White Sand

by Brandon Sanderson

  “How are things in Kezare?”

  “Well, My Lord,” Kenton replied.

  Reegent turned away from Kenton, looking back across the deep sands. “It promises to be a fruitful hunt,” he explained. “Already we’ve made several catches. Have you ever watched a deep sand hunt before?”

  “No, My Lord,” Kenton said, beginning to feel frustrated. He had little patience for such talk—he had an issue he wanted to pursue with Reegent. The Lord General obviously knew why Kenton was here, yet, the man spoke of completely irrelevant things. It was just this sort of topic-dodging that annoyed Kenton. Yet, he held himself back. He couldn’t afford to make this man an enemy.

  So, he chatted with Reegent. They discussed the sandstorm that had been threatening one of the eastern Rim Kingdoms. They talked about Kenton’s favorite flavors of ZaiDon. They even discussed favorites in the Kezare boat races. Kenton suffered it all with barely-controlled exasperation.

  “I hear you have been sparring with the Tower’s solders, Lord Mastrell,” Reegent said conversationally, motioning for a servant to bring Kenton another cup of juice.

  “It has been very helpful to me, My Lord,” Kenton replied. “A wise man makes certain he’s never trapped in battle with only a single option of attack.”

  “A true statement, Lord Kenton,” Reegent agreed. “Additional skills can be of much service to a man, especially when he finds himself in need of changing Professions.”

  Kenton frowned. That sounded suspiciously like an invitation to begin talking about important issues.

  “Actually, Lord Reegent,” Kenton began. “That is why I came to find—”

  He was interrupted by a sudden yell from ahead. Reegent looked up with interest, squinting out across the sands. A man stood atop a dune, waving a red flag.

  “They’ve found something!” the Lord General said enthusiastically. “My Hammer!”

  An attendant rushed up, bringing with him a massive steel hammer. Reegent accepted it, then turned to Kenton. “We should continue this discussion, Lord Mastrell. Would you care to accompany me on the hunt?”

  “Me?” Kenton asked with surprise.

  “You came all the way out here. You might as well see what a hunt is all about,” Reegent said, nodding for a soldier to bring over a couple of mounts. Only two—he was continuing to ignore Eric.

  Kenton shot a look at Eric, but his friend had finally turned away, walking toward the back of the tent, his face unreadable. Kenton looked back at Reegent. He wasn’t certain what the Lord General was offering, but he doubted he could afford to miss the opportunity.

  “All right, My Lord,” Kenton said uncertainly. He caught Ais’s eye as he made the comment. The Kershtian was not pleased—of course, when was he? Regardless, Kenton doubted the trackt would follow him onto the deep sands.

  “Good,” Reegent said with a nod, climbing atop his mount.

  Kenton followed hesitantly. He’d never had the chance to ride a terha, the favored sandling of warriors. The creatures were large—a few feet taller than a tonk, with enormous trunk-like legs. The legs were like pillars, the shoulders rising about a handspan above the terha’s squareish body. The head had two spikes extending forward from each side, and the entire body was covered with carapace plates several times thicker than those of a tonk. Of course, the true advantage of a terha was its water resistance. From infancy, the creatures’ bodies were doused monthly with DoKall, making their shell impossible to dissolve.

  Kenton climbed onto the beast, his movements tentative. The creature bore him with apparent lack of interest—Kenton’s weight barely seemed to make a difference to it.

  “You can use the tonk hammer, if you wish,” Reegent said, nodding toward a hammer hanging from Kenton’s saddle.

  Kenton nodded gratefully. Most soldiers controlled their mounts by means of metal knee-plates, which they tapped against their terha’s sides. Kenton, however, had no experience with such methods of control.

  The Lord General tapped his terha forward, and Kenton followed with a quick hammer. The beast moved smoothly, its post-like legs rising and falling with an even gait. The terhan moved much more quickly than a tonk, though they weren’t as fast as a rezal—of course, few things were. They left the tent complex, heading toward the red flag in the distance.

  “Have you ever been to deep sand before, Lord Mastrell?” Reegent asked, positioning his mount beside Kenton’s.

