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Elend's rooms, nor why she stood, quietly watching the former king in the night. She couldn't protect him. She tried so hard, but the impossibility of keeping even one person safe suddenly seemed so real—so tangible—to her that she felt sick. Elend had been right to go out. He was his own man, competent, kingly. What he had done would only put him in more danger, however. Fear had been a companion of hers for such a long time that she had grown accustomed to it, and it rarely caused a physical reaction in her. Yet, watching him sleep quietly, she found her hands traitorously unsteady. I saved him from the assassins. I protected him. I'm a powerful Allomancer. Why, then, do I feel so helpless? So alone. She walked forward, bare feet silent as she stepped up to Elend's bed. He did not wake. She stood for a long moment, just looking at him peaceful in his slumber. OreSeur growled quietly. Vin spun. A figure stood on the balcony, straight-backed and black, a near silhouette even to her tin-enhanced eyes. Mist fell before him, pooling on the floor, spreading out like an ethereal moss. "Zane," she whispered. "He is not safe, Vin," he said, stepping slowly into the room, pushing a wave of mist before him. She looked back at Elend. "He never will be." "I came to tell you that there is a traitor in your midst." Vin looked up. "Who?" she asked. "The man, Demoux," Zane said. "He contacted my father a short time before the assassination attempt, offering to open the gates and give up the city." Vin frowned. That makes no sense. Zane stepped forward. "Cett's work, Vin. He is a snake, even among high lords. I don't know how he bribed away one of your own men, but I do know that Demoux tried to provoke my father to attack the city during the voting." Vin paused. If Straff had attacked at that moment, it would have reinforced the impression that he had sent the assassins in the first place. "Elend and Penrod were supposed to die," Zane said. "With the Assembly in chaos, Cett could have taken charge. He could have led his forces—along with your own—against Straff's attacking army. He would have become the savior who protected Luthadel against the tyranny of an invader. . .." Vin stood quietly. Just because Zane said it didn't mean it was true. Yet, her investigations whispered that Demoux was the traitor. She'd recognized the assassin at the assembly, and he had been from Cett's retinue, so she knew that Zane was telling the truth about at least one thing. Plus, Cett had precedent for sending Allomancer assassins: he had sent the ones months ago, when Vin had used the last of her atium. Zane had saved her life during that fight. She clenched her fists, frustration biting at her chest. If he's right, then Demoux is dead, and an enemy kandra has been in the palace, spending his days just steps away from Elend. Even if Zane
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lies, we still have a tyrant inside the city, another without. A force of koloss salivating over the people. And Elend doesn't need me. Because there's nothing I can do. "I see your frustration," Zane whispered, stepping up beside Elend's bed, looking down at his sleeping brother. "You keep listening to him. You want to protect him, but he won't let you." Zane looked up, meeting her eyes. She saw an implication in them. There was something she could do—the thing a part of her had wanted to do from the beginning. The thing she'd been trained to do. "Cett almost killed the man you love," Zane said. "Your Elend does as he wishes. Well, let us do as you wish." He looked into her eyes. "We have been someone else's knives for too long. Let's show Cett why he should fear us." Her fury, her frustration at the siege, yearned to do as Zane suggested. Yet, she wavered, her thoughts in chaos. She had killed—killed well—just a short time before, and it had terrified her. Yet. . .Elend could take risks—insane risks, traveling into an army of koloss on his own. It almost felt like a betrayal. She had worked so hard to protect him, straining herself, exposing herself. Then, just a few days later, he wandered alone into a camp full of monsters. She gritted her teeth. Part of her whispered that if Elend wouldn't be reasonable and stay out of danger, she'd just have to go and make sure the threats against him were removed. "Let's go," she whispered. Zane nodded. "Realize this," he said. "We can't just assassinate him. Another warlord will take his place, and take his armies. We have to attack hard. We have to hit that army so soundly that whoever takes over for Cett is so frightened that he withdraws." Vin paused, looking away from him, nails biting into her own palms. "Tell me," he said, stepping closer to her. "What would your Kelsier tell you to do?" The answer was simple. Kelsier would never have gotten into this situation. He had been a hard man, a man with little tolerance for any who threatened those he loved. Cett and Straff wouldn't have lasted a single night at Luthadel without feeling Kelsier's knife. There was a part of her that had always been awed by his powerful, utilitarian brutality. There are two ways to stay safe, Reen's voice whispered to her. Either be so quiet and harmless that people ignore you, or be so dangerous that they're terrified of you. She met Zane's eyes and nodded. He smiled, then moved over and jumped out the window. "OreSeur," she whispered once he was gone. "My atium." The dog paused, then padded up to her, his shoulder splitting. "Mistress. . ." he said slowly. "Do not do this." She glanced at Elend. She couldn't protect him from everything. But she could do something. She took the atium from OreSeur. Her hands no longer shook. She felt cold. "Cett has threatened all that I love," she whispered.
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"He will soon know that there is something in this world more deadly than his assassins. Something more powerful than his army. Something more terrifying than the Lord Ruler himself. "And I am coming for him." Mist duty, they called it. Every soldier had to take his turn, standing in the dark with a sputtering torch. Someone had to watch. Had to stare into those shifting, deceitful mists and wonder if anything was out there. Watching. Wellen knew there was. He knew it, but he never spoke. Soldiers laughed at such superstitions. They had to go out in the mists. They were used to it. They knew better than to fear it. Supposedly. "Hey," Jarloux said, stepping up to the edge of the wall. "Wells, do you see something out there?" Of course he didn't. They stood with several dozen others on the perimeter of Keep Hasting, watching from the outer keep wall—a low fortification, perhaps fifteen feet tall, that surrounded the grounds. Their job was to look for anything suspicious in the mists. "Suspicious." That was the word they used. It was all suspicious. It was mist. That shifting darkness, that void made of chaos and hatred. Wellen had never trusted it. They were out there. He knew. Something moved in the darkness. Wellen stepped back, staring into the void, his heart beginning to flutter, hands beginning to sweat as he raised his spear. "Yeah," Jarloux said, squinting. "I swear, I see. . ." It came, as Wellen had always known it would. Like a thousand gnats on a hot day, like a hail of arrows shot by an entire army. Coins sprayed across the battlements. A wall of shimmering death, hundreds of trails zipping through the mists. Metal rang against stone, and men cried out in pain. Wellen stepped back, raising his spear, as Jarloux yelled the alarm. Jarloux died halfway through the call, a coin snapping through his mouth, throwing out a chip of tooth as it proceeded out the back of his head. Jarloux collapsed, and Wellen stumbled away from the corpse, knowing that it was too late to run. The coins stopped. Silence in the air. Men lay dying or groaning at his feet. Then they came. Two dark shadows of death in the night. Ravens in the mist. They flew over Wellen with a rustle of black cloth. And they left him behind, alone amid the corpses of what had once been a squad of forty men. Vin landed in a crouch, bare feet on the cool stone cobbles of the Hasting courtyard. Zane landed upright, standing—as always—with his towering air of self-confidence. Pewter blazed within her, giving her muscles the taut energy of a thousand excited moments. She easily ignored the pain of her wounded side. Her sole bead of atium rested in her stomach, but she didn't use it. Not yet. Not unless she was right, and Cett proved to be Mistborn. "We'll go from the bottom up," Zane said. Vin nodded. The central tower of Keep Hasting was many stories high, and they
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couldn't know which one Cett was on. If they started low, he wouldn't be able to escape. Besides. Going up would be more difficult. The energy in Vin's limbs cried for release. She'd waited, remained coiled, for far too long. She was tired of weakness, tired of being restrained. She had spent months as a knife, held immobile at someone's throat. It was time to cut. The two dashed forward. Torches began to light around them as Cett's men—those who camped in the courtyard—awakened to the alarm. Tents unfurled and collapsed, men yelling in surprise, looking for the army that assailed them. They could only wish that they were so lucky. Vin jumped straight up into the air, and Zane spun, throwing a bag of coins around him. Hundreds of bits of copper sparkled in the air beneath her—a peasant's fortune. Vin landed with a rustle, and they both Pushed, their power throwing the coins outward. The torch-sparkled missiles ripped through the camp, dropping surprised, drowsy men. Vin and Zane continued toward the central tower. A squad of soldiers had formed up at the tower's front. They still seemed disoriented, confused, and sleepy, but they were armed. Armed with metal armor and steel weapons—a choice that, had they actually been facing an enemy army, would have been wise. Zane and Vin slid into the midst of the soldiers. Zane tossed a single coin into the air between them. Vin reached out and Pushed against it, feeling Zane's weight as he also Pushed against it. Braced against each other, they both Pushed in opposite directions, throwing their weight against the breastplates of the soldiers to either side. With flared pewter—holding each other steady—their Pushes scattered the soldiers as if they had been slapped by enormous hands. Spears and swords twisted in the night, clattering to the cobbles. Breastplates towed bodies away. Vin extinguished her steel as she felt Zane's weight come off the coin. The sparkling bit of metal bounced to the ground between them, and Zane turned, throwing up his hand toward the single soldier who remained standing directly between Zane and the keep doors. A squad of soldiers raced up behind Zane, but they suddenly halted as he Pushed against them—then sent the transfer of weight directly into the lone soldier. The unfortunate man crashed backward into the keep doors. Bones crunched. The doors flung open as the soldier burst into the room beyond. Zane ducked through the open doorway, and Vin moved smoothly behind him, her bare feet leaving rough cobbles and falling on smooth marble instead. Soldiers waited inside. These didn't wear armor, and they carried large wooden shields to block coins. They were armed with staves or obsidian swords. Hazekillers—men trained specifically to fight Allomancers. There were, perhaps, fifty of them. Now it begins in earnest, Vin thought, leaping into the air and Pushing off the door's hinges. Zane led by Pushing on the same man he'd used to break open the doors, throwing the corpse toward a group of hazekillers. As the soldier crashed into them, Vin
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landed amid a second group. She spun on the floor, whipping out her legs and flaring pewter, tripping a good four men. As the others tried to strike, she Pushed downward against a coin in her pouch, ripping it free and throwing herself upward. She spun in the air, catching a falling staff discarded by a tripped soldier. Obsidian cracked against the white marble where she had been. Vin came down with her own weapon and struck, attacking faster than anyone should be able to, hitting ears, chins, and throats. Skulls cracked. Bones broke. She was barely breathing hard when she found all ten of her opponents down. Ten men. . .didn't Kelsier once tell me he had trouble with half a dozen hazekillers? No time to think. A large group of soldiers charged her. She yelled and jumped toward them, throwing her staff into the face of the first man she met. The others raised their shields, surprised, but Vin whipped out a pair of obsidian daggers as she landed. She rammed them into the thighs of two men before her, then spun past them, attacking flesh where she saw it. An attack flickered from the corner of her eye, and she snapped up an arm, blocking the wooden staff as it came for her head. The wood cracked, and she took the man down with a wide sweep of the dagger, nearly beheading him. She jumped backward as the others moved in, braced herself, then yanked on the armored corpse Zane had used before, Pulling it toward her. Shields did little good against a missile so large. Vin smashed the corpse into her opponents, sweeping them before her. To the side, she could see the remnants of the hazekillers who had attacked Zane. Zane stood among them, a black pillar before the fallen, arms outstretched. He met her eyes, then nodded toward the rear of the chamber. Vin ignored the few remaining hazekillers. She Pushed against the corpse and sent herself sliding across the floor. Zane jumped up, Pushing back, shattering his way through a window and into the mists. Vin quickly did a check of the back rooms: no Cett. She turned and took down a straggling hazekiller as she ducked into the lift shaft. She needed no elevator. She shot straight up on a Pushed coin, bursting out onto the third floor. Zane would take the second. Vin landed quietly on the marble floor, hearing footsteps come down a stairwell beside her. She recognized this large, open room: it was the chamber where she and Elend had met Cett for dinner. It was now empty, even the table removed, but she recognized the circular perimeter of stained-glass windows. Hazekillers burst from the kitchen room. Dozens. There must be another stairwell back there, Vin thought as she darted toward the stairwell beside her. Dozens more were coming out there, however, and the two groups moved to surround her. Fifty-to-one must have seemed like good odds for the men, and they charged confidently. She glanced at the open kitchen doors,
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and saw no Cett beyond. This floor was clear. Cett certainly brought a lot of hazekillers, she thought, backing quietly to the center of the room. Save for the stairwell, kitchens, and pillars, the room was mostly surrounded in arched stained-glass windows. He planned for my attack. Or, he tried to. Vin ducked down as the waves of men surrounded her. She turned her head up, eyes closed, and burned duralumin. Then she Pulled. Stained-glass windows—set in metal frames inside their arches—exploded around the room. She felt the metal frames burst inward, twisting on themselves before her awesome power. She imagined twinkling slivers of multicolored glass in the air. She heard men scream as glass and metal hit them, embedding in their flesh. Only the outer layer of men would die from the blast. Vin opened her eyes and jumped as a dozen dueling canes fell around her. She passed through a hail of attacks. Some hit. It didn't matter. She couldn't feel pain at the moment. She Pushed against a broken metal frame, throwing herself over the heads of soldiers, landing outside the large circle of attackers. The outer line of men was down, impaled by glass shards and twisted metal frames. Vin raised a hand and bowed her head. Duralumin and steel. She Pushed. The world lurched. Vin shot out into the mists through a broken window as she Pushed against the line of corpses impaled by metal frames. The bodies were thrown away from her, smashing into the men who were still alive in the center. Dead, dying, and unharmed were swept from the room, Pushed out the window opposite Vin. Bodies twisted in the mists, fifty men thrown into the night, leaving the room empty save for trails of blood and discarded bits of glass. Vin downed a vial of metals as the mists rushed around her; then she Pulled herself back toward the keep, using a window on the fourth floor. As she approached, a corpse crashed through the window, falling out into the night. She caught a glimpse of Zane disappearing out another window on the opposite side. This level was clear. Lights burned on the fifth floor. They probably could have come here first, but that wasn't the plan. Zane was right. They didn't just need to kill Cett. They needed to terrify his entire army. Vin Pushed against the same corpse that Zane had thrown out the window, using its metal armor as an anchor. It shot down at an angle, passing just inside a broken window, and Vin soared upward in an angle away from the building. A quick Pull directed her back to the building once she reached the elevation she needed. She landed at a window on the fifth floor. Vin grasped the stone sill, heart thumping, breaths coming in deep gasps. Sweat made her face cold in the winter breeze, despite the heat burning within her. She gulped, eyes wide, and flared her pewter. Mistborn. She shattered the window with a slap. The soldiers that waited beyond jumped backward, spinning.
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One wore a metal belt buckle. He died first. The other twenty barely knew how to react as the buckle buzzed through their ranks, twisting between Vin's Pushes and Pulls. They had been trained, instructed, and perhaps even tested against Allomancers. But they had never fought Vin. Men screamed and fell, Vin ripping through their ranks with only the buckle as a weapon. Before the force of her pewter, tin, steel, and iron, the possible use of atium seemed an incredible waste. Even without it, she was a terrible weapon—one that, until this moment, even she hadn't understood. Mistborn. The last man fell. Vin stood among them, feeling a numbing sense of satisfaction. She let the belt buckle slip from her fingers. It hit carpet. She stood in a room that wasn't unadorned as the rest of the building had been; there was furniture here, and there were some minor decorations. Perhaps Elend's clearing crews hadn't gotten this far before Cett's arrival, or perhaps he'd simply brought some of his own comforts. Behind her was the stairwell. In front of her was a fine wooden wall set with a door—the inner apartments. Vin stepped forward quietly, mistcloak rustling as she Pulled four lamps off the brackets behind her. They whipped forward, and she sidestepped, letting them crash into the wall. Fire blossomed across splattered oil, billowing across the wall, the force of the lamps breaking the door on its hinges. She raised a hand, Pushing it fully open. Fire dripped around her as she stepped into the room beyond. The richly decorated chamber was quiet, and eerily empty save for two figures. Cett sat in a simple wooden chair, bearded, sloppily dressed, and looking very, very tired. Cett's young son stepped in between Cett and Vin. The boy held a dueling cane. So, which one is Mistborn? The boy swung. Vin caught the weapon, then shoved the boy to the side. He crashed into the wooden wall, then slumped to the ground. Vin eyed him. "Leave Gneorndin alone, woman," Cett said. "Do what you came to do." Vin turned toward the nobleman. She remembered her frustration, her rage, her cool, icy anger. She stepped forward and grabbed Cett by the front of his suit. "Fight me," she said, and tossed him backward. He slammed against the back wall, then slumped to the ground. Vin prepared her atium, but he did not rise. He simply rolled to the side, coughing. Vin walked over, pulling him up by one arm. He balled a fist, trying to strike her, but he was pathetically weak. She let the blows bounce off her side. "Fight me," she commanded, tossing him to the side. He tumbled across the floor—head hitting hard—and came to rest against the burning wall, a trickle of blood running from his brow. He didn't rise. Vin gritted her teeth, striding forward. "Leave him alone!" The boy, Gneorndin, stumbled in front of Cett, raising his dueling cane in a wavering hand. Vin paused, cocking her head. The boy's brow was streaked with sweat, and he
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was unsteady on his feet. She looked into his eyes, and saw absolute terror therein. This boy was no Mistborn. Yet, he held his ground. Pathetically, hopelessly, he stood before the body of the fallen Cett. "Step aside, son," Cett said in a tired voice. "There is nothing you can do here." The boy started to shake, then began to weep. Tears, Vin thought, feeling an oddly surreal feeling cloud her mind. She reached up, surprised to find wet streaks on her own cheeks. "You have no Mistborn," she whispered. Cett had struggled to a half-reclining position, and he looked into her eyes. "No Allomancers faced us this night," she said. "You used them all on the assassination attempt in the Assembly Hall?" "The only Allomancers I had, I sent against you months ago," Cett said with a sigh. "They were all I ever had, my only hope of killing you. Even they weren't from my family. My whole line has been corrupted by skaa blood—Allrianne is the only Allomancer to be born to us for centuries." "You came to Luthadel. . ." "Because Straff would have come for me eventually," Cett said. "My best chance, lass, was to kill you early on. That's why I sent them all against you. Failing that, I knew I had to try and take this damn city and its atium so I could buy myself some Allomancers. Didn't work." "You could have just offered us an alliance." Cett chuckled, pulling himself up to a sitting position. "It doesn't work that way in real politics. You take, or you get taken. Besides, I've always been a gambling man." He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. "Do what you came to," he repeated. Vin shivered. She couldn't feel her tears. She could barely feel anything. Why? Why can't I make sense of anything anymore? The room began to shake. Vin spun, looking toward the back wall. The wood there quivered and spasmed like a dying animal. Nails began to pop, ripping backward through the paneling; then the entire wall burst away from Vin. Burning boards, splinters, nails, and shingles sprayed in the air, flying around a man in black. Zane stood sideways in the room beyond, death strewn at his feet, hands at his sides. Red streamed from the tips of his fingers, running in a steady drip. He looked up through the burning remnants of the wall, smiling. Then he stepped toward Cett's room. "No!" Vin said, dashing at him. Zane paused, surprised. He stepped to the side, easily dodging Vin, walking toward Cett and the boy. "Zane, leave them!" Vin said, turning toward him, Pushing herself in a skid across the room. She reached for his arm. The black fabric glistened wet with blood that was only his own. Zane dodged. He turned toward her, curious. She reached for him, but he moved out of the way with supernatural ease, outstepping her like a master swordsman facing a young boy. Atium, Vin thought. He probably burned it this entire time. But, he didn't need
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it to fight those men. . .they didn't have a chanee against us anyway. "Please," she asked. "Leave them." Zane turned toward Cett, who sat expectant. The boy was at his side, trying to pull his father away. Zane looked back at her, head cocked. "Please," Vin repeated. Zane frowned. "He still controls you, then," he said, sounding disappointed. "I thought, maybe, if you could fight and see just how powerful you were, you'd shake yourself free of Elend's grip. I guess I was wrong." Then he turned his back on Cett and walked out through the hole he had made. Vin followed quietly, feet crunching splinters of wood as she slowly withdrew, leaving a broken keep, shattered army, and humiliated lord behind. But must not even a madman rely on his own mind, his own experience, rather than that of others? IN THE COLD CALM OF morning, Breeze watched a very disheartening sight: Cett's army withdrawing. Breeze shivered, breath puffing as he turned toward Clubs. Most people wouldn't have been able to read beyond the sneer on the squat general's face. But Breeze saw more: he saw the tension in the taut skin around Clubs's eyes, he noticed the way that Clubs tapped his finger against the frosty stone wall. Clubs was not a nervous man. The motions meant something. "This is it, then?" Breeze asked quietly. Clubs nodded. Breeze couldn't see it. There were still two armies out there; it was still a standoff. Yet, he trusted Clubs's assessment. Or, rather, he trusted his own knowledge of people enough to trust his assessment of Clubs. The general knew something he didn't. "Kindly explain," Breeze said. "This'll end when Straff figures it out," Clubs said. "Figures what out?" "That those koloss will do his job for him, if he lets them." Breeze paused. Straff doesn't really care about the people in the city—he just wants to take it for the atium. And for the symbolic victory. "If Straff pulls back. . ." Breeze said. "Those koloss will attack," Clubs said with a nod. "They'll slaughter everyone they find and generally make rubble out of the city. Then Straff can come back and find his atium once the koloss are done." "Assuming they leave, my dear man." Clubs shrugged. "Either way, he's better off. Straff will face one weakened enemy instead of two strong ones." Breeze felt a chill, and pulled his cloak closer. "You say that all so. . .straightforwardly." "We were dead the moment that first army got here, Breeze," Clubs said. "We're just good at stalling." Why in the name of the Lord Ruler do I spend my time with this man? Breeze thought. He's nothing more than a pessimistic doomsayer. And yet, Breeze knew people. This time, Clubs wasn't exaggerating. "Bloody hell," Breeze muttered. Clubs just nodded, leaning against the wall and looking out at the disappearing army. "Three hundred men," Ham said, standing in Elend's study. "Or, at least, that's what our scouts say." "That's not as bad as I'd feared," Elend said. They stood in Elend's
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study, the only other occupant being Spook, who sat lounging beside the table. "El," Ham said, "Cett only had a thousand men with him here in Luthadel. That means that during Vin's attack, Cett took thirty percent casualties in less than ten minutes. Even on a battlefield, most armies will break if they take thirty or forty percent casualties in the course of an entire day's fighting." "Oh," Elend said, frowning. Ham shook his head, sitting down, pouring himself something to drink. "I don't get it, El. Why'd she attack him?" "She's loony," Spook said. Elend opened his mouth to counter that comment, but found it difficult to explain his feelings. "I'm not sure why she did it," he finally admitted. "She did mention that she didn't believe those assassins at the Assembly came from my father." Ham shrugged. He looked. . .haggard. This wasn't his element, dealing with armies and worrying about the fate of kingdoms. He preferred to concern himself with smaller spheres. Of course, Elend thought, I'd just prefer to be in my chair, reading quietly. We do what we must. "Any news of her yet?" Elend asked. Spook shook his head. "Uncle Grumpy has the scouts searching the city, but so far nothing." "If Vin doesn't want to be found. . ." Ham said. Elend began to pace. He couldn't keep still; he was beginning to think he must look like Jastes, wandering in circles, running his hand through his hair. Be firm, he told himself. You can afford to seem worried, but you mustn't ever seem uncertain. He continued to pace, though he slowed his step, and he didn't voice his concerns to Ham or Spook. What if Vin was wounded? What if Cett had killed her? Their scouts had seen very little of the attack the night before. Vin had definitely been involved, and there were conflicting reports that said she'd been fighting another Mistborn. She had left the keep with one of the top floors in flames—and, for some reason, she had left Cett alive. Since then, nobody had seen her. Elend closed his eyes, pausing as he leaned a hand against the stone wall. I've been ignoring her lately. I've helped the city. . .but what good will it do to save Luthadel if I lose her? It's almost like I don't know her anymore. Or did I ever know her in the first place? It felt wrong to not have her with him. He had come to rely on her simple bluntness. He needed her genuine realism—her sheer sense of concreteness—to keep him grounded. He needed to hold her, so that he could know that there was something more important than theories and concepts. He loved her. "I don't know, El," Ham finally said. "I never thought that Vin would be a liability, but she had a hard youth. I remember once she exploded at the crew for little reason, yelling and screaming about her childhood. I. . .don't know that she's completely stable." Elend opened his eyes. "She's stable, Ham," he said
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firmly. "And she's more capable than any of us." Ham frowned. "But—" "She had a good reason for attacking Cett," Elend said. "I trust her." Ham and Spook exchanged glances, and Spook just shrugged. "It's more than last night, El," Ham said. "Something's not right with that girl—not just mentally, either. . .." "What do you mean?" Elend asked. "Remember the attack on the Assembly?" Ham said. "You told me you saw her get hit square-on by a Thug's staff." "And?" Elend asked. "It laid her out for three full days." Ham shook his head. "Her complete collection of wounds—getting hit in the side, the shoulder wound, nearly being choked to death—those all together laid her out for a couple of days. But, if she'd really gotten hit that hard by a Thug, she shouldn't have been out for days, Elend. She should have been out for weeks. Maybe longer. She certainly shouldn't have escaped without broken ribs." "She was burning pewter," Elend said. "Presumably, so was the Thug." Elend paused. "You see?" Ham said. "If both were flaring pewter, then they should have balanced each other out. That leaves Vin—a girl who can't weigh more than a hundred pounds—getting clobbered full-on by a trained soldier with three times her weight. She shrugged it off with barely a few days' rest." "Vin's special," Elend finally said. "I won't argue with that," Ham said. "But she's also hiding things from us. Who was that other Mistborn? Some of the reports make it sound like they were working together." She said there was another Mistborn in the city, Elend thought. Zane—Straff's messenger. She hasn't mentioned him in a very long while. Ham rubbed his forehead. "This is all falling apart around us, El." "Kelsier could have kept it together," Spook mumbled. "When he was here, even our failures were part of his plan." "The Survivor is dead," Elend said. "I never knew him, but I've listened to enough about him to learn one thing. He didn't give in to despair." Ham smiled. "That much is true. He was laughing and joking the day after we lost our entire army to a miscalculation. Arrogant bastard." "Callous," Spook said. "No," Ham said, reaching for his cup. "I used to think that. Now. . .I just think he was determined. Kell always looked toward tomorrow, no matter what the consequences." "Well, we have to do the same," Elend said. "Cett is gone—Penrod let him leave. We can't change that fact. But, we do have information on the koloss army." "Oh, about that," Spook said, reaching into his pouch. He tossed something to the table. "You're right—they're the same." The coin rolled to a stop, and Elend picked it up. He could see where Spook had scraped it with a knife, peeling off the gold paint to reveal the dense hardwood beneath. It was a poor representation of a boxing; it was little wonder that the fakes had been so easy to pick out. Only a fool would try to pass them off as real. A fool, or
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a koloss. Nobody was certain how some of Jastes's fake boxings had worked their way up to Luthadel; perhaps he had tried giving them to peasants or beggars in his home dominance. Either way, it was fairly apparent what he was doing. He'd needed an army, and had needed cash. He'd fabricated the one to get the other. Only koloss would have fallen for such a ploy. "I don't get it," Ham said as Elend passed him the coin. "How come the koloss have suddenly decided to take money? The Lord Ruler never paid them." Elend paused, thinking back to his experience with the camp. We are humans. We will live in your city. . .. "The koloss are changing, Ham," Elend said. "Or maybe we never really understood them in the first place. Either way, we need to be strong. This isn't over yet." "It would be easier to be strong if I knew our Mistborn wasn't insane. She didn't even discuss this with us!" "I know," Elend said. Ham rose, shaking his head. "There's a reason the Great Houses were always so reluctant to use their Mistborn against each other. Things just got a whole lot more dangerous. If Cett does have a Mistborn, and he decides to retaliate. . ." "I know," Elend said again, bidding the two farewell. Ham waved to Spook, and the two of them left, off to check with Breeze and Clubs. They all act so glum, Elend thought, leaving his rooms to find something to eat. It's like they think we're doomed because of one setback. But, Cett's withdrawal is a good thing. One of our enemies is leaving—and there are still two armies out there. Jastes won't attack if doing so exposes him to Straff, and Straff himself is too scared of Vin to do anything. In fact, her attack on Cett will only make my father more frightened. Maybe that's why she did it. "Your Majesty?" a voice whispered. Elend spun, searching the hallway. "Your Majesty," said a short figure in the shadows. OreSeur. "I think I've found her." Elend didn't bring anyone with him save for a few guards. He didn't want to explain to Ham and the others how he'd gotten his information; Vin still insisted on keeping OreSeur secret. Ham's right about one thing, Elend thought as his carriage pulled to a stop. She is hiding things. She does it all the time. But that didn't stop him from trusting her. He nodded to OreSeur, and they left the carriage. Elend waved his guards back as he approached a dilapidated building. It had probably once been a poor merchant's shop—a place run by extremely low nobility, selling meager necessities to skaa workers in exchange for food tokens, which could in turn be exchanged for money from the Lord Ruler. The building was in a sector that Elend's fuel-collection crews hadn't reached yet. It was obvious, however, that it hadn't seen a lot of use lately. It had been ransacked long ago, and the ash coating the floor was a
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good four inches deep. A small trail of footprints led toward a back stairwell. "What is this place?" Elend asked with a frown. OreSeur shrugged a pair of dog's shoulders. "Then how did you know she was here?" "I followed her last night, Your Majesty," OreSeur said. "I saw the general direction she went. After that, it was simply a process of careful searching." Elend frowned. "That still must have taken some pretty mean tracking abilities, kandra." "These bones have unusually keen senses." Elend nodded. The stairwell led up into a long hallway with several rooms at the ends. Elend began to walk down the hallway, then paused. To one side, a panel on the wall had been slid back, revealing a small cubby. He could hear movement within. "Vin?" he asked, poking his head into the cubby. There was a small room hidden behind the wall, and Vin sat on the far side. The room—more of a nook—was only a few feet across, and even Vin wouldn't have been able to stand up in it. She didn't respond to him. She simply sat, leaning against the far wall, head turned away from him. Elend crawled inside the small chamber, getting ash on his knees. It was barely large enough for him to enter without bumping into her. "Vin? Are you all right?" She sat, twisting something between her fingers. And she was looking at the wall—looking through a narrow hole. Elend could see sunlight shining through. It's a peephole, he realized. To watch the street below. This isn't a shop—it's a thieving hideout. Or, it was. "I used to think Camon was a terrible man," Vin said quietly. Elend paused, on hands and knees. Finally, he settled back into a cramped seated position. At least Vin didn't look hurt. "Camon?" he asked. "Your old crewleader, before Kelsier?" Vin nodded. She turned away from the slit, sitting with her arms around her knees. "He beat people, he killed those who disagreed with him. Even among street thugs, he was brutal." Elend frowned. "But," Vin said quietly, "I doubt he killed as many people during his entire life as I killed last night." Elend closed his eyes. Then he opened them and shuffled a little closer, laying a hand on Vin's shoulder. "Those were enemy soldiers, Vin." "I was like a child in a room full of bugs," Vin whispered. He could finally see what was in her fingers. It was her earring, the simple bronze stud that she always wore. She looked down at it, twisting it between her fingers. "Did I ever tell you how I got this?" she asked. He shook his head. "My mother gave it to me," she said. "I don't remember it happening—Reen told me about it. My mother. . .she heard voices sometimes. She killed my baby sister, slaughtered her. And that same day she gave me this, one of her own earrings. As if. . .as if choosing me over my sister. A punishment for one, a twisted present for another." Vin shook her head.
