Kenton sighed. She does deserve it, he reminded himself. “All right. Let’s go back to the Diem first.”
#
And so, he told her. Khriss listened to fascination as Kenton related his life story. He spoke of his darksider mother and mastrell father, his desire to join the Diem, his childhood filled with pain. He told her how he got into the Diem on a technicality, how he struggled to do what other sand masters found easy. He talked about all the hours he spent practicing, honing his skill, until he could do things no other sand master could.
Then he spoke of his frustrations. He explained his desire to impress his father—a desire that twisted until it became a compulsion to spite the man at every possible occasion. Kenton spoke of his frustrations with his fellow sand masters, who respected him on one hand but mocked him at the same time. He told her of his refusal to accept ranks in the Diem until his father recognized the accomplishments he had made.
He told her much more than she had expected him to. Kenton released the story like a massive sigh, expelling his inner feelings, talking to her like an old friend despite the horrible way she had treated him.
And horrible it had been. She began to feel guilty as he told her the story of his father’s death and the slaughter of the sand masters. She remembered how suspicious of him she had been during their travel back, how demanding she had been of his time when all he wanted to do was get back and find out which of his friends had lived.
She vaguely remembered the look in his eye after the Kershtians had tried to kill them—the despair. She finally understood why he had acted the way he did. He had assumed his powers were gone forever. Kenton continued on, explaining his ability’s mysterious reappearance.
Finally, he told her of the last week. He talked about his defense of the Diem at the Hall of Judgement, his two-week deadline, and his insecurities relating to his leadership. He talked optimistically about his task, but it was obvious to Khriss that his job was a nearly impossible one. She hadn’t even been able to get the Taishin to see her, let alone get them to change their minds about such a monumental decision.
All this time I’ve been worrying about finding one man, while Kenton’s been trying to save an entire Profession.
Then he explained why the Kershtians were trying to kill him. He spoke of Kershtian politics, of their three sub-sects and the way they chose a ruler. He told her of the A’Kar, their high priest, and why the man needed to kill Kenton. He told her that assassins would come after him every two days until he was either dead or he managed to find and kill their leader.
Last of all, he explained the challenge he had made to the man Drile. He told her of the duel, explaining with odd frankness that there wasn’t much chance that he would be able to win.
Khriss leaned back in her sand-chair, exhausted from the length explanation. It was enough to sate even her curiosity.
And I thought my task was difficult … .
#
“So, Khrissalla, that is who I am, what is going on, and why those Kershtians are trying to kill me.” He’d said more than he’d intended—for some reason, it had all just come out. It felt good to have said it, however, even if the one he had said it to didn’t really care for him all that much.
“I never imagined …” she mumbled. “I mean, I didn’t know …”
“Any more questions?” he asked with a smile.
She shook her head.
“That’s a first.”
“So, what about the money?” she asked. “Weren’t we going to try and …”
“Sands, I forgot!” Kenton said, standing. He changed to Lossandin, asking a question of his red-haired assistant. The boy nodded, disappearing. A few moments later he returned with an elderly sand master in a yellow sash. Kenton spoke to him for a few moments, then looked back at Khriss.
“Elorin says he doesn’t know what happened to the tribute money—the Lord Mastrell accepted it and did something with it.”
“Which means it’s probably lying around here somewhere,” Khriss assumed.
“Probably,” Kenton agreed, looking excited.
At precisely that moment, the door opened and Eric walked in, munching happily on what appeared to be some sort of flat-bread covered with frosting. He took a look at everyone in the room, and frowned slightly.
“All right, what did I miss?”
“We’re going to ransack the Diem,” Kenton explained. “Want to help?”
“Sure,” Eric said, munching on his food. “What are we looking for?”
“Money,” Kenton explained. “The mastrells left behind coins.”
“Oh, sure,” Eric said with a nod. “I could have told you that. How do you think I bought this?” He held up the pastry.
Kenton froze, looking down at the pastry with stupefied eyes. “You knew the mastrells left behind money?” he asked.
