White Sand

by Sanderson, Brandon

  “I mean, not you personally,” Khriss explained. “Why not let the expert do it?”

  “Expert?” he asked. Then he noticed her nodding to the side and followed the gesture with his eyes. Then he smiled.

  #

  Ais watched the approaching city, perhaps even more eager than the Lord Mastrell to arrive. He had gone three days without word of Nilto. What would he find when he returned? He feared that the three-day hiatus would turn out to be all the criminal lord needed to finish his preparations and escape. Still, in a way, Ais would be glad to see him go. He would finally be able to bring back his family—this last week without them had been excruciating.

  Only one more day, and I will be able to go back to my life, he told himself. And, in the end, it will be worth it. The Diem will be gone. I will have done both Lossand and the Sand Lord a service.

  “How did you sleep, Ais?” a deceptively kind voice asked.

  Ais turned distrustful eyes to find the Lord Mastrell standing behind him, the darksider woman at his side.

  “Poorly,” he informed slowly. “What do you want, Ry’Kensha?”

  “Nothing more than for you to do your job,” Kenton explained.

  “I have never been one who likes games, Lord Mastrell,” Ais said. “What do you want of me?”

  “Find the Lord General,” Kenton said.

  “I’m here to observe you, perhaps protect you,” Ais replied. “I am not here to help you.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you’re here to do,” Kenton shot back. “You have a missing Taisha on your hands. Isn’t it your duty to find him? He could be in danger.”

  Ais paused. As infuriating as it was, the Lord Mastrell had a point. If the Lord General wasn’t in the Tower, and if he wasn’t with Vey, then something might be wrong.

  Kenton smiled, seeing the debate in Ais’s face. “Where do we start?” he asked.

  Insufferable sand master, Ais thought. We’ll see if your smile lasts through tomorrow. However, out loud he only said two words. “The Tower.”

  #

  “Kenton!” The bellow was so loud it could only belong to one person.

  Kenton looked across the Tower courtyard to where Gremt was approaching. There was something wrong with the Tower’s atmosphere. Men still trained in the courtyard, sparring with one another as always. There was a tenseness to their motions, however. They appeared almost formulaic—as if they were putting on a show. The Tower was hiding something, even Kenton could tell that much.

  Kenton eyed the tower itself, the large stone structure in front of him. It was two stories tall, and unlike many dayside buildings didn’t have many windows. It had been built to be defensible. The two wings on either side housed barracks, the long arm-like structures forming the sides of the courtyard. Most of the Tower’s soldiers didn’t reside in Kezare, but in garrisons along the borders of Lossand. Though there was relative peace right now, they occasionally suffered raids from the Rim Kingdoms. Lossand might be a desert, but it at least had the river to provide sustenance—the Rim Kingdoms didn’t even have that.

  Big Head arrived at a quick jog, puffing slightly to himself. The squat man looked worried, though he was trying—unsuccessfully—to cover the emotion. The Tower’s soldiers didn’t tend to be very good at deceit—perhaps that was why Kenton liked them so much.

  “Where is Reegent?” Kenton asked simply.

  Gremt tried to smile. “The Lord General? Why, he went south with Lord Vey.”

  “I just got back from Lraezare, Gremt,” Kenton said. “I brought Vey back with me—if Reegent went south on Vey’s ship, then he did so as a stowaway, because the Lord Merchant certainly didn’t realize he was there.”

  Gremt grimaced, sweat trickling down his broad face.

  “Where is he?” Kenton repeated.

  “We don’t know,” the general finally admitted. “He left without telling anyone. It’s not like him, Kenton. We’re worried.”

  “And you didn’t tell anyone?” Kenton asked pointedly.

  “We didn’t want them involved,” Gremt said, nodding toward Ais.

  Kenton sighed. The Tower’s soldiers and the Hall’s trackts had always resented one another. “This isn’t the time for Profession rivalry,” Kenton said. “I have to find Reegent before tomorrow or the Diem is lost.”

  Gremt sighed. “I wish I could help you. None of the Kelzin seem to know anything, though. We can’t think where he could have—”

  “Show me to his room,” Ais said simply, walking over and breaking into the conversation.