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"My entire life has been death, Elend. Death of my sister, the death of Reen. Crewmembers dead around me, Kelsier falling to the Lord Ruler, then my own spear in the Lord Ruler's chest. I try to protect, and tell myself that I'm escaping it all. And then. . .I do something like I did last night." Not certain what else to do, Elend pulled her close. She was stiff, however. "You had a good reason for what you did," he said. "No I didn't," Vin said. "I just wanted to hurt them. I wanted to scare them and make them leave you alone. It sounds childish, but that's how I felt." "It's not childish, Vin," Elend said. "It was good strategy. You gave our enemies a show of force. You frightened away one of our major opponents, and now my father will be even more afraid to attack. You've bought us more time!" "Bought it with the lives of hundreds of men." "Enemy soldiers who marched into our city," Elend said. "Men who were protecting a tyrant who oppresses his people." "That's the same rationale Kelsier used," Vin said quietly, "when he killed noblemen and their guards. He said they were upholding the Final Empire, so they deserved to die. He frightened me." Elend didn't know what to say to that. "It was like he thought himself a god," Vin whispered. "Taking life, giving life, where he saw fit. I don't want to be like him, Elend. But, everything seems to be pushing me in that direction." "I. . ." You're not like him, he wanted to say. It was true, but the words wouldn't come out. They rang hollow to him. Instead, he pulled Vin close, her shoulder up against his chest, head beneath his chin. "I wish I knew the right things to say, Vin," he whispered. "Seeing you like this makes every protective instinct inside of me twist. I want to make it better—I want to fix everything—but I don't know how. Tell me what to do. Just tell me how I can help!" She resisted his embrace a little at first, but then sighed quietly and slid her arms around him, holding him tightly. "You can't help with this," she said softly. "I have to do it alone. There are. . .decisions I have to make." He nodded. "You'll make the right ones, Vin." "You don't even know what I'm deciding." "It doesn't matter," he said. "I know I can't help—I couldn't even hold on to my own throne. You're ten times as capable as I am." She squeezed his arm. "Don't say things like that. Please?" He frowned at the tension in her voice, then nodded. "All right. But, either way, I trust you, Vin. Make your decisions—I'll support you." She nodded, relaxing a bit beneath his arms. "I think. . ." she said. "I think I have to leave Luthadel." "Leave? And go where?" "North," she said. "To Terris." Elend sat back, resting against the wooden wall. Leave? he thought with a twisting feeling. Is
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this what I've earned by being so distracted lately? Have I lost her? And yet, he'd just told her that he'd support her decisions. "If you feel you have to go, Vin," he found himself saying, "then you should do so." "If I were to leave, would you go with me?" "Now?" Vin nodded, head rubbing his chest. "No," he finally said. "I couldn't leave Luthadel, not with those armies still out there." "But the city rejected you." "I know," he said, sighing. "But. . .I can't leave them, Vin. They rejected me, but I won't abandon them." Vin nodded again, and something told him this was the answer she had expected. Elend smiled. "We're a mess, aren't we?" "Hopeless," she said softly, sighing as she finally pulled away from him. She seemed so tired. Outside the room, Elend could hear footsteps. OreSeur appeared a moment later, poking his head into the hidden chamber. "Your guards are growing restless, Your Majesty," he said to Elend. "They will soon come looking for you." Elend nodded, shuffling over to the exit. Once in the hallway, he offered a hand to help Vin out. She took the hand, crawling out, then stood and dusted off her clothing—her typical shirt and trousers. Will she ever go back to dresses now? he wondered. "Elend," she said, fishing in a pocket. "Here, you can spend this, if you want." She opened up her hand, dropping a bead into his hand. "Atium?" he asked incredulously. "Where did you get it?" "From a friend," she said. "And you didn't burn it last night?" Elend asked. "When you were fighting all those soldiers?" "No," Vin said. "I swallowed it, but I didn't end up needing it, so I forced it back up." Lord Ruler! Elend thought. I didn't even consider that she didn't have atium. What could she have done if she'd burned that bit? He looked up at her. "Some reports say that there's another Mistborn in the city." "There is. Zane." Elend dropped the bead back into her hand. "Then keep this. You might need it to fight him." "I doubt that," Vin said quietly. "Keep it anyway," Elend said. "This is worth a small fortune—but we'd need a very large fortune to make any difference now. Besides, who would buy it? If I used it to bribe Straff or Cett, they'd only become more certain I'm holding atium against them." Vin nodded, then glanced at OreSeur. "Keep this," she said, handing the bead toward him. "It's big enough that another Allomancer could pull it off me if he wanted." "I will guard it with my life, Mistress," OreSeur said, his shoulder splitting open to make room for the bit of metal. Vin turned to join Elend as they walked down the steps, moving to meet with the guards below. I know what I have memorized. I know what is now repeated by the other Worldbringers. "THE HERO OF AGES WON'T be Terris," Tindwyl said, scribbling a note at the bottom of their list. "We knew that already," Sazed
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said. "From the logbook." "Yes," Tindwyl said, "but Alendi's account was only a reference—a thirdhand mention of the effects of a prophecy. I found someone quoting the prophecy itself." "Truly?" Sazed asked, excited. "Where?" "The biography of Helenntion," Tindwyl said. "One of the last survivors of the Council of Khlennium." "Write it for me," Sazed said, scooting his chair a bit closer to hers. He had to blink a few times as she wrote, his head clouding for a moment from fatigue. Stay alert! he told himself. There isn't much time left. Not much at all. . .. Tindwyl was doing a little better than he, but her wakefulness was obviously beginning to run out, for she was starting to droop. He'd taken a quick nap during the night, rolled up on her floor, but she had carried on. As far as he could tell, she'd been awake for over a week straight. There was much talk of the Rabzeen, during those days, Tindwyl wrote. Some said he would come to fight the Conqueror. Others said he was the Conqueror. Helenntion didn't make his thoughts on the matter known to me. The Rabzeen is said to be "He who is not of his people, yet fulfills all of their wishes." If this is the case, then perhaps the Conqueror is the one. He is said to have been of Khlennium. She stopped there. Sazed frowned, reading the words again. Kwaan's last testimony—the rubbing Sazed had taken at the Conventical of Seran—had proven useful in more than one way. It had provided a key. It wasn't until years later that I became convinced that he was the Hero of Ages, Kwaan had written. Hero of Ages: the one called Rabzeen in Khlennium, the Anamnesor. . .. The rubbing was a means of translation—not between languages, but between synonyms. It made sense that there would be other names for the Hero of Ages; a figure so important, so surrounded by lore, would have many titles. Yet, so much had been lost from those days. The Rabzeen and the Anamnesor were both mythological figures vaguely familiar to Sazed—but they were only two among hosts. Until the discovery of the rubbing, there had been no way to connect their names to the Hero of Ages. Now Tindwyl and he could search their metalminds with open eyes. Perhaps, in the past, Sazed had read this very passage from Helenntion's biography; he had at least skimmed many of the older records, searching for religious references. Yet, he would never have been able to realize that the passage was referring to the Hero of Ages, a figure from Terris lore that the Khlenni people had renamed into their own tongue. "Yes. . ." he said slowly. "This is good, Tindwyl. Very good." He reached over, laying his hand on hers. "Perhaps," she said, "though it tells us nothing new." "Ah, but the wording might be important, I think," Sazed said. "Religions are often very careful with their writings." "Especially prophecies," Tindwyl said, frowning just a bit. She was not
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fond of anything that smacked of superstition or soothsaying. "I would have thought," Sazed noted, "that you would no longer have this prejudice, considering our current enterprise." "I gather information, Sazed," she said. "Because of what it says of people, and because of what the past can teach us. However, there is a reason I took to studying history as opposed to theology. I don't approve of perpetuating lies." "Is that what you think I do when I teach of religions?" he asked in amusement. Tindwyl looked toward him. "A bit," she admitted. "How can you teach the people to look toward the gods of the dead, Sazed? Those religions did their people little good, and their prophecies are now dust." "Religions are an expression of hope," Sazed said. "That hope gives people strength." "Then you don't believe?" Tindwyl asked. "You just give the people something to trust, something to delude themselves?" "I would not call it so." "Then you think the gods you teach of do exist?" "I. . .think that they deserved to be remembered." "And their prophecies?" Tindwyl said. "I see scholarly value in what we do—the bringing to light of facts from the past could give us information about our current problems. Yet, this soothsaying for the future is, at its core, foolishness." "I would not say that," Sazed said. "Religions are promises—promises that there is something watching over us, guiding us. Prophecies, therefore, are natural extensions of the hopes and desires of the people. Not foolishness at all." "So, your interest is purely academic?" Tindwyl said. "I wouldn't say that." Tindwyl studied him, watching his eyes. She frowned slowly. "You believe it, don't you?" she asked. "You believe that this girl is the Hero of Ages." "I have not yet decided," Sazed said. "How can you even consider such a thing, Sazed?" Tindwyl asked. "Don't you see? Hope is a good thing—a wonderful thing—but you must have hope in something appropriate. If you perpetuate the dreams of the past, then you stifle your own dreams of the future." "What if the past dreams are worthy of being remembered?" Tindwyl shook her head. "Look at the odds, Sazed. What are the chances we would end up where we are, studying this rubbing, in the very same household as the Hero of Ages?" "Odds are irrelevant when a foretelling is involved." Tindwyl closed her eyes. "Sazed. . .I think religion is a good thing, and belief is a good thing, but it is foolishness to look for guidance in a few vague phrases. Look at what happened last time someone assumed they had found this Hero. The Lord Ruler, the Final Empire, was the result." "Still, I will hope. If you did not believe the prophecies, then why work so hard to discover information about the Deepness and the Hero?" "It's simple," Tindwyl said. "We are obviously facing a danger that has come before—a recurring problem, like a plague that plays itself out, only to return again centuries later. The ancient people knew of this danger, and had information
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about it. That information, naturally, broke down and became legends, prophecies, and even religions. There will be, then, clues to our situation hidden in the past. This is not a matter of soothsaying, but of research." Sazed lay his hand on hers. "I think, perhaps, that this is something we cannot agree upon. Come, let us return to our studies. We must use the time we have left." "We should be all right," Tindwyl said, sighing and reaching to tuck a bit of hair back into her bun. "Apparently, your Hero scared off Lord Cett last night. The maid who brought breakfast was speaking of it." "I know of the event," Sazed said. "Then things are growing better for Luthadel." "Yes," Sazed said. "Perhaps." She frowned. "You seem hesitant." "I do not know," he said, glancing down. "I do not feel that Cett's departure is a good thing, Tindwyl. Something is very wrong. We need to be finished with these studies." Tindwyl cocked her head. "How soon?" "We should try to be done tonight, I think," Sazed said, glancing toward the pile of unbound sheets they had stacked on the table. That stack contained all the notes, ideas, and connections that they'd made during their furious bout of study. It was a book, of sorts—a guidebook that told of the Hero of Ages and the Deepness. It was a good document—incredible, even, considering the time they'd been given. It was not comprehensive. It was, however, probably the most important thing he'd ever written. Even if he wasn't certain why. "Sazed?" Tindwyl asked, frowning. "What is this?" She reached to the stack of papers, pulling out a sheet that was slightly askew. As she held it up, Sazed was shocked to see that a chunk from the bottom right corner had been torn off. "Did you do this?" she asked. "No," Sazed said. He accepted the paper. It was one of the transcriptions of the rubbing; the tear had removed the last sentence or so. There was no sign of the missing piece. Sazed looked up, meeting Tindwyl's confused gaze. She turned, shuffling through a stack of papers to the side. She pulled out another copy of the transcription and held it up. Sazed felt a chill. The corner was missing. "I referenced this yesterday," Tindwyl said quietly. "I haven't left the room save for a few minutes since then, and you were always here." "Did you leave last night?" Sazed asked. "To visit the privy while I slept?" "Perhaps. I don't remember." Sazed sat for a moment, staring at the page. The tear was eerily similar in shape to the one from their main stack. Tindwyl, apparently thinking the same thing, laid it over its companion. It matched perfectly; even the smallest ridges in the tears were identical. Even if they'd been torn lying right on top of one another, the duplication wouldn't have been so perfect. Both of them sat, staring. Then they burst into motion, riffling through their stacks of pages. Sazed had four copies of the transcription. All were
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missing the same exact chunk. "Sazed. . ." Tindwyl said, her voice shaking just a bit. She held up a sheet of paper—one that had only half of the transcription on it, ending near the middle of the page. A hole had been torn directly in the middle of the page, removing the exact same sentence. "The rubbing!" Tindwyl said, but Sazed was already moving. He left his chair, rushing to the trunk where he stored his metalminds. He fumbled with the key at his neck, pulling it off and unlocking the trunk. He threw it open, removed the rubbing, then unfolded it delicately on the ground. He withdrew his fingers suddenly, feeling almost as if he'd been bitten, as he saw the tear at the bottom. The same sentence, removed. "How is this possible?" Tindwyl whispered. "How could someone know so much of our work—so much of us?" "And yet," Sazed said, "how could they know so little of our abilities? I have the entire transcription stored in my metalmind. I can remember it right now." "What does the missing sentence say?" "'Alendi must not reach the Well of Ascension; he must not be allowed to take the power for himself.'" "Why remove this sentence?" Tindwyl asked. Sazed stared at the rubbing. This seems impossible. . .. A noise sounded at the window. Sazed spun, reaching reflexively into his pewtermind and increasing his strength. His muscles swelled, his robe growing tight. The shutters swung open. Vin crouched on the sill. She paused as she saw Sazed and Tindwyl—who had also apparently tapped strength, growing to have almost masculine bulk. "Did I do something wrong?" Vin asked. Sazed smiled, releasing his pewtermind. "No, child," he said. "You simply startled us." He met Tindwyl's eye, and she began to gather up the ripped pieces of paper. Sazed folded up the rubbing; they would discuss it further later. "Have you seen anyone spending too much time around my room, Lady Vin?" Sazed asked as he replaced the rubbing. "Any strangers—or even any particular guards?" "No," Vin said, climbing into the room. She walked barefoot, as usual, and she didn't wear her mistcloak; she rarely did in the daytime. If she had fought the night before, she had changed clothing, for there were no stains of blood—or even sweat—on this outfit. "Do you want me to watch for anyone suspicious?" she asked. "Yes, please," Sazed said, locking the chest. "We fear that someone has been riffling through our work, though why they would wish to do so is confusing." Vin nodded, remaining where she was as Sazed returned to his seat. She regarded him and Tindwyl for a moment. "I need to talk to you, Sazed," Vin said. "I can spare a few moments, I think," Sazed said. "But, I must warn you that my studies are very pressing." Vin nodded, then glanced at Tindwyl. Finally, she sighed, rising. "I guess I will go and see about lunch, then." Vin relaxed slightly as the door closed; then she moved over to the table, sitting down
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in Tindwyl's chair, pulling her legs up before her on the wooden seat. "Sazed," she asked, "how do you know if you're in love?" Sazed blinked. "I. . .I do not think I am one to speak on this topic, Lady Vin. I know very little about it." "You always say things like that," Vin said. "But really, you're an expert on just about everything." Sazed chuckled. "In this case, I assure you that my insecurity is heartfelt, Lady Vin." "Still, you've got to know something." "A bit, perhaps," Sazed said. "Tell me, how do you feel when you are with young Lord Venture?" "I want him to hold me," Vin said quietly, turning to the side, looking out the window. "I want him to talk to me, even if I don't understand what he's saying. Anything to keep him there, with me. I want to be better because of him." "That seems like a very good sign, Lady Vin." "But. . ." Vin glanced down. "I'm not good for him, Sazed. He's scared of me." "Scared?" "Well, he's at least uncomfortable with me. I saw the look in his eyes when he saw me fighting on the day of the Assembly attack. He stumbled away from me, Sazed, horrified." "He'd just seen a man slain," Sazed said. "Lord Venture is somewhat innocent in these matters, Lady Vin. It wasn't you, I think—it was simply a natural reaction to the horror of death." "Either way," Vin said, glancing back out the window. "I don't want him to see me that way. I want to be the girl he needs—the girl who can support his political plans. The girl who can be pretty when he needs her on his arm, and who can comfort him when he's frustrated. Except, that's not me. You're the one who trained me to act like a courtly woman, Saze, but we both know that I wasn't all that good at it." "And Lord Venture fell in love with you," Sazed said, "because you didn't act like the other women. Despite Lord Kelsier's interference, despite your knowledge that all noblemen were our enemies, Elend fell in love with you." "I shouldn't have let him," Vin said quietly. "I need to stay away from him, Saze—for his own good. That way, he can fall in love with someone else. Someone who is a better match for him. Someone who doesn't go kill a hundred people when she gets frustrated. Someone who deserves his love." Sazed rose, robes swishing as he stepped to Vin's chair. He stooped down, placing his head even with hers, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, child. When will you stop worrying and simply let yourself be loved?" Vin shook her head. "It's not that easy." "Few things are. Yet, I tell you this, Lady Vin. Love must be allowed to flow both ways—if it is not, then it is not truly love, I think. It is something else. Infatuation, perhaps? Either way, there are some of us who are far too quick to make
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martyrs of ourselves. We stand at the side, watching, thinking that we do the right thing by inaction. We fear pain—our own, or that of another." He squeezed her shoulder. "But. . .is that love? Is it love to assume for Elend that he has no place with you? Or, is it love to let him make his own decision in the matter?" "And if I'm wrong for him?" Vin asked. "You must love him enough to trust his wishes, even if you disagree with them. You must respect him—no matter how wrong you think he may be, no matter how poor you think his decisions, you must respect his desire to make them. Even if one of them includes loving you." Vin smiled slightly, but she still seemed troubled. "And. . ." she said very slowly, "if there is someone else? For me?" Ah. . .. She tensed immediately. "You mustn't tell Elend I said that." "I won't," Sazed promised. "Who is this other man?" Vin shrugged. "Just. . .someone more like myself. The kind of man I should be with." "Do you love him?" "He's strong," Vin said. "He makes me think of Kelsier." So there is another Mistborn, Sazed thought. In this matter, he knew he should remain unbiased. He didn't know enough about this second man to make a judgment—and Keepers were supposed to give information, but avoid specific advice. Sazed, however, had never been very good at following that rule. He didn't know this other Mistborn, true, but he did know Elend Venture. "Child," he said, "Elend is the best of men, and you have been so much happier since you've been with him." "But, he's really the first man I loved," Vin said quietly. "How do I know it's right? Shouldn't I pay more attention to the man who is a better match for me?" "I don't know, Lady Vin. I honestly don't know. I warned you of my ignorance in this area. But, can you really hope to find a better person than Lord Elend?" She sighed. "It's all so frustrating. I should be worrying about the city and the Deepness, not which man to spend my evenings with!" "It is hard to defend others when our own lives are in turmoil," Sazed said. "I just have to decide," Vin said, standing, walking over toward the window. "Thank you, Sazed. Thank you for listening. . .thank you for coming back to the city." Sazed nodded, smiling. Vin shot backward out the open window, shoving herself against some bit of metal. Sazed sighed, rubbing his eyes as he walked over to the room's door and pulled it open. Tindwyl stood outside, arms crossed. "I think I would feel more comfortable in this city," she said, "if I didn't know that our Mistborn had the volatile emotions of a teenage girl." "Lady Vin is more stable than you think," Sazed said. "Sazed, I've raised some fifteen daughters," Tindwyl said, entering the room. "No teenage girl is stable. Some are just better at hiding it than others." "Then,
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be glad she didn't hear you eavesdropping," Sazed said. "She is usually rather paranoid about such things." "Vin has a weak spot regarding Terris people," Tindwyl said with a wave of her hand. "We can likely thank you for that. She seems to give great value to your advice." "Such as it is." "I thought what you said was very wise, Sazed," Tindwyl said, sitting. "You would have made an excellent father." Sazed bowed his head in embarrassment, then moved over to sit down. "We should—" A knock came at the door. "Now what?" Tindwyl asked. "Did you not order us lunch?" Tindwyl shook her head. "I never even left the hallway." A second later, Elend poked his head into the room. "Sazed? Could I talk to you for a bit?" "Of course, Lord Elend," Sazed said, rising. "Great," Elend said, striding into the room. "Tindwyl, you are excused." She rolled her eyes, shooting an exasperated glance at Sazed, but stood and walked from the room. "Thank you," Elend said as she shut the door. "Please, sit," he said, waving to Sazed. Sazed did so, and Elend took a deep breath, standing with hands clasped behind his back. He had gone back to his white uniforms, and stood with a commanding posture despite his obvious frustration. Someone stole my friend the scholar away, Sazed thought, and left a king in his place. "I assume this is about Lady Vin, Lord Elend?" "Yes," Elend said, beginning to pace, gesturing with one hand as he spoke. "She doesn't make any sense, Sazed. I expect that—hell, I count on it. She's not just female, she's Vin. But, I'm left unsure how to react. One minute she seems warm to me—like we were before this mess hit the city—and the next minute she's distant and stiff." "Perhaps she's just confused herself." "Perhaps," Elend agreed. "But shouldn't at least one of us know what is going on in our relationship? Honestly, Saze, sometimes I just think we're too different to be together." Sazed smiled. "Oh, I don't know about that, Lord Elend. You may be surprised at how similarly the two of you think." "I doubt that," Elend said, continuing to pace. "She's Mistborn; I'm just a regular man. She grew up on the streets; I grew up in a mansion. She is wily and clever; I'm book-learned." "She is extremely competent, and so are you," Sazed said. "She was oppressed by her brother, you by your father. Both of you hated the Final Empire, and fought it. And both of you think far too much about what should be, rather than what is." Elend paused, looking at Sazed. "What does that mean?" "It means that I think you two are right for each other," Sazed said. "I am not supposed to make such judgments, and truly, this is just the opinion of a man who hasn't seen much of you two in the last few months. But, I believe it to be true." "And our differences?" Elend asked. "At first glance, the key and the lock
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it fits may seem very different," Sazed said. "Different in shape, different in function, different in design. The man who looks at them without knowledge of their true nature might think them opposites, for one is meant to open, and the other to keep closed. Yet, upon closer examination, he might see that without one, the other becomes useless. The wise man then sees that both lock and key were created for the same purpose." Elend smiled. "You need to write a book sometime, Sazed. That's as profound as anything I've read." Sazed flushed, but glanced at the stack of papers on the desktop. Would they be his legacy? He wasn't certain if they were profound, but they did represent the most cohesive attempt that he'd ever made at writing something original. True, most of the sheets contained quotes or references, but a great deal of the text also included his thoughts and annotations. "So," Elend said, "what should I do?" "About Lady Vin?" Sazed asked. "I would suggest simply giving her—and yourself—a little more time." "Time is at a premium these days, Saze." "When is it not?" "When your city isn't besieged by two armies," Elend said, "one of them led by a megalomaniac tyrant, the other by a reckless fool." "Yes," Sazed said slowly. "Yes, I think you may be right. I should return to my studies." Elend frowned. "What are you working on, anyway?" "Something that has little relevance to your current problem, I fear," Sazed said. "Tindwyl and I are collecting and compiling references about the Deepness and the Hero of Ages." "The Deepness. . .Vin mentioned it, too. You really think it might return?" "I think it has returned, Lord Elend," Sazed said. "It never left, really. I believe the Deepness was—is—the mists." "But, why. . ." Elend said, then held up a hand. "I'll read your conclusions when you have finished. I can't afford to get sidetracked right now. Thank you, Sazed, for your advice." Yes, a king indeed, Sazed thought. "Tindwyl," Elend said, "you may come back in now. Sazed, good day." Elend turned toward the door, and it cracked open slowly. Tindwyl strode in, hiding her embarrassment. "How did you know I was out there?" she asked. "I guessed," Elend said. "You're as bad as Vin. Anyway, good day, both of you." Tindwyl frowned as he left; then she glanced at Sazed. "You really did do a fine job with him," Sazed said. "Too fine a job," Tindwyl said, sitting. "I actually think that if the people had let him remain in command, he might have found a way to save the city. Come, we must return to work—this time, I actually did send someone for lunch, so we should get as much done as possible before it arrives." Sazed nodded, seating himself and picking up his pen. Yet, he found it difficult to focus on his work. His mind kept returning to Vin and Elend. He wasn't certain why it was so important to him that they make their relationship work. Perhaps it
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was simply because they were both friends of his, and he wished to see them happy. Or perhaps there was something else. Those two were the best Luthadel had to offer. The most powerful Mistborn of the skaa underground, and the most noble leader of the aristocratic culture. They needed each other, and the Final Empire needed them both. Plus, there was the work he was doing. The specific pronoun used in much of the Terris prophetic language was gender neutral. The actual word meant "it," though it was commonly translated into modern tongues as "he." Yet each "he" in his book could also have been written as "she." If Vin really was the Hero of Ages. . . I need to find a way to get them out of the city, Sazed thought, a sudden realization washing over him. Those two must not be here when Luthadel falls. He put aside his notes and immediately began writing a quick series of letters. The two are not the same. BREEZE COULD SMELL INTRIGUE FROM two streets away. Unlike many of his fellow thieves, he hadn't grown up impoverished, nor had he been forced to live in the underground. He'd grown up in a place far more cutthroat: an aristocratic court. Fortunately, the other crewmembers didn't treat him differently because of his full-blooded noble origin. That was, of course, because they didn't know about it. His upbringing afforded him certain understandings. Things that he doubted any skaa thief, no matter how competent, knew. Skaa intrigue made a brutal kind of sense; it was a matter of naked life and death. You betrayed your allies for money, for power, or to protect yourself. In the noble courts, intrigue was more abstract. Betrayals wouldn't often end with either party dead, but the ramifications could span generations. It was a game—so much of one, in fact, that the young Breeze had found the open brutality of the skaa underground to be refreshing. He sipped his warm mug of mulled wine, eyeing the note in his fingers. He'd come to believe that he wouldn't have to worry about intracrew conspiracies anymore: Kelsier's crew was an almost sickeningly tight group, and Breeze did everything within his Allomantic powers to keep it that way. He'd seen what infighting could do to a family. That was why he was so surprised to receive this letter. Despite its mock innocence, he could easily pick out the signs. The hurried pace of the writing, smudged in places but not rewritten. Phrases like "No need to tell others of this" and "do not wish to cause alarm." The extra drops of sealing wax, spread gratuitously on the lip of the letter, as if to give extra protection against prying eyes. There was no mistaking the tone of the missive. Breeze had been invited to a conspiratorial conference. But, why in the Lord Ruler's name would Sazed, of all people, want to meet in secret? Breeze sighed, pulling out his dueling cane and using it to steady himself. He grew light-headed sometimes when he