  “Yes, My Lord,” Kenton replied. His fight with the creature at the end of the mastrell’s path was still vivid in his mind.

  Reegent raised an eyebrow—he hadn’t been expecting that answer. “Then you know what to expect,” he assumed.

  Kenton chuckled. “I wouldn’t say that, Lord Reegent,” he replied. “My experiences were brief, at best. I’ve been near deep sand several times, but have never actually stood upon it.”

  Reegent nodded. “Then I shall warn you, it isn’t what you think it is.”

  “What do you mean?” Kenton asked.

  “The stories aren’t exactly accurate when it comes to deep sandlings,” Reegent explained.

  “You mean deep sandlings aren’t as large as people think?” Kenton asked. He had read many books on the deep sand, and all of them agreed that deep sandlings were huge.

  “Oh, they’re big,” Reegent agreed. “But, well, you’ll see. Let’s just say that with the vines gone, sandlings are allowed to grow—just not always in the way everyone assumes.”

  Kenton considered the comment with a frown. The great determining factor of the sands—that which ultimately declared what was ‘deep sand’ and what was not—was the vines. Dorim vines, with their lack of predators, dominated the kerla. And, since the vines criss-crossed every ten feet or so, sandlings couldn’t grow very large lest their movements begin snapping vines and release the deadly water inside. So, most sandlings in the kerla couldn’t get much bigger than four or five feet long—unless they were a surface-dwelling race, like the tonks.

  The deep sand was different. Dorim vines required a few hours of basking in sunlight each day to survive—though, like most dayside plants, they had to retreat beneath the sands for the rest of the day, lest they dry out. However, the vines also had to have a source of water—and that source lay somewhere far beneath the surface. Therefore, the vines had to stretch all the way from the rocks below to the surface above. The vines could not survive in areas where this distance was too great. Such areas were called deep sand, and there the sandlings could grow to unchecked sizes.

  Kenton watched the marking flag approach, both intrigued and apprehensive. They crested the hill, following a path marked by hundreds of footprints. Reegent’s soldiers probably ran a herd of tonks over the path frequently to make certain nothing was hiding underneath. As they moved forward, Kenton began to notice something.

  In the kerla, one rarely saw sandlings larger than tiny bugs. Human populations had domesticated most of the surface-dwelling sandlings, and hunted the underground predators. A few minutes after passing into the deep sands, however, Kenton began to notice life. It wasn’t difficult—signs were plentiful.

  In fact, he could pick out several places where sandlings must be hiding. He could see areas where the sand churned with motion, often showing flashes of carapace and shiny black legs. Enormous patches would seem to boil, indications of the huge creatures that were hiding below. What appeared still and empty at a distance was actually in near-constant motion, and Kenton found himself looking around with anxious eyes, catching flashes of movement in the corners of his eyes.

  Reegent chuckled. “I warned you, Lord Mastrell.”

  “They’re everywhere!” Kenton said apprehensively.

  Reegent nodded.

  “Why don’t they … attack?”

  Reegent laughed, then reached over and grabbed a spear from the sheath on the back of his mount. He took aim, and threw it directly into the middle of a churning spot a short distance away. The pocket of movement broke apart—scattering in
all directions.

  Kenton gasped, finally understanding. “They’re not individuals—they’re groups!”

  Reegent nodded. “When people visit the deep sands, they see the sand agitate around them, remember the stories, and assume they’re about to get attacked. So they run. They never realize that what they’re seeing isn’t a single monster, but thousands of tiny ones.”

  Kenton frowned. “But, they can’t all be this small,” he objected.

  “Oh, they aren’t,” Reegent assured. “There are some big ones to be found—otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. But, they’re far more rare than people assume—especially the dangerous ones. Even schools of sandlings that large can only support a limited number of predators.”

  Kenton nodded to himself, watching the sandlings regroup around Reegent’s spear. It shook slightly as several unseen bodies took bites at it, to see if it was food. They come to the surface to feed, Kenton realized. That’s why there are so many of them. The sand goes down for hundreds and hundreds of feet, but the food is at the surface—or, at least, the food that isn’t other sandlings.

