White Sand, Volume 1

by Brandon Sanderson

  “Really?” Eric asked with interest. “I didn’t know that.”

  Kenton snorted. “That’s because you ran away. All Reegent knows is that he once had a dutiful, rule-keeping son with a scoundrel as a best friend. Who else would he blame when you rebelled?”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Eric admitted. “Well, at least you can always count on old Delious—I assume the old sot is still Lord Admiral.”

  “The Helm’s greatest embarrassment, as always,” Kenton said with a nod. “Yes, he’ll probably vote for me. However, if he does, it will mean that I’ve lost. Delious always votes the opposite of Vey. Which means, by the way, if by some miracle I do bring the Lord Merchant onto my side, Delious will spoil it by automatically turning against me.”

  Eric chuckled at that one. “Maybe we should just run off to darkside. I’ve found that avoiding one’s problems isn’t as difficult as the philosophers would have one believe.”

  “I’m tempted,” Kenton mumbled.

  Eric snorted. “You would never do that,” he said. “Many things have changed, old friend, but I can tell one thing is still the same. You can’t resist a good fight.”

  Kenton stopped his pacing, smiling slightly. “I suppose you’re right. Well, like you said, pacing isn’t getting me anywhere.”

  Eric rose, stretching. “You’ve decided then?”

  Kenton nodded. “The Lord Admiral has been my ally in the past, even if his vote was only circumstantial. That’s better than I’ve gotten from anyone else.”

  “Ah, good,” Eric said, following Kenton to the balcony. “I was hoping you would pick him. I could use something to drink.”

  #

  “Red.”

  Delious proffered his arm, grabbing the cup lazily. He leaned forward on his mansion’s balcony, looking at the city of Kezare below him as he slurped the wine down with one monstrous gulp, inhaling the liquid like other men breathe. Then, smacking his lips, brought the cup up for inspection.

  The goblet of sparkling crystal had been sculpted by one of Kezare’s most prominent Kershtian craftsmen. Its etchings depicted a scene of deep sandlings from the Ker’Reen mythologies. The detail was exquisite. Each chink in the carapace was visible and the Sand Lord’s face—shining high in the sky—was so lifelike in its crystalline tinyness that it almost seemed like a living being. The artisan had etched his very soul into this piece.

  “How disappointing,” Delious mumbled. “It’s just like all the other ones.” He sighed and dropped the priceless wonder over the side of his balcony. It made a satisfyingly delicate crash as it smashed on the stone street below.

  “It was part of a set, Lord Delious,” his wine steward supplied from behind. “Usually when one buys a set of cups, they come with similar designs on them.”

  “Well, next time buy a dozen sets and throw away all but one of the cups,” he ordered.

  “Yes, Lord Taisha.”

  “White,” Delious ordered, holding out his hand to receive another cup. He sipped at it for a moment, then wrinkled his nose in annoyance. “Don’t they make wine more expensive than this?” he complained.

  “No, Lord Delious, this is the best.”

  Delious sighed again, dropping another cup off the balcony “Well, mix the red and the white this time. Let’s see what that tastes like.”

  His steward complied, handing Delious yet another crystalline cup. Delious drank the wine, decided it didn’t taste very good, drank the rest anyway, then dropped the cup—this time flicking it out of his hand to send it spinning toward the street below. It refracted the sun’s light beautifully before smashing to its death.

  “Um, Lord Admiral?” a voice asked from behind.

  Delious turned inquisitively, reaching out for another cup of wine in the process. Behind him stood several men in fine shalrim robes. Both were Lossandin, and both had looks of barely-veiled loathing on their faces. Technically, they were members of the Helm, Profession of sailors, though Delious doubted they knew the bow of a ship from their own afts. They were kelzin, members of the Shipowner’s Circle.

  “Are you still here?” Delious asked distractedly.

  “We haven’t had our audience yet, Lord Admiral,” the taller of the two—Jalees—answered. “We’ve been waiting for you to finish … whatever it was you were doing.”

  “Oh, right,” Delious mumbled, sipping at his wine. “Well, what did you want?”