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stood; it was a minor malady he'd always had, though it seemed to have grown worse during the last few years. He glanced over his shoulder as his vision cleared, toward where Allrianne slept in his bed. I should probably feel more guilty about her, he thought, smiling despite himself and reaching to put his vest and jacket on over his trousers and shirt. But. . .well, we're all going to be dead in a few days anyway. An afternoon spent speaking with Clubs could certainly put one's life in perspective. Breeze wandered out into the hallway, making his way though the gloomy, inadequately lit Venture passageways. Honestly, he thought, I understand the value in saving lamp oil, but things are depressing enough right now without the dark corridors. The meeting place was only a few short twists away. Breeze located it easily because of the two soldiers standing watch outside the door. Demoux's men—soldiers who reported to the captain religiously, as well as vocationally. Interesting, Breeze thought, remaining hidden in the side hallway. He quested out with his Allomantic powers and Soothed the men, taking away their relaxation and certainty, leaving behind anxiety and nervousness. The guards began to grow restless, shuffling. Finally, one turned and opened the door, checking on the room inside. The motion gave Breeze a full view of the room's contents. Only one man sat within. Sazed. Breeze stood quietly, trying to decide his next course of action. There was nothing incriminating in the letter; this couldn't all simply be a trap on Elend's part, could it? An obscure attempt at finding out which crewmembers would betray him and which wouldn't? Seemed like too distrustful a move for the good-natured boy. Besides, if that were the case, Sazed would have to try and get Breeze to do more than simply meet in a clandestine location. The door swung closed, the soldier returning to his place. I can trust Sazed, can't I? Breeze thought. But, if that was the case, why the quiet meeting? Was Breeze overreacting? No, the guards proved that Sazed worried about this meeting being discovered. It was suspicious. If it were anyone else, Breeze would have gone straight to Elend. But Sazed. . . Breeze sighed, then wandered into the hallway, dueling cane clicking against the floor. Might as well see what he has to say. Besides, if he is planning something devious, it'd almost be worth the danger to see it. Despite the letter, despite the strange circumstances, Breeze had trouble imagining a Terrisman being involved in something that wasn't completely honest. Perhaps the Lord Ruler had had the same problem. Breeze nodded to the soldiers, Soothing away their anxiety and restoring them to a more temperate humor. There was another reason why he was willing to chance the meeting. Breeze was only just beginning to realize how dangerous his predicament was. Luthadel would soon fall. Every instinct he'd nurtured during thirty years in the underground was telling him to run. That feeling made him more likely to take risks. The Breeze of
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a few years earlier would already have abandoned the city. Damn you, Kelsier, he thought as he pushed open the door. Sazed looked up with surprise from his table. The room was sparse, with several chairs and only two lamps. "You're early, Lord Breeze," Sazed said, standing quickly. "Of course I am," Breeze snapped. "I had to make certain this wasn't a trap of some sort." He paused. "This isn't a trap of some sort, right?" "Trap?" Sazed asked. "What are you talking about?" "Oh, don't sound so shocked," Breeze said. "This is no simple meeting." Sazed wilted slightly. "It's. . .that obvious, is it?" Breeze sat, laying his cane across his lap, and eyed Sazed tellingly, Soothing the man to make him feel a little more self-conscious. "You may have helped us overthrow the Lord Ruler, my dear man—but you have a lot to learn about being sneaky." "I apologize," Sazed said, sitting. "I simply wanted to meet quickly, to discuss certain. . .sensitive issues." "Well, I'd recommend getting rid of those guards," Breeze said. "They make the room stand out. Then, light a few more lamps and get us something to eat or drink. If Elend walks in—I assume it's Elend we're hiding from?" "Yes." "Well, if he comes and sees us sitting here in the dark, eyeing each other insidiously, he'll know something is up. The less natural the occasion, the more natural you want to appear." "Ah, I see," Sazed said. "Thank you." The door opened and Clubs hobbled in. He eyed Breeze, then Sazed, then wandered over toward a chair. Breeze glanced at Sazed—no surprise there. Clubs was obviously invited as well. "Lose those guards," Clubs snapped. "Immediately, Lord Cladent," Sazed said, standing and shuffling over to the door. He spoke briefly with the guards, then returned. As Sazed was sitting, Ham poked his head into the room, looking suspicious. "Wait a minute," Breeze said. "How many people are coming to this secret meeting?" Sazed gestured for Ham to sit. "All of the more. . .experienced members of the crew." "You mean everyone but Elend and Vin," Breeze said. "I did not invite Lord Lestibournes either," Sazed said. Yes, but Spook isn't the one we're hiding from. Ham sat down hesitantly, shooting a questioning glance at Breeze. "So. . .why exactly are we meeting behind the backs of our Mistborn and our king?" "King no longer," a voice noted from the door. Dockson walked in and sat. "In fact, it could be argued that Elend isn't leader of this crew anymore. He fell into that position by happenstance—just like he fell into the throne." Ham flushed. "I know you don't like him, Dox, but I'm not here to talk treason." "There's no treason if there's no throne to betray," Dockson said, sitting. "What are we going to do—stay here and be servants in his house? Elend doesn't need us. Perhaps it's time to transfer our services to Lord Penrod." "Penrod is a nobleman, too," Ham said. "You can't tell me you like him any better than you
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do Elend." Dockson thumped the table quietly with his fist. "It's not about who I like, Ham. It's about seeing that this damn kingdom Kelsier threw at us remains standing! We've spent a year and a half cleaning up his mess. Do you want to see that work wasted?" "Please, gentlemen," Sazed said, trying—without success—to break into the conversation. "Work, Dox?" Ham said, flushed. "What work have you done? I haven't seen you do much of anything besides sit and complain every time someone offers a plan." "Complain?" Dockson snapped. "Do you have any idea how much administrative work it has taken to keep this city from falling upon itself? What have you done, Ham? You refused to take command of the army. All you do is drink and spar with your friends!" That's enough of that, Breeze thought, Soothing the men. At this rate, we'll strangle each other before Straff can have us executed. Dockson settled back in his chair, waving a dismissive hand at Ham, who still sat red-faced. Sazed waited, obviously chagrined by the outbreak. Breeze Soothed away his insecurity. You're in charge here, Sazed. Tell us what is going on. "Please," Sazed said. "I did not bring us together so that we could argue. I understand that you are all tense—that is understandable, considering the circumstances." "Penrod is going to give our city to Straff," Ham said. "That's better than letting him slaughter us," Dockson countered. "Actually," Breeze said, "I don't think we have to worry about Straff slaughtering us." "No?" Dockson asked, frowning. "Do you have some information you haven't been sharing with us, Breeze?" "Oh, get over yourself, Dox," Ham snapped. "You've never been happy that you didn't end up in charge when Kell died. That's the real reason you never liked Elend, isn't it?" Dockson flushed, and Breeze sighed, slapping both of them with a powerful blanket Soothing. They both jumped slightly, as if they'd been stung—though the sensation would be quite the opposite. Their emotions, once volatile, would suddenly have become numb and unresponsive. Both looked at Breeze. "Yes," he said, "of course I'm Soothing you. Honestly, I know Hammond is a bit immature—but you, Dockson?" Dockson sat back, rubbing his forehead. "You can let go, Breeze," he said after a moment. "I'll keep my tongue." Ham just grumbled, settling one hand on the table. Sazed watched the exchange with a little bit of shock. This is what cornered men are like, my dear Terrisman, Breeze thought. This is what happens when they lose hope. They might be able to keep up appearances in front of the soldiers, but put them alone with their friends. . . Sazed was a Terrisman; his entire life had been one of oppression and loss. But these men, Breeze himself included, were accustomed to success. Even against overwhelming odds, they were confident. They were the type of men who could go up against a god, and expect to win. They wouldn't deal well with losing. Of course, when losing meant death, who would? "Straff's armies are getting ready
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to break camp," Clubs finally said. "He's doing it subtly, but the signs are there." "So, he's coming for the city," Dockson said. "My men in Penrod's palace say the Assembly has been sending missive after missive to Straff, all but begging him to come take up occupation of Luthadel." "He's not going to take the city," Clubs said. "At least, not if he's smart." "Vin is still a threat," Breeze said. "And it doesn't look like Straff has a Mistborn to protect him. If he came into Luthadel, I doubt there is a single thing he could do to keep her from slitting his throat. So, he'll do something else." Dockson frowned, and glanced at Ham, who shrugged. "It's really quite simple," Breeze said, tapping the table with his dueling cane. "Why, even I figured it out." Clubs snorted at this. "If Straff makes it look like he's withdrawing, the koloss will probably attack Luthadel for him. They're too literal to understand the threat of a hidden army." "If Straff withdraws," Clubs said, "Jastes won't be able to keep them from the city." Dockson blinked. "But they'd. . ." "Slaughter?" Clubs asked. "Yes. They'd pillage the richest sectors of the town—probably end up killing most of the noblemen in the city." "Eliminating the men that Straff has been forced—against his will, knowing that man's pride—to work with," Breeze added. "In fact, there's a good chance the creatures will kill Vin. Can you imagine her not joining the fight if koloss broke in?" The room fell silent. "But, that doesn't really help Straff get the city," Dockson said. "He'll still have to fight the koloss." "Yes," Clubs said, scowling. "But, they'll probably take down some of the city gates, not to mention level a lot of the homes. That will leave Straff with a clear field to attack a weakened foe. Plus, koloss don't strategize—for them, city walls won't be much help. Straff couldn't ask for a better setup." "He'd be seen as a liberator," Breeze said quietly. "If he returns at the right time—after the koloss have broken into the city and fought the soldiers, but before they've done serious damage to the skaa quarter—he could free the people and establish himself as their protector, not their conqueror. Knowing how the people feel, I think they'd welcome him. Right now, a strong leader would mean more to them than coins in their pockets and rights in the Assembly." As the group thought on this, Breeze eyed Sazed, who still sat quietly. He'd said so little; what was his game? Why gather the crew? Was he subtle enough to know that they'd simply needed to have an honest discussion like this, without Elend's morals to clutter things up? "We could just let Straff have it," Dockson finally said. "The city, I mean. We could promise to call Vin off. If that is where this is heading anyway. . ." "Dox," Ham said quietly, "what would Kell think, to hear you talk like that?" "We could give the city to Jastes Lekal," Breeze
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said. "Perhaps he can be persuaded to treat the skaa with dignity." "And let twenty thousand koloss into the city?" Ham asked. "Breeze, have you ever seen what those things can do?" Dockson pounded the table. "I'm just giving options, Ham. What else are we going to do?" "Fight," Clubs said. "And die." The room fell silent again. "You sure know how to kill a conversation, my friend," Breeze finally said. "It needed to be said," Clubs muttered. "No use fooling yourselves anymore. We can't win a fight, and a fight is where this was always going. The city is going to get attacked. We're going to defend it. And we'll lose. "You wonder if we should just give up. Well, we're not going to do that. Kell wouldn't let us, and so we won't let ourselves. We'll fight, and we'll die with dignity. Then, the city will burn—but we'll have said something. The Lord Ruler pushed us around for a thousand years, but now we skaa have pride. We fight. We resist. And we die." "What was this all worth, then?" Ham said with frustration. "Why overthrow the Final Empire? Why kill the Lord Ruler? Why do anything, if it was just going to end like this? Tyrants ruling every dominance, Luthadel smashed to rubble, our crew dead?" "Because," Sazed said softly, "someone had to begin it. While the Lord Ruler ruled, society could not progress. He kept a stabilizing hand on the empire, but it was an oppressive hand as well. Fashion stayed remarkably unchanged for a thousand years, the noblemen always trying to fit the Lord Ruler's ideals. Architecture and science did not progress, for the Lord Ruler frowned on change and invention. "And the skaa could not be free, for he would not let them. However, killing him did not free our peoples, my friends. Only time will do that. It will take centuries, perhaps—centuries of fighting, learning, and growth. At the beginning, unfortunately and unavoidably, things will be very difficult. Worse even than they were beneath the Lord Ruler." "And we die for nothing," Ham said with a scowl. "No," Sazed said. "Not nothing, Lord Hammond. We will die to show that there are skaa who will not be bullied, who will not back down. This is a very important precedent, I think. In the histories and legends, this is the kind of event that inspires. If the skaa are ever to take rule of themselves, there will need to be sacrifices they can look to for motivation. Sacrifices like that of the Survivor himself." The men sat in silence. "Breeze," Ham said, "I could use a little more confidence right now." "Of course," Breeze said, carefully Soothing away the man's anxiety and fear. His face lost some of its pale pallor, and he sat up a little straighter. Just for good measure, Breeze gave the rest of the crew a little of the same treatment. "How long have you known?" Dockson asked Sazed. "For some time now, Lord Dockson," Sazed said. "But, you couldn't have known
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that Straff would pull back and give us to the koloss. Only Clubs figured that out." "My knowledge was general, Lord Breeze," Sazed said in his even voice. "It did not relate to the koloss specifically. I have thought for some time that this city would fall. In all honesty, I am deeply impressed with your efforts. This people should long since have been defeated, I think. You have done something grand—something that will be remembered for centuries." "Assuming anyone survives to tell the story," Clubs noted. Sazed nodded. "That, actually, is why I called this gathering. There is little chance of those of us who remain in the city surviving—we will be needed to help with defenses, and if we do survive the koloss attack, Straff will try to execute us. However, it is not necessary for us all to remain in Luthadel for its fall—someone, perhaps, should be sent out to organize further resistance against the warlords." "I won't leave my men," Clubs grumbled. "Nor I," Ham said. "Though I did send my family to ground yesterday." The simple phrase meant that he'd had them leave, perhaps to hide in the city's underground, perhaps to escape through one of the passwalls. Ham wouldn't know—and that way he couldn't betray their location. Old habits died hard. "If this city falls," Dockson said, "I'll be here with it. That's what Kell would expect. I'm not leaving." "I'll go," Breeze said, looking at Sazed. "Is it too early to volunteer?" "Um, actually, Lord Breeze," Sazed said, "I wasn't—" Breeze held up a hand. "It's all right, Sazed. I believe it's obvious whom you think should be sent away. You didn't invite them to the meeting." Dockson frowned. "We're going to defend Luthadel to the death, and you want to send away our only Mistborn?" Sazed nodded his head. "My lords," he said softly, "the men of this city will need our leadership. We gave them this city and put them in this predicament. We cannot abandon them now. But. . .there are great things at work in this world. Greater things than us, I think. I am convinced that Mistress Vin is part of them. "Even if these matters are delusions on my part, then Lady Vin still must not be allowed to die in this city. She is the people's most personal and powerful link to the Survivor. She has become a symbol to them, and her skills as a Mistborn give her the best chance of being able to get away, then survive the attacks Straff will undoubtedly send. She will be a great value in the fight to come—she can move quickly and stealthily, and can fight alone, doing much damage, as she proved last night." Sazed bowed his head. "My lords, I called you here today so that we could decide how to convince her to run, when the rest of us stay to fight. It will not be an easy task, I think." "She won't leave Elend," Ham said. "He'll have to go, too." "My thoughts as well,
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Lord Hammond," Sazed said. Clubs chewed his lip in thought. "That boy won't be easily convinced to flee. He still thinks we can win this fight." "And we may yet," Sazed said. "My lords, my purpose is not to leave you without any hope at all. But, the dire circumstances, the likelihood of success. . ." "We know, Sazed," Breeze said. "We understand." "There have to be others of the crew who can go," Ham said, looking down. "More than just the two." "I would send Tindwyl with them," Sazed said. "She will carry to my people many discoveries of great importance. I also plan to send Lord Lestibournes. He would do little good in the battle, and his abilities as a spy could be of help to Lady Vin and Lord Elend as they try to rally resistance among the skaa. "However, those four will not be the only ones who survive. Most of the skaa should be safe—Jastes Lekal seems to be able to control his koloss somehow. Even if he cannot, then Straff should arrive in time to protect the city's people." "Assuming Straff is planning what Clubs thinks he is," Ham said. "He could actually be withdrawing, cutting his losses and leaving Luthadel behind." "Either way," Clubs said. "Not many can get out. Neither Straff nor Jastes are likely to allow large groups of people to flee the city. Right now, confusion and fear in the streets will serve their purposes far better than depopulation. We might be able to get a few riders on horseback out—especially if one of those riders is Vin. The rest of the people will have to take their chances with the koloss." Breeze felt his stomach turn. Clubs spoke so bluntly. . .so callously. But that was Clubs. He wasn't even really a pessimist; he just said the things that he didn't think others wanted to acknowledge. Some of the skaa will survive to become slaves for Straff Venture, Breeze thought. But those who fight—and those who have led the city this last year—are doomed. That includes me. It's true. This time there really is no way out. "Well?" Sazed asked, hands spread before him. "Are we in agreement that these four should go?" The members of the group nodded. "Let us discuss, then," Sazed said, "and devise a plan for sending them away." "We could just make Elend think that the danger isn't that great," Dockson said. "If he believes that the city is in for a long siege, he might be willing to go with Vin on a mission somewhere. They wouldn't realize what was happening back here until it was too late." "A good suggestion, Lord Dockson," Sazed said. "I think, also, that we could work with Vin's concept of the Well of Ascension." The discussion continued, and Breeze sat back, satisfied. Vin, Elend, and Spook will survive, he thought. I'll have to convince Sazed to let Allrianne go with them. He glanced around the room, noticing a release of tension in the postures of the others. Dockson and
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Ham seemed at peace, and even Clubs was nodding quietly to himself, looking satisfied as they talked through suggestions. The disaster was still coming. But, somehow, the possibility that some would escape—the youngest crewmembers, the ones still inexperienced enough to hope—made everything else a little easier to accept. Vin stood quietly in the mists, looking up at the dark spires, columns, and towers of Kredik Shaw. In her head, two sounds thumped. The mist spirit and the larger, vaster sound. It was growing more and more demanding. She continued forward, ignoring the thumps as she approached Kredik Shaw. The Hill of a Thousand Spires, once home of the Lord Ruler. It had been abandoned for well over a year, but no vagrants had made their home here. It was too ominous. Too terrible. Too much a reminder of him. The Lord Ruler had been a monster. Vin remembered well the night, over a year before, when she had come to this palace intending to kill him. To do the job that Kelsier had unwittingly trained her to do. She had walked through this very courtyard, had passed guards at the doors before her. And she had let them live. Kelsier would have just fought his way in. But Vin had talked them into leaving, into joining the rebellion. That act had saved her life when one of those very men, Goradel, had led Elend to the palace dungeons to help rescue Vin. In a way, the Final Empire had been overthrown because she hadn't acted like Kelsier. And yet, could she base future decisions upon a coincidence like that? Looking back, it seemed too perfectly allegorical. Like a neat little tale told to children, intended to teach a lesson. Vin had never heard those tales as a child. And, she had survived when so many others had died. For every lesson like the one with Goradel, it seemed that there were a dozen that ended in tragedy. And then there was Kelsier. He'd been right, in the end. His lesson was very different from the ones taught by the children's tales. Kelsier had been bold, even excited, when he executed those who stood in his path. Ruthless. He had looked toward the greater good; he'd always had his eyes focused on the fall of the empire, and the eventual rise of a kingdom like Elend's. He had succeeded. Why couldn't she kill as he had, knowing she was doing her duty, never feeling guilt? She'd always been frightened by the edge of danger Kelsier had displayed. Yet, wasn't that very edge the thing that had let him succeed? She passed into the tunnel-like corridors of the palace, feet and mistcloak tassels trailing marks in the dust. The mists, as always, remained behind. They didn't enter buildings—or, if they did, they usually didn't remain for long. With them, she left behind the mist spirit. She had to make a decision. She didn't like the decision, but she was accustomed to doing things she didn't like. That was life. She hadn't wanted to fight
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the Lord Ruler, but she had. It soon became too dark even for Mistborn eyes, and she had to light a lantern. When she did, she was surprised to see that her footsteps weren't the only ones in the dust. Apparently, someone else had been haunting the corridors. However, whoever it was, she didn't encounter them as she walked through the hallways. She entered the chamber a few moments later. She wasn't sure what had drawn her to Kredik Shaw, let alone the hidden chamber at its center. It seemed, however, that she had been feeling a kinship with the Lord Ruler lately. Her walkings had brought her here, to a place she hadn't visited since that night when she'd slain the only God she'd ever known. He had spent a lot of time in this hidden chamber, a place he had apparently built to remind him of his homeland. The chamber had a domed roof that arced overhead. The walls were filled with silvery murals and the floor was filled with metallic inlays. She ignored these, walking forward toward the room's central feature—a small stone building that had been built within the larger chamber. It was here that Kelsier and his wife had been captured many years before, during Kelsier's first attempt to rob the Lord Ruler. Mare had been murdered at the Pits. But Kelsier had survived. It was here, in this same chamber, that Vin had first faced an Inquisitor, and had nearly been killed herself. It was also here that she had come months later in her first attempt to kill the Lord Ruler. She had been defeated that time, too. She stepped into the small building-within-a-building. It had only one room. The floor had been torn up by Elend's crews, searching for the atium. The walls were still hung, however, with the trappings the Lord Ruler had left behind. She raised her lantern, looking at them. Rugs. Furs. A small wooden flute. The things of his people, the Terris people, from a thousand years before. Why had he built his new city of Luthadel here, to the south, when his homeland—and the Well of Ascension itself—had been to the north? Vin had never really understood that. Perhaps it came down to decision. Rashek, the Lord Ruler, had been forced to make a decision, too. He could have continued as he was, the pastoral villager. He would probably have had a happy life with his people. But he had decided to become something more. In doing so, he had committed terrible atrocities. Yet, could she blame him for the decision itself? He had become what he'd thought he needed to be. Her decision seemed more mundane, but she knew that other things—the Well of Ascension, the protection of Luthadel—could not be considered until she was certain what she wanted and who she was. And yet, standing in that room where Rashek had spent much of his time, thinking about the Well, the demanding thumps in her head sounded louder than they ever had before. She had to decide.
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Elend was the one she wanted to be with. He represented peace. Happiness. Zane, however, represented what she felt she had to become. For the good of everyone involved. The Lord Ruler's palace held no clues or answers for her. A few moments later, frustrated and baffled at why she had even come, she left it behind, walking back out into the mists. Zane awoke to the sound of a tent spike being pounded in a specific rhythm. His reaction was immediate. He burned steel and pewter. He always swallowed a new bit of each before sleeping. He knew the habit would probably kill him someday; metals were poisonous if allowed to linger. Dying someday was better, in Zane's opinion, than dying today. He flipped out of his cot, tossing his blanket toward the opening tent flap. He could barely see in the darkness of night. Even as he jumped, he heard something ripping. The tent walls being slit. "Kill them!" God screamed. Zane thumped to the ground and grabbed a handful of coins from the bowl beside his bed. He heard cries of surprise as he spun, throwing coins in a spinning spray around him. He Pushed. Tiny plunks of sound thumped around him as coins met canvas, then continued on. And men began to scream. Zane fell to a crouch, waiting silently as the tent collapsed around him. Someone was thrashing the cloth to his right. He shot a few coins, and heard a satisfying grunt of pain. In the stillness, canvas resting atop him like a blanket, he heard footsteps running away. He sighed, relaxing, and used a dagger to slice away the top of his tent. He emerged to a misty night. He'd gone to sleep later today than he usually did; it was probably near midnight. Time to be up anyway. He strode across the fallen top of his tent—moving over to the now cloaked form of his cot—and cut a hole so he could reach through and pluck out the vial of metal he'd stored in a pocket beneath it. He downed the metals, and tin brought near light to his surroundings. Four men lay dying or dead around his tent. They were soldiers, of course—Straff's soldiers. The attack had come later than Zane had expected. Straff trusts me more than I assumed. Zane stepped over the dead form of an assassin and cut his way into a storage chest, then pulled out his clothing. He changed quietly, then removed a small bag of coins from the chest. It must have been the attack on Cett's keep, he thought. It finally convinced Straff that I was too dangerous to let live. Zane found his man working quietly beside a tent a short distance away, ostensibly testing the strength of a tent cord. He watched every night, paid to pound on a tent spike should anyone approach Zane's tent. Zane tossed the man a bag of coins, then moved off into the darkness, passing the canal waters with their supply barges on his way to Straff's tent.