  Big Head gave the trackt a dark look, but then he sighed, looking back at Kenton. “This way,” he said. He led them toward the Tower proper, walking past groups of soldiers, all of whom gave Ais unflattering looks. The trackt ignored them. One other person, however, also had an effect on them—Eric. As soon as the soldiers realized who he was, they began to mumble with each other in low voices.

  Kenton followed Gremt into the building, as did the others. Their group had shrunk considerably since their arrival. Khriss had sent Cynder with their things back to darksider town, and both Delious and Vey had gone their separate ways. Baon, as always, followed Khriss, who had insisted on accompanying Kenton to see how well her idea worked. Eric had almost vengefully declared it his ‘duty’ to protect his ‘old friend Kenton’ and had come as well. Kenton was beginning to suspect that part of Eric’s new persona was an act; a twisted way to make Kenton feel guilty for needing to be rescued. And, if guilt was Eric’s intention, then he was being successful.

  Worry about that later, Kenton told himself. One grain at a time.

  Gremt led them through a stone hallway to the Lord General’s suite at the back of the Tower. The room was large and expansive, a single large chamber rather than three separate ones like Kenton’s own rooms. They were simply decorated—despite his place in society, the Lord General was an austere man. The walls bore several carapace shields and weapons, and there were a few tapestries—remnants from the time Eric’s mother had lived her before her death several years before. Eric had never asked after her, even though he had been on darkside when the event happened.

  “He was in here,” Gremt explained, “resting from his wounds.”

  “Wounds?” Kenton asked. Then he immediately remembered. “Ah, yes. The sandling.”

  Gremt nodded. “He didn’t like being bedridden, and was constantly hobbling around the Tower. The servants couldn’t keep him in his chambers.”

  Kenton stood back, regarding the room. Nothing looked unordinary to him—there was a sand mattress in the far corner, a few articles of carapace furniture, and a pitcher of wine on a low table beside the mattress.

  Ais, however, wasn’t interested in the furniture. He was squatting close to the floor, frowning slightly.

  #

  Ais wasn’t the Hall’s best crime scene investigator, but he had some experience. His own talent lay in organization—he could take a desk-full of information and interpret it, deciphering villains’ plans and motives, then plan an operation to stop them. However, every trackt was conversant in standard investigation procedures, and Ais was more competent than most.

  Which was why he noticed the sand immediately.

  Ais bent down, using his fingernail to scrape a bit of sand from the crack between two floor stones. He frowned as he rubbed the sand between his fingers. Sand couldn’t be escaped on dayside—it could generally be found in every crack and every corner of a room. Rarely, however, did one see sand that was black.

  Kenton leaned down beside him, regarding the sand. “Sand mastery?” he asked with surprise.

  Ais shook his head. As he rubbed the sand, bits of dark material flecked off of it. Dark red material. “Blood,” he said.

  “What!” the large-headed general exclaimed.

  Ais ignored him. Blood, like water or other liquids, would turn sand black. However, the one who had spilt this blood had taken care to clean the floor well. The room didn’t even bear its scen
t. Ais knew the work of professionals when he saw it—it was likely that the Lord General was in serious trouble.

  Well, sand master, you were right about one thing, he thought a he stood, looking over the rest of the room. Something else bothered him.

  “Why is there no sheet on the sand mattress?” he asked.

  The warrior looked over with surprise. “No sheet?” he asked. “I suppose there isn’t.”

  “The Lord General used one, I assume,” Ais pressed.

  “I think so.”

  “What kind of sheet was it?” Ais asked simply.

  “Why would that matter?” the warrior huffed.

  Ais turned, giving him a practiced ‘I know what I’m doing, so kindly stop being an idiot’ look.

  The warrior blushed. “It was ShalRim, I assume,” he replied. “The Lord General preferred it over darkside materials.”

  Ais turned eyes over the room, increasingly worried. ShalRim was a smooth, soft material, but it was also incredibly strong. “They probably couldn’t have gotten him out of the Tower,” he said. “There were too many guards. He might still be here somewhere.”