“Of course,” Eric explained. “I found it on the first day. You did say I could help myself to one of the rooms, you know. I figured that included whatever I found in the desk drawers … .”
“Show me,” Kenton ordered.
#
Eric lead them to his room, which turned out very similar to Kenton’s. It had the same sand-covered floor—Khriss assumed that was to facilitate sand mastery—and a similar scattering of furniture, including several of the sand-stuffed chairs.
Eric’s main room had a smaller side-room just like Kenton’s, and inside it was a desk. Eric proceeded to open the top drawer with a flowery gesture, then reached under and undid a hidden latch, which unlocked some mechanism that let him remove the entire drawer. He turned it over, turned a switch on the bottom, and opened a secret compartment in the back.
“There,” he said dramatically.
Kenton knelt beside the drawer, eyeing the pile of coins inside. There were some of the silvery hematite coins that Khriss recognized as 100 lak marks, but most of them were tiger-eye tens or blue marble fives.
Kenton did a mental calculation. “How much of it did you spend!” he accused.
Eric held up his hands. “Oh, about fifty lak or so.”
Kenton rubbed his chin in thought. “There isn’t as much as I expected,” he admitted. “This should have been accruing for years—even divided amongst twenty mastrells, there should be more money here.”
Eric shrugged. “Maybe the others have more. I checked a few rooms before I chose this one—most of them had desks like this one.”
Kenton stood with a nod. “All right,” he said. “Eric, you work on this side and move right. I’ll go left. Khriss, you take the rooms on the other side of the hallway and move right, Baon you can go left.”
“What?” Khriss huffed. “You’re giving me orders now?”
“You wanted to be part of what I was doing,” Kenton with a smile. “Well, you can take part. Go remove the desk drawers and bring them back to my rooms.”
He winked at her before walking from the room to begin his own search.
Khriss watched him go with an indignant snort.
“You did tell him you wanted to be part of what he was doing,” Baon noted from the side.
“You’re not helping,” she shot back. Finally, however, she complied, trying to ignore the smirk Kenton gave her when he saw her do as he had requested.
And just when I thought we were starting to get along! Khriss thought to herself. That man is completely, totally, and utterly insufferable.
#
Their ‘ransack’ of the Diem took considerably less time than Kenton had expected it would. It turned out that desks like the one in Eric’s rooms were standard issue for mastrells, and each one had a false-bottomed drawer where they had stored their coins.
As they searched, Kenton briefly considered how relatively unimaginative the mastrells had been. Each one of them hid their money in exactly the same place. But, that had been one of his big complaints about the Diem’s leadership—their closed-mindedness.
It felt odd, pillaging his own home. But, the mastrel
ls didn’t need their money any more, and it was going toward a good cause. In the end they gathered all the coins in the center of Kenton’s room, piling them like a bandit’s illicit hoard. There were fewer of them than Kenton had hoped—far fewer.
“About five thousand,” Eric said, counting the last hundred-lak coin.
Kenton cursed. “That’s a far cry from two-hundred thousand, isn’t it?” he asked.
“You could say that,” Eric said with a smirk.
“Two hundred thousand?” Khriss asked with amazement. “Two hundred thousand lak? That’s how much you owe?”
Kenton nodded with a sigh. “I warned you it was big.”
“The jewels I sold were only worth twenty thousand,” Khriss said. “Two-hundred … .”
Kenton sighed. “Elorin,” he said in Lossandin, “how does the Diem pay its servants?”
“It … doesn’t, Lord Mastrell,” Elorin informed. “The Lord Artisan pays them.”
“I thought as much,” Kenton said. “Take this money, and tell the servants that we’ll be paying them from now on. Use it to buy whatever the Diem needs over the next week.”
“Yes, Lord Mastrell,” Elorin agreed.
Kenton sat down, running his hands through his hair. “Well, thank you for the idea, Khriss, but I’m afraid it didn’t turn out as I had hoped.”