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His father had some few limitations. Straff was fine at large-scale planning, but the details—the subtleties—often got away from him. He could organize an army and crush his enemies. He, however, liked to play with dangerous tools. Like the atium mines at the Pits of Hathsin. Like Zane. Those tools often ended up burning him. Zane walked up to the side of Straff's tent, then ripped a hole in the canvas and strode in. Straff waited for him. Zane gave the man credit: Straff watched his death coming with defiance in his eyes. Zane stopped in the middle of the room, in front of Straff, who sat in his hard wooden chair. "Kill him," God commanded. Lamps burned in the corners, illuminating the canvas. The cushions and blankets in the corner were rumpled; Straff had taken one last romp with his favorite mistresses before sending his assassins. The king displayed his characteristic air of strong defiance, but Zane saw more. He saw a face too slick with sweat, and he saw hands trembling, as if from a disease. "I have atium for you," Straff said. "Buried in a place only I know." Zane stood quietly, staring at his father. "I will proclaim you openly," Straff said. "Name you my heir. Tomorrow, if you wish." Zane didn't respond. Straff continued to sweat. "The city is yours," Zane finally said, turning away. He was rewarded with a startled gasp from behind. Zane glanced back. He'd never seen such a look of shock on his father's face. That alone was almost worth everything. "Pull your men back, as you are planning," Zane said, "but don't return to the Northern Dominance. Wait for those koloss to invade the city, let them take down the defenses and kill the defenders. Then, you can sweep in and rescue Luthadel." "But, Elend's Mistborn. . ." "Will be gone," Zane said. "She's leaving with me, tonight. Farewell, Father." He turned and left through the slit he'd made. "Zane?" Straff called from inside the tent. Zane paused again. "Why?" Straff asked, looking out through the slit. "I sent assassins to kill you. Why are you letting me live?" "Because you're my father," Zane said. He turned away, looking into the mists. "A man shouldn't kill his father." With that, Zane bid a final farewell to the man who had created him. A man whom Zane—despite his insanity, despite the abuse he'd known over the years—loved. In the dark mists he threw down a coin and shot out over the camp. Outside its confines, he landed and easily located the bend in the canal he used as a marker. From the hollow of a small tree there, he pulled a bundle of cloth. A mistcloak, the first gift Straff had given him, years before when Zane had first Snapped. To him, it was too precious to wear around, to soil and use. He knew himself a fool. However, he could not help how he felt. One could not use emotional Allomancy on one's self. He unwrapped the mistcloak and withdrew the things
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it protected—several vials of metal and a pouch filled with beads. Atium. He knelt there for a long moment. Then, he reached up to his chest, feeling the space just above his rib cages. Where his heart thumped. There was a large bump there. There always had been. He didn't think about it often; his mind seemed to get distracted when he did. It, however, was the real reason he never wore cloaks. He didn't like the way that cloaks rubbed against the small point of the spike that stuck out of his back just between the shoulder blades. The head was against his sternum, and couldn't be seen beneath clothing. "It is time to go," God said. Zane stood, leaving the mistcloak behind. He turned from his father's camp, leaving behind that which he had known, instead seeking the woman who would save him. Alendi believes as they do. A PART OF VIN WASN'T EVEN bothered by how many people she had killed. That very indifference, however, terrified her. She sat on her balcony a short time after her visit to the palace, the city of Luthadel lost in darkness before her. She sat in the mists—but knew better, now, than to think she'd find solace in their swirling patterns. Nothing was that simple anymore. The mist spirit watched her, as always. It was too distant to see, but she could feel it. And, even stronger than the mist spirit, she could feel something else. That powerful thumping, growing louder and louder. It had once seemed distant, but no longer. The Well of Ascension. That was what it had to be. She could feel its power returning, flowing back into the world, demanding to be taken up and used. She kept finding herself glancing north, toward Terris, expecting to see something on the horizon. A burst of light, a blazing fire, a tempest of winds. Something. But there was just mist. It seemed that she couldn't succeed at anything, lately. Love, protection, duty. I've let myself get stretched too thin, she thought. There were so many things that demanded her attention, and she'd tried to give heed to them all. As a result, she had accomplished nothing. Her research about the Deepness and the Hero of Ages lay untouched for days, still arranged in piles scattered across her floor. She knew next to nothing about the mist spirit—only that it watched her, and that the logbook author had thought it dangerous. She hadn't dealt with the spy in her crew; she didn't know if Zane's claims regarding Demoux were true. And Cett still lived. She couldn't even perform a proper massacre without stumbling halfway through. It was Kelsier's fault. He had trained her to take his place, but could anyone ever really do that? Why do we always have to be someone else's knives? Zane's voice whispered in her head. His words had seemed to make sense sometimes, but they had a flaw. Elend. Vin wasn't his knife—not really. He didn't want her to assassinate or kill. But, his ideals had
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left him without a throne, and had left his city surrounded by enemies. If she really loved Elend—if she really loved the people of Luthadel—wouldn't she have done more? The pulsings thumped against her, like the beats of a drum the size of the sun. She burned bronze almost constantly now, listening to the rhythm, letting it pull her away. . .. "Mistress?" OreSeur asked from behind. "What are you thinking about?" "The end," Vin said quietly, staring outward. Silence. "The end of what, Mistress?" "I don't know." OreSeur padded over to the balcony, walking into the mists and sitting down beside her. She was getting to know him well enough that she could see concern in his canine eyes. She sighed, shaking her head. "I just have decisions to make. And, no matter which choice I make, it will mean an end." OreSeur sat for a moment, head cocked. "Mistress," he finally said, "that seems excessively dramatic to me." Vin shrugged. "No advice for me, then?" "Just make the decision," OreSeur said. Vin sat for a moment, then smiled. "Sazed would have said something wise and comforting." OreSeur frowned. "I fail to see why he should be part of this conversation, Mistress." "He was my steward," Vin said. "Before he left, and before Kelsier switched your Contract to me." "Ah," OreSeur said. "Well, I never did much like Terrismen, Mistress. Their self-important sense of subservience is very difficult to imitate—not to mention the fact that their muscles are far too stringy to taste good." Vin raised an eyebrow. "You've imitated Terrismen? I didn't think there would be much cause for that—they weren't a very influential people during the days of the Lord Ruler." "Ah," OreSeur said. "But they were always around influential people." Vin nodded, standing. She walked back into her empty room and lit a lamp, extinguishing her tin. Mist carpeted the room, flowing over her stacks of paper, her feet throwing up puffs as she walked toward the bedroom. She paused. That was a bit strange. Mist rarely remained long when it came indoors. Elend said it had to do with heat and enclosed spaces. Vin had always ascribed to it something more mystical. She frowned, watching it. Even without tin, she heard the creak. Vin spun. Zane stood on the balcony, his figure a black silhouette in the mists. He stepped forward, the mist following around him, as it did around anyone burning metals. And yet. . .it also seemed to be pushing away from him slightly. OreSeur growled quietly. "It's time," Zane said. "Time for what?" Vin asked, setting the lamp down. "To go," Zane said. "To leave these men and their armies. To leave the squabbling. To be free." Free. "I. . .don't know, Zane," Vin said, looking away. She heard him step forward. "What do you owe him, Vin? He doesn't know you. He fears you. The truth is, he was never worthy of you." "No," Vin said, shaking her head. "That's not it at all, Zane. You don't understand. I was never worthy of
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him. Elend deserves someone better. He deserves. . .someone who shares his ideals. Someone who thinks he was right to give up his throne. Someone who sees more honor—and less foolishness—in that." "Either way," Zane said, stopping a short distance from her. "He cannot understand you. Us." Vin didn't reply. "Where would you go, Vin?" Zane asked. "If you weren't bound to this place, bound to him? If you were free, and could do whatever you wished, where would you go?" The thumpings seemed louder. She glanced toward OreSeur, who sat quietly by the side wall, mostly in the dark. Why feel guilty? What did she have to prove to him? She turned back to Zane. "North," she said. "To Terris." "We can go there. Wherever you want. Location is irrelevant to me, as long as it is not this place." "I can't abandon them," Vin said. "Even if by doing so, you steal away Straff's only Mistborn?" Zane asked. "The trade is a good one. My father will know that I have disappeared, but he will not realize that you aren't still in Luthadel. He'll be even more afraid to attack. By giving yourself freedom, you'll also be leaving your allies with a precious gift." Zane took her hand, forcing her to look at him. He did look like Elend—like a hard version of Elend. Zane had been broken by life, just as she had been, but both had put themselves back together. Had the re-forming made them stronger, or more fragile? "Come," Zane whispered. "You can save me, Vin." A war is coming to the city, Vin thought with a chill. If I stay, I will have to kill again. And slowly, she let him draw her away from her desk, toward the mists and the comforting darkness beyond. She reached up, pulling out a metal vial for the journey, and the motion caused Zane to spin suspiciously. He has good instincts, Vin thought. Instincts like my own. Instincts that won't let him trust, but that keep him alive. He relaxed as he saw what she was doing, and smiled and turned away again. Vin followed him, walking again, but she felt a sudden stab of fear. This is it, she thought. After this, everything changes. The time for decisions has passed. And I made the wrong choice. Elend wouldn't have jumped like that when I took out the vial. She froze. Zane tugged on her wrist, but she didn't move. He turned toward her in the mists, frowning as he stood at the edge of her balcony. "I'm sorry," Vin whispered, slipping her hand free. "I can't go with you." "What?" Zane asked. "Why not?" Vin shook her head, turning and walking back into the room. "Tell me what it is!" Zane said, tone rising. "What is it about him that draws you? He isn't a great leader. He's not a warrior. He's no Allomancer or general. What is it about him?" The answer came to her simply and easily. Make your decisions—I'll support you in them. "He trusts
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me," she whispered. "What?" Zane asked incredulously. "When I attacked Cett," Vin said, "the others thought I was acting irrationally—and they were right. But Elend told them I had a good reason, even if he didn't know what it was." "So he's a fool," Zane said. "When we spoke later," Vin continued, not looking at Zane, "I was cold to him. I think he knew that I was trying to decide whether to stay with him or not. And. . .he told me that he trusted my judgment. He'd support me if I chose to leave him." "So he's also unappreciative," Zane said. Vin shook her head. "No. He just loves me." "I love you." Vin paused, looking at Zane. He looked angry. Desperate, even. "I believe you. I still can't go with you." "But why?" "Because it would require leaving Elend," she said. "Even if I can't share his ideals, I can respect them. Even if I don't deserve him, I can be near him. I'm staying, Zane." Zane stood quietly for a moment, mist falling around his shoulders. "I've failed, then." Vin turned away from him. "No. It isn't that you've failed. You aren't flawed simply because I—" He slammed into her, throwing her toward the mist-covered floor. Vin turned her head, shocked, as she crashed into the wooden floor, the breath going out of her. Zane loomed above her, his face dark. "You were supposed to save me," he hissed. Vin flared every metal she had in a sudden jolt. She shoved Zane backward and Pulled herself against the door hinges. She flew backward and hit the door hard, the wood cracking slightly, but she was too tense—too shocked—to feel anything but the thud. Zane rose quietly, standing tall, dark. Vin rolled forward into a crouch. Zane was attacking her. Attacking her for real. But. . .he. . . "OreSeur!" Vin said, ignoring her mind's objections, whipping out her daggers. "Run away!" The code given, she charged, trying to distract Zane's attention from the wolfhound. Zane sidestepped her attacks with a casual grace. Vin whipped a dagger toward his neck. It barely missed as Zane tipped his head backward. She struck at his side, at his arm, at his chest. Each strike missed. She'd known he'd burn atium. She'd expected that. She skidded to a stop, looking at him. He hadn't even bothered to pull out his own weapons. He stood before her, face dark, mist a growing lake at his feet. "Why didn't you listen to me, Vin?" he asked. "Why force me to keep being Straff's tool? We both know where that must lead." Vin ignored him. Gritting her teeth, she launched into an attack. Zane backhanded her indifferently, and she Pushed slightly against the deskmounts behind him—tossing herself backward, as if thrown by the force of his blow. She slammed into the wall, then slumped to the ground. Directly beside the startled OreSeur. He hadn't opened his shoulder to give her the atium. Hadn't he understood the code? "The atium I gave you," Vin hissed. "I
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need it. Now." "Kandra," Zane said. "Come to me." OreSeur met her eyes, and she saw something within them. Shame. He glanced away, then padded across the floor, mist up to his knees, as he joined Zane in the center of the room. "No. . ." Vin whispered. "OreSeur—" "You will no longer obey her commands, TenSoon," Zane said. OreSeur bowed his head. "The Contract, OreSeur!" Vin said, climbing to her knees. "You must obey my orders!" "My servant, Vin," Zane said. "My Contract. My orders." My servant. . .. And suddenly, it clicked. She'd suspected everyone—Dockson, Breeze, even Elend—but she'd never connected the spy to the one person that made the most sense. There had been a kandra in the palace all along. And he had been at her side. "I'm sorry, Mistress," OreSeur whispered. "How long?" Vin asked, bowing her head. "Since you gave my predecessor—the real OreSeur—the dog's body," the kandra said. "I killed him that day and took his place, wearing the body of a dog. You never saw him as a wolfhound." What easier way to mask the transformation? Vin thought. "But, the bones we discovered in the palace," she said. "You were with me on the wall when they appeared. They—" She'd taken his word on how fresh those bones had been; she'd taken his word on when they had been produced. She'd assumed all along that the switch must have happened that day, when she was with Elend on the city wall—but she'd done so primarily because of what OreSeur had said. Idiot! she thought. OreSeur—or, TenSoon, as Zane had called him—had led her to suspect everyone but himself. What was wrong with her? She was usually so good at sniffing out traitors, at noticing insincerity. How had she missed spotting her own kandra? Zane walked forward. Vin waited, on her knees. Weak, she told herself. Look weak. Make him leave you alone. Try to— "Soothing me will do no good," Zane said quietly, grabbing her by the front of her shirt, picking her up, then throwing her back down. Mist sprayed beneath her, puffing up in a splash as she slammed to the floor. Vin stifled her cry of pain. I have to stay quiet. If guards come, he'll kill them. If Elend comes. . . She had to stay quiet, quiet even as Zane kicked her in her wounded side. She grunted, eyes watering. "You could have saved me," Zane said, peering down at her. "I was willing to go with you. Now, what is left? Nothing. Nothing, but Straff's orders." He punctuated that sentence with a kick. Stay small, she told herself through the pain. He'll leave you alone eventually. . .. But it had been years since she'd had to bow before anyone. Her days of cringing before Camon and Reen were almost misty shadows, forgotten before the light offered by Elend and Kelsier. As Zane kicked again, Vin found herself growing angry. He brought his foot back, angling it toward her face, and Vin moved. As his foot arced down,
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she threw herself backward, Pushing against the window latches to scoot herself through the mists. She flared pewter, throwing herself up to her feet, trailing mist from the floor. It was up past her knees now. She glared at Zane, who looked back with a dark expression. Vin ducked forward, but Zane moved faster—moved first—stepping between her and the balcony. Not that getting to it would do her any good; with atium, he could chase her down easily. It was like before, when he'd attacked her with atium. Only this time it was worse. Before, she'd been able to believe—if just a little—that they were still sparring. Still not enemies, even if they weren't friends. She hadn't really believed that he wanted to kill her. She had no such illusions this time. Zane's eyes were dark, his expression flat—just like that night a few days before, when slaughtering Cett's men. Vin was going to die. She hadn't felt such fear in a long time. But now she saw it, felt it, smelled it on herself as she shied away from the approaching Zane. She felt what it was like to face a Mistborn—what it must have been like for those soldiers she'd killed. There was no fighting. There was no chance. No, she told herself forcefully, holding her side. Elend didn't back down against Straff. He doesn't have Allomancy, but he marched into the center of the koloss camp. I can beat this. With a cry, Vin dashed toward TenSoon. The dog backed away in shock, but he needn't have worried. Zane was there again. He slammed a shoulder into Vin, then whipped his dagger around and slashed a wound across her cheek as she fell backward. The cut was precise. Perfect. Matching the wound on her other cheek, one given to her during her first fight with a Mistborn, nearly two years before. Vin gritted her teeth, burning iron as she fell. She Pulled on a pouch on her desk, whipping the coins into her hand. She hit the ground on her side, other hand down, and threw herself back to her feet. She dumped a shower of coins from the pouch into her hand, then raised them at Zane. Blood dripped from her chin. She threw the coins out. Zane moved to Push them away. Vin smiled, then burned duralumin as she Pushed. The coins snapped forward, and the wind of their sudden passing parted the mist on the ground, revealing the floor beneath. The room shook. And in an eyeblink, Vin found herself slammed back against the wall. She gasped in surprise, breath knocked from her lungs, her vision swimming. She looked up, disoriented, surprised to find herself on the ground again. "Duralumin," Zane said, still standing with a hand up before him. "TenSoon told me about it. We deduced you must have a new metal from the way you can sense me when my copper is on. After that, a little searching, and he found that note from your metallurgist, which handily had the instructions for making duralumin."
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Her addled mind struggled to connect ideas. Zane had duralumin. He'd used the metal, and had Pushed against one of the coins she'd shot at him. He must have Pushed behind himself as well, to keep from being forced backward as his weight met hers. And her own duralumin-enhanced Push had slammed her against the wall. She had trouble thinking. Zane walked forward. She looked up, dazed, then scrambled away on hands and knees, crawling in the mists. It was at face level, and her nostrils tickled as she inhaled the cool, quiet chaos. Atium. She needed atium. But, the bead was in TenSoon's shoulder, she couldn't Pull it to herself. The reason he carried it there was that the flesh protected it from being affected by Allomancers. Just like the spikes piercing an Inquisitor's body, just like her own earring. Metal inside—or even piercing—a person's body could not be Pulled or Pushed except with the most extreme of Allomantic forces. But she'd done it once. When fighting the Lord Ruler. It hadn't been her own power, or even duralumin, that had let her accomplish it. It had been something else. The mists. She'd drawn upon them. Something hit her on her back, pushing her down. She rolled over, kicking upward, but her foot missed Zane's face by a few atium-aided inches. Zane slapped her foot aside, then reached down, slamming her against the floor by her shoulders. Mists churned around him as he looked down at her. Through her terror, she reached out for the mists, as she had over a year before when fighting the Lord Ruler. That day, they had fueled her Allomancy, giving her a strength that she shouldn't have had. She reached out for them, begging for their help. And nothing happened. Please. . .. Zane slammed her down again. The mists continued to ignore her pleas. She twisted, Pulling against the window frame to get leverage, and pushed Zane to the side. They rolled, Vin coming around on top. Suddenly, both of them lurched off the floor, bursting out of the mists and flying toward the ceiling, thrown upward as Zane Pushed against coins on the floor. They slammed against the ceiling, Zane's body pushing against hers, pinning her to the wooden planks. He was on top again—or, rather, he was on the bottom, but that was now the point of leverage. Vin gasped. He was so strong. Stronger than she. His fingers bit into the flesh of her arms despite her pewter, and her side ached from her earlier wounds. She was in no condition to fight—not against another Mistborn. Especially not one with atium. Zane continued to Push them against the ceiling. Vin's hair fell toward him, and mists churned the floor below, like a whirlpool vortex that was slowly rising. Zane released his Push, and they fell. Yet, he was still in control. He spun her, throwing her down below him as they entered the mists again. They hit the ground, the blow knocking the wind from Vin's lungs yet again. Zane loomed
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above her, speaking through gritted teeth. "All that effort, wasted," he hissed. "Hiding an Allomancer in Cett's hirelings so that you would suspect him of attacking you at the Assembly. Forcing you to fight in front of Elend so that he'd be intimidated by you. Pushing you to explore your powers and kill so that you'd realize just how powerful you truly are. All wasted!" He leaned down. "You. Were. Supposed. To. Save me!" he said, his face just inches from hers, breathing heavily. He pinned one of her struggling arms to the floor with his knee, and then, in a strangely surreal moment, he kissed her. And at the same time, he rammed his dagger into the side of one of her breasts. Vin tried to cry out, but his mouth held hers as the dagger cut her flesh. "Be careful, Master!" OreSeur—TenSoon—suddenly yelled. "She knows much about kandra!" Zane looked up, his hand stilled. The voice, the pain, brought lucidity to Vin. She flared tin, using the pain to shock herself awake, clearing her mind. "What?" Zane asked, looking down toward the kandra. "She knows, Master," TenSoon said. "She knows our secret. The reason why we served the Lord Ruler. The reason why we serve the Contract. She knows why we fear Allomancers so much." "Be silent," Zane commanded. "And speak no more." TenSoon fell silent. Our secret. . .Vin thought, glancing over at the wolfhound, sensing the anxiety in his canine expression. He's trying to tell me something. Trying to help me. Secret. The secret of the kandra. The last time she'd tried Soothing him, he'd howled with pain. Yet, she saw permission in his expression. It was enough. She slammed TenSoon with a Soothing. He cried out, howling, but she Pushed harder. Nothing happened. Gritting her teeth, she burned duralumin. Something broke. She was in two places at once. She could feel TenSoon standing by the wall, and she could feel her own body in Zane's grip. TenSoon was hers, totally and completely. Somehow, not quite knowing how, she ordered him forward, controlling his body. The massive wolfhound's body slammed into Zane, throwing him off Vin. The dagger flipped to the ground, and Vin stumbled to her knees, grabbing her chest, feeling warm blood there. Zane rolled, obviously shocked, but he came to his feet and kicked TenSoon. Bones broke. The wolfhound tumbled across the floor—right toward Vin. She snatched the dagger off the ground as he rolled to her feet, then plunged it into his shoulder, cutting the shoulder, her fingers feeling in the muscle and sinew. She came up with bloodied hands and a single bead of atium. She swallowed it with a gulp, spinning toward Zane. "Now let's see how you fare," she hissed, burning atium. Dozens of atium shadows burst from Zane, showing her possible actions he could take—all of them ambiguous. She would be giving off the same confusing mess to his eyes. They were even. Zane turned, looking into her eyes, and his atium shadows disappeared. Impossible! she thought. TenSoon groaned at
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her feet as she realized that her atium reserve was gone. Burned away. But the bead had been so large. . .. "Did you think I'd give you the very weapon you needed to fight me?" Zane asked quietly. "Did you think I'd really give up atium?" "But—" "A lump of lead," Zane said, walking forward. "Plated with a thin layer of atium around it. Oh, Vin. You really need to be more careful whom you trust." Vin stumbled backward, feeling her confidence wilt. Make him talk! she thought. Try to get his atium to run out. "My brother said that I shouldn't trust anyone. . ." she mumbled. "He said. . .anyone would betray me." "He was a wise man," Zane said quietly, standing chest-deep in mists. "He was a paranoid fool," Vin said. "He kept me alive, but he left me broken." "Then he did you a favor." Vin glanced toward TenSoon's mangled, bleeding form. He was in pain; she could see it in his eyes. In the distance she could hear. . .thumping. She'd turned her bronze back on. She looked up slowly. Zane was walking toward her. Confident. "You've been playing with me," she said. "You drove a wedge between me and Elend. You made me think he feared me, made me think he was using me." "He was," Zane said. "Yes," Vin said. "But it doesn't matter—not the way you made it seem. Elend uses me. Kelsier used me. We use each other, for love, for support, for trust." "Trust will kill you," he said. "Then it is better to die." "I trusted you," he said, stopping before her. "And you betrayed me." "No," Vin said, raising her dagger. "I'm going to save you. Just like you want." She snapped forward and struck, but her hope—that he'd run out of atium—was in vain. He sidestepped indifferently; he let her dagger come within an inch of striking, but he was never really in danger. Vin spun to attack, but her blade cut only air, skimming along the top of the rising mists. Zane moved before her next attack came, dodging even before she knew what she was going to do. Her dagger stabbed the place where he had been standing. He's too fast, she thought, side burning, mind thumping. Or was that the Well of Ascension thumping. . .. Zane stopped just in front of her. I can't hit him, she thought with frustration. Not when he knows where I'll strike before I do! Vin paused. Before I do. . .. Zane stepped away to a place near the center of the room, then kicked her fallen dagger into the air and caught it. He turned back toward her, mist trailing from the weapon in his hand, jaw set and eyes dark. He knows where I'll strike before I do. Vin raised her dagger, blood trickling down face and side, thunderous drumbeats booming in her mind. The mist was nearly up to her chin. She cleared her mind. She didn't plan an attack. She didn't react to Zane
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as he ran toward her, dagger raised. She loosened her muscles and closed her eyes, listening to his footsteps. She felt the mist rise around her, churned by Zane's advent. She snapped her eyes open. He had the dagger raised; it glittered as it swung. Vin prepared to attack, but didn't think about the strike; she simply let her body react. And she watched Zane very, very carefully. He flinched just slightly to the left, open hand moving upward, as if to grab something. There! Vin thought, immediately wrenching herself to the side, forcing her instinctive attack out of its natural trajectory. She twisted her arm—and dagger—midswing. She had been about to attack left, as Zane's atium had anticipated. But, by reacting, Zane had shown her what she was going to do. Let her see the future. And if she could see it, she could change it. They met. Zane's weapon took her in the shoulder. But Vin's knife took him in the neck. His left hand closed on empty air, snatching at a shadow that should have told him where her arm would be. Zane tried to gasp, but her knife had pierced his windpipe. Air sucked through blood around the blade, and Zane stumbled back, eyes wide with shock. He met her eyes, then collapsed into the mists, his body thumping against the wooden floor. Zane looked up through the mists, looked up at her. I'm dying, he thought. Her atium shadow had split at the last moment. Two shadows, two possibilities. He'd counteracted the wrong one. She'd tricked him, defeated him somehow. And now he was dying. Finally. "You know why I thought you'd save me?" he tried to whisper to her, though he somehow knew that his lips weren't properly forming the words. "The voice. You were the first person I ever met that it didn't tell me to kill. The only person." "Of course I didn't tell you to kill her," God said. Zane felt his life seeping away. "You know the really funny thing, Zane?" God asked. "The most amusing part of this all? You're not insane. "You never were." Vin watched quietly as Zane sputtered, blood coming from his lips. She watched cautiously; a knife to the throat should have been enough to kill even a Mistborn, but sometimes pewter could let one do awesome things. Zane died. She checked his pulse, then retrieved her dagger. After that, she stood for a moment, feeling. . .numb, in both mind and body. She raised a hand to her wounded shoulder—and in doing so, she brushed her wounded breast. She was bleeding too much, and her mind was growing fuzzy again. I killed him. She flared pewter, forcing herself to keep moving. She stumbled over to TenSoon, kneeling beside him. "Mistress," he said. "I'm sorry. . .." "I know," she said, staring at the terrible wound she'd made. His legs no longer worked, and his body lay in an unnatural twist. "How can I help?" "Help?" TenSoon said. "Mistress, I nearly got you killed!" "I know," she
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said again. "How can I make the pain go away? Do you need another body?" TenSoon was quiet for a moment. "Yes." "Take Zane's," Vin said. "For the moment, at least." "He is dead?" TenSoon asked with surprise. He couldn't see, she realized. His neck is broken. "Yes," she whispered. "How, Mistress?" TenSoon asked. "He ran out of atium?" "No," Vin said. "Then, how?" "Atium has a weakness," she said. "It lets you see the future." "That. . .doesn't sound like a weakness, Mistress." Vin sighed, wobbling slightly. Focus! she thought. "When you burn atium, you see a few moments into the future—and you can change what will happen in that future. You can grab an arrow that should have kept flying. You can dodge a blow that should have killed you. And you can move to block an attack before it even happens." TenSoon was quiet, obviously confused. "He showed me what I was going to do," Vin said. "I couldn't change the future, but Zane could. By reacting to my attack before I even knew what I was going to do, he inadvertently showed me the future. I reacted against him, and he tried to block a blow that never came. That let me kill him." "Mistress. . ." TenSoon whispered. "That is brilliant." "I'm sure I'm not the first to think of it," Vin said wearily. "But it isn't the sort of secret that you share. Anyway, take his body." "I. . .would rather not wear the bones of that creature," TenSoon said. "You don't know how broken he was, Mistress." Vin nodded tiredly. "I could just find you another dog body, if you want." "That won't be necessary, Mistress," TenSoon said quietly. "I still have the bones of the other wolfhound you gave me, and most of them are still good. If I replace a few of them with the good bones from this body, I should be able to form a complete skeleton to use." "Do it, then. We're going to need to plan what to do next." TenSoon was quiet for a moment. Finally, he spoke. "Mistress, my Contract is void, now that my master is dead. I. . .need to return to my people for reassignment." "Ah," Vin said, feeling a wrench of sadness. "Of course." "I do not want to go," TenSoon said. "But, I must at least report to my people. Please, forgive me." "There is nothing to forgive," Vin said. "And thank you for that timely hint at the end." TenSoon lay quietly. She could see guilt in his canine eyes. He shouldn't have helped me against his current master. "Mistress," TenSoon said. "You know our secret now. Mistborn can control a kandra's body with Allomancy. I don't know what you will do with it—but realize that I have entrusted you with a secret that my people have kept sacred for a thousand years. The way that Allomancers could take control of our bodies and make slaves of us." "I. . .don't even understand what happened." "Perhaps it is better that way,"
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TenSoon said. "Please, leave me. I have the other dog's bones in the closet. When you return, I will be gone." Vin rose, nodding. She left, then, pushing through the mists and seeking the hallway outside. Her wounds needed tending. She knew that she should go to Sazed, but somehow she couldn't force herself in that direction. She walked faster, feet taking her down the hallway, until she was running. Everything was collapsing around her. She couldn't manage it all, couldn't keep things straight. But she did know what she wanted. And so she ran to him. He is a good man—despite it all, he is a good man. A sacrificing man. In truth, all of his actions—all of the deaths, destructions, and pains that he has caused—have hurt him deeply. All of these things were, in truth, a kind of sacrifice for him. ELEND YAWNED, LOOKING OVER THE letter he'd penned to Jastes. Perhaps he could persuade his former friend to see reason. If he couldn't. . .well, a duplicate of the wooden coin Jastes had been using to "pay" the koloss sat on Elend's desk. It was a perfect copy, whittled by Clubs himself. Elend was pretty certain that he had access to more wood than Jastes did. If he could help Penrod stall for a few more weeks, they might be able to make enough "money" to bribe the koloss away. He set down his pen, rubbing his eyes. It was late. Time to— His door slammed open. Elend spun, and caught sight of a flustered Vin dashing across the room and into his arms. She was crying. And she was bloody. "Vin!" he said. "What happened?" "I killed him," she said, head buried in Elend's chest. "Who?" "Your brother," she said. "Zane. Straff's Mistborn. I killed him." "Wait. What? My brother?" Vin nodded. "I'm sorry." "Forget about that, Vin!" Elend said, gently prying her back and pushing her into his chair. She had a gash on her cheek, and her shirt was slick with blood. "Lord Ruler! I'm going to get Sazed right now." "Don't leave me," she said, holding his arm. Elend paused. Something had changed. She seemed to need him again. "Come with me, then. We'll both go see him." Vin nodded, standing. She teetered just a bit, and Elend felt a spike of fear, but the determined look in her eyes wasn't something he wanted to challenge. He put his arm around her, letting her lean on him as they walked to Sazed's quarters. Elend paused to knock, but Vin simply pushed her way into the dark room, then wobbled and sat down on the floor just inside. "I'll. . .sit here," she said. Elend paused worriedly by her side, then raised his lamp and called toward the bedchamber. "Sazed!" The Terrisman appeared a moment later, looking exhausted and wearing a white sleeping robe. He noticed Vin, blinked a few times, then disappeared into his chambers. He returned a moment later with a metalmind bracer strapped to his forearm and a bag of medical equipment.
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"Now, Lady Vin," Sazed said, setting the bag down. "What would Master Kelsier think, seeing you in this condition? You ruin more clothing in this manner, I think. . .." "This isn't a time for levity, Sazed," Elend said. "I apologize, Your Majesty," Sazed said, carefully cutting the clothing away from Vin's shoulder. "However, if she is still conscious, then she isn't in serious danger." He peered closer at the wound, absently lifting clean cloths from his bag. "You see?" Sazed asked. "This gash is deep, but the blade was deflected by the bone, and missed hitting any major vessels. Hold this here." He pressed a cloth to the wound, and Elend put his hand on it. Vin sat with her eyes closed, resting back against the wall, blood dripping slowly from her chin. She seemed more exhausted than in pain. Sazed took his knife and cut away the front of Vin's shirt, exposing her wounded chest. Elend paused. "Perhaps I should. . ." "Stay," Vin said. It wasn't a plea, but a command. She raised her head, opening her eyes as Sazed tisked quietly at the wound, then got out a numbing agent and some needle and thread. "Elend," she said, "I need to tell you something." He paused. "All right." "I've realized something about Kelsier," she said quietly. "I always focus on the wrong things, when it comes to him. It's hard to forget the hours he spent training me to be an Allomancer. Yet, it wasn't his ability to fight that made him great—it wasn't his harshness or his brutality, or even his strength or his instincts." Elend frowned. "Do you know what it was?" she asked. He shook his head, still pressing the cloth against her shoulder. "It was his ability to trust," she said. "It was the way that he made good people into better people, the way that he inspired them. His crew worked because he had confidence in them—because he respected them. And, in return, they respected each other. Men like Breeze and Clubs became heroes because Kelsier had faith in them." She looked up at him, blinking tired eyes. "And you are far better at that than Kelsier ever was, Elend. He had to work at it. You do it instinctively, treating even weasels like Philen as if they were good and honorable men. It's not naivete, as some think. It's what Kelsier had, only greater. He could have learned from you." "You give me too much credit," he said. She shook a tired head. Then she turned to Sazed. "Sazed?" she asked. "Yes, child?" "Do you know any wedding ceremonies?" Elend nearly dropped the cloth in shock. "I know several," Sazed said as he tended the wound. "Some two hundred, actually." "Which one is the shortest?" Vin asked. Sazed pulled a stitch tight. "The people of Larsta only required a profession of love before a local priest. Simplicity was a tenet of their belief structure—a reaction, perhaps, to the traditions of the land they were banished from, which was known for its complex
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system of bureaucratic rules. It is a good religion, one that focused on simple beauty found in nature." Vin looked at Elend. Her face was bloody, her hair a mess. "Now, see," he said. "Vin, don't you think that maybe this should wait until, you know—" "Elend?" she interrupted. "I love you." He froze. "Do you love me?" she asked. This is insane. "Yes," he said quietly. Vin turned to Sazed, who was still working. "Well?" Sazed looked up, fingers bloodied. "This is a very strange time for such an event, I think." Elend nodded in agreement. "It's just a little bit of blood," Vin said tiredly. "I'm really all right, now that I've sat down." "Yes," Sazed said, "but you seem somewhat distraught, Lady Vin. This isn't a decision to be made lightly, under the influence of strong emotions." Vin smiled. "The decision to get married shouldn't be made because of strong emotions?" Sazed floundered. "That isn't exactly what I meant. I'm simply not certain that you are fully in control of your faculties, Lady Vin." Vin shook her head. "I'm more in control than I have been for months. It's time for me to stop hesitating, Sazed—time to stop worrying, time to accept my place in this crew. I know what I want, now. I love Elend. I don't know what kind of time we'll have together, but I want some, at least." Sazed sat for a moment, then returned to his sewing. "And you, Lord Elend? What are your thoughts?" What were his thoughts? He remembered just the day before, when Vin had spoken of leaving, and the wrenching he had felt. He thought of how much he depended on her wisdom, and her bluntness, and her simple—but not simplistic—devotion to him. Yes, he did love her. The world had gone chaotic recently. He had made mistakes. Yet, despite everything that had happened, and despite his frustrations, he still felt strongly that he wanted to be with Vin. It wasn't the idyllic infatuation he'd felt a year and a half ago, at the parties. But it felt more solid. "Yes, Sazed," he said. "I do want to marry her. I have wanted it for some time. I. . .I don't know what's going to happen to the city, or my kingdom, but I want to be with Vin when it comes." Sazed continued to work. "Very well, then," he finally said. "If it is my witness you require, then you have it." Elend knelt, still pressing the cloth on Vin's shoulder, feeling a little bit stunned. "That's it then?" Sazed nodded. "It is as valid as any witness the obligators could give you, I think. Be warned, the Larsta love oath is binding. They knew no form of divorce in their culture. Do you accept my witness of this event?" Vin nodded. Elend felt himself doing the same. "Then you are married," Sazed said, tying off his thread, then draping a cloth across Vin's chest. "Hold this for a bit, Lady Vin, and stanch the rest of the bleeding."