  Kenton looked closely, searching for signs of digested sand. Most of the smaller sandlings were herbivores that grazed on sand. Sand that passed through a sandling’s body changed from dusty bone-white to a more crystalline, clear color. The whiteness soon returned as the sand recharged in the sun—Kenton had never understood the difference between a sandling eating sand, which turned it clear, and pouring water on the sand, which turned it black.

  Here, there were plenty of patches of digested sand—far more than he had ever seen in the kerla.

  “Now, those are what you have to watch for,” Reegent said, pointing toward what appeared to be an ordinary patch of sand.

  “What?” Kenton asked. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Look closely,” Reegent urged.

  Kenton did so, leaning forward. Then he noticed it, a small triangular piece of carapace sticking out of the sand.

  “What is it?”

  “DelRak Naisha,” Reegent explained.

  “What!” Kenton said with surprise. DelRakin were among the most feared of deep sandlings.

  “Don’t worry,” Reegent said with a chuckle. “It won’t attack. DelRakin hide beneath the sand—they aren’t hunters, they just wait for something to step on them, and they snap closed on it. They’re harmless if you know what to look for. Here,” Reegent grabbed another spear, took aim, and let it fly.

  The spear hit, and immediately the sand burst, three ten-foot long claws snapping closed. The end result was what looked like a warped pyramid sitting on the sand. The carapace claws—or, actually, they were more like legs—fit together almost exactly, closing the spear inside of them. Slowly, however, the legs unfolded, revealing a small square head on a long spindly neck. Apparently, the head rested at the base of the legs, where it could tear at its prey while the arms held it trapped.

  “It’s mad for missing the meal,” Reegent explained with a chuckle.

  “It’s fascinating, My Lord,” Kenton replied.

  Reegent nodded. “That it is. But, I doubt you came here to discuss sandlings.”

  Kenton perked up. Finally! “You are correct, Lord Reegent. I have more important concerns.”

  “Well, then, I suppose we should discuss business. What are your demands, Lord Mastrell?”

  Kenton frowned in confusion. “Demands?” he asked uncertainly. “I don’t believe I’m in a position to make demands.”

  Reegent laughed. “Don’t play with me, Lord Mastrell. I know what you want. Tell me, what has Reven offered you?”

  Reven. The name sounded familiar—it was Talloner, which meant … “King of Seevis?” Kenton asked slowly. Seevis was one of the larger rim kingdoms. What was Reegent talking about?

  “I have to admit, Kenton, your move surprised me—I acknowledge its brilliance.” As Reegent spoke, he dropped his overly-accepting expression. His words didn’t become hostile, by any means, but they were more frank. His friendliness had been an act all along—but why? Why had he been trying to convince Kenton he was an ally?

  “We hoped to move before any of the other countries knew what we were doing,” Reegent was saying. “We wanted to take care of the mastrells before anyone had a chance to try and influence them. The rest of the city didn’t even know about our plans to dissolve the Diem. But, your two weeks has ruined that, hasn’t it? So, tell me now, Lord Mastrell. How much will it cost me to hire you?”

  “You want to hire the sand masters?” Kenton asked slowly.

  “Well, not all of you, of course. That would defeat the purpose of destroying the Diem. Just enough of you so that everyone knows the Tower now has the power of sand mastery. Trust me, I will pay you more than any of the Rim Kingdoms. Besides, you wouldn’t want to betray your homeland, would you?”

  He must have gotten word of Drile’s dealing, Kenton realized, and he thinks I’m part of it.

  Slowly, Kenton began to piece together what Reegent must have been thinking. If the Diem were destroyed, but some of sand masters joined the Tower, then Reegent would add some of the Diem’s historical power, and prestige, to his own Profession. Even with Praxton gone, Reegent still wasn’t the most powerful of the Taisha—Vey and Heelis were just as influential. But, the people of Lossand feared the sand masters almost as much as the Kershtians did. There was a reason that the Diem had been the smallest, yet arguably most influential, of the Professions. If Reegent could capture a bit of that power for himself … .

  Kenton snorted. “You work to destroy us because we’ve grown too powerful, then you seek to seize that power for yourself?”