  “Where then?” Kenton asked.

  Ais frowned, trained instincts leading him along. There was blood on the floor, but not on the mattress. They hadn’t killed him in his sleep, but they had taken him somewhere. They hadn’t made any demands—it wasn’t a kidnapping. Extortion, then? Or, perhaps, interrogation?

  “Is there a basement to the tower?” he asked.

  Gremt shook his head. “No, not really.”

  “Explain,” Ais said.

  “Well,” the warrior said, “there is the chilling cellar, for the Lord General’s wine. It’s not used very often … .”

  “Take me there,” Ais said, nodding toward the door.

  The large-headed general obviously didn’t like the idea of taking orders from a trackt, but he did comply, his eyes confused and a little apprehensive. He led them a short distance down another of the Tower’s small hallways. Eventually, he pulled open a small carapace door and nodded toward a set of stairs leading down into darkness. Ais could see why the cellar wasn’t often used—the servants would avoid coming to such a place whenever possible. No daysider, even Ais, could descend into darkness without feeling a touch of claustrophobic fear. Daysiders lived, slept, and worked every day of their lives in direct or near-direct sunlight. Even standing in the well-lit Tower hallway was disconcerting, for there was no window in sight.

  “Come on,” Ais said simply, years of training and practice allowing him to squish his fears and emotions behind a stoic trackt’s face. However, even as he said the words, pulling a lantern off the wall, he felt his emotions rising. The darkness was like his own threatening madness, the rage of emotions that hovered just beyond the light of his consciousness. That first step into gloom, walking down the stairs, nearly caused him to snap.

  The following steps were easier, however. The rage was very close—Ais could feel it. It made his hand quiver in fright. He did not let it out. Not this time.

  As he made his way down the steps, however, the others following with nervous steps, Ais realized his mistake. The lantern he was carrying sputtered weakly. He should have chosen one stronger. The oil was running out.

  Ais froze on the steps, watching the flame begin to die with horror. The were halfway down the stone staircase now, far from the light and freedom above. As the flame flickered, the darkness approached, bringing with it madness. Ais barely had time to look up as the darkness swept over him.

  Rage. Pain. Anger. Fear. Madness … .

  The stairway was suddenly bathed in light. Ais blinked in surprise, his mind completely stunned. Where … ?

  He turned around slowly to find Kenton wrapped in a shimmering wave of sand. Ais had assumed that never in his life would he be grateful for sand mastery, but at that moment he felt a glimmer of relief. He had been near to snapping.

  “I know,” Kenton said with a frown, “you hate sand mastery. But honestly, Ais, would you rather stumble around in the dark? Chastise me later.”

  Ais turned around, giving the Lord Mastrell no sign of just how wrong he had been. They continued down the staircase, which eventually led to a closed carapace door. Ais pushed the door open with an apprehensive hand, worried at what he would find. Unfortunately, this time he was right.

  Reegent, Lord General of Lossand, hung tied by strips of ShalRim cloth from one of the racks on the far wall. His eyes stared forward blankly, his arms and legs stretched out, his wrists and ankles bloodied from obvious attempts to escape. One leg bore a splint. His face was frozen in a twisted expression of horror.

  There were several gasps from behind him, then the Tower soldier pushed his way through to rush to the dead Taisha’s side. “My Lord!” he wept, feeling Reegent’s neck for a pulse. The look on the man’s face, however, had been enough to tell Ais what he needed to know.

  “What’s wrong with his eyes?” Kenton whispered, his voice sickened.

  Ais stepped forward, gently pushing aside the weeping general. He studied Reegent’s dead face closely. “The eyelids have been cut off,” he said. There also appeared to be some sort of white mucus around Reegent’s cold lips. “He was drugged as well.”

  “Drugged?” Kenton asked.

  “Kamo,” Ais said. “A Kershtian herb. It heightens emotions—or, in this case, fears.”

  “You mean?” Kenton said.

