched in fists before him. He brought his hands apart, pulling the sand away from his jump, moving it up to his sides instead. A ribbon surrounded each of his hands. As he flew toward the KaRak’s head, he thrust his hands out, commanding the sand forward, driving a brilliant line directly at each of the creature’s eyespots.
The monster’s head snapped backward as the sand smashed through its carapace. Violent sprays of gas-blood spewed from the eyespots, like cries of pain from the otherwise silent creature. As Kenton began to fall he let out a yell of his own, gathering all three of his ribbons into one powerful disk beside his right hand. He swept his arm in an arc, spraying his sand out like a massive scythe, slicing through the creature’s exposed neck.
Gas-blood ruptured from the wound, exploding outward so violently that it blew the KaRak’s twenty-food wide head completely from its body.
Kenton spun as he dropped, landing lightly on the sand. The KaRak crashed to the ground behind him with a sound like a building collapsing. Its head slammed to the ground just to Kenton’s right.
Two dozen warriors crouched spread across the sand before him, most of them wounded, some clutching ineffectual spears or hammers. All of them had stunned expressions on their faces.
White Sand Page 37