Khriss sat in one of his chairs, staring at the pile of coins, tapping her foot in annoyance. “If only we knew where your father’s money went.”
Kenton nodded. In every room they had found at least a few coins, with one noted exception. Praxton’s desk had been empty. Kenton had searched through the room, poking at cupboards, rattling chests, searching for false backs on closets, but had found no luck. Praxton’s stash of coins—if he had one—was nowhere to be found.
“He probably spent it,” Eric mumbled.
“Where?” Kenton asked. “Everything is free.”
“Not everything,” Eric said. “Mastrells can’t commandeer boats, for one thing.”
Kenton nodded. Kezare’s survival depended on shipping—the population was so large that daily shipments of food were necessary to keep it fed. In addition, boat hulls had to be constructed completely of wood—if they used carapace, the first dent or chip could end up sinking the entire vessel. So valuable were the boats that the Law has a clause excluding them from the mastrell’s ability to demand goods.
“True,” Kenton agreed, “but my father never traveled anywhere. Why would he spend money on a boat?”
Eric shrugged. “I’ve always thought sand masters were weird. Maybe he just felt like it.”
Kenton snorted.
“Or …” Eric said thoughtfully.
“What?”
Eric nodded at the chairs. “What about those?”
Kenton regarded the chair he was sitting in. “What do chairs have to do with boats?”
“Nothing,” Eric replied. “I’ve discarded the boat idea. Where do they make chairs like that?”
Kenton shrugged. “Denka?”
Eric nodded.
“Denka,” Kenton said, realizing what he had just said. “One of the Rim Kingdoms.”
“Where the sand masters have no legal rite to steal,” Eric said with a nod.
“Of course,” Kenton realized. That’s why the mastrells didn’t have as much money as he’d assumed—they might get goods in Kezare for free, but many of the most expensive items were foreign. They would have to use coin to commission those. “I should have thought of that.”
“It was a nice idea, though,” Eric said, regarding the pile of coins.
#
Kenton bid Khriss farewell, promising to meet her the next day and escort her to the Lord Admiral’s party. She left, feeling slightly despondent. For a brief time, Kenton had thought one of his problems solved, but in the end nothing had come of it. She kind of felt guilty, as if the failure were her fault because she had made the comment that gave him the idea.
She and Baon climbed aboard the boat to Kezare with a subdued tone. Khriss rode in silence, reviewing what she had learned. Kenton wasn’t as powerful as she had assumed—he was just doing the best he could with what he had. Just like her.
As she pondered, however, she realized something. Despite his lengthy explanation, Kenton had left out one topic. Sand mastery. He had told her almost nothing about the art itself—why it worked, how much a single person could lift, that sort of thing. He had told her that he wasn’t very powerful, but had given no details about what that meant.
The best with what you have … . What did she have? Not much—a curious mind and a dead fiancée. But, she was still on dayside, a massive undertaking in itself. She couldn’t just head back to darkside—she felt as if she should do something while she was here. Some greater purpose.
And finally, she realized what it was. She had come to find Gevin, but what had he come to dayside to do? His quest had been much more selfless than her own; he had come for the sand mages, something only he believed were real. He had thought they would be able to help Elis against the Dynasty.
Well, the sand mages were real, and Khriss was coming to know one of them fairly well. She had seen what Kenton did today—that kind of power could be useful in the coming battle with Scythe.
Gevin, you were right! She realized with amazement. The sand mages are the answer.
The prince had been killed before he could fulfill his dream, so she would see it fulfilled for him. She would find out how sand mastery worked, and would bring the secret back with her to Elis.
Chapter Twenty-Four
When Ais climbed up the short ladder on the side of his house, he left behind the world. He left behind the city; he left behind the markets, the hustle, the yelling, the confusion, the pain, and even the duty. He entered a realm that to one, insignificant man, was holy.