  Ais nodded. “They tied him up here, in the darkness. Then they drugged him with Kamo, cut off his eyelids so he couldn’t try to hide from the horrors his mind conjured. Then, I suspect, they lit the candles you see in the corners of the room. There is a different sized pile of wax for each—I would suspect that the candles were each of a different length.”

  Ais paused, trying to keep the terror out of his voice. He could almost imagine what it would be like … . He continued in a whisper. “Reegent was forced to watch as the candles burned away one by one, slowly plunging him further into darkness. The larger the shadows became, the more frenzied his mind became, until he was finally left with no light at all. With two doors and such a long staircase, I doubt there was any chance someone would hear him screaming. The Lord General died trapped beneath his own palace. I suspect that if we check the body, we will find that it didn’t die from blood loss or dehydration, but pure terror.”

  It was a sick, almost demonic thing to do to someone. Ais only knew of one person so evil and demented. But, what reason would Sharezan have to kill the Lord General?

  Ais’s mind, finding refuge in its analytical side, continued to digest the scene, trying to keep him from focusing on the shadows in his own mind. One thing bothered him. “Why did they break his leg?” he wondered, looking at the splint. “And, when they did, why did they bother to set it afterward?”

  Kenton shook his head, looking a little stunned. “They didn’t do that,” he said absently. “He broke his leg fighting a sandling on the deep sands.”

  Ais frowned. What was bothering him? What possible reason could Sharezan have to kill Reegent? Usually, Sharezan reserved such horrible punishments for…

  For those who betrayed him.

  Ais’s eyes flashed to the leg again. Reegent would have walked with a limp, he realized. What if he was the traitor? What if Reegent was the one who sent me the letter, who tried to meet with me in the old building. I heard the limp, and thought it was Nilto . …

  Reegent must have been a member of Shaerezan’s network. The Lord General himself, a part of Kezare’s criminal underworld. He had probably been an important figure, one extremely dangerous to Sharezan. And, when he had tried to get out, Ais had abandoned him.

  Ais closed his eyes in pain, shaking his head slightly. He had been so close. If he had been a little less nervous, a little less stupid, he could have not only saved the Lord General’s life, but had a powerful witness against Nilto as well.

  I am such an idiot!

  #

  Kenton couldn�
��t comprehend doing something so terrible to another human being. What kind of person was capable of such an atrocity? It had been difficult enough to walk down the steps, but to leave a man hanging here, in the darkness to die?

  Kenton turned with apprehension. Eric still stood in the doorway, looking at his father’s corpse with sad eyes. Then, he close his eyes for a short moment, as if trying to clear the sight from his head. Suddenly, Eric turned away and walked back up the staircase.

  Ais had found another lantern and lit it, and a moment later Kenton was able to let most of his ribbons die. His lessons had been right—controlling five ribbons wasn’t much different than controlling one, as long as he didn’t focus on multiple tasks at once.

  “It’s so, so …” Khriss’s Dynastic voice rang in the small room, despite the quietude of her words.

  “I know,” Kenton said. She had pulled up beside him, regarding Reegent’s corpse with sad eyes.

  “Poor Eric,” she whispered.

  Kenton nodded. Then, in a twisted way, his determined mind forced him to realize something else. Reegent’s death was more than just a blow to the Tower, it was dire problem for the Diem as well. He turned, using a ribbon of sand to light their way as he gently pulled Khriss from the room and began to walk back up to the main floor. Reegent had been one of his most certain votes. Now that he was dead, the Tower’s support wasn’t so certain. In fact, it looked doubtful. If Kenton remembered correctly, since Reegent left no heir, the other generals would have to vote on a new Lord General. And, unfortunately, the overwhelming majority of the generals of Lossand were kelzin—men who would have much to profit from the Diem’s destruction. Their one vote could destroy all of Kenton’s work over the last two weeks.

  There is another way, his mind whispered.

  Kenton shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that. Unfortunately, he couldn’t afford not to. He had too much responsibility, too many people depending on him, to ignore such a possibility. There was another way—a certain way to get the Tower’s vote. Kenton stepped through the doorway at the staircase’s top. Eric stood a short distance away, hand gripping the hilt of his sheathed sword. He looked up, and met Kenton’s eyes.