White Sand

by Brandon Sanderson

“Anyway, they attacked us when we were sleeping,” Dorvorden explained. “Trevor had about a third of the guards on his side—I don’t know how he convinced them. No one ever approached me. Maybe they knew I wouldn’t be turned. Anyway, I think they intended to kill us in our sleep. But, one of them must have made a mistake, because I was awakened by a call to arms.”

  Dorvorden shuddered slightly, finally reaching for the tea, gulping it down in one drink. He coughed quietly for a moment, before continuing in a rough voice. “It was horrible, My Lady,” he whispered. “I didn’t know who to fight and who not to. Men were shooting randomly, attacking anyone who got too near. It was chaos. The scholars were cut down quickly—they were just in the wrong place, and got caught in the gunfire. The prince was yelling for us to get up, to fire at the men surrounding Baron Trevor … and then … .”

  Dorvorden sighed. “The bullet took the prince square in the head, my lady. He dropped immediately. Trevor yelled in triumph and, well … .”

  “You’re the one who killed the baron,” Khriss guessed.

  Dorvorden nodded, his face pale. Killing a nobleman of such high rank, even in self defense, was a taboo on darkside.

  “In the end,” the man continued, “only four of us survived. All loyal to the prince, I think. Anyway, with Trevor dead, I don’t think it mattered. Four men, out of almost fifty.”

  “The Prince,” Khriss prodded. “What did you do with his body?”

  “By the Divine,” Dorvorden whispered. “When we found him, he wasn’t dead yet. A bullet in the head, and still alive. It was sickening—his head was a mess. We didn’t know what else to do but carry him to Kezare—we were only a few hours away. He moaned the entire way, but his jaw was shattered, so he couldn’t speak. Somehow, we found our way to darksider town—we’d heard about it ahead of time, you see. We thought that if there were skilled physicians, they would be with the darksiders.

  “But, well, we were too late. The prince fell unconscious before we even got to darksider town. Loaten—you’ve met him, My Lady?”

  “Yes,” Khriss said quietly.

  “Loaten took the prince in and sent for the best physicians, but they couldn’t do anything. The Prince wasted away in a coma, dying slowly. Loaten said that the prince woke up one time just before he died. Then, well, he passed on. In all, I suppose it took him four days to die. After that, we had a quiet funeral for him.

  “Loaten told us we had to keep everything quiet—he said they found orders from Scythe himself on Trevor’s body. If the Dynasty knew there were witnesses to the killings, then they would come to find us. So, we didn’t tell anyone who we were or why we were here. We couldn’t go back to darkside, because then the Dynasty would know what had happened. Loaten said it had to be left a mystery, otherwise Scythe would hunt us down. I swear, My Lady, if he hadn’t been so commanding, I would have gone back. But I was so confused … .”

  “It’s all right,” Khriss said reassuringly. Strangely, the news brought no further grief to her heart. She already knew the prince was dead—news of exactly how it happened only served to quiet her questions.

  “Thank you, Dorvorden,” she said.

  The man nodded, rising and giving Khriss a formal bow. “I’m just glad someone finally knows,” he explained. “One of the other boys, he died of a disease last year, and old Vent went south—I don’t know what happened to him. The last boy, well, he wasn’t right in the head after the attack, if you know what I mean.”

  Khriss nodded. “I’ll tell your parents you died bravely, Dorvorden,” she promised.

  The man nodded, following Idan as the butler led him from the room.

  “Cynder,” she said, “please have Idan give that man something to keep him going for the next few months. A couple hundred lak should do it.”

  “Of course, My Lady,” Cynder said.

  Khriss sighed, leaning back in her chair. When she opened her eyes, Kenton was regarding her with a somber expression.

  “I’m sorry, Khrissalla,” he said sincerely.

  She shook her head. “It’s all right,” she mumbled. “Nilto prepared me for this a few days ago—I already knew Gevalden was dead.”

  Kenton smiled slightly. “And you still got mad at me for asking a ‘betrothed woman’ to a ball?”

  “You didn’t know he was dead,” Khriss said, mimicking his half-smile. “Besides, I couldn’t let you get away with waking me up for no reason.”