He walked reverently across the roof, wearing only a simple tan Kershtian robe. Here, away from Portside, the buildings were smaller, and his own home rose above those surrounding it. Quietly, he walked over to a battered trunk sitting by the roof’s siderail. Thieves had likely seen the trunk and inspected its contents dozens of times—it bore not lock, and any with the determination could jump from a neighboring rooftop to open it.
Those who had done so had undoubtedly been disappointed.
Ais lifted the trunk’s lid. It was filled with sand—normal, white sand. At least, to the casual observer that is how it would appear. Reverently, Ais removed the cloth mat that sat across the top of the sand, unrolling it on the ground before him. Then he took a scoop of sand in each hand and sprinkled it across the mat. Though it looked unremarkable, the chest of sand was perhaps the most valuable possession Ais owned. Years ago he himself had made the trek to the deep sands to fill it. This sand had been taken from holy ground.
Removing his shoes—a symbol of pagan Lossand—Ais knelt on the sand-strewn mat. Then he turned to face his God.
He knew, technically, that the sun was not the Sand Lord—it was only a manifestation of His divine presence. Still, the great orb was a reminder of the Sand Lord’s power. As Ais knelt, his hands spread before him, his eyes closed, he could feel its power.
Heat bathed him. It warmed each breath he took, giving life to all of dayside. Its strength was acknowledged by every inch of Ais’s skin. It was striking even through closed eyelids. As Ais knelt before it, the entire world seemed to grow silent and, for a moment, he was alone before the Sand Lord.
A’Kar A’Ker A’KerNaisha, he thought, the ritual opening to a prayer. Ir’takasha N’Keemsha Kashaen’Heesth’ Ker’Naisha’Totar. I am unworthy before thee. Kreen’Dakasha Nan’Mashainto. Please grant me strength. K’Klai’Dakasha Lron’Karashaor’Disha Dail’Teeshakar Ishao’Mashainto. Please, oh please, let this experience end quickly.
Ais was beginning to wonder at his own closely-held beliefs. Could he really be both a trackt and a Kershtian? Twice now his role as Kenton’s protector had forced him to fight people of his own race. That
, in itself, was not a problem—Kershtians frequently fought one another. The problem was, he was forced to fight and kill men whose motivations he secretly applauded.
The Lord Mastrell deserved to die. It was cruel to consider, but it was the truth. Recently, the A’Kar had declared that Lossandin people who joined Ker’reen would be allowed to seek adoption into a Kershtian family. Traditionally, non-Kershtians who joined Ker’reen were still regulated to second-class blessings in the Sand Lord’s eternal kingdom on the sun, servants to those of the true blood. For the first time in history, the Sand Lord’s eternal blessings were available to all.
The declaration felt right to Ais—he had always believed it would occur. All men were equal before the Law, it made sense that they would all be equal before God. Only one thing remained a blight on Lossand—the sand masters. The A’Kar had recently hinted that if it weren’t for the Diem, Lossand’s high population of believers would earn the nation a holy status equal with that of the kerla. Only Kenton stood in the way.
And Ais was responsible for keeping him alive. Perhaps that was why Ais’s control seemed to be slipping more and more lately. He had found himself crying for no reason after the attack the day before—thankfully, he didn’t think the sand master had seen him. His emotions seemed to be raging uncontrollably, threatening to burst free at any moment.
“Ais?” Mellis’s voice rose to him as she climbed up the ladder. She knew that he rose early in the morning to pray when the moon was pointing directly east. He heard her footsteps pad across the roof, and she knelt beside him on the mat, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder.
There had always been three pillars of stability in Ais’s life—God, Law, and family. Now two were fighting and the third was in danger. No wonder his control was slipping.
He sighed, lowering his head. “I don’t know what is happening to me, Mellis,” he whispered. “All my life, I have only wanted control, yet it seems to be the one thing that I will never obtain.”
Mellis rested her head on his shoulder. “It will be all right, Ais,” she promised. “Have you ever wondered if, perhaps, this is what the Sand Lord wants for you?”
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