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Then he moved on to her cheek. "I feel like there should be a ceremony or something," Elend said. "I could give one, if you wish," Sazed said, "but I do not think you need one. I have known you both for some time, and am willing to give my blessing to this union. I simply offer counsel. Those who take lightly promises they make to those they love are people who find little lasting satisfaction in life. This is not an easy time in which to live. That does not mean that it has to be a difficult time to love, but it does mean that you will find unusual stresses upon your lives and your relationship. "Do not forget the love oath you made to each other this evening. It will give you much strength in the days to come, I think." With that, he pulled the last stitch tight on Vin's face, then finally moved to the shoulder. The bleeding there had mostly stopped, and Sazed studied the wound for a moment before beginning work on it. Vin looked up at Elend, smiling, looking a bit drowsy. He stood and walked over to the room's washbasin, and returned with a damp cloth to wipe off her face and cheek. "I'm sorry," she said quietly as Sazed moved around and took the place Elend had been kneeling in. "Sorry?" Elend said. "About my father's Mistborn?" Vin shook her head. "No. For taking so long." Elend smiled. "You're worth the wait. Besides, I think I had to figure a few things out as well." "Like how to be a king?" "And how to stop being one." Vin shook her head. "You never stopped being one, Elend. They can take your crown, but they can't take your honor." Elend smiled. "Thank you. However, I don't know how much good I've done the city. By even being here, I divided the people, and now Straff will end up in control." "I'll kill Straff if he puts one foot in this city." Elend gritted his teeth. Back to the same problems again. They could only hold Vin's knife against his neck for so long. He'd figure out a way to wiggle around, and there was always Jastes and those koloss. . .. "Your Majesty." Sazed said as he worked, "perhaps I can offer a solution." Elend glanced down at the Terrisman, raising an eyebrow. "The Well of Ascension," Sazed said. Vin opened her eyes immediately. "Tindwyl and I have been researching the Hero of Ages," Sazed continued. "We are convinced that Rashek never did what the Hero was supposed to. In fact, we aren't even convinced that this Alendi of a thousand years ago was the Hero. There are too many discrepancies, too many problems and contradictions. In addition, the mists—the Deepness—are still here. And now they are killing people." Elend frowned. "What are you saying?" Sazed pulled a stitch tight. "Something still needs to be done, Your Majesty. Something important. Looking at it from a smaller perspective, it might seem that the events
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at Luthadel and the rise of the Well of Ascension are unrelated. However, from a larger view, they may be solutions to one another." Elend smiled. "Like the lock and the key." "Yes, Your Majesty," Sazed said, smiling. "Precisely like that." "It thumps," Vin whispered, eyes closing. "In my head. I can feel it." Sazed paused, then wrapped a bandage around Vin's arm. "Can you feel where it is?" Vin shook her head. "I. . .There doesn't seem to be a direction to the pulses. I thought they were distant, but they're getting louder." "That must be the Well returning to power," Sazed said. "It is fortunate that I know where to find it." Elend turned, and Vin opened her eyes again. "My research has revealed the location, Lady Vin," Sazed said. "I can draw you a map, from my metalminds." "Where?" Vin whispered. "North," Sazed said. "In the mountains of Terris. Atop one of the lower peaks, known as Deryatith. Travel there will be difficult this time of year. . .." "I can do it," Vin said firmly as Sazed turned to working on her chest wound. Elend flushed again, then paused as he turned away. I'm. . .married. "You're going to leave?" Elend asked, looking to Vin. "Now?" "I have to," Vin whispered. "I have to go to it, Elend." "You should go with her, Your Majesty," Sazed said. "What?" Sazed sighed, looking up. "We have to face facts, Your Majesty. As you said earlier, Straff will soon take this city. If you are here, you will be executed. However, Lady Vin will undoubtedly need help securing the Well." "It's supposed to hold great power," Elend said, rubbing his chin. "Could we, you think, destroy those armies?" Vin shook her head. "We couldn't use it," she whispered. "The power is a temptation. That's what went wrong last time. Rashek took the power instead of giving it up." "Giving it up?" Elend asked. "What does that mean?" "Letting it go, Your Majesty," Sazed said. "Letting it defeat the Deepness on its own." "Trust," Vin whispered. "It's about trust." "However," Sazed said, "I think that releasing this power could do great things for the land. Change things, and undo much of the damage the Lord Ruler did. I have a strong suspicion that it would destroy the koloss, since they were created by the Lord Ruler's misuse of the power." "But Straff would hold the city," Elend said. "Yes," Sazed said, "but if you leave, the transition will be peaceful. The Assembly has all but decided to accept him as their emperor, and it appears that he'll let Penrod rule as a subject king. There will be no bloodshed, and you will be able to organize resistance from outside. Besides, who knows what releasing the power will do? Lady Vin could be left changed, much as the Lord Ruler was. With the crew in hiding within the city, it should not be so difficult to oust your father—particularly when he grows complacent in a year or so." Elend gritted his teeth. Another
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revolution. Yet, what Sazed said made sense. For so long, we've been worrying about the small-scale. He glanced at Vin, feeling a surge of warmth and love. Maybe it's time I started listening to the things she's been trying to tell me. "Sazed," Elend said, a sudden thought occurring to him, "do you think that I could convince the Terris people to help us?" "Perhaps, Your Majesty," Sazed said. "My prohibition against interfering—the one I have been ignoring—comes because I was given a different assignment by the Synod, not because we believe in avoiding all action. If you could convince the Synod that the future of the Terris people will be benefited by having a strong ally in Luthadel, you may just be able to get yourself military aid from Terris." Elend nodded, thoughtful. "Remember the lock and the key, Your Majesty," Sazed said, finishing off Vin's second wound. "In this case, leaving seems like the opposite of what you should do. However, if you look at the larger picture, you will see that it's precisely what you need to do." Vin opened her eyes, looking up at him, smiling. "We can do this, Elend. Come with me." Elend stood for a moment. Lock and key. . .. "All right," he said. "We'll leave as soon as Vin is able." "She should be able to ride tomorrow," Sazed said. "You know what pewter can do for a body." Elend nodded. "All right. I should have listened to you earlier, Vin. Besides, I've always wanted to see your homeland, Sazed. You can show it to us." "I will need to stay here, I fear," Sazed said. "I should soon leave for the South to continue my work there. Tindwyl, however, can go with you—she has important information that needs to be passed on to my brethren the Keepers." "It will need to be a small group," Vin said. "We'll have to outrun—or perhaps sneak past—Straff's men." "Just you three, I think," Sazed said. "Or, perhaps one other person to help with watches while you sleep, someone skilled in hunting and scouting. Lord Lestibournes, perhaps?" "Spook would be perfect," Elend said, nodding. "You're sure the other crewmembers will be safe in the city?" "Of course they won't," Vin said, smiling. "But they're experts. They hid from the Lord Ruler—they'll be able to hide from Straff. Particularly if they don't have to worry about keeping you safe." "Then it is decided," Sazed said, standing. "You two should try to rest well tonight, despite the recent change in your relationship. Can you walk, Lady Vin?" "No need," Elend said, leaning down and picking her up. She wrapped her arms around him, though her grip was not tight, and he could see that her eyes were already drooping again. He smiled. Suddenly, the world seemed a much simpler place. He would take some time and spend it on what was really important; then, once he and Vin had sought help from the North, they could return. He actually looked forward to coming back and tackling their problems
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with renewed vigor. He held Vin tight, nodding good night to Sazed, then walking out toward his rooms. It seemed that everything had worked out fine in the end. Sazed stood slowly, watching the two leave. He wondered what they would think of him, when they heard of Luthadel's fall. At least they would have each other for support. His wedding blessing was the last gift he could give them—that, and their lives. How will history judge me for my lies? he wondered. What will it think of the Terrisman who took such a hand in politics, the Terrisman who would fabricate mythology to save the lives of his friends? The things he'd said about the Well were, of course, falsehoods. If there was such a power, he had no idea where it was, nor what it would do. How history judged him would probably depend on what Elend and Vin did with their lives. Sazed could only hope that he had done the right thing. Watching them go, knowing that their youthful love would be spared, he couldn't help but smile at his decision. With a sigh, he stooped down and gathered up his medical items; then he retreated to his rooms to fabricate the map he had promised Vin and Elend. He is accustomed to giving up his own will before the greater good, as he sees it. "YOU ARE A FOOL, ELEND Venture," Tindwyl snapped, arms folded, eyes wide with displeasure. Elend pulled a strap tight on his saddle. Part of the wardrobe Tindwyl had made for him included a black and silver riding uniform, and he wore this now, fingers snug within the leather gloves, and a dark cloak to keep off the ash. "Are you listening to me?" Tindwyl demanded. "You can't leave. Not now! Not when your people are in such danger!" "I'll protect them in another way," he said, checking on the packhorses. They were in the keep's covered way, used for arrivals and departures. Vin sat on her own horse, enveloped almost completely in her cloak, hands holding her reins tensely. She had very little experience riding, but Elend refused to let her run. Pewter or no pewter, the wounds from her fight at the Assembly still hadn't healed completely, not to mention the damage she'd taken the night before. "Another way?" Tindwyl asked. "You should be with them. You're their king!" "No, I'm not," Elend snapped, turning toward the Terriswoman. "They rejected me, Tindwyl. Now I have to worry about more important events on a larger stage. They wanted a traditional king? Well, let them have my father. When I return from Terris, perhaps they will have realized what they lost." Tindwyl shook her head and stepped forward, speaking in a quiet voice. "Terris, Elend? You go north. For her. You know why she wants to go there, don't you?" He paused. "Ah, so you do know," Tindwyl said. "What do you think of it, Elend? Don't tell me you believe these delusions. She thinks she's the Hero of Ages. She supposes that
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she'll find something in the mountains up there—some power, or perhaps some revelation, that will transform her into a divinity." Elend glanced at Vin. She looked down at the ground, hood down, still sitting quietly on her horse. "She's trying to follow her master, Elend," Tindwyl whispered. "The Survivor became a god to these people, so she thinks she has to do the same." Elend turned to Tindwyl. "If that is what she truly believes, then I support her." "You support her madness?" Tindwyl demanded. "Do not speak of my wife in that manner," Elend said, his commanding tone causing Tindwyl to flinch. He swung up into his saddle. "I trust her, Tindwyl. Part of trust is belief." Tindwyl snorted. "You can't possibly believe that she is some prophesied messiah, Elend. I know you—you're a scholar. You may have professed allegiance to the Church of the Survivor, but you don't believe in the supernatural any more than I do." "I believe," he said firmly, "that Vin is my wife, and that I love her. Anything important to her is important to me—and anything she believes has at least that much weight of truth to me. We are going north. We will return once we've released the power there." "Fine," Tindwyl said. "Then you will be remembered as a coward who abandoned his people." "Leave us!" Elend ordered, raising his finger and pointing toward the keep. Tindwyl spun, stalking toward the doorway. As she passed it, she pointed at the supply table, where she had previously placed a book-sized package, wrapped in brown paper, tied with a thick string. "Sazed wishes you to deliver this to the Keeper Synod. You'll find them in the city of Tathingdwen. Enjoy your exile, Elend Venture." Then, she left. Elend sighed, moving his horse over beside Vin's. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For what?" "For what you said." "I meant it, Vin," Elend said, reaching over to lay a hand on her shoulder. "Tindwyl might be right, you know," she said. "Despite what Sazed said, I could be mad. Do you remember when I told you that I'd seen a spirit in the mists?" Elend nodded slowly. "Well, I've seen it again," Vin said. "It's like a ghost, formed from the patterns in mist. I see it all the time, watching me, following me. And I hear those rhythms in my head—majestic, powerful thumpings, like Allomantic pulses. Only, I don't need bronze anymore to hear them." Elend squeezed her shoulder. "I believe you, Vin." She looked up, reserved. "Do you, Elend? Do you really?" "I'm not sure," he admitted. "But I'm trying very hard to. Either way, I think going north is the right thing to do." She nodded slowly. "That's enough, I think." He smiled, turning back to the doorway. "Where is Spook?" Vin shrugged beneath her cloak. "I assume Tindwyl won't be coming with us, then." "Probably not," Elend said, smiling. "How will we find our way to Terris?" "It won't be hard," Elend said. "We'll just follow the imperial canal to Tathingdwen." He paused,
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thinking of the map Sazed had given them. It led straight into the Terris Mountains. They'd have to get supplies in Tathingdwen, and the snows would be high, but. . .well, that was a problem for another time. Vin smiled, and Elend walked over to pick up the package Tindwyl had left. It appeared to be a book of some sort. A few moments later, Spook arrived. He wore his soldier's uniform, and had saddlebags slung over his shoulder. He nodded to Elend, handed Vin a large bag, then moved to his own horse. He looks nervous, Elend thought as the boy slung his bags over his horse. "What's in the bag?" he asked, turning to Vin. "Pewter dust," she said. "I think we might need it." "Are we ready?" Spook asked, looking over at them. Elend glanced at Vin, who nodded. "I guess we—" "Not quite yet," a new voice said. "I'm not ready at all." Elend turned as Allrianne swept into the passage. She wore a rich brown and red riding skirt, and had her hair tied up beneath a scarf. Where'd she get that outfit? Elend wondered. Two servants followed her, bearing bundles. Allrianne paused, tapping her lip with a thoughtful expression. "I think I'm going to need a packhorse." "What are you doing?" Vin demanded. "Going with you," Allrianne said. "Breezy says I have to leave the city. He's a very silly man, sometimes, but he can be quite stubborn. He spent the entire conversation Soothing me—as if I couldn't recognize his touch by now!" Allrianne waved to one of the servants, who ran to get a stablehand. "We're going to be riding very hard," Elend said. "I'm not sure if you'll be able to keep up." Allrianne rolled her eyes. "I rode all the way out here from the Western Dominance! I think I can manage. Besides, Vin is hurt, so you probably won't be going that fast." "We don't want you along," Vin said. "We don't trust you—and we don't like you." Elend closed his eyes. Dear, blunt Vin. Allrianne just twittered a laugh as the servant returned with two horses, then began to load one. "Silly Vin," she said. "How can you say that after all we've shared?" "Shared?" Vin asked. "Allrianne, we went shopping together one time." "And I felt we bonded quite well," Allrianne said. "Why, we're practically sisters!" Vin gave the girl a flat stare. "Yes," Allrianne said, "and you're definitely the older, boring sister." She smiled sweetly, then swung easily up into her saddle, suggesting considerable horsemanship. One of the servants led her packhorse over, then tied the reins into place behind Allrianne's saddle. "All right, Elend dear," she said. "I'm ready. Let's go." Elend glanced at Vin, who shook her head with a dark look. "You can leave me behind if you wish," Allrianne said, "but I'll just follow and get into trouble, and then you'll have to come save me. And don't even try and pretend that you wouldn't!" Elend sighed. "Very well," he said. "Let's go." They made
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their way slowly through the city, Elend and Vin at the lead, Spook bringing their packhorses, Allrianne riding to the side. Elend kept his head up, but that only let him see the faces that poked out of windows and doorways as he passed. Soon, a small crowd was trailing them—and while he couldn't hear their whispers, he could imagine what they were saying. The king. The king is abandoning us. . .. He knew that many of them still couldn't understand that Lord Penrod held the throne. Elend glanced away from an alleyway, where he saw many eyes watching him. There was a haunted fear in those eyes. He had expected to see accusations, but somehow their despondent acceptance was even more disheartening. They expected him to flee. They expected to be abandoned. He was one of the few rich enough, and powerful enough, to get away. Of course he'd run. He squeezed his own eyes shut, trying to force down his guilt. He wished that they could have left at night, sneaking out the passwall as Ham's family had. However, it was important that Straff saw Elend and Vin leaving, so that he understood he could take the city without attacking. I'll be back, Elend promised the people. I'll save you. For now, it's better if I leave. The broad doors of Tin Gate appeared ahead of them. Elend kicked his horse forward, speeding ahead of his silent wave of followers. The guards at the gate already had their orders. Elend gave them a nod, reining in his horse, and the men swung the doors open. Vin and the others joined him before the opening portal. "Lady Heir," one of the guards asked quietly. "Are you leaving, too?" Vin looked to the side. "Peace," she said. "We're not abandoning you. We're going for help." The soldier smiled. How can he trust her so easily? Elend thought. Or, is hope all he has left? Vin turned her horse around, facing the crowd of people, and she lowered her hood. "We will return," she promised. She didn't seem as nervous as she had before when dealing with people who revered her. Ever since last night, something has changed in her, Elend thought. As a group, the soldiers saluted them. Elend saluted back; then he nodded to Vin. He led the way as they galloped out the gates, angling toward the northern highway—a path that would allow them to skirt just west of Straff's army. They hadn't gone far before a group of horsemen moved to intercept them. Elend rode low on his horse, sparing a glance for Spook and the packhorses. What caught Elend's attention, however, was Allrianne: she rode with amazing proficiency, a look of determination on her face. She didn't seem the least bit nervous. To the side, Vin whipped her cloak back, bringing out a handful of coins. She flung them into the air, and they shot forward with a speed Elend had never seen, even from other Allomancers. Lord Ruler! he thought with shock as the coins zipped
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away, disappearing faster than he could track. Soldiers fell, and Elend barely heard the plinging of metal against metal over the sound of wind and hoofbeats. He rode directly through the center of the chaotic group of men, many of them down and dying. Arrows began to fall, but Vin scattered these without even waving a hand. She had opened the bag of pewter, he noticed, and was releasing the dust in a shower behind her as she rode, Pushing some of it to the sides. The next arrows won't have metal heads, Elend thought nervously. Soldiers were forming up behind, shouting. "I'll catch up," Vin said, then jumped off her horse. "Vin!" Elend yelled, turning his beast. Allrianne and Spook shot past him, riding hard. Vin landed and, amazingly, didn't even stumble as she began to run. She downed a vial of metal, then looked toward the archers. Arrows flew. Elend cursed, but kicked his horse into motion. There was little he could do now. He rode low, galloping as the arrows fell around him. One passed within inches of his head, falling to stick into the road. And then they stopped falling. He glanced backward, teeth gritted. Vin stood before a rising cloud of dust. The pewter dust, he thought. She's Pushing on it—Pushing the flakes along the ground, stirring up the dust and ash. A massive wave of dust, metal, and ash slammed into the archers, washing over them. It blew around the soldiers, making them curse and shield their eyes, and some fell to the ground, holding their faces. Vin swung back onto her horse, then galloped away from the billowing mass of wind-borne particles. Elend slowed his horse, letting her catch up. The army was in chaos behind them, men giving orders, people scattering. "Speed up!" Vin said as she approached. "We're almost out of bowshot!" Soon they joined Allrianne and Spook. We aren't out of danger—my father could still decide to send pursuit. But, the soldiers couldn't have mistaken Vin. If Elend's instincts were right, Straff would let them run. His prime target was Luthadel. He could go after Elend later; for now, he would simply be happy to see Vin leaving. "Thank you kindly for the help getting out," Allrianne suddenly said, watching the army. "I'll be going now." With that, she veered her two horses away, angling toward a group of low hills to the west. "What?" Elend asked with surprise, pulling up next to Spook. "Leave her," Vin said. "We don't have time." Well, that solves one problem, Elend thought, turning his horse to the northern highway. Farewell, Luthadel. I'll be back for you later. "Well, that solves one problem," Breeze noted, standing atop the city wall and watching Elend's group disappear around a hillside. To the east, a large—and still unexplained—pillar of smoke rose from the koloss camp. To the west, Straff's army was buzzing about, stirred by the escape. At first, Breeze had worried about Allrianne's safety—but then he'd realized that, enemy army notwithstanding, there was no safer place for her
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than beside Vin. As long as Allrianne didn't get too far away from the others, she would be safe. It was a quiet group that stood atop the wall with him, and for once, Breeze barely touched their emotions. Their solemnity seemed appropriate. The young Captain Demoux stood beside the aging Clubs, and the peaceful Sazed stood with Ham the warrior. Together, they watched the seed of hope they'd cast to the winds. "Wait," Breeze said, frowning as he noticed something. "Wasn't Tindwyl supposed to be with them?" Sazed shook his head. "She decided to Stay." "Why would she do that?" Breeze asked. "Didn't I hear her babbling something about not interfering in local disputes?" Sazed shook his head. "I do not know, Lord Breeze. She is a difficult woman to read." "They all are," Clubs muttered. Sazed smiled. "Either way, it appears our friends have escaped." "May the Survivor protect them," Demoux said quietly. "Yes," Sazed said. "May he indeed." Clubs snorted. Resting one arm on the battlements, he turned to eye Sazed with a gnarled face. "Don't encourage him." Demoux flushed, then turned and walked away. "What was that about?" Breeze asked curiously. "The boy has been preaching to my soldiers," Clubs said. "Told him I didn't want his nonsense cluttering their minds." "It is not nonsense, Lord Cladent," Sazed said, "it's faith." "Do you honestly think," Clubs said, "that Kelsier is going to protect these people?" Sazed wavered. "They believe it, and that is—" "No," Clubs interrupted, scowling. "That isn't enough, Terrisman. These people fool themselves by believing in the Survivor." "You believed in him," Sazed said. Breeze was tempted to Soothe him, make the argument less tense, but Sazed already seemed completely calm. "You followed him. You believed in the Survivor enough to overthrow the Final Empire." Clubs scowled. "I don't like your ethics, Terrisman—I never have. Our crew—Kelsier's crew—fought to free this people because it was right." "Because you believed it to be right," Sazed said. "And what do you believe to be right, Terrisman?" "That depends," Sazed said. "There are many different systems with many different worthy values." Clubs nodded, then turned, as if the argument were over. "Wait, Clubs," Ham said. "Aren't you going to respond to that?" "He said enough," Clubs said. "His belief is situational. To him, even the Lord Ruler was a deity because people worshipped him—or were forced to worship him. Aren't I right, Terrisman?" "In a way, Lord Cladent," Sazed said. "Though, the Lord Ruler might have been something of an exception." "But you still keep records and memories of the Steel Ministry's practices, don't you?" Ham asked. "Yes," Sazed admitted. "Situational," Clubs spat. "At least that fool Demoux had the sense to choose one thing to believe in." "Do not deride someone's faith simply because you do not share it, Lord Cladent," Sazed said quietly. Clubs snorted again. "It's all very easy for you, isn't it?" he asked. "Believing everything, never having to choose?" "I would say," Sazed replied, "that it is more difficult to believe as I do,
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for one must learn to be inclusionary and accepting." Clubs waved a dismissive hand, turning to hobble toward the stairs. "Suit yourself. I have to go prepare my boys to die." Sazed watched him go, frowning. Breeze gave him a Soothing—taking away his self-consciousness—for good measure. "Don't mind him, Saze," Ham said. "We're all a little on edge, lately." Sazed nodded. "Still, he makes good points—ones I have never before had to face. Until this year, my duty was to collect, study, and remember. It is still very hard for me to consider setting one belief beneath another, even if that belief is based on a man that I know to have been quite mortal." Ham shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe Kell is out there somewhere, watching over us." No, Breeze thought. If he were, we wouldn't have ended up here—waiting to die, locked in a city we were supposed to save. "Anyway," Ham said, "I still want to know where that smoke is coming from." Breeze glanced at the koloss camp. The dark pillar was too centralized to be coming from cooking fires. "The tents?" Ham shook his head. "El said there were only a couple of tents—far too few to make that much smoke. That fire has been burning for some time." Breeze shook his head. Doesn't really matter now, I guess. Straff Venture coughed again, curling over in his chair. His arms were slick with sweat, his hands trembling. He wasn't getting better. At first, he'd assumed that the chills were a side effect of his nervousness. He'd had a hard evening, sending assassins after Zane, then somehow escaping death at the insane Mistborn's hands. Yet, during the night, Straff's shakes hadn't gotten better. They'd grown worse. They weren't just from nervousness; he must have a disease of some sort. "Your Majesty!" a voice called from outside. Straff straightened himself, trying to look as presentable as possible. Even so, the messenger paused as he entered the tent, apparently noting Straff's wan skin and tired eyes. "My. . .lord," the messenger said. "Speak, man," Straff said curtly, trying to project a regality he didn't feel. "Out with it." "Riders, my lord," the man said. "They left the city!" "What!" Straff said, throwing off his blanket and standing. He managed to stand upright despite a bout of dizziness. "Why wasn't I informed?" "They passed quickly, my lord," the messenger said. "We barely had time to send the interception crew." "You caught them, I assume," Straff said, steadying himself on his chair. "Actually, they escaped, my lord," the messenger said slowly. "What?" Straff said, spinning in rage. The motion was too much. The dizziness returned, blackness creeping across his field of vision. He stumbled, catching himself on the chair, managing to collapse into it rather than onto the floor. "Send for the healer!" he heard the messenger shout. "The king is sick!" No, Straff thought groggily. No, this came too quickly. It can't be a disease. Zane's last words. What had they been? A man shouldn't kill his father. . .. Liar. "Amaranta,"
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Straff croaked. "My lord?" a voice asked. Good. Someone was with him. "Amaranta," he said again. "Send for her." "Your mistress, my lord?" Straff forced himself to remain conscious. As he sat, his vision and balance returned somewhat. One of his door guards was at his side. What was the man's name? Grent. "Grent," Straff said, trying to sound commanding. "You must bring Amaranta to me. Now!" The soldier hesitated, then rushed from the room. Straff focused on his breathing. In and out. In and out. Zane was a snake. In and out. In and out. Zane hadn't wanted to use the knife—no, that was expected. In and out. But when had the poison come? Straff had been feeling ill the entire day before. "My lord?" Amaranta stood at the doorway. She had been beautiful once, before age had gotten to her—as it got to all of them. Childbirth destroyed a woman. So succulent she had been, with her firm breasts and smooth, unblemished skin. . .. Your mind is wandering, Straff told himself. Focus. "I need. . .antidote," Straff forced out, focusing on the Amaranta of the now: the woman in her late twenties, the old—yet still useful—thing that kept him alive in the face of Zane's poisons. "Of course, my lord," Amaranta said, walking over to his poison cabinet, getting out the necessary ingredients. Straff settled back, focusing on his breathing. Amaranta must have sensed his urgency, for she hadn't even tried to get him to bed her. He watched her work, getting out her burner and ingredients. He needed. . .to find. . .Zane. . .. She wasn't doing it the right way. Straff burned tin. The sudden flash of sensitivity nearly blinded him, even in the shade of his tent, and his aches and shivers became sharp and excruciating. But his mind cleared, as if he'd suddenly bathed in frigid water. Amaranta was preparing the wrong ingredients. Straff didn't know a great deal about the making of antidotes. He'd been forced to delegate this duty, instead focusing his efforts on learning to recognize the details—the scents, the tastes, the discolorations—of poisons. Yet, he had watched Amaranta prepare her catch-all antidote on numerous occasions. And she was doing it differently this time. He forced himself out of his chair, keeping tin flared, though it caused his eyes to water. "What are you doing?" he said, walking on unsteady feet toward her. Amaranta looked up, shocked. The guilt that flashed in her eyes was enough confirmation. "What are you doing!" Straff bellowed, fear giving him strength as he grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. He was weakened, but he was still much stronger than she. The woman looked down. "Your antidote, my lord. . ." "You're making it the wrong way!" Straff said. "I thought, you looked fatigued, so I might add something to help you stay awake." Straff paused. The words seemed logical, though he was having trouble thinking. Then, looking down at the chagrined woman, he noticed something. His eyes enhanced beyond natural detail, he caught a
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slight glimpse of a bit of uncovered flesh beneath her bodice. He reached down and ripped off the side of her dress, exposing her skin. Her left breast—disgusting to him, for it sagged a slight bit—was scarred and cut, as if by a knife. None of the scars were fresh, but even in his addled state, Straff recognized Zane's handiwork. "You're his lover?" Straff said. "It's your fault," Amaranta hissed. "You abandoned me, once I aged and bore you a few children. Everyone told me you would, but yet, I hoped. . ." Straff felt himself growing weak. Dizzy, he rested a hand on the wooden poisons cabinet. "Yet," Amaranta said, tears on her cheeks. "Why did you have to take Zane from me, too? What did you do, to draw him off? To make him stop coming to me?" "You let him poison me," Straff said, falling to one knee. "Fool," Amaranta spat. "He never poisoned you—not a single time. Though, at my request, he often made you think that he had. And then, each time, you ran to me. You suspected everything Zane did—and yet, you never once paused to think what was in the 'antidote' I gave you." "It made me better," Straff mumbled. "That's what happens when you're addicted to a drug, Straff," Amaranta whispered. "When you get it, you feel better. When you don't get it. . .you die." Straff closed his eyes. "You're mine now, Straff," she said. "I can make you—" Straff bellowed, gathering what strength he had and throwing himself at the woman. She cried in surprise as he tackled her, pushing her to the ground. Then she said nothing, for Straff's hands choked her windpipe. She struggled for a bit, but Straff weighed far more than she did. He'd intended to demand the antidote, to force her to save him, but he wasn't thinking clearly. His vision began to fuzz, his mind dim. By the time he regained his wits, Amaranta was blue and dead on the ground before him. He wasn't certain how long he'd been strangling her corpse. He rolled off her, toward the open cabinet. On his knees, he reached up for the burner, but his shaking hands toppled it to the side, spilling hot liquid across the floor. Cursing to himself, he grabbed a flagon of unheated water and began to throw handfuls of herbs into it. He stayed away from the drawers that held the poisons, sticking to those that held antidotes. Yet, there were many crossovers. Some things were poisonous in large doses, but could cure in smaller amounts. Most were addictive. He didn't have time to worry about that; he could feel the weakness in his limbs, and he could barely grab the handfuls of herbs. Bits of brown and red shook from his fingers as he dumped handful after handful into the mixture. One of these was the herb that she'd gotten him addicted to. Any one of the others might kill him. He wasn't even sure what the odds were. He drank the concoction