  #

  Kenton wasn’t certain how to take the comment. She smiled, and her words were jovial, but he could see the grief in her eyes. She sat in the odd plush chair, sinking into its depths as if some massive weight were pushing her down.

  Should I try to comfort her? He wondered. For some reason he wanted to do so—to reach out and take her in his arms, let her cry as she obviously needed to.

  You fool, what are you thinking? She finds out that her betrothed is dead, and your first reaction is to try and edge your way in? Besides, she hates you, remember?

  “Will you be … all right?” he asked instead.

  Khriss shrugged. “I suppose,” she said. “I knew this would be the result. I don’t know why I bothered to hope. I probably shouldn’t have even come.”

  “Don’t say that,” Kenton whispered. “Don’t call hope useless. For eight years I tried to become a mastrell. The rest of the sand masters called me a fool for even trying. But, for eight years I hoped. And, well, you can see the result. I have the golden sash, though I might not keep it for long … .”

  “How is that going, by the way?” Khriss asked. It was an obvious attempt to turn the conversation away from the pain of her loss.

  Kenton shrugged. “Not that well, honestly. I only have eight days left, and only one of the Taisha has promised to vote for me. The rest range from undecided to outright hostile. If only there were a way … .”

  Kenton trailed off. He had spent the better part of the day before looking for kelzi willing to back the Diem with a lone in exchange for a percentage of the profits the sand masters would earn working for the separate Professions. Most of the wealthy, however, were too afraid to even see him. Perhaps when they heard that Reegent was going to vote for him they would change their minds, but Kenton doubted it. The kelzi respected Reegent, but most of them were also professed Ker’reen believers—the Kershtian religion was fashionable right now. Besides, even those who weren’t Ker’reen hated sand masters. The mastrells had ignored their privileged society for decades, holding themselves as too important to deal even with the kelzi. The rich did not like being told they were insignificant.

  “If only there were a way to do what?” Khriss asked.

  Kenton looked up from his contemplations. “Nothing,” he mumbled.

  “No, what is it?” Khriss pressed.

  Kenton sighed. “You heard the Lord Artisan, Khriss, you were there. Your compromise will be meaningless unless I can find a way to pay him what the Diem owes.”

  “Well, don’t the sand masters have any money?”

  “No,” Kenton said with a shake of his head. “That’s the problem.”

  “No cash at all?” Khriss pressed.

  “No … .” Kenton trailed off. There was the tribute—Heelis had told him that for some reason the Guild still offered the quarterly gift to the Diem. But, the mastrells could demand any good or service free of payment. The tribute only amounted to a couple hundred lak a month—so negligible that Kenton hadn’t even thought of it before. But, if the sand masters never needed to pay for anything, where had the money gone? It was probably just sitting around somewhere, perhaps distributed amongst the mastrells. Just sitting, piling up, growing over time … .

  “Sands!” Kenton said leaping to his feet.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Khriss rose, following Kenton out of the room.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, pulling open the front door.

  “Following you,” she informed.

  “Don’t you have anything better t
o do?” he complained, stepping out onto the darkened street, followed by the trackt, Ais.

  “No, actually,” Khriss realized, following them down the steps. “Whatever you just realized, I’m the one who helped you think of it. I deserve to go with you.”

  He rolled his eyes at the word ‘deserve,’ but he waved for her to join him. Baon appeared at the doorway, cursing slightly to himself as he threw on his open-fronted dayside robe to obscure his weapons. He rushed down to join them.

  “Well?” Khriss said, walking beside Kenton as he walked toward the darksider town marketplace.

  “Well what?” Kenton said, lost in thought.

  “Well, what did I say that made you go rushing from my house, your lunch unfinished? That’s quite an insult, if you didn’t know.”

  Kenton smiled. “Sand masters don’t get paid, per say. However, the other seven Professions have historically given us tributes—gifts, if you will, in exchange for our protection. The thing is, sand masters don’t need money.”

  Khriss frowned, thinking back to the conversation between Kenton and the Lord Artisan a few days before. “Because you can take whatever you want anyway.”