  “I brought you a gift, Lord Taisha, from the Circle,” Jalees said, nodding toward a carapace box at his side. “A case of detha, a drink favored in the south.”

  Delious frowned. “I’ve had it before. It didn’t seem to have much kick to me.”

  “It …isn’t alcoholic, Lord Admiral,” Jalees informed.

  “Ah, that’s probably why I didn’t like it,” Delious replied. “Steward!”

  “Yes, My Lord,” the small, balding man replied.

  “Do you like detha?”

  “It is quite delicious, My Lord,” the wine steward replied.

  Delious rubbed his chin, then took another sip of wine. “Glad you like it. Take that case home and give it to your family. A gift from your Lord Taisha.”

  “My thanks, Lord Delious,” the steward replied.

  Jalees grew red in the face, a color heightened by his bright yellow robes.

  “Thank you for the gift … what was your name again?”

  “Jalees, My Lord,” the man said, barely able to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Delious made certain to ask that question at least once every time the man visited.

  “Good day then, Jeelas,” Delious said, turning to lean back out of his balcony. “Steward, the scenery outside my window is looking rather drab. Do you suppose we could knock down a few buildings to make it more picturesque?”

  “Perhaps, My Lord.”

  Jalees cleared his voice from behind. “My Lord,” he began.

  “You’re still here?” Delious asked with surprise, turning again.

  “Um, yes My Lord,” Jalees said. “The real purpose of my visit has to do with a request from the Circle.”

  “I recommend Lraezare’s eldenvel vintage,” Delious said.

  “My Lord?” Jalees asked in confusion.

  “Your request,” Delious explained. “Weren’t you going to ask me what vintage to have at your Circle meeting this week?”

  “Um, no, My Lord.”

  “Well why are you bothering me then?” Delious said, shaking his head in exasperation as he turned back to the balcony once again.

  “We were hoping, My Lord,” Jalees said bravely, “that we could convince you to curb your drinking.”

  “Curb my drinking?” Delious asked in amazement. “Why, how would I spend my time?”

  “There are many things you could try, My Lord. Balls, plays, boat races …”

  “No, I find them all boring,” Delious declared. “I shall face this world drunk, or I shan’t face it at all. Thank you for the suggestion, but since I judge it to be inane, I shall have to ignore it. Good day.”

  Delious didn’t need to turn around to imagine the look of enraged frustration on Jalees’s bearded face. Finally, he heard the man turn and walk out the door, his footsteps angry. Delious chuckled softly to himself, waving at some people crossing on the street below and then warning them to avoid the broken glass.

  “What a delightful day,” Delious announced. “The only thing wrong is that I am by no means drunk enough. Steward, open another bottle.”

  #

  Kenton and Eric passed a pair of angry-looking kelzin as they walked up the steps to the Lord Admiral’s mansion. The two men, both Lossandin and both wearing expensive robes, brushed past Kenton, mumbling quietly to one another.

  Kenton paused, turning to watch them go.

  Eric snorted. “You shouldn’t have let them get away with that.”

  “With what?” Kenton asked.

  “With treating you that way,” Eric explained. “They should have bowed—you’re not only a
mastrell, but a Lord Taisha.”

  Kenton shrugged. “I don’t even think they realized who I was. They looked … preoccupied.”

  “You mean infuriated,” Eric corrected.

  “I suppose they have a right to be angry,” Kenton said. “They were probably members of the Helm. The mere mention of the Lord Admiral is usually enough to embarrass Helm members—I can’t imagine what it must be like to visit him.”

  Eric shrugged. “I don’t know. I always kind of liked the man.”

  Kenton turned with a frown. “You always said you found him disgraceful.”

  “My father found him disgraceful,” Eric corrected. “And so, therefore, did I—or, at least, that is what I said. It isn’t wise to disagree with the Lord General, especially if you happen to be his heir. On the inside, however, I thought Delious delightful. If my father didn’t invite him to a party, the Lord Admiral would act offended, and complain loudly that the Lord General was slighting the Helm. And, when my father gave in and invited him, Delious would drink all of the wine, complain about its vintage, and then collapse on the floor.”