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anyway, gulping it down between choking gasps for air, then let himself slip into unconsciousness. I have no doubt that if Alendi reaches the Well of Ascension, he will take the power and then—in the name of the presumed greater good—give it up. "ARE THOSE THE FELLOWS YOU want, Lady Cett?" Allrianne scanned the valley—and the army it contained—then looked down at the bandit, Hobart. He smiled eagerly—or, well, he kind of smiled. Hobart had fewer teeth than he had fingers, and he was missing a couple of those. Allrianne smiled back from atop her horse. She sat sidesaddle, reins held lightly in her fingers. "Yes, I do believe that it is, Master Hobart." Hobart looked back at his band of thugs, grinning. Allrianne Rioted them all a bit, reminding them how much they wanted her promised reward. Her father's army spread out before them in the distance. She had wandered for an entire day, traveling west, looking for it. But, she'd been heading in the wrong direction. If she hadn't run afoul of Hobart's helpful little gang, she would have been forced to sleep outside. And that would have been rather unpleasant. "Come, Master Hobart," she said, moving her horse forward. "Let's go and meet with my father." The group followed happily, one of them leading her packhorse. There was a certain charm to simple men, like Hobart's crew. They really only wanted three things: money, food, and sex. And they could usually use the first to get the other two. When she'd first run across this group, she'd blessed her fortune—despite the fact that they had been running down a hillside in ambush, intent on robbing and raping her. Another charm about men like these was that they were rather inexperienced with Allomancy. She kept a firm hold on their emotions as they rode down toward the camp. She didn't want them reaching any disappointing conclusions—such as "Ransoms are usually bigger than rewards." She couldn't control them completely, of course—she could only influence them. However, with men so base, it was fairly easy to read what was going on in their heads. It was amusing how quickly a little promise of wealth could turn brutes into near gentlemen. Of course, there wasn't much of a challenge in dealing with men like Hobart, either. No. . .no challenge, as there had been with Breezy. Now, that had been fun. And rewarding, too. She doubted she'd ever find a man as aware of his emotions, and as aware of the emotions of others, as Breezy. Getting a man like him—a man so expert in Allomancy, so determined that his age made him inappropriate for her—to love her. . .well, that had been a true accomplishment. Ah, Breezy, she thought as they passed out of the forest and onto the hillside before the army. Do any of your friends even understand what a noble man you are? They really didn't treat him well enough. Of course, that was to be expected. That was what Breezy wanted. People who underestimated you were easier to
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manipulate. Yes, Allrianne understood this concept quite well—for there were few things more quickly dismissed than a young, silly girl. "Halt!" a soldier said, riding up with an honor guard. They had swords drawn. "Step away from her, you!" Oh, honestly, Allrianne thought, rolling her eyes. She Rioted the group of soldiers, enhancing their sense of calmness. She didn't want any accidents. "Please, Captain," she said as Hobart and his crew drew weapons, huddling around her uncertainly. "These men have rescued me from the savage wilderness and brought me safely home, at much personal cost and danger." Hobart nodded firmly, an action undermined just a bit as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. The soldier captain looked over the ash-stained, motley-clothed group of bandits, then frowned. "See that these men have a good meal, Captain," she said airily, kicking her horse forward. "And give them space for the night. Hobart, I'll send your reward once I meet with my father." Bandits and soldiers moved in behind her, and Allrianne made sure to Riot them both, enhancing their senses of trust. It was a tough sell for the soldiers, especially as the wind shifted, blowing the full stench of the bandit crew across them. Still, they all reached the camp without incident. The groups parted, Allrianne giving her horses to an aide and calling for a page to warn her father that she'd returned. She dusted off her riding dress, then strode through camp, smiling pleasantly and looking forward to a bath and the other comforts—such as they were—that the army could provide. However, first there were things she needed to attend to. Her father liked to spend evenings in his open-sided planning pavilion, and he sat there now, arguing with a messenger. He looked over as Allrianne swished into the pavilion, smiling sweetly at Lords Galivan and Detor, her father's generals. Cett sat on a high-legged chair so he could get a good view of his table and its maps. "Well, damn it," he said. "You are back." Allrianne smiled, wandering around his planning table, looking at the map. It detailed the supply lines back to the Western Dominance. What she saw was not good. "Rebellions back home, Father?" she asked. "And ruffians attacking my supply carts," Cett said. "That boy Venture bribed them, I'm sure of it." "Yes, he did," Allrianne said. "But, that's all pointless now. Did you miss me?" She made sure to Tug strongly on his sense of devotion. Cett snorted, pulling at his beard. "Fool of a girl," he said. "I should have left you home." "So I could have fallen to your enemies when they raised a rebellion?" she asked. "We both know that Lord Yomen was going to move the moment you pulled your armies out of the dominance." "And I should have let that damn obligator have you!" Allrianne gasped. "Father! Yomen would have held me for ransom. You know how terribly I wilt when I'm locked up." Cett glanced at her, and then—apparently despite himself—he started to chuckle. "You'd've had him feeding
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you gourmet foods before the day was through. Maybe I should have left you behind. Then, at least, I'd have known where you were—rather than worrying where you'd run off to next. You didn't bring that idiot Breeze back with you, did you?" "Father!" Allrianne said. "Breezy is a good man." "Good men die quickly in this world, Allrianne," Cett said. "I know—I've killed enough of them." "Oh, yes," Allrianne said, "you're very wise. And taking an aggressive stance against Luthadel had such a positive outcome, didn't it? Chased away with your tail between your legs? You'd be dead now, if dear Vin had as little conscience as you." "That 'conscience' didn't stop her from killing some three hundred of my men," Cett said. "She's a very confused young lady," Allrianne said. "Either way, I do feel obliged to remind you that I was right. You should have made an alliance with the Venture boy, instead of threatening him. That means you owe me five new dresses!" Cett rubbed his forehead. "This isn't a damn game, girl." "Fashion, Father, is no game," Allrianne said firmly. "I can't very well enchant bandit troops into leading me safely home if I look like a street rat, now can I?" "More bandits, Allrianne?" Cett asked with a sigh. "You know how long it took us to get rid of the last group?" "Hobart's a wonderful man," Allrianne said testily. "Not to mention well-connected with the local thieving community. Give him some gold and some prostitutes, and you might just be able to talk him into helping you with those brigands that are attacking your supply lines." Cett paused, glancing at the map. Then he began to pull at his beard thoughtfully. "Well, you're back," he finally said. "Guess we'll have to take care of you. I suppose you want someone to carry a litter for you as we head home. . .." "Actually," Allrianne said, "we're not going back to the dominance. We're returning to Luthadel." Cett didn't immediately dismiss the comment; he could usually tell when she was being serious. Instead, he simply shook his head. "Luthadel holds nothing for us, Allrianne." "We can't go back to the dominance, either," Allrianne said. "Our enemies are too strong, and some of them have Allomancers. That's why we had to come here in the first place. We can't leave the area until we have either money or allies." "There's no money in Luthadel," Cett said. "I believe Venture when he says the atium isn't there." "I agree," Allrianne said. "I searched that palace well, never found a bit of the stuff. That means we need to leave here with friends, instead of money. Go back, wait for a battle to start, then help whichever side looks like it's going to win. They'll feel indebted to us—they might even decide to let us live." Cett stood quietly for a moment. "That's not going to help save your friend Breeze, Allrianne. His faction is by far the weakest—even teaming with the Venture boy, I doubt we could beat
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Straff or those koloss. Not without access to the city walls and plenty of time to prepare. If we go back, it will be to help your Breeze's enemies." Allrianne shrugged. You can't help him if you're not there, Father, she thought. They're going to lose anyway—if you are in the area, then there's a chance you'll end up helping Luthadel. A very small chance, Breeze. That's the best I can give you. I'm sorry. Elend Venture awoke on their third day out of Luthadel, surprised at how rested he could feel after a night spent in a tent out in the wilderness. Of course, part of that might have been the company. Vin lay curled up beside him in their bedroll, her head resting against his chest. He would have expected her to be a light sleeper, considering how jumpy she was, but she seemed to feel comfortable sleeping beside him. She even seemed to become just a little less anxious when he put his arms around her. He looked down at her fondly, admiring the form of her face, the slight curl of her black hair. The cut on her cheek was almost invisible now, and she'd already pulled out the stitches. A constant, low burn of pewter gave the body remarkable strength for recovery. She didn't even favor her right arm anymore—despite the cut shoulder—and her weakness from the fight seemed completely gone. She still hadn't given him much of an explanation regarding that night. She had fought Zane—who had apparently been Elend's half brother—and TenSoon the kandra had left. Yet, neither of those things seemed like they could have caused the distress in her he'd sensed when she'd come to him in his rooms. He didn't know if he'd ever get the answers he wanted. Yet, he was coming to realize that he could love her even if he didn't completely understand her. He bent down and kissed the top of her head. She immediately tensed, eyes opening. She sat up, exposing a bare torso, then glanced around their small tent. It was dimly lit with the light of dawn. Finally, she shook her head, looking over at him. "You're a bad influence on me." "Oh?" he asked, smiling as he rested on one arm. Vin nodded, running a hand through her hair. "You're making me get used to sleeping at night," she said. "Plus, I don't sleep in my clothing anymore." "If you did, it would make things a little awkward." "Yes," she said, "but what if we get attacked during the night? I'd have to fight them naked." "I wouldn't mind watching that." She gave him a flat stare, then reached for a shirt. "You're having a bad influence on me, too, you know," he said as he watched her dress. She raised an eyebrow. "You're making me relax," he said. "And letting me stop worrying. I've been so tied up with things in the city lately that I'd forgotten what it was like to be an impolite recluse. Unfortunately, during our trip, I've had time
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to read not only one, but all three volumes of Troubeld's Arts of Scholarship." Vin snorted, kneeling in the low tent as she pulled her belt tight; then she crawled over to him. "I don't know how you read while riding," she said. "Oh, it's quite easy—if you aren't afraid of horses." "I'm not afraid of them," Vin said. "They just don't like me. They know I can outrun them, and that makes them surly." "Oh, is that it?" Elend asked, smiling, pulling her over to straddle him. She nodded, then leaned down to kiss him. She ended it after a moment, however, moving to stand. She swatted his hand away as he tried to pull her back down. "After all the trouble I took to get dressed?" she asked. "Besides. I'm hungry." He sighed, reclining back as she scampered out of the tent, into the red morning sunlight. He lay for a moment, quietly remarking to himself on his fortune. He still wasn't sure how their relationship had worked out, or even why it made him so happy, but he was more than willing to enjoy the experience. Eventually, he looked over at his clothing. He had brought only one of his nice uniforms—along with the riding uniform—and he didn't want to wear either too often. He didn't have servants anymore to wash the ash out of his clothing; in fact, despite the tent's double flap, some ash had managed to work its way inside during the night. Now that they were out of the city, there were no workers to sweep the ash away, and it was getting everywhere. So, he dressed in an outfit far more simple: a pair of riding trousers, not unlike the pants that Vin often wore, with a buttoning gray shirt and a dark jacket. He'd never been forced to ride long distances before—carriages were generally preferred—but Vin and he were taking the trip relatively slowly. They had no real urgency. Straff's scouts hadn't followed them for long, and nobody was expecting them at their destination. They had time to ride leisurely, taking breaks, occasionally walking so that they wouldn't get too sore from riding. Outside, he found Vin stirring up the morning fire and Spook caring for the horses. The young man had done some extensive traveling, and he knew how to tend horses—something that Elend was embarrassed to have never learned. Elend joined Vin at the firepit. They sat for a few moments, Vin poking at the coals. She looked pensive. "What?" Elend asked. She glanced southward. "I. . ." Then she shook her head. "It's nothing. We're going to need more wood." She glanced to the side, toward where their axe lay beside the tent. The weapon flipped up into the air, shooting toward her blade-first. She stepped to the side, snatching the handle as it passed between her and Elend. Then she stalked over to a fallen tree. She took two swings at it, then easily kicked it down and broke it in two. "She has a way of making the
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rest of us feel a little redundant, doesn't she?" Spook asked, stepping up beside Elend. "At times," Elend said with a smile. Spook shook his head. "Whatever I see or hear, she can sense better—and she can fight whatever it is that she finds. Every time I come back to Luthadel, I just feel. . .useless." "Imagine being a regular person," Elend said. "At least you're an Allomancer." "Maybe," Spook said, the sound of Vin chopping coming from the side. "But people respect you, El. They just dismiss me." "I don't dismiss you, Spook." "Oh?" the young man asked. "When's the last time I did anything important for the crew?" "Three days ago," Elend said. "When you agreed to come with Vin and me. You're not just here to tend horses, Spook—you're here because of your skills as a scout and a Tineye. Do you still think we're being followed?" Spook paused, then shrugged. "I can't be sure. I think Straff's scouts turned back, but I keep catching sight of someone back there. I never get a good glimpse of them, though." "It's the mist spirit," Vin said, walking by and dumping an armload of wood beside the firepit. "It's chasing us." Spook and Elend shared a look. Then Elend nodded, refusing to act on Spook's uncomfortable stare. "Well, as long as it stays out of our way, it's not a problem, right?" Vin shrugged. "I hope not. If you see it, though, call for me. The records say it can be dangerous." "All right," Elend said. "We'll do that. Now, let's decide what to have for breakfast." Straff woke up. That was his first surprise. He lay in bed, inside his tent, feeling like someone had picked him up and slammed him against the wall a few times. He groaned, sitting up. His body was free from bruises, but he ached, and his head was pounding. One of the army healers, a young man with a full beard and bulging eyes, sat beside his bed. The man studied Straff for a moment. "You, my lord, should be dead," the young man said. "I'm not," Straff said, sitting up. "Give me some tin." A soldier approached with a metal vial. Straff downed it, then scowled at how dry and sore his throat was. He burned the tin only lightly; it made his wounds feel worse, but he had come to depend on the slight edge the enhanced senses gave him. "How long?" he asked. "Better part of three days, my lord," the healer said. "We. . .weren't sure what you'd eaten, or why. We thought about trying to get you to vomit, but it appeared that you'd taken the draught of your own choice, so. . ." "You did well," Straff said, holding his arm up in front of him. It still shook a bit, and he couldn't make it stop. "Who is in charge of the army?" "General Janarle," the healer said. Straff nodded. "Why hasn't he had me killed?" The healer blinked in surprise, glancing at the soldiers. "My lord,"
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said Grent the soldier, "who would dare betray you? Any man who tried would end up dead in his tent. General Janarle was most worried about your safety." Of course, Straff realized with shock. They don't know that Zane is gone. Why. . .if I did die, then everyone assumes that Zane would either take control himself, or get revenge on those he thought responsible. Straff laughed out loud, shocking those watching over him. Zane had tried to kill him, but had accidentally saved his life by sheer force of reputation. I beat you, Straff realized. You're gone, and I'm alive. That didn't, of course, mean that Zane wouldn't return—but, then again, he might not. Perhaps. . .just maybe. . .Straff was rid of him forever. "Elend's Mistborn," Straff said suddenly. "We followed her for a while, my lord," Grent said. "But, they got too far from the army, and Lord Janarle ordered the scouts back. It appears she's making for Terris." He frowned. "Who else was with her?" "We think your son Elend escaped as well," the soldier said. "But it could have been a decoy." Zane did it, Straff thought with shock. He actually got rid of her. Unless it's a trick of some sort. But, then. . . "The koloss army?" Straff asked. "There's been a lot of fighting in its ranks lately, sir," Grent said. "The beasts seem more restless." "Order our army to break camp," Straff said. "Immediately. We're retreating back toward the Northern Dominance." "My lord?" Grent said with shock. "I think Lord Janarle is planning an assault, waiting only for your word. The city is weak, and their Mistborn is gone." "We're pulling back," Straff said, smiling. "For a while, at least." Let's see if this plan of yours works, Zane. Sazed sat in a small kitchen alcove, hands on the table before him, a metallic ring glittering on each finger. They were small, for metalminds, but storing up Feruchemical attributes took time. It would take weeks to fill even a ring's worth of metal—and he barely had days. In fact, Sazed was surprised the koloss had waited so long. Three days. Not much time at all, but he suspected he would need every available edge in the approaching conflict. So far he'd been able to store up a small amount of each attribute. Enough for a boost in an emergency, once his other metalminds ran out. Clubs hobbled into the kitchen. He seemed a blur to Sazed. Even wearing his spectacles—to help compensate for the vision he was storing in a tinmind—it was difficult for him to see. "That's it," Clubs said, his voice muffled—another tinmind was taking Sazed's hearing. "They're finally gone." Sazed paused for a moment, trying to decipher the comment. His thoughts moved as if through a thick, turgid soup, and it took him a moment to understand what Clubs had said. They're gone. Straff's troops. They've withdrawn. He coughed quietly before replying. "Did he ever respond to any of Lord Penrod's messages?" "No," Clubs said. "But he did execute the
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last messenger." Well, that isn't a very good sign, Sazed thought slowly. Of course, there hadn't been very many good signs over the last few days. The city was on the edge of starvation, and their brief respite of warmth was over. It would snow this evening, if Sazed guessed right. That made him feel even more guilty to be sitting in the kitchen nook, beside a warm hearth, sipping broth as his metalminds sapped his strength, health, senses, and power of thought. He had rarely tried to fill so many at once. "You don't look so good," Clubs noted, sitting. Sazed blinked, thinking through the comment. "My. . .goldmind," he said slowly. "It draws my health, storing it up." He glanced at his bowl of broth. "I must eat to maintain my strength," he said, mentally preparing himself to take a sip. It was an odd process. His thoughts moved so slowly that it took him a moment to decide to eat. Then his body reacted slowly, the arm taking a few seconds to move. Even then, the muscles quivered, their strength sapped away and stored in his pewtermind. Finally, he was able to get a spoonful to his lips and take a quiet sip. It tasted bland; he was filling scent as well, and without it, his sense of taste was severely hampered. He should probably be lying down—but if he did that, he was liable to sleep. And, while sleeping, he couldn't fill metalminds—or, at least, he could fill only one. A bronzemind, the metal that stored wakefulness, would force him to sleep longer in exchange for letting him go longer without sleep on another occasion. Sazed sighed, carefully setting down his spoon, then coughing. He'd done his best to help avert the conflict. His best plan had been to send a letter to Lord Penrod, urging him to inform Straff Venture that Vin was gone from the city. He had hoped that Straff would then be willing to make a deal. Apparently, that tactic had been unsuccessful. Nobody had heard from Straff in days. Their doom approached like the inevitable sunrise. Penrod had allowed three separate groups of townspeople—one of them composed of nobility—to try to flee Luthadel. Straff's soldiers, more wary after Elend's escape, had caught and slaughtered each group. Penrod had even sent a messenger to Lord Jastes Lekal, hoping to strike some deal with the Southern leader, but the messenger had not returned from the koloss camp. "Well," Clubs said, "at least we kept them off for a few days." Sazed thought for a moment. "It was simply a delay of the inevitable, I fear." "Of course it was," Clubs said. "But it was an important delay. Elend and Vin will be almost four days away by now. If the fighting had started too soon, you can bet that little Miss Mistborn would have come back and gotten herself killed trying to save us." "Ah," Sazed said slowly, forcing himself to reach for another spoonful of broth. The spoon was a dull weight in his
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numb fingers; his sense of touch, of course, was being siphoned into a tinmind. "How are the city defenses coming?" he asked as he struggled with the spoon. "Terribly," Clubs said. "Twenty thousand troops may sound like a lot—but try stringing them out through a city this big." "But the koloss won't have any siege equipment," Sazed said, focused on his spoon. "Or archers." "Yes," Clubs said. "But we have eight city gates to protect—and any of five are within quick reach of the koloss. None of those gates was built to withstand an attack. And, as it stands, I can barely post a couple thousand guards at each gate, since I really don't know which way the koloss will come first." "Oh," Sazed said quietly. "What did you expect, Terrisman?" Clubs asked. "Good news? The koloss are bigger, stronger, and far crazier than we are. And they have an advantage in numbers." Sazed closed his eyes, quivering spoon held halfway to his lips. He suddenly felt a weakness unrelated to his metalminds. Why didn't she go with them? Why didn't she escape? As Sazed opened his eyes, he saw Clubs waving for a servant to bring him something to eat. The young girl returned with a bowl of soup. Clubs eyed it with dissatisfaction for a moment, but then lifted a knotted hand and began to slurp. He shot a glance at Sazed. "You expecting an apology out of me, Terrisman?" he asked between spoonfuls. Sazed sat shocked for a moment. "Not at all, Lord Cladent," he finally said. "Good," Clubs said. "You're a decent enough person. You're just confused." Sazed sipped his soup, smiling. "That is comforting to hear. I think." He thought for a moment. "Lord Cladent. I have a religion for you." Clubs frowned. "You don't give up, do you?" Sazed looked down. It took him a moment to gather together what he'd been thinking about before. "What you said earlier, Lord Cladent. About situational morality. It made me think of a faith, known as Dadradah. Its practitioners spanned many countries and peoples; they believed that there was only one God, and that there was only one right way to worship." Clubs snorted. "I'm really not interested in one of your dead religions, Terrisman. I think that—" "They were artists," Sazed said quietly. Clubs hesitated. "They thought art drew one closer to God," Sazed said. "They were most interested in color and hue, and they were fond of writing poetry describing the colors they saw in the world around them." Clubs was silent. "Why preach this religion to me?" he demanded. "Why not pick one that is blunt, like I am? Or one that worshipped warfare and soldiers?" "Because, Lord Cladent," Sazed said. He blinked, recalling memories with effort through his muddled mind. "That is not you. It is what you must do, but it is not you. The others forget, I think, that you were a woodworker. An artist. When we lived in your shop, I often saw you, putting the finishing touches on pieces your apprentices
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had carved. I saw the care you used. That shop was no simple front for you. You miss it, I know." Clubs didn't respond. "You must live as a soldier," Sazed said, pulling something from his sash with a weak hand. "But you can still dream like an artist. Here. I had this made for you. It is a symbol of the Dadradah faith. To its people, being an artist was a higher calling, even, than being a priest." He set the wooden disk on the table. Then, with effort, he smiled at Clubs. It had been a long time since he had preached a religion, and he wasn't certain what had made him decide to offer this one to Clubs. Perhaps it was to prove to himself that there was value in them. Perhaps it was stubbornness, reacting against the things Clubs had said earlier. Either way, he found satisfaction in the way that Clubs stared at the simple wooden disk with the carved picture of a brush on it. The last time I preached a religion, he thought, I was in that village to the south, the one where Marsh found me. Whatever happened to him, anyway? Why didn't he return to the city? "Your woman has been looking for you," Clubs finally said, looking up, leaving the disk on the table. "My woman?" Sazed said. "Why, we are not. . ." He trailed off as Clubs eyed him. The surly general was quite proficient at meaningful looks. "Very well," Sazed said, sighing. He glanced down at his fingers and the ten glittering rings they bore. Four were tin: sight, hearing, scent, and touch. He continued to fill these; they wouldn't handicap him much. He released his pewtermind, however, as well as his steelmind and his zincmind. Immediately, strength refilled his body. His muscles stopped sagging, reverting from emaciated to healthy. The fuzz lifted from his mind, allowing him to think clearly, and the thick, swollen slowness evaporated. He stood, invigorated. "That's fascinating," Clubs mumbled. Sazed looked down. "I could see the change," Clubs said. "Your body grew stronger, and your eyes focused. Your arms stopped shaking. I guess you don't want to face that woman without all of your faculties, eh? I don't blame you." Clubs grunted to himself, then continued to eat. Sazed bid farewell to the man, then strode out of the kitchen. His feet and hands still seemed like nearly unfeeling lumps. Yet, he felt an energy. There was nothing like simple contrast to awaken a man's sense of indomitability. And there was nothing that could sap that sensation more quickly than the prospect of meeting with the woman he loved. Why had Tindwyl stayed? And, if she was determined not to go back to Terris, why had she avoided him these last few days? Was she mad that he had sent Elend away? Was she disappointed that he insisted on staying to help? He found her inside Keep Venture's grand ballroom. He paused for a moment, impressed—as always—by the room's unquestionable majesty. He released his
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sight tinmind for just a moment, removing his spectacles as he looked around the awesome space. Enormous, rectangular stained-glass windows reached to the ceiling along both walls of the huge room. Standing at the side, Sazed was dwarfed by massive pillars that supported a small gallery that ran beneath the windows on either side of the chamber. Every bit of stone in the room seemed carved—every tile a part of one mosaic or another, every bit of glass colored to sparkle in the early-evening sunlight. It's been so long. . .he thought. The first time he'd seen this chamber, he had been escorting Vin to her first ball. It was then, while playing the part of Valette Renoux, she had met Elend. Sazed had chastised her for carelessly attracting the attention of so powerful a man. And now he himself had performed their marriage. He smiled, replacing his spectacles and filling his eyesight tinmind again. May the Forgotten Gods watch over you, children. Make something of our sacrifice, if you can. Tindwyl stood speaking with Dockson and a small group of functionaries at the center of the room. They were crowded around a large table, and as Sazed approached, he could see what was spread atop it. Marsh's map, he thought. It was an extensive and detailed representation of Luthadel, complete with notations about Ministry activity. Sazed had a visual image of the map, as well as a detailed description of it, in one of his copperminds—and he had sent a physical copy to the Synod. Tindwyl and the others had covered the large map with their own notations. Sazed approached slowly, and as soon as Tindwyl saw him, she waved for him to approach. "Ah, Sazed," Dockson said in a businesslike tone, voice muddled to Sazed's weak ears. "Good. Please, come here." Sazed stepped up onto the low dance floor, joining them at the table. "Troop placements?" he asked. "Penrod has taken command of our armies," Dockson said. "And he's put noblemen in charge of all twenty battalions. We're not certain we like that situation." Sazed looked over the men at the table. They were a group of scribes that Dockson himself had trained—all skaa. Gods! Sazed thought. He can't be planning a rebellion now of all times, can he? "Don't look so frightened, Sazed," Dockson said. "We're not going to do anything too drastic—Penrod is still letting Clubs organize the city defenses, and he seems to be taking advice from his military commanders. Besides, it's far too late to try something too ambitious." Dockson almost seemed disappointed. "However," Dockson said, pointing at the map, "I don't trust these commanders he's put in charge. They don't know anything about warfare—or even about survival. They've spent their lives ordering drinks and throwing parties." Why do you hate them so? Sazed thought. Ironically, Dockson was the one in the crew who looked most like a nobleman. He was more natural in a suit than Breeze, more articulate than Clubs or Spook. Only his insistence on wearing a very unaristocratic half beard made him
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stand out. "The nobility may not know warfare," Sazed said, "but they are experienced with command, I think." "True," Dockson said. "But so are we. That's why I want one of our people near each gate, just in case things go poorly and someone really competent needs to take command." Dockson pointed at the table, toward one of the gates—Steel Gate. It bore a notation of a thousand men in a defensive formation. "This is your battalion, Sazed. Steel Gate is the farthest the koloss are likely to reach, and so you might not even see any fighting. However, when the battle begins, I want you there with a group of messengers to bring word back to Keep Venture in case your gate gets attacked. We'll set up a command post here in the main ballroom—it's easily accessible with those broad doors, and can accommodate a lot of motion." And it was a not-so-subtle smack in the face of Elend Venture, and nobility in general, to use such a beautiful chamber as a setting from which to run a war. No wonder he supported me in sending Elend and Vin away. With them gone, he's gained undisputed control of Kelsier's crew. It wasn't a bad thing. Dockson was an organizational genius and a master of quick planning. He did have certain prejudices, however. "I know you don't like to fight, Saze," Dockson said, leaning down on the table with both hands. "But we need you." "I think he is preparing for battle, Lord Dockson," Tindwyl said, eyeing Sazed. "Those rings on his fingers give good indication of his intentions." Sazed glanced across the table at her. "And what is your place in this, Tindwyl?" "Lord Dockson came to me for advice," Tindwyl said. "He has little experience with warfare himself, and wished to know the things I have studied about the generals of the past." "Ah," Sazed said. He turned to Dockson, frowning in thought. Eventually, he nodded. "Very well. I will take part in your project—but, I must warn you against divisiveness. Please, tell your men not to break the chain of command unless they absolutely must." Dockson nodded. "Now, Lady Tindwyl," Sazed said. "Might we speak for a moment in private?" She nodded, and they excused themselves, walking under the nearest overhanging gallery. In the shadows, behind one of the pillars, Sazed turned toward Tindwyl. She looked so pristine—so poised, so calm—despite the dire situation. How did she do that? "You're storing quite a large number of attributes, Sazed," Tindwyl noted, glancing at his fingers again. "Surely you have other metalminds prepared from before?" "I used all of my wakefulness and speed making my way to Luthadel," Sazed said. "And I have no health stored at all—I used up the last of it overcoming a sickness when I was teaching in the South. I always intended to fill another one, but we've been too busy. I do have some large amount of strength and weight stored, as well as a good selection of tinminds. Still, one can never be too
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well prepared, I think." "Perhaps," Tindwyl said. She glanced back at the group around the table. "If it gives us something to do other than think about the inevitable, then preparation has not been wasted, I think." Sazed felt a chill. "Tindwyl," he said quietly. "Why did you stay? There is no place for you here." "There is no place for you either, Sazed." "These are my friends," he said. "I will not leave them." "Then why did you convince their leaders to leave?" "To flee and live," Sazed said. "Survival is not a luxury often afforded to leaders," Tindwyl said. "When they accept the devotion of others, they must accept the responsibility that comes with it. This people will die—but they need not die feeling betrayed." "They were not—" "They expect to be saved, Sazed," Tindwyl hissed quietly. "Even those men over there—even Dockson, the most practical one in this bunch—think that they'll survive. And do you know why? Because, deep down, they believe that something will save them. Something that saved them before, the only piece of the Survivor they have left. She represents hope to them now. And you sent her away." "To live, Tindwyl," Sazed repeated. "It would have been a waste to lose Vin and Elend here." "Hope is never wasted," Tindwyl said, eyes flashing. "I thought you of all people would understand that. You think it was stubbornness that kept me alive all those years in the hands of the Breeders?" "And is it stubbornness or hope that kept you here, in the city?" he asked. She looked up at him. "Neither." Sazed looked at her for a long moment in the shadowed alcove. Planners talked in the ballroom, their voices echoing. Shards of light from the windows reflected off the marble floors, throwing slivers of illumination across the walls. Slowly, awkwardly, Sazed put his arms around Tindwyl. She sighed, letting him hold her. He released his tinminds and let his senses return in a flood. Softness from her skin and warmth from her body washed across him as she moved farther into the embrace, resting her head against his chest. The scent of her hair—unperfumed, but clean and crisp—filled his nose, the first thing he'd smelled in three days. With a clumsy hand, Sazed pulled free his spectacles so he could see her clearly. As sounds returned fully to his ears, he could hear Tindwyl breathing beside him. "Do you know why I love you, Sazed?" she asked quietly. "I cannot fathom," he answered honestly. "Because you never give in," she said. "Other men are strong like bricks—firm, unyielding, but if you pound on them long enough, they crack. You. . .you're strong like the wind. Always there, so willing to bend, but never apologetic for the times when you must be firm. I don't think any of your friends understand what a power they had in you." Had, he thought. She already thinks of all this in the past tense. And. . .it feels right for her to do so. "I fear that whatever