  “Well, with some limitations,” Kenton explained. “We can’t just take from anyone—we’re only open to goods or services offered by a merchant, and the mastrells are the only ones who can actually do the taking. They’re the highest rank of sand masters. So, the question is, if the mastrells can take whatever they want, what did they do with all the tribute money?”

  “I don’t know,” Khriss said with a shrug.

  “I don’t either,” Kenton said. “But there is someone who will know.”

  “Who?” Khriss asked.

  Kenton shook his head as they entered the marketplace of darksider town. “His name is Elorin. You won’t know him.”

  “Wait a moment,” Khriss said thoughtfully. “If the sand masters are allowed to take whatever they want, then how can the be in debt? Their thefts are technically legal, aren’t they?”

  “I there’s a clause in the Law that says the mastrells are supposed to eventually pay for what they take,” Kenton explained, weaving through the jumble of shops and sales-tables. Darksider town’s market wasn’t as busy as the outside, but it still had a fair number of patrons. “The Law just doesn’t specify a time frame for the payment, so the mastrells ignored it.”

  Khriss frowned. “So, exactly how long has this debt been accruing?”

  “Longer than I’d like to admit,” Kenton said with a sigh.

  They continued through the market, Khriss struggling to keep up in her heels. She didn’t know what she would do when they left darksider town and she had to walk on Kezare’s uncobbled streets. Perhaps the heels hadn’t been such a good idea. Kenton didn’t show any signs of slowing down, however, so she did her best. About half-way through the darksider marketplace she almost fell down, and stumbled into a crowd of surprised shoppers. The men regarded her with angry olive-skinned faces as she righted herself and hurried after Kenton.

  “Funny,” she mumbled as she caught up. “I’ve never seen Kershtians down here before.”

  Kenton froze. “What?” he asked sharply.

  A moment later the arrows began to fly.

  #

  Kenton cursed, throwing himself toward a nearby stall. This is getting old very quickly, he thought angrily, pulling out two handfuls of sand.

  To the side he saw Baon pulling Khriss to safety, while Ais stood squarely in the middle of the street, lowering his own weapon to fire, completely ignoring the danger to himself.

  There is something seriously wrong with that man, Kenton concluded, calling his sand to life. A second later he jumped.

  Kenton spun in the air above the marketplace, rising dangerously close to its low ceiling. He counted quickly—four zinkall archers in the front, three more approaching from behind. Frightened darksiders ran in every direction, most of them screaming loudly. Where was the eighth assassin?

  Kenton fell as the archers began to fire at him. He propelled himself down with his sand, dodging the shots. As he landed he saw a nondescript Lossandin man pointing his arm at Baon. Lossandin?

  “Baon, behind you!” Kenton yelled.

  The darkside warrior spun, pulling out his pistols. However, instead of firing his zinkall, the Lossandin man decided to tackle Baon, throwing him against the side of a carapace shop.

  Baon grunted, his pistols dropping to the ground as the wind was knocked out of his lungs. Unfortunately, Kenton had no time to help him. The three warriors behind were almost on them.

  Kenton gathered his sand into a roughly man-shaped form and ordered it out into the street. Three zinkall arrows smashed into the decoy, making little patches of sand fall dead. Immediately, Kenton ducked out into the street, sending his sand forward. The three Kershtians had taken cover beside shops, and they took aim at Kenton as soon as they saw him. They waited just a second to fire, however, the decoy still fresh in their minds.

  Kenton picked up a pot from a nearby shop, and as the men fired, he swing the pot at their arrows, knocking them out of the air. At the same time, he commanded his second ribbon to grab a similar weapon, and then swung it at a Kershtian’s head.

  The man dodged backward, swiping his hand at the stream of sand above him. The sand fell dead, the pot dropped to the ground.

  Kenton cursed. They were getting smarter—someone must have watched his first fight, noticing how he used random objects as weapons.

  He backed up, falling in beside Ais, who had finally taken cover beside a shop. Baon was still struggling with his combatant—who, now that his robes had fallen away, reveled himself to be the largest, most muscular Lossandin man Kenton had ever seen. Khriss had dropped to the ground in confusion, but was now reaching for one of Baon’s fallen pistols.