  “All politics is founded in hypocrisy, Kenton,” Reegent responded with a frown. “Do not let our personal differences destroy your chances. I have decided to ignore my own feelings regarding you in the interest of mutual benefit. I assumed that you came to the same conclusion. Is that not why you were looking for me today?”

  “I hate to ruin a theory, Reegent,” Kenton replied—if the man could ignore titles, then so could Kenton. “But I intend to save the Diem.”

  “Nonsense!” Reegent sputtered. “Surly you’re not such a fool.”

  “I’m afraid I am,” Kenton said with a rueful smile. “The reports you heard of mastrells dealing with the Rim Kingdoms involved another sand master, not myself.”

  Reegent frowned, rubbing his beard. “Then this entire conversation has been a waste,” he said.

  “Not a waste, Reegent,” Kenton said. “It’s proven that we can get along if we want to. We don’t need to be enemies.”

  “I’ve never tried to hide the fact that I don’t like you, boy,” Reegent said sharply. “You’re too impetuous, too insubordinate. Now you throw away perhaps the best deal your miserable Profession is going to receive. I don’t see any grounds for agreement there.”

  “Surely we can come to some arrangement,” Kenton assured.

  “I already offered one to you, boy,” Reegent returned. “The sand masters have outlived their usefulness. Either you join with me, or you loose yourselves completely.”

  Despite the harsh words, Kenton felt himself smile. This was the argument he’d expected to have. Well, Khriss, so much for diplomacy, he thought ruefully. Now it’s time to try my way.

  “Reegent, you defeat your own arguments,” Kenton shot back. “You say that sand mastery has outlived its usefulness, but at the same time you scheme to make it your own. You know its power, and you’re afraid of it. You tell me to do what is best for Lossand, yet all you want is what is best for yourself.”

  Reegent’s face grew red. “How dare you!” he bellowed. “I care nothing for sand mastery’s power. It has none! The Diem’s only influence comes from ignorance—it has convinced the people that it is some source of mystical omnipotence. What would they think if they knew what sand mastery really was?”

  “Which is?” Kenton asked.

  “Practically nothing. What good is the ability to jump a
little bit? You can throw sand at people, but what good is that in a battle? Perhaps you could blind a man for a few seconds. The people and their stupid Kershtian priests fear you, but you are really no better than street charlatans.”

  I’ll show you what good sand mastery is in a battle, Kenton thought angrily. However, he held himself back. Using his abilities against Reegent would be going too far—the Lord General would never support him if he did that.

  “You say sand mastery is no good, Reegent,” Kenton countered. “But you don’t mean it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so eager to bring me under your control.”

  “I want your prestige, boy. Your name. Your power might be useless, but your reputation is not. However, I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather see you destroyed than have you anywhere near the Tower.”

  “But you admit our influence,” Kenton shot back. “Wouldn’t it be of more use to you as a Profession? You try to destroy us instead of helping us. You should be more concerned with the future—an allegiance with the Diem in our time of need wouldn’t be quickly forgotten.”

  Reegent snorted. “I’ve found that sand masters have incredibly short memories, boy.”

  “But we could—”

  “Enough!” Reegent snapped. “I have no more time for this. Good day.”

  Suddenly, Reegent’s terha began to walk more quickly, its post-like legs pounding into the sand as moved into a gallop. Angrily, Kenton hammered at his own mount, trying to get it to move more quickly. Unfortunately, it appeared as if the creature only responded to some hammer-commands—it refused to move more quickly. Kenton cursed, realizing that most of the terha’s abilities couldn’t be accessed unless one knew the knee commands.

  Reegent sped on ahead, leaving Kenton behind. Kenton slowed his own beast with a sigh, stopping it atop a dune. The debate had gone about as he could have expected—except for Reegent’s desire for sand mastery’s influence. Kenton was going to have to come up with some better arguments.

  Well, I guess my way wasn’t any more effective than diplomacy, Kenton though with a sigh. He moved to turn his mount around, to head back to the camp where he could prepare for another conversation. As he glanced ahead, however, he paused. He saw several men standing atop the next dune looking down at something.