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I have won't be enough to save them," Sazed whispered. "It was enough to save three of them, though," Tindwyl said. "You were wrong to send them away. . .but maybe you were right, too." Sazed just closed his eyes and held her, cursing her for staying, yet loving her for it all the same. At that moment, the wall-top warning drums began to beat. And so, I have made one final gamble. THE MISTY RED LIGHT OF morning was a thing that should not have existed. Mist died before daylight. Heat made it evaporate; even locking it inside of a closed room made it condense and disappear. It shouldn't have been able to withstand the light of the rising sun. Yet it did. The farther they'd gotten from Luthadel, the longer the mists lingered in the mornings. The change was slight—they were still only a few days' ride from Luthadel—but Vin knew. She saw the difference. This morning, the mists seemed even stronger than she'd anticipated—they didn't even weaken as the sun came up. They obscured its light. Mist, she thought. Deepness. She was increasingly sure that she was right about it, though she couldn't know for certain. Still, it felt right to her for some reason. The Deepness hadn't been some monster or tyrant, but a force more natural—and therefore more frightening. A creature could be killed. The mists. . .they were far more daunting. The Deepness wouldn't oppress with priests, but use the people's own superstitious terror. It wouldn't slaughter with armies, but with starvation. How did one fight something larger than a continent? A thing that couldn't feel anger, pain, hope, or mercy? Yet, it was Vin's task to do just that. She sat quietly on a large boulder beside the night's firepit, her legs up, knees to her chest. Elend still slept; Spook was out scouting. She didn't question her place any longer. She was either mad or she was the Hero of Ages. It was her task to defeat the mists. Yet. . .she thought, frowning. Shouldn't the thumpings be getting louder, not softer? The longer they traveled, the weaker the thumpings seemed. Was she too late? Was something happening at the Well to dampen its power? Had someone else already taken it? We have to keep moving. Another person in her place might have asked why he had been chosen. Vin had known several men—both in Camon's crew and in Elend's government—who would complain every time they were given an assignment. "Why me?" they would ask. The insecure ones didn't think they were up to the task. The lazy ones wanted out of the work. Vin didn't consider herself to be either self-assured or self-motivated. Still, she saw no point in asking why. Life had taught her that sometimes things simply happened. Often, there hadn't been any specific reason for Reen to beat her. And, reasons were weak comforts, anyway. The reasons that Kelsier had needed to die were clear to her, but that didn't make her miss him any less. She had a job
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to do. The fact that she didn't understand it didn't stop her from acknowledging that she had to try to accomplish it. She simply hoped that she'd know what to do when the time came. Though the thumpings were weaker, they were still there. They drew her forward. To the Well of Ascension. Behind her, she could feel the lesser vibration of the mist spirit. It never disappeared until the mists themselves did. It had been there all morning, standing just behind her. "Do you know the secret to this all?" she asked quietly, turning toward the spirit in the reddish mists. "Do you have—" The Allomantic pulse of the mist spirit was coming from directly inside the tent she shared with Elend. Vin jumped off the rock, landing on the frosted ground and scrambling to the tent. She threw open the flaps. Elend slept inside, head just barely visible as it poked out of the blankets. Mist filled the small tent, swirling, twisting—and that was odd enough. Mist didn't usually enter tents. And there, in the middle of the mists, was the spirit. Standing directly above Elend. It wasn't even really there. It was just an outline in the mists, a repeating pattern caused by chaotic movements. And yet it was real. She could feel it, and she could see it—see it as it looked up, meeting her gaze with invisible eyes. Hateful eyes. It raised an insubstantial arm, and Vin saw something flash. She reacted immediately, whipping out a dagger, bursting into the tent and swinging. Her blow met something tangible in the mist spirit's hand. A metallic sound rang in the calm air, and Vin felt a powerful, numbing chill in her arm. The hairs across her entire body prickled. And then it disappeared. Fading away, like the ringing of its somehow substantial blade. Vin blinked, then turned to look through the blowing tent flap. The mists outside were gone; day had finally won. It didn't seem to have many victories remaining. "Vin?" Elend asked, yawning and stirring. Vin calmed her breathing. The spirit had gone. The daylight meant safety, for now. Once, it was the nights that I found safe, she thought. Kelsier gave them to me. "What's wrong?" Elend asked. How could someone, even a nobleman, be so slow to rise, so unconcerned about the vulnerability he displayed while sleeping? She sheathed her dagger. What can I tell him? How can I protect him from something I can barely see? She needed to think. "It was nothing," she said quietly. "Just me. . .being jumpy again." Elend rolled over, sighing contentedly. "Is Spook doing his morning scout?" "Yes." "Wake me when he gets back." Vin nodded, but he probably couldn't see her. She knelt, looking at him as the sun rose behind her. She'd given herself to him—not just her body, and not just her heart. She'd abandoned her rationalizations, given away her reservations, all for him. She could no longer afford to think that she wasn't worthy of him, no longer give herself the false comfort
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of believing they couldn't ever be together. She'd never trusted anyone this much. Not Kelsier, not Sazed, not Reen. Elend had everything. That knowledge made her tremble inside. If she lost him, she would lose herself. I mustn't think about that! she told herself, rising. She left the tent, quietly closing the flaps behind her. In the distance, shadows moved. Spook appeared a moment later. "Someone's definitely back there," he said quietly. "Not spirits, Vin. Five men, with a camp." Vin frowned. "Following us?" "They must be." Straff's scouts, she thought. "We'll let Elend decide what to do about them." Spook shrugged, walking over to sit on her rock. "You going to wake him?" Vin turned back. "Let him sleep a little longer." Spook shrugged again. He watched as she walked over to the firepit and unwrapped the wood they'd covered the night before, then began to build a fire. "You've changed, Vin," Spook said. She continued to work. "Everyone changes," she said. "I'm not a thief anymore, and I have friends to support me." "I don't mean that," Spook said. "I mean recently. This last week. You're different than you were." "Different how?" "I don't know. You don't seem as frightened all the time." Vin paused. "I've made some decisions. About who I am, and who I will be. About what I want." She worked quietly for a moment, and finally got a spark to catch. "I'm tired of putting up with foolishness," she finally said. "Other people's foolishness, and my own. I've decided to act, rather than second-guess. Perhaps it's a more immature way of looking at things. But it feels right, for now." "It's not immature," Spook said. Vin smiled, looking up at him. Sixteen and hardly grown into his body, he was the same age that she'd been when Kelsier had recruited her. He was squinting against the light, even though the sun was low. "Lower your tin," Vin said. "No need to keep it on so strong." Spook shrugged. She could see the uncertainty in him. He wanted so badly to be useful. She knew that feeling. "What about you, Spook?" she said, turning to gather the breakfast supplies. Broth and mealcakes again. "How have you been lately?" He shrugged yet again. I'd almost forgotten what it was like to try and have a conversation with a teenage boy, she thought, smiling. "Spook. . ." she said, just testing out the name. "What do you think of that nickname, anyway? I remember when everyone called you by your real name." Lestibournes—Vin had tried to spell it once. She'd gotten about five letters in. "Kelsier gave me my name," Spook said, as if that were reason enough to keep it. And perhaps it was. Vin saw the look in Spook's eyes when he mentioned Kelsier; Clubs might be Spook's uncle, but Kelsier had been the one he looked up to. Of course, they all had looked up to Kelsier. "I wish I were powerful, Vin," Spook said quietly, arms folded on his knees as he sat on the
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rock. "Like you." "You have your own skills." "Tin?" Spook asked. "Almost worthless. If I were Mistborn, I could do great things. Be someone important." "Being important isn't all that wonderful, Spook," Vin said, listening to the thumpings in her head. "Most of the time, it's just annoying." Spook shook his head. "If I were Mistborn, I could save people—help people, who need it. I could stop people from dying. But. . .I'm just Spook. Weak. A coward." Vin looked at him, frowning, but his head was bowed, and he wouldn't meet her eyes. What was that about? she wondered. Sazed used a bit of strength to help him take the steps three at a time. He burst out of the stairwell just behind Tindwyl, the two of them joining the remaining members of the crew on the wall top. The drums still sounded; each had a different rhythm as it sounded over the city. The mixing beats echoed chaotically from buildings and alleyways. The northern horizon seemed bare without Straff's army. If only that same emptiness had extended to the northeast, where the koloss camp seemed in turmoil. "Can anyone make out what's going on?" Breeze asked. Ham shook his head. "Too far." "One of my scouts is a Tineye," Clubs said, hobbling over. "He raised the alarm. Said the koloss were fighting." "My good man," Breeze said, "aren't the foul creatures always fighting?" "More than usual," Clubs said. "Massive brawl." Sazed felt a swift glimmer of hope. "They're fighting?" he said. "Perhaps they will kill each other!" Clubs eyed him with one of those looks. "Read one of your books, Terrisman. What do they say about koloss emotions?" "They only have two," Sazed said. "Boredom and rage. But—" "This is how they always begin a battle," Tindwyl said quietly. "They start to fight among themselves, enraging more and more of their members, and then. . ." She trailed off, and Sazed saw it. The dark smudge to the east growing lighter. Dispersing. Resolving into individual members. Charging the city. "Bloody hell," Clubs swore, then quickly began to hobble down the steps. "Messengers away!" he bellowed. "Archers to the wall! Secure the river grates! Battalions, form positions! Get ready to fight! Do you want those things breaking in here and getting at your children!" Chaos followed. Men began to dash in all directions. Soldiers scrambled up the stairwells, clogging the way down, keeping the crew from moving. It's happening, Sazed thought numbly. "Once the stairwells are open," Dockson said quietly, "I want each of you to go to your battalion. Tindwyl, you have Tin Gate, in the north by Keep Venture. I might need your advice, but for now, stay with those boys. They'll listen to you—they respect Terrismen. Breeze, you have one of your Soothers in each of battalions four through twelve?" Breeze nodded. "They aren't much, though. . .." "Just have them keep those boys fighting!" Dockson said. "Don't let our men break!" "A thousand men are far too many for one Soother to handle, my friend," Breeze said.
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"Have them do the best they can," Dockson said. "You and Ham take Pewter Gate and Zinc Gate—looks like the koloss are going to hit here first. Clubs should bring in reinforcements." The two men nodded; then Dockson looked at Sazed. "You know where to go?" "Yes. . .yes, I think so," Sazed said, gripping the wall. In the air, flakes of ash began to fall from the sky. "Go, then!" Dockson said as one final squad of archers made its way out of the stairwell. "My lord Venture!" Straff turned. With some stimulants, he was able to remain strong enough to stay atop his saddle—though he wouldn't have dared to fight. Of course, he wouldn't have fought anyway. That wasn't his way. One brought armies to do such things. He turned his animal as the messenger approached. The man puffed, putting hands on knees as he stopped beside Straff's mount, bits of ash swirling on the ground at his feet. "My lord," the man said. "The koloss army has attacked Luthadel!" Just as you said, Zane, Straff thought in wonder. "The koloss, attacking?" Lord Janarle asked, moving his horse up beside Straff's. The handsome lord frowned, then eyed Straff. "You expected this, my lord?" "Of course," Straff said, smiling. Janarle looked impressed. "Pass an order to the men, Janarle," Straff said. "I want this column turned back toward Luthadel." "We can be there in an hour, my lord!" Janarle said. "No," Straff said. "Let's take our time. We wouldn't want to overwork our troops, would we?" Janarle smiled. "Of course not, my lord." Arrows seemed to have little effect on the koloss. Sazed stood, transfixed and appalled, atop his gate's watchtower. He wasn't officially in charge of the men, so he didn't have any orders to give. He simply stood with the scouts and messengers, waiting to see if he was needed or not. That left him plenty of time to watch the horror unfolding. The koloss weren't charging his section of the wall yet, thankfully, and his men stood watching tensely as the creatures barreled toward Tin Gate and Pewter Gate in the distance. Even far away—the tower letting him see over a section of the city to where Tin Gate lay—Sazed could see the koloss running straight through hailstorms of arrows. Some of the smaller ones appeared to fall dead or wounded, but most just continued to charge. Men murmured on the tower near him. We aren't ready for this, Sazed thought. Even with months to plan and anticipate, we aren't ready. This is what we get, being ruled over by a god for a thousand years. A thousand years of peace—tyrannical peace, but peace nonetheless. We don't have generals, we have men who know how to order a bath drawn. We don't have tacticians, we have bureaucrats. We don't have warriors, we have boys with sticks. Even as he watched the oncoming doom, his scholar's mind was analytical. Tapping sight, he could see that many of the distant creatures—especially the larger ones—carried small uprooted trees. They were ready,
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in their own way, to break into the city. The trees wouldn't be as effective as real battering rams—but then, the city gates weren't built to withstand a real battering in the first place. Those koloss are smarter than we give them credit for, he thought. They can recognize the abstract value of coins, even if they don't have an economy. They can see that they'll need tools to break down our doors, even if they don't know how to make those tools. The first koloss wave reached the wall. Men began to toss down rocks and other items. Sazed's own section had similar piles, one just next to the gate arch, beside which he stood. But arrows had almost no effect; what good would a few rocks do? Koloss clumped around the base of the wall, like the water of a dammed-up river. Distant thumps sounded as the creatures began to beat against the gates. "Battalion sixteen!" a messenger called from below, riding up to Sazed's gate. "Lord Culee!" "Here!" a man called from the wall top beside Sazed's tower. "Pewter Gate needs reinforcements immediately! Lord Penrod commands you to bring six companies and follow me!" Lord Culee began to give the orders. Six companies. . .Sazed thought. Six hundred of our thousand. Clubs's words from earlier returned to him: Twenty thousand men might seem like a lot, until one saw how thinly they had to be stretched. The six companies marched away, leaving the courtyard before Sazed's gate disturbingly empty. The four hundred remaining men—three hundred in the courtyard, one hundred on the wall—shuffled quietly. Sazed closed his eyes and tapped his hearing tinmind. He could hear. . .wood beating on wood. Screams. Human screams. He released the tinmind quickly, then tapped eyesight again, leaning out and looking toward the section of the wall where the battle was being fought. The koloss were throwing back the fallen rocks—and they were far more accurate than the defenders. Sazed jumped as he saw a young soldier's face crushed, his body thrown back off the wall top by the rock's force. Sazed released his tinmind, breathing quickly. "Be firm, men!" called one of the soldiers on the wall. He was barely a youth—a nobleman, but he couldn't be more than sixteen. Of course, a lot of the men in the army were that age. "Stand firm. . ." the young commander repeated. His voice sounded uncertain, and it trailed off as he noticed something in the distance. Sazed turned, following the man's gaze. The koloss had gotten tired of standing around, piling up at a single gate. They were moving to surround the city, large groups of them breaking up, fording the River Channerel toward other gates. Gates like Sazed's. Vin landed directly in the middle of the camp. She tossed a handful of pewter dust into the firepit, then Pushed, blowing coals, soot, and smoke across a pair of surprised guards, who had been fixing breakfast. She reached out and Pulled out the stakes of the three small tents. All three collapsed.
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One was unoccupied, but cries came from the other two. The canvas outlined struggling, confused figures—one inside the larger tent, two inside the smaller one. The guards scrambled back, raising their arms to protect their eyes from the soot and sparks, their hands reaching for swords. Vin raised a fist toward them—and, as they blinked their eyes clear, she let a single coin drop to the ground. The guards froze, then took their hands off their swords. Vin eyed the tents. The person in charge would be inside the larger one—and he was the man she would need to deal with. Probably one of Straff's captains, though the guards didn't wear Venture heraldry. Perhaps— Jastes Lekal poked his head out of his tent, cursing as he extricated himself from the canvas. He'd changed much in the two years since Vin had last seen him. However, there had been hints of what the man would become. His thin figure had become spindly; his balding head had fulfilled its promise. Yet, how had his face come to look so haggard. . .so old? He was Elend's age. "Jastes," Elend said, stepping out of his hiding place in the forest. He walked into the clearing, Spook at his side. "Why are you here?" Jastes managed to stand as his other two soldiers cut their way out of their tent. He waved them down. "El," he said. "I. . .didn't know where else to go. My scouts said that you were fleeing, and it seemed like a good idea. Wherever you're going, I want to go with you. We can hide there, maybe. We can—" "Jastes!" Elend snapped, striding forward to stand beside Vin. "Where are your koloss? Did you send them away?" "I tried," Jastes said, looking down. "They wouldn't go—not once they'd seen Luthadel. And then. . ." "What?" Elend demanded. "A fire," Jastes said. "In our. . .supply carts." Vin frowned. "Your supply carts?" Elend said. "The carts where you carried your wooden coins?" "Yes." "Lord Ruler, man!" Elend said stepping forward. "And you just left them there, without leadership, outside our home?" "They would have killed me, El!" Jastes said. "They were beginning to fight so much, to demand more coins, to demand we attack the city. If I'd stayed, they'd have slaughtered me! They're beasts—beasts that only barely have the shape of man." "And you left," Elend said. "You abandoned Luthadel to them." "You abandoned it, too," Jastes said. He walked forward, hands pleading as he approached Elend. "Look, El. I know I was wrong. I thought I could control them. I didn't mean for this to happen!" Elend fell silent, and Vin could see a hardness growing in his eyes. Not a dangerous hardness, like Kelsier. More of a. . .regal bearing. The sense that he was more than he wanted to be. He stood straight, looking down at the man pleading before him. "You raised an army of violent monsters and led them in a tyrannical assault, Jastes," Elend said. "You caused the slaughter of innocent villages. Then, you
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abandoned that army without leadership or control outside the most populated city in the whole of the Final Empire." "Forgive me," Jastes said. Elend looked the man in the eyes. "I forgive you," he said quietly. Then, in one fluid stroke, he drew his sword and sheared Jastes's head from his shoulders. "But my kingdom cannot." Vin stared, dumbfounded, as the corpse fell to the ground. Jastes's soldiers cried out, drawing their weapons. Elend turned, his face solemn, and raised the point of his bloodied sword toward them. "You think this execution was performed in error?" The guards paused. "No, my lord," one of them finally said, looking down. Elend knelt and cleaned his sword on Jastes's cloak. "Considering what he did, this was a better death than he deserved." Elend snapped his sword back into its sheath. "But he was my friend. Bury him. Once you are through, you are welcome to travel with me to Terris, or you may go back to your homes. Choose as you wish." With that, he walked back into the woods. Vin paused, watching the guards. Solemnly, they moved forward to collect the body. She nodded to Spook, then dashed out into the forest after Elend. She didn't have to go far. She found him sitting on a rock a short distance away, staring at the ground. An ashfall had begun, but most of the flakes got caught in the trees, coating their leaves like black moss. "Elend?" she asked. He looked out, staring into the forest. "I'm not sure why I did it, Vin," he said quietly. "Why should I be the one to bring justice? I'm not even king. And yet, it had to be done. I felt it. I feel it still." She laid a hand on his shoulder. "He's the first man I've ever killed," Elend said. "He and I had such dreams, once: We'd ally two of the most powerful imperial houses, uniting Luthadel as never before. Ours wasn't to have been a treaty of greed, but a true political alliance intended to help make the city a better place." He looked up at her. "I think I understand now, Vin, what it is like for you. In a way, we're both knives—both tools. Not for each other, but for this kingdom. This people." She wrapped her arms around him, holding him, pulling his head to her chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "It had to be done," he said. "The saddest part is, he's right. I abandoned them, too. I should take my own life with this sword." "You left for a good reason, Elend," Vin said. "You left to protect Luthadel, to make it so Straff wouldn't attack." "And if the koloss attack before Straff can?" "Maybe they won't," Vin said. "They don't have a leader—maybe they'll attack Straff's army instead." "No," Spook's voice said. Vin turned, seeing him approach through the forest, eyes squinting against the light. That boy burns way too much tin, she thought. "What do you mean?" Elend asked, turning. Spook looked down. "They won't
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attack Straff's army, El. It won't be there anymore." "What?" Vin asked. "I. . ." Spook looked away, shame showing in his face. I'm a coward. His words from earlier returned to her. "You knew," Vin said. "You knew the koloss were going to attack!" Spook nodded. "That's ridiculous," Elend said. "You couldn't have known that Jastes would follow us." "I didn't," Spook said, a lump of ash falling from a tree behind him, bursting before the wind, and fluttering in a hundred different flakes to the ground. "But my uncle figured that Straff would withdraw his army and let the koloss attack the city. That's why Sazed decided to send us away." Vin felt a sudden chill. I've found the location of the Well of Ascension, Sazed had said. To the north. In the Terris Mountains. . .. "Clubs told you this?" Elend was saying. Spook nodded. "And you didn't tell me?" Elend demanded, standing. Oh, no. . .. Spook paused, then shook his head. "You would have wanted to go back! I didn't want to die, El! I'm sorry. I'm a coward." He cringed, glancing at Elend's sword, shying away. Elend paused, as if realizing he'd been stepping toward the boy. "I'm not going to hurt you, Spook," he said. "I'm just ashamed of you." Spook lowered his eyes, then sank down to the ground, sitting with his back to an aspen. The thumpings, getting softer. . .. "Elend," Vin whispered. He turned. "Sazed lied. The Well isn't to the north." "What?" "It's at Luthadel." "Vin, that's ridiculous. We'd have found it." "We didn't," she said firmly, standing, looking south. Focusing, she could feel the thumpings, washing across her. Pulling her. South. "The Well can't be to the south," Elend said. "The legends all place it north, in the Terris Mountains." Vin shook her head, confused. "It's there," she said. "I know it is. I don't know how, but it is there." Elend looked at her, then nodded, trusting her instincts. Oh, Sazed, she thought. You probably had good intentions, but you may have doomed us all. If the city fell to the koloss. . . "How fast can we get back?" Elend asked. "That depends," she said. "Go back?" Spook asked, looking up. "El, they're all dead. They told me to tell you the truth once you got to Tathingdwen, so you wouldn't kill yourselves climbing the mountains in the winter for nothing. But, when Clubs talked to me, it was also to say goodbye. I could see it in his eyes. He knew he'd never see me again." Elend paused, and Vin could see a moment of uncertainty in his eyes. A flash of pain, of terror. She knew those emotions, because they hit her at the same time. Sazed, Breeze, Ham. . . Elend grabbed her arm. "You have to go, Vin," he said. "There might be survivors. . .refugees. They'll need your help." She nodded, the firmness of his grip—the determination in his voice—giving her strength. "Spook and I will follow," he said. "It should only
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take us a couple of days' hard riding. But an Allomancer with pewter can go faster than any horse over long distances." "I don't want to leave you," she whispered. "I know." It was still hard. How could she run off and leave him, when she'd only just rediscovered him? Yet, she could feel the Well of Ascension even more urgently now that she was sure of its location. And if some of her friends did survive the attack. . . Vin gritted her teeth, then opened up her pouch and pulled out the last of her pewter dust. She drank it down with a mouthful of water from her flask. It scratched her throat going down. It's not much, she thought. It won't let me pewter-drag for long. "They're all dead. . ." Spook mumbled again. Vin turned. The pulses thumped demandingly. From the south. I'm coming. "Elend," she said. "Please do something for me. Don't sleep during the night, when the mists are out. Travel during the night, if you can, and keep your wits about you. Watch for the mist spirit—I think it may mean you harm." He frowned, but nodded. Vin flared pewter, then took off at a run toward the highway. My pleas, my teachings, my objections, and even my treasons were all ineffectual. Alendi has other counselors now, ones who tell him what he wants to hear. BREEZE DID HIS BEST TO pretend he was not in the middle of a war. It didn't work very well. He sat on his horse at the edge of Zinc Gate's courtyard. Soldiers shuffled and clanked, standing in ranks before the gates, waiting and watching their companions atop the wall. The gates thumped. Breeze cringed, but continued his Soothing. "Be strong," he whispered. "Fear, uncertainty—I take these away. Death may come through those doors, but you can fight it. You can win. Be strong. . .." Brass flared like a bonfire within his stomach. He had long since used up his vials, and had taken to choking down handfuls of brass dust and mouthfuls of water, which he had in a steady supply thanks to Dockson's mounted messengers. How long can this possibly last? he thought, wiping his brow, continuing to Soothe. Allomancy was, fortunately, very easy on the body; Allomantic power came from within the metals themselves, not from the one who burned them. Yet, Soothing was much more complex than other Allomantic skills, and it demanded constant attention. "Fear, terror, anxiety. . ." he whispered. "The desire to run or give up. I take these from you. . ." The speaking wasn't necessary, of course, but it had always been his way—it helped keep him focused. After a few more minutes of Soothing, he checked his pocket watch, then turned his horse and trotted over to the other side of the courtyard. The gates continued to boom, and Breeze wiped his brow again. He noted, with dissatisfaction, that his handkerchief was nearly too damp to do him any good. It was also beginning to snow. The wetness
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would make the ash stick to his clothing, and his suit would be absolutely ruined. The suit will be ruined by your blood, Breeze, he told himself. The time for silliness is over. This is serious. Far too serious. How did you even end up here? He redoubled his efforts, Soothing a new group of soldiers. He was one of the most powerful Allomancers in the Final Empire—especially when it came to emotional Allomancy. He could Soothe hundreds of men at once, assuming they were packed close enough together, and assuming that he was focusing on simple emotions. Even Kelsier hadn't been able to manage those numbers. Yet, the entire crowd of soldiers was beyond even his ability, and he had to do them in sections. As he began work on the new group, he saw the ones he had left begin to wilt, their anxiety taking over. When those doors burst, these men are going to scatter. The gates boomed. Men clustered on the walls, throwing down rocks, shooting arrows, fighting with a frantic lack of discipline. Occasionally, an officer would push his way past them, yelling orders, trying to coordinate their efforts, but Breeze was too far away to tell what they were saying. He could just see the chaos of men moving, screaming, and shooting. And, of course, he could see the return fire. Rocks zipped into the air from below, some cracking against the ramparts. Breeze tried not to think about what was on the other side of the wall, the thousands of enraged koloss beasts. Occasionally, a soldier would drop. Blood dripped down into the courtyard from several sections of the ramparts. "Fear, anxiety, terror. . ." Breeze whispered. Allrianne had escaped. Vin, Elend, and Spook were safe. He had to keep focusing on those successes. Thank you, Sazed, for making us send them away, he thought. Hoofbeats clopped behind him. Breeze continued his Soothing, but turned to see Clubs riding up. The general rode his horse with a hunched-over slouch, eyeing the soldiers with one eye open, the other perpetually squeezed closed in a squint. "They're doing well," he said. "My dear man," Breeze said. "They're terrified. Even the ones beneath my Soothing watch those gates like they were some terrible void waiting to suck them in." Clubs eyed Breeze. "Feeling poetic today, are we?" "Impending doom has that effect on me," Breeze said as the gates shook. "Either way, I doubt the men are doing 'well.'" Clubs grunted. "Men are always nervous before a fight. But, these are good lads. They'll hold." The gates shook and quivered, splinters appearing at the edges. Those hinges are straining. . .Breeze thought. "Don't suppose you can Soothe those koloss?" Clubs asked. "Make them less ferocious?" Breeze shook his head. "Soothing those beasts has no effect. I've tried it." They fell silent again, listening to the booming gates. Eventually, Breeze glanced over at Clubs, who sat, unperturbed, on his horse. "You've been in combat before," Breeze said. "How often?" "Off and on for the better part of twenty years,
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when I was younger," Clubs said. "Fighting rebellions in the distant dominances, warring against the nomads out in the barrens. The Lord Ruler was pretty good about keeping those conflicts quiet." "And. . .how did you do?" Breeze asked. "Were you often victorious?" "Always," Clubs said. Breeze smiled slightly. "Of course," Clubs said, glancing at Breeze, "we were the ones with koloss on our side. Damn hard to kill, those beasts." Great, Breeze thought. Vin ran. She'd only been on one "pewter drag" before—with Kelsier, two years ago. While burning pewter at a steady flare, one could run with incredible speed—like a sprinter in their quickest dash—without ever growing tired. Yet, the process did something to a body. Pewter kept her moving, but it also bottled up her natural fatigue. The juxtaposition made her mind fuzz, bringing on a trancelike state of exhausted energy. Her soul wanted so badly to rest, yet her body just kept running, and running, and running, following the canal towpath toward the south. Toward Luthadel. Vin was prepared for the effects of pewter dragging this time, and so she handled them far better. She fought off the trance, keeping her mind focused on her goal, not the repetitive motions of her body. However, that focus led her to discomforting thoughts. Why am I doing this? she wondered. Why push myself so hard? Spook said it—Luthadel has to have already fallen. There is no need for urgency. And yet, she ran. She saw images of death in her mind. Ham, Breeze, Dockson, Clubs, and dear, dear Sazed. The first real friends she had ever known. She loved Elend, and part of her blessed the others for sending him away from danger. However, the other piece of her was furious at them for sending her away. That fury guided her. They let me abandon them. They forced me to abandon them! Kelsier had spent months teaching her how to trust. His last words to her in life had been ones of accusation, and they were words she had never been able to escape. You still have a lot to learn about friendship, Vin. He had gone on to risk his life to get Spook and OreSeur out of danger, fighting off—and eventually killing—a Steel Inquisitor. He had done this despite Vin's protests that the risk was pointless. She had been wrong. How dare they! she thought, feeling the tears on her cheeks as she dashed down the canal's highwaylike towpath. Pewter gave her inhuman balance, and the speed—which would have been perilous for anyone else—felt natural to her. She didn't trip, she didn't stumble, but an outside observer would think her pace reckless. Trees whipped by. She leapt washouts and dips in the land. She ran as she had done only once before, and pushed herself even harder than she had on that day. Before, she had been running simply to keep up with Kelsier. Now she ran for those she loved. How dare they! she thought again. How dare they not give me the same chance that Kelsier