  The pistols! Kenton thought. Just before Khriss’s hand found the weapon, Kenton’s sand snatched it and its companion off the ground. Kenton jumped back into the street, surprising the four Kershtians in front, who had been approaching carefully.

  They looked up as Kenton raised his arms toward them, a ribbon of sand extending from each hand. Each ribbon gripped one of Baon’s pistols.

  The Kershtians ducked backward, expecting him to swing the pistols at their heads. Instead, Kenton positioned them directly in front of his enemies and used his sand to pull the triggers.

  Twin explosions, amplified by the enclosed marketplace, rang through the market. People dropped, screaming and holding their ears. Kenton didn’t follow—he turned the weapons toward the two remaining Kershtians and fired again.

  After four shots, he was pretty much certain he was deaf. His ears rang as he dropped the pistols, jumping back toward cover to avoid shots from behind. Fortunately, Ais had been watching the other three, and he dropped a man with an arrow in the arm as they tried to fire at Kenton.

  Kenton hit the ground, half expecting to have an arrow somewhere in his body. However, he appeared unharmed. He looked over to Baon, who was still grappling with his opponent. Khriss was repeatedly pounding the Lossandin assassin with a length of carapace as the two men rolled on the ground. None of the blows seemed to be doing any good, except maybe to distract the man.

  Suddenly, Baon moved, pushing his opponent off him with a surge of strength. Baon reached down toward his leg with a free hand, ignoring Khriss as the girl accidentally smashed him on the head with her board. As the Lossandin assassin fell back down toward Baon, the darkside warrior whipped a very wicked knife out of a sheath at his calf. A second later, his opponent, off balanced by the push, fell back on top of him—landing directly on the knife.

  Baon rammed the knife up toward the man’s heart, then he ripped the weapon free, jumping up into a defensive crouch and shooting Kenton a look.

  Ais said something Kenton couldn’t make out with his ringing ears, lowering his zinkall.

  Kenton peeked out. The remaining Kershtians had taken their wounded comrade and were running off.<
br />
  #

  Kenton rubbed his ears. Some of the ringing had stopped, but his hearing hadn’t completely returned, though Baon assured him it would.

  Trackts swarmed over the darkside marketplace—only Ais’s presence had saved Kenton from answering a lengthy list of questions. Instead, he had time to kneel next to the man Baon had killed.

  “Lossandin,” Kenton confirmed, checking the skin.

  “What does it mean?” Baon asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kenton confessed. “The Kershtian high priest has a contract on my life, but this is the first Lossandin who has tried to kill me.” Kenton rubbed at the man’s forehead. He wore scars like the others, but his were fresh.

  “I had heard news of this,” a voice said in Lossandin beside him.

  Kenton looked up as Ais studied the body.

  “The A’Kar has said he would let Lossandins join Kershtian families if they were willing to dedicate themselves only to him,” the trackt explained. “I’d assumed the rumors were false.”

  Kenton shook his head ruefully. “So, I’m not only being hunted by the most avid A’Kar in recent history, but also the most open-minded one?”

  “This new A’Kar is different,” Ais explained. “He has strange ideas, and he’s determined to win the Choosing. If he lets Lossandins join, then his DaiKeen will grow faster than any of the others, giving him more power. Of course, right now there’s only one thing keeping him from winning the Choosing.”

  “What?” Kenton asked.

  “You,” Ais said, standing. “He told the Kershtian people he had destroyed the mastrells. That was before you came back. Now he looks like a liar and a fool.”

  No wonder he’s eager to have me dead, Kenton thought.

  “How come every time I go somewhere with you, I almost get killed?” a new voice demanded, and Kenton had to switch his thinking back to Dynastic.

  “Trust me, Khrissalla,” he said. “I would avoid this if I could.”

  Khriss stood with her arms folded, staring him down with a distrustful eye. “All right,” she said. “I want the story. The entire story. No more dodging—who are you, what is going on, and why does everyone want you dead?”