  “Yes,” Kenton said wryly, “delightful is exactly the word I would have chosen.”

  “I always found it amusing that the sand’s only true idiot was also the one person my father could never get the best of.”

  “Well, that idiot is one of the people who stands between the Diem and destruction. Let us hope he refrains from passing out until he’s cast his vote in my favor.” Kenton turned, looking up at the mansion in front of them. It was large, wide as opposed to tall, and its front had obviously been carved by some of Lossand’s most skilled stonemasons. It actually had reliefs etched into its face, as well as pillars and a few fanciful statues of deep sandlings.

  Of course, the beautiful home didn’t stand out when it was surrounded by so many like it. Here, on the smaller island that formed the kelzi district of Kezare, the wealthy spent a great deal of resources proving just how rich they were. As soon as one crossed the KelThrain, the bridge that spanned the short distance between Kezare proper and the kelzi district, one stepped into a different world. The clustered buildings and narrow streets gave way to solitary mansions with statue gardens and yards filled with rare, often beautiful, sandlings. Here Vey and his merchants kept careful control of the real estate, making certain that only those rich enough—and prestigious enough—were allowed to purchase land.

  Of course, they would probably have tried to get rid of the Lord Admiral if they could have found a way.

  “Come on,” Kenton said, turning to climb the rest of the steps. Then he paused, turning around. “Are you coming?” he asked, not of Eric, but of the other man standing at the bottom of the steps.

  The black-uniformed trackt looked up with suspicious eyes.

  “You’re not going to make a very efficient spy if you don’t stay close to me,” Kenton warned.

  The Kershtian’s look didn’t change, but he did begin to follow, walking with a swift—but stiff—step. Kenton had found the man waiting in the Diem’s courtyard when he came down from his third-floor rooms. Ais hadn’t said a word, but had fallen into step, following Kenton like a very formal shadow.

  When Ais arrived Kenton continued on, ignoring the frown on Eric’s face. They walked through the cavern-like pillared entryway and rapped the door knocker. A few moments later a short, baling man with slicked-back hair answered the door.

  “The Lord Mastrell,” Kenton said formally, “to visit his colleague the Lord Admiral.”

  The man’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “I’ll … announce you, My Lord,” he replied. “I can’t guarantee the Lord Admiral will see you, however.”

  “I appreciate it,” Kenton said, walking in as the man opened the door and gestured them in.

  The house was, perhaps, the most overdone example of richness Kenton had ever seen. There wasn’t a corner without a statue of some sort, not a wall without a tapestry. Dozens of furniture pieces cluttered the room, most of them three and four times redundant, all of them wood. Works of ceramic or crystalline art crowded every surface—the slightest bump could have caused hundreds of lak worth of damage.

  Kenton raised an eyebrow, looking back at Eric, who just shook his head. A moment later, the servant returned. “My Lord will see you,” he said, gesturing for them to follow.

  At first, Kenton had assumed that the entryway was a fluke of some sort—a place where the Lord Admiral made a display of his wealth. However, as they walked the hallways toward the back rooms, Kenton was forced to revise that assumption. Every room was just as bad as the first, with decorations and pieces of art extreme.

  “Sell this place, and you could pay of your debts with some left over,” Eric mumbled. It was an exaggeration, of course, but the home was so gaudy that it almost seemed plausible.

  For his part, the trackt Ais remained silent, taking in the sights of the Lord Admiral’s house with the same lack of emotion with which he appeared to handle everything.

  At last the servant opened a broad set of doors and led them into what appeared to be the Lord Admiral’s study. It was even worse than the rest of the house. The ceiling was hung with no fewer than ten chandeliers, even though the balcony—a structure that took up the entire back wall—provided more than enough light for the room. The floor was covered with several rugs piled on top of one another, an effect duplicated by the overlapping tapestries on the walls.

  The Lord Admiral fit with it all perfectly. He was an older man, perhaps forty years old, with flecks of gray in his otherwise dark brown hair. He wore a bright robe of Helm blue, open at the front to reveal a frilly white shirt underneath. Broad white cuffs poked out from the sleeves. Both sleeves and shirt were stained with bright red drops of wine.

  “Ah, brother Taisha!” Delious said, raising his arms. He was drunk, of course. “Welcome.”

  “Lord Delious,” Kenton said with a nod. “We appreciate your seeing us.”

  “Of course,” Delious said, waving dismissively—an action that spilled the rest of his wine on one of the fine rugs. He regarded the mistake with a raised eyebrow, then held out his cup for a refill. “Please, have something to drink.”

  “No thank you,” Kenton said.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Delious said with a smile. “Sand master’s don’t drink, do they?”

  Kenton shook his head. “It does … strange things to us.”

  “Pity,” Delious said. “Your friends?”

  “Would be pleased to partake of your hospitality,” Eric said. Of course, he was already pouring himself a drink. Ais made no move to do likewise.

  “Lord Delious,” Kenton said, stepping forward. “I don’t know how to put this a better way, so I’ll just ask. Are you going to vote for me in two weeks?”

  Delious smiled. “You don’t waste words, do you, Lord Mastrell?”

  “I’m new at this,” Kenton said with a shrug. “Besides, I don’t have time for words.”

  “Oh, I’ve always found one has to make time for words,” Delious countered. “If you don’t have words, then people tend to see through to the really important things. Then they all get depressed.” Delious punctuated the remark by draining his cup.

  “I’m only interested in two words, My Lord,” Kenton replied.

  “Let me guess,” Delious interrupted. “For or against.”

  Kenton nodded.

  “Well, I guess that depends,” Delious said, spreading his arms. “You obviously know my policy—as long as Vey is your enemy, I am your friend.”

  “And if Vey votes for me?” Kenton asked.

  Delious snorted. “My dear friend, I’m supposed to be the drunken fool, not you. Let us please keep to our roles, lest one of us become confused.”

  “I know there is little chance, My Lord,” Kenton said. “But what if Vey does vote for me?”

  “Then I shall have to vote against you,” Delious said, taking a seat in an oversized chair on the balcony. “You see, my young friend, I
have very few beliefs in life. One of them is that wine by far the best companion a man could ask for. The other one is that the Lord Merchant represents all that is evil and vile in our world. Both are philosophies that make my life much easier. One keeps me happy, the other makes all of my decisions for me. As long as I’m working against Vey, I know that I’m doing something good—even if I don’t pay much attention to what is actually happening.”

  “Lord Admiral,” Kenton said with a frown. “My cause is just.”

  “Honestly, I’d rather not have to think about it. Really, Kenton, I doubt you have much to worry about. It would take more Lak than stone could make to convince Vey to vote for you.”

  “Hollow support can be worse than no support at all, Delious,” Kenton shot back.

  The Lord Admiral raised his cup. “You’re tense, young man. It’s probably due to a lifetime without drink. I doubt I am the one you need to be arguing with.”

  Kenton sighed, turning to Eric, who was playing idly with one of Delious’s many crystalline sculptures. Eric looked up slightly, nodding. There was no more to gain from this conversation.

  “Thank you for seeing me, My Lord,” Kenton said with a slight bow.

  “And a good day to you, My Lord,” Delious returned.

  Kenton left the house in a disappointed mood, barely paying attention to the wonders he passed. He didn’t know why he should be so bothered—he hadn’t really expected anything more from Delious. Why had the man’s responses bothered him so much?

  It’s because all those years, he thought to himself, I thought, maybe, just one of them agreed with me. I knew he only voted for me to spite Vey but … up until this day I could still hope.

  “Your task is futile, Ry’Kensha,” Ais, almost forgotten, whispered behind. “Even those who vote for you don’t really support you. It is the Sand Lord’s judgement.”

  And, for some reason, the comment made Kenton smile. “Futile tasks are the ones I’m best at,” he replied.

  #

  Delious watched the young Lord Mastrell leave. He had passion and drive; that much would serve him well. “That boy needs to learn to learn that every conversation doesn’t have to be an argument,” he mumbled to his steward.