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had! How dare they refuse my protection, refuse to let me help them! How dare they die. . . Her pewter was running low, and she was only a few hours into her run. True, she had probably covered an entire day's worth of walking in those few hours. Yet, somehow, she knew it wouldn't be enough. They were already dead. She was going to be too late, just as when she'd run years before. Too late to save their army. Too late to save her friends. Vin continued to run. And she continued to cry. "How did we get here, Clubs?" Breeze asked quietly, still on the floor of the courtyard, before the booming gate. He sat on his horse, amid a muddy mixture of falling snow and ash. The simple, quiet flutterings of white and black seemed to belie the screaming men, the breaking gate, and the falling rocks. Clubs looked over at him, frowning. Breeze continued stare up at the ash and snow. Black and white. Lazy. "We aren't men of principle," Breeze said quietly. "We're thieves. Cynics. You, a man tired of doing the Lord Ruler's bidding, a man determined to see himself get ahead for once. Me, a man of wavering morals who loves to toy with others, to make their emotions my game. How did we end up here? Standing at the head of an army, fighting an idealist's cause? Men like us shouldn't be leaders." Clubs watched the men in the courtyard. "Guess we're just idiots," he finally said. Breeze paused, then noticed that glimmer in Clubs's eyes. That spark of humor, the spark that was hard to recognize unless one knew Clubs very well. It was that spark that told the truth—that showed Clubs to be a man of rare understanding. Breeze smiled. "I guess we are. Like we said before. It's Kelsier's fault. He turned us into idiots who would stand at the front of a doomed army." "That bastard," Clubs said. "Indeed," Breeze said. Ash and snow continued to fall. Men yelled in alarm. And the gates burst open. "The eastern gate has been breached, Master Terrisman!" Dockson's messenger said, puffing slightly as he crouched beside Sazed. They both sat beneath the wall-top battlements, listening to the koloss pound on their own gate. The one that had fallen would be Zinc Gate, the one on the easternmost side of Luthadel. "Zinc Gate is the most well defended," Sazed said quietly. "They will be able to hold it, I think." The messenger nodded. Ash blew along the wall top, piling in the cracks and alcoves in the stone, the black flakes adulterated by the occasional bit of bone-white snow. "Is there anything you wish me to report to Lord Dockson?" the messenger asked. Sazed paused, glancing along his wall's defenses. He'd climbed down from the watchtower, joining the regular ranks of men. The soldiers had run out of stones, though the archers were still working. He peeked over the side of the wall and saw the koloss corpses piling up. However, he also
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saw the splintered front of the gate. It's amazing they can maintain such rage for so long, he thought, ducking back. The creatures continued to howl and scream, like feral dogs. He sat back against the wet stone, shivering in the chill wind, his toes growing numb. He tapped his brassmind, drawing out the heat he'd stored therein, and his body suddenly flooded with a pleasant sensation of warmth. "Tell Lord Dockson that I fear for this gate's defenses," Sazed said quietly. "The best men were stolen away to help with the eastern gates, and I have little confidence in our leader. If Lord Dockson could send someone else to be in charge, that would be for the best, I think." The messenger paused. "What?" Sazed asked. "Isn't that why he sent you, Master Terrisman?" Sazed frowned. "Please tell him I have even less confidence in my own ability to lead. . .or to fight. . .than I do in that of our commander." The messenger nodded and took off, scrambling down the steps toward his horse. Sazed cringed as a rock hit the wall just above him. Chips flipped over the merlon, scattering to the battlement in front of him. By the Forgotten Gods. . .Sazed thought, wringing his hands. What am I doing here? He saw motion on the wall beside him, and turned as the youthful soldier captain—Captain Bedes—moved up to him, careful to keep his head down. Tall, with thick hair that grew down around his eyes, he was spindly even beneath his armor. The young man looked like he should have been dancing at balls, not leading soldiers in battle. "What did the messenger say?" Bedes asked nervously. "Zinc Gate has fallen, my lord," Sazed replied. The young captain paled. "What. . .what should we do?" "Why ask me, my lord?" Sazed asked. "You are in command." "Please," the man said, grabbing Sazed's arm. "I don't. . .I. . ." "My lord," Sazed said sternly, forcing down his own nervousness. "You are a nobleman, are you not?" "Yes. . ." "Then you are accustomed to giving orders," Sazed said. "Give them now." "Which orders?" "It doesn't matter," Sazed said. "Let the men see that you are in charge." The young man wavered, then yelped and ducked as a rock took one of the nearby archers in the shoulder, throwing him back into the courtyard. The men below scrambled out of the way of the corpse, and Sazed noticed something odd. A group of people had gathered at the back of the courtyard. Civilians—skaa—in ash-stained clothing. "What are they doing here?" Sazed asked. "They should be hiding, not standing here to tempt the koloss once the creatures break through!" "Once they break through?" Captain Bedes asked. Sazed ignored the man. Civilians he could deal with. He was accustomed to being in charge of a nobleman's servants. "I will go speak to them," Sazed said. "Yes. . ." Bedes said. "That sounds like a good idea." Sazed made his way down the steps, which were growing slick and wet
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with ashen slush, then approached the group of people. There were even more of them than he had assumed; they extended back into the street a short distance. The hundred or so people stood huddled together, watching the gates through the falling snow, looking cold, and Sazed felt a little guilty for his brassmind's warmth. Several of the people bowed their heads as Sazed approached. "Why are you here?" Sazed asked. "Please, you must seek shelter. If your homes are near the courtyard, then go hide near the middle of the city. The koloss are likely to begin pillaging as soon as they finish with the army, so the edges of the city are more dangerous." None of the people moved. "Please!" Sazed said. "You must go. If you stay, you will die!" "We are not here to die, Holy First Witness," said an elderly man at the front. "We are here to watch the koloss fall." "Fall?" Sazed asked. "The Lady Heir will protect us," said another woman. "The Lady Heir has left the city!" Sazed said. "Then we will watch you, Holy First Witness," the man said, leaning with one hand on a young boy's shoulder. "Holy First Witness?" Sazed said. "Why call me this name?" "You are the one who brought news of the Lord Ruler's death," the man said. "You gave the Lady Heir the spear she used to slay our lord. You were the witness to her actions." Sazed shook his head. "That may be true, but I am not worthy of reverence. I'm not a holy man, I'm just a. . ." "A witness," the old man said. "If the Heir is to join this fight, she will appear near you." "I. . .am sorry. . ." Sazed said, flushing. I sent her away. I sent your god to safety. The people watched him, their eyes reverent. It was wrong; they should not worship him. He was simply an observer. Except, he wasn't. He had made himself part of this all. It was as Tindwyl had indirectly warned him. Now that Sazed had participated in events, he had become an object of worship himself. "You should not look at me like that," Sazed said. "The Lady Heir says the same thing," the old man said, smiling, breath puffing in the cold air. "That is different," Sazed said. "She is. . ." He cut off, turning as he heard cries from behind. The archers on the wall were waving in alarm, and young Captain Bedes was rushing over to them. What is— A bestial blue creature suddenly pulled itself up onto the wall, its skin streaked and dripping with scarlet blood. It shoved aside a surprised archer, then grabbed Captain Bedes by the neck and tossed him backward. The boy disappeared, falling to the koloss below. Sazed heard the screams even from a distance. A second koloss pulled itself up onto the wall, then a third. Archers stumbled away in shock, dropping their weapons, some shoving others off the ramparts in their haste. The koloss are jumping
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up, Sazed realized. Enough corpses must have piled below. And yet, to jump so high. . . More and more creatures were pulling themselves onto the top of the wall. They were the largest of the monsters, the ones over ten feet in height, but that only made it easier for them to sweep the archers out of their way. Men fell to the courtyard, and the pounding on the gates redoubled. "Go!" Sazed said, waving at the people behind him. Some of them backed away. Many stood firm. Sazed turned desperately back toward the gates. The wooden structures began to crack, splinters spraying through the snowy, ash-laden air. The soldiers backed away, postures frightened. Finally, with a snap, the bar broke and the right gate burst open. A howling, bleeding, wild mass of koloss began to scramble across the wet stones. Soldiers dropped their weapons and fled. Others remained, frozen with terror. Sazed stood at their back, between the horrified soldiers and the mass of skaa. I am not a warrior, he thought, hands shaking as he stared at the monsters. It had been difficult enough to stay calm inside their camp. Watching them scream—their massive swords out, their skin ripped and bloodied as they fell upon the human soldiers—Sazed felt his courage begin to fail. But if I don't do something, nobody will. He tapped pewter. His muscles grew. He drew deeply upon his steelmind as he dashed forward, taking more strength than he ever had before. He had spent years storing up strength, rarely finding occasion to use it, and now he tapped that reserve. His body changed, weak scholar's arms transforming into massive, bulky limbs. His chest widened, bulging, and his muscles grew taut with power. Days spent fragile and frail focused on this single moment. He shoved his way through the ranks of soldiers, pulling his robe over his head as it grew too restrictive, leaving himself wearing only a vestigial loincloth. The lead koloss turned to find himself facing a creature nearly his own size. Despite its rage, despite its inhumanness, the beast froze, surprise showing in its beady red eyes. Sazed punched the monster. He hadn't practiced for war, and knew next to nothing about combat. Yet, at that moment, his lack of skill didn't matter. The creature's face folded around his fist, its skull cracking. Sazed turned on thick legs, looking back at the startled soldiers. Say something brave! he told himself. "Fight!" Sazed bellowed, surprised at the sudden deepness and strength of his voice. And, startlingly, they did. Vin fell to her knees, exhausted on the muddy, ash-soaked highway. Her fingers and knees hit the slushy cold, but she didn't care. She simply knelt, wheezing. She couldn't run any farther. Her pewter was gone. Her lungs burned and her legs ached. She wanted to collapse and curl up, coughing. It's just the pewter drag, she thought forcibly. She'd pushed her body hard, but hadn't had to pay for it until now. She coughed a moment longer, groaning, then reached a dripping hand into
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her pocket and pulled out her last two vials. They had a mixture of all eight base metals, plus duralumin. Their pewter would keep her going for a little bit longer. . .. But not long enough. She was still hours away from Luthadel. Even with pewter, she wouldn't arrive until long after dark. She sighed, replacing her vials, forcing herself to her feet. What would I do if I arrived? Vin thought. Why work so hard? Am I that eager to fight again? To slaughter? She knew that she wouldn't arrive in time for the battle. In fact, the koloss had probably attacked days ago. Still, this worried her. Her attack on Cett's keep still flashed horrific images in her head. Things she had done. Death she had caused. And yet, something felt different to her now. She had accepted her place as a knife. But what was a knife, but another tool? It could be used for evil or for good; it could kill, or it could protect. That point was moot, considering how weak she felt. It was hard to keep her legs from trembling as she flared tin, clearing her head. She stood on the imperial highway, a sodden, pockmarked roadway that looked—in the softly falling snow—to twist onward for eternity. It ran directly beside the imperial canal, which was a snakelike cut in the land, wide but empty, extending beside the highway. Before, with Elend, this road had seemed bright and new. Now it looked dark and depressing. The Well thumped, its pulsings growing more powerful with each step she took back toward Luthadel. Yet, it wasn't happening fast enough. Not fast enough for her to stop the koloss from taking the city. Not fast enough for her friends. I'm sorry. . .she thought, teeth chattering as she pulled her cloak tight, pewter no longer aiding her against the cold. I'm so sorry that I failed you. She saw a line of smoke in the distance. She looked east, then west, but didn't see much. The flat landscape was clouded in ashen snows. A village, thought her still-numb mind. One of many in the area. Luthadel was by far the dominant city of the small dominance, but there were others. Elend hadn't been able to keep the others completely free of banditry, but they had fared far better than towns in other areas of the Final Empire. Vin stumbled forward, pressing on through the slushy black puddles toward the village. After about fifteen minutes of walking, she turned off the main highway and made her way up a side road to the village. It was small, even by skaa standards. Just a few hovels, along with a couple of nicer structures. Not a plantation, Vin thought. This was once a way village—a place for traveling noblemen to stop for the evening. The small manor—which would have once been run by a minor noble landlord—was dark. Two of the skaa hovels, however, had light shining through the cracks. The gloomy weather must have convinced the people to retire
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from their labors early. Vin shivered, walking up to one of the buildings, her tin-enhanced ears picking out sounds of talking inside. She paused, listening. Children laughed, and men spoke with gusto. She smelled what must have been the beginnings of the evening meal—a simple vegetable stew. Skaa. . .laughing, she thought. A hovel like this one would have been a place of fear and gloom during the days of the Lord Ruler. Happy skaa had been considered underworked skaa. We've meant something. It's all meant something. But was it worth the deaths of her friends? The fall of Luthadel? Without Elend's protection, even this little village would soon be taken by one tyrant or another. She drank in the sounds of laughter. Kelsier hadn't given up. He had faced the Lord Ruler himself, and his last words had been defiant. Even when his plans had seemed hopeless, his own corpse lying in the street, he had secretly been victorious. I refuse to give up, she thought, straightening. I refuse to accept their deaths until I hold their corpses in my arms. She raised a hand and pounded on the door. Immediately, the sounds inside stopped. Vin extinguished her tin as the door creaked open. Skaa, especially country skaa, were skittish things. She'd probably have to— "Oh, you poor thing!" the woman exclaimed, pulling the door open the rest of the way. "Come in out of that snow. What are you doing out there!" Vin hesitated. The woman was dressed simply, but the clothing was well made to stave off the winter. The firepit in the center of the room glowed with a welcome warmth. "Child?" the woman asked. Behind, a stocky, bearded man rose to place a hand on the woman's shoulder and study Vin. "Pewter," Vin said quietly. "I need pewter." The couple looked at each other, frowning. They probably thought her mind addled. After all, how must she look, hair drenched by the snow, clothing wet and stuck with ash? She only wore simple riding clothing—trousers and a nondescript cloak. "Why don't you come inside, child?" the man suggested. "Have something to eat. Then we can talk about where you came from. Where are your parents?" Lord Ruler! Vin thought with annoyance. I don't look that young, do I? She threw a Soothing on the couple, suppressing their concern and suspicion. Then, she Rioted their willingness to help. She wasn't as good as Breeze, but she wasn't unpracticed, either. The couple immediately relaxed. "I don't have much time," Vin said. "Pewter." "The lord had some fine diningware in his home," the man said slowly. "But we traded most of that for clothing and farming equipment. I think there are a couple of goblets left. Master Cled—our elder—has them in the other hovel. . .." "That might work," Vin said. Though the metal probably won't be mixed with Allomantic percentages in mind. It would probably have too much silver or not enough tin, making the pewter work more weakly than it would otherwise. The couple frowned, then looked at the
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others in the hovel. Vin felt despair crawl back into her chest. What was she thinking? Even if the pewter were of the right alloy, it would take time to shave it and produce enough for her to use in running. Pewter burned relatively quickly. She'd need a lot of it. Preparing it could take almost as much time as simply walking to Luthadel. She turned, looking south, through the dark, snowy sky. Even with pewter, it would take hours more running. What she really needed was a spikeway—a path marked by spikes driven in the ground that an Allomancer could push against, throwing themselves through the air again and again. On such an organized pathway, she'd once traveled from Luthadel to Fellise—an hour's carriage ride—in under ten minutes. But there was no spikeway from this village to Luthadel; there weren't even ones along the main canal routes. They were too hard to set up, too specific in their usefulness, to be worth the bother of running them long distances. . .. Vin turned, causing the skaa couple to jump. Perhaps they'd noticed the daggers in her belt, or perhaps it was the look in her eyes, but they no longer looked quite as friendly as they had before. "Is that a stable?" Vin said, nodding toward one of the dark buildings. "Yes," the man said hesitantly. "But we have no horses. Only a couple of goats and cows. Surely you don't want to—" "Horseshoes," Vin said. The man frowned. "I need horseshoes," Vin said. "A lot of them." "Follow me," the man said, responding to her Soothing. He led her out into the cold afternoon. Others followed behind them, and Vin noticed a couple of men casually carrying cudgels. Perhaps it wasn't just Elend's protection that had allowed these people to remain unmolested. The stocky man threw his weight against the stable door, pushing it to the side. He pointed to a barrel inside. "They were getting rusty anyway," he said. Vin walked up to the barrel and took out a horseshoe, testing its weight. Then she tossed it up in front of her and Pushed it with a solid flare of steel. It shot away, arcing far through the air until it splashed into a pool some hundred paces away. Perfect, she thought. The skaa men were staring. Vin reached into her pocket and pulled out one of her metal vials, downing its contents and restoring her pewter. She didn't have much of it left by pewter-dragging standards, but she had plenty of steel and iron. Both burned slowly. She could Push and Pull on metals for hours yet. "Prepare your village," she said, burning pewter, then counting out ten horseshoes. "Luthadel is besieged—it might have fallen already. If you get word that it has, I suggest you take your people and move to Terris. Follow the imperial canal directly to the north." "Who are you?" the man asked. "Nobody of consequence." He paused. "You're her, aren't you?" She didn't need to ask what he meant. She simply dropped a
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horseshoe to the ground behind her. "Yes," she said quietly, then Pushed off of the shoe. Immediately, she shot into the air at an angle. As she began to fall, she dropped another horseshoe. However, she waited until she was near the ground to Push against this one; she needed to keep herself going more forward than up. She'd done all this before. It wasn't that different from using coins to jump around. The trick was going to be to keep herself moving. As she Pushed against the second horseshoe—propelling herself into the snowy air again—she reached behind herself and Pulled hard on the first horseshoe. The horseshoe wasn't connected to anything, so it leaped into the air after her, crossing the distance through the sky as Vin dropped a third shoe to the ground. She let go of the first shoe, its momentum carrying it through the air above her head. It fell to the ground as she Pushed against the third shoe and Pulled on the second one, now far behind her. This is going to be tough, Vin thought, frowning with concentration as she passed over the first shoe and Pushed on it. However, she didn't get the angle right, and she fell too far before Pushing. The horseshoe shot out behind her, and didn't give her enough upward momentum to keep her in the air. She hit the ground hard, but immediately Pulled the shoe to herself and tried again. The first few tries were slow. The biggest problem was getting the angle down. She had to hit the shoe just right, giving it enough downward force to keep it in place on the ground, but enough forward motion to keep her moving in the right direction. She had to land often that first hour, going back to fetch horseshoes. However, she didn't have time for much experimentation, and her determination insisted that she get the process right. Eventually, she had three shoes working pretty well; it helped that the ground was wet, and that her weight pressed the horseshoes down in the mud, giving her a stronger anchor to use when Pushing herself forward. Soon she was able to add a fourth shoe. The more frequently she Pushed—the more horseshoes she had to Push against—the faster she would go. By the time she was an hour out of the village, she added a fifth shoe. The result was a continuous flow of flipping metal chunks. Vin Pulled, then Pushed, then Pulled, then Pushed, moving with continual single-mindedness, juggling herself through the air. The ground raced beneath her and horseshoes shot through the air above her. The wind became a roar as she Pushed herself faster and faster, steering her pathway to the south. She was a flurry of metal and motion—as Kelsier had been, near the end, when he had killed the Inquisitor. Except, her metal wasn't meant to kill, but save. I might not arrive in time, she thought, air rushing around her. But I'm not going to give up halfway. I have a young nephew,
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one Rashek. He hates all of Khlennium with the passion of envious youth. He hates Alendi even more acutely—though the two have never met—for Rashek feels betrayed that one of our oppressors should have been chosen as the Hero of Ages. STRAFF WAS ACTUALLY STARTING TO feel quite well as his army crested the last hill to overlook Luthadel. He'd discreetly tried a few drugs from his cabinet, and he was pretty certain he knew which one Amaranta had given him: Black Frayn. A nasty drug indeed. He'd have to wean himself from it slowly—but, for now, a few swallowed leaves made him stronger and more alert than he'd ever been before. In fact, he felt wonderful. He was sure the same couldn't be said for those in Luthadel. The koloss pooled around the outer wall, still beating on several of the gates on the north and east sides. Smoke rose from inside the city. "Our scouts say the creatures have broken through four of the city gates, my lord," said Lord Janarle. "They breached the eastern gate first, and there met with heavy resistance. The northeastern gate fell next, then the northwestern gate, but the troops at both are holding as well. The main breach happened in the north. The koloss are apparently ravaging from that direction, burning and looting." Straff nodded. The northern gate, he thought. The one closest to Keep Venture. "Do we attack, my lord?" Janarle asked. "How long ago did the northern gate fall?" "Perhaps an hour ago, my lord." Straff shook his head leisurely. "Then, let us wait. The creatures worked quite hard to break into the city—we should at least let them have a little fun before we slaughter them." "Are you sure, my lord?" Straff smiled. "Once they lose their bloodlust in a few hours, they'll be tired from all the fighting and calm down. That will be the best time to strike. They'll be dispersed through the city and weakened from the resistance. We can take them easily, that way." Sazed gripped his koloss opponent by the throat, forcing back its snarling, distorted face. The beast's skin was stretched so tightly that it had split down the center of the face, revealing bloody muscles above the teeth, around the nose holes. It breathed with husky rage, spraying droplets of spittle and blood across Sazed with each exhalation. Strength! Sazed thought, tapping his pewtermind for more power. His body became so massive that he feared splitting his own skin. Fortunately, his metalminds had been built to expand, braces and rings that didn't connect on one side so that they could bend. Still, his bulk was daunting. He probably wouldn't have been able to walk or maneuver with such size—but it didn't matter, for the koloss had already knocked him to the ground. All he needed was some extra power in his grip. The creature clawed him in the arm with one hand, reaching behind with the other, grasping its sword. . .. Sazed's fingers finally crushed the beast's thick neck. The creature tried to
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snarl, but no breath came, and it instead thrashed about in frustration. Sazed forced himself to his feet, then hurled the creature toward its companions. With such unnatural strength, even a body eleven feet tall felt light in his fingers. It smashed into a pile of attacking koloss, forcing them backward. Sazed stood, gasping. I'm using my strength up so quickly, he thought, releasing his pewtermind, his body deflating like a wineskin. He couldn't continue tapping his reserves so much. He'd already used up a good half of his strength—strength that had taken decades to store. He still hadn't used his rings, but he had only a few minutes of each attribute in those. They would wait for an emergency. And that might be what I'm facing now, he thought with dread. They still held Steel Gate Square. Though koloss had broken through the gate, only a few could pass through at once—and only the most massive seemed able to jump up to the wall. Sazed's little troop of soldiers was sorely pressed, however. Bodies lay scattered in the courtyard. The skaa faithful at the back had begun pulling the wounded to safety. Sazed could hear them groaning behind him. Koloss corpses littered the square as well, and despite the carnage, Sazed couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at how much it was costing the creatures to force their way inside this portal. Luthadel was not falling easily. Not at all. The koloss seemed rebuffed for the moment, and though several skirmishes still continued in the courtyard, a new group of monsters was gathering outside the gate. Outside the gate, Sazed thought, glancing to the side. The creatures had cared to break open only one of the massive door gates, the right one. There were corpses in the square—dozens, perhaps hundreds—but the koloss themselves had cleared many out of the way of the gate itself so that they could get into the courtyard. Perhaps. . . Sazed didn't have time to think. He dashed forward, tapping his pewtermind again, giving himself the strength of five men. He picked up the body of a smaller koloss and threw it out the gate. The creatures outside snarled, scattering. There were still hundreds waiting for the chance to get in, but they tripped over the dead in their haste to get out of the way of his projectile. Sazed slipped on blood as he grabbed a second body, throwing it to the side. "To me!" he screamed, hoping that there were men who could hear, and who could respond. The koloss realized what he was doing too late. He kicked another body out of the way, then slammed his body against the open door and tapped his ironmind, drawing forth the weight he had stored within it. Immediately, he became far heavier, and that weight crashed against the gate, slamming it closed. Koloss rushed at the doorway from the other side. Sazed scrambled up against the gate, pushing corpses out of the way, forcing the massive portal closed all the way. He tapped
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his ironmind further, draining its precious reserve at an alarming rate. He became so heavy he felt his own weight crushing him to the ground, and only his increased strength managed to keep him on his feet. Frustrated koloss pounded on the gate, but he held. Held them back, hands and chest pressed against the rough wood, toes wedged back against uneven cobbles. With his brassmind, he didn't even feel the cold, though ash, snow, and blood mixed at his feet. Men cried out. Some died. Others slammed their own weight against the gate, and Sazed spared a glance behind. The rest of his soldiers set up a perimeter, protecting the gate from the koloss inside the city. The men fought bravely, backs to the gate, only Sazed's power keeping the portal from flying open. And yet, they fought. Sazed cried out in defiance, feet slipping, holding the gate as his soldiers killed the remaining koloss in the courtyard. Then, a group of them rushed in from the side, bearing with them a large length of wood. Sazed didn't know where they'd gotten it, nor did he care, as they slid it into place where the gate bar had been. His weight ran out, the ironmind empty. I should have stored more of that, over the years, he thought with a sigh of exhaustion, sinking down before the closed gate. It had seemed like a lot, until he'd been forced to use it so often, using it to shove away koloss or the like. I usually just stored up weight as a side effect of making myself lighter. That always seemed the more useful way to use iron. He released pewter, and felt his body deflating. Fortunately, stretching his body in such a manner didn't leave his skin loose. He went back to his usual self, only bearing a dreadful sense of exhaustion and a faint soreness. The koloss continued to beat on the gate. Sazed opened tired eyes, lying bare-chested in the falling snow and ash. His soldiers stood solemnly before him. So few, he thought. Barely fifty remained of his original four hundred. The square itself was red—as if painted—with bright koloss blood, and it mixed with the darker human kind. Sickly blue lumps of bodies lay alone or in heaps, interspersed with the twisted and torn pieces that were often all that remained of human bodies once they were hit by the brutal koloss swords. The thumping continued, like low drums, on the other side of the gate. The beating picked up to a frenzied pace, the gate shaking, as the koloss grew more frustrated. They could probably smell the blood, feel the flesh that had so nearly been theirs. "That board won't hold for long," one of the soldiers said quietly, a bit of ash floating down in front of his face. "And the hinges are splintering. They're going to get through again." Sazed stumbled to his feet. "And we will fight again." "My lord!" a voice said. Sazed turned to see one of Dockson's messengers ride around
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a pile of corpses. "Lord Dockson says that. . ." He trailed off, noticing for the first time that Sazed's gate was closed. "How. . ." the man began. "Deliver your message, young man," Sazed said tiredly. "Lord Dockson says you won't get any reinforcements," the man said, reining in his horse. "Tin Gate has fallen, and—" "Tin Gate?" Sazed asked. Tindwyl! "When?" "Over an hour ago, my lord." An hour? he thought with shock. How long have we been fighting? "You have to hold here, my lord!" the young man said, turning and galloping back the way he had come. Sazed took a step to the east. Tindwyl. . .. The thumping on his gate grew louder, and the board began to crack. The men ran for something else to use to secure the gate, but Sazed could see that the mountings that kept the board in place were beginning to pull apart. Once they went, there would be no way to hold the gate closed. Sazed closed his eyes, feeling the weight of fatigue, reaching into his pewtermind. It was nearly drained. After it was gone, he'd only have the tiny bit of strength in one of the rings. Yet, what else could he do? He heard the board snap, and men yelled. "Back!" Clubs yelled. "Fall into the city!" The remnants of their army broke apart, pulling back from Zinc Gate. Breeze watched with horror as more and more koloss spilled into the square, overrunning the few men too weak or too wounded to retreat. The creatures swept forward like a great blue tide, a tide with swords of steel and eyes of red. In the sky, the sun—only faintly visible behind storm clouds—was a bleeding scar that crept toward the horizon. "Breeze," Clubs snapped, pulling him back. "Time to go." Their horses had long since bolted. Breeze stumbled after the general, trying not to listen to the snarling from behind. "Fall back to the harrying positions!" Clubs called to those men who could hear him. "First squad, shore up inside Keep Lekal! Lord Hammond should be there by now, preparing the defenses! Squad two, with me to Keep Hasting!" Breeze continued on, his mind as numb as his feet. He'd been virtually useless in the battle. He'd tried to take away the men's fear, but his efforts had seemed so inadequate. Like. . .holding a piece of paper up to the sun to make shade. Clubs held up a hand, and the squad of two hundred men stopped. Breeze looked around. The street was quiet in the falling ash and snow. Everything seemed. . .dull. The sky was dim, the city's features softened by the blanket of black-speckled snow. It seemed so strange to have fled the horrific scene of scarlet and blue to find the city looking so lazy. "Damn!" Clubs snapped, pushing Breeze out of the way as a raging group of koloss burst from a side street. Clubs's soldiers fell into a line, but another group of koloss—the creatures that had just burst through the
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gate—came up behind them. Breeze stumbled, falling in the snow. That other group. . .it came from the north! The creatures have infiltrated the city this far already? "Clubs!" Breeze said, turning. "We—" Breeze looked just in time to see a massive koloss sword sheer through Clubs's upraised arm, then continue on to hit the general in the ribs. Clubs grunted, thrown to the side, his sword arm—weapon and all—flying free. He stumbled on his bad leg, and the koloss brought his sword down in a two-handed blow. The dirty snow finally got some color. A splash of red. Breeze stared, dumbfounded, at the remains of his friend's corpse. Then the koloss turned toward Breeze, snarling. The likelihood of his own impending death hit, stirring him as even the cold snow couldn't. Breeze scrambled back, sliding in the snow, instinctively reaching out to try and Soothe the creature. Of course, nothing happened. Breeze tried to get to his feet, and the koloss—along with several others—began to bear down on him. At that moment, however, another troop of soldiers fleeing the gate appeared from a cross street, distracting the koloss. Breeze did the only thing that seemed natural. He crawled inside a building and hid. "This is all Kelsier's fault," Dockson muttered, making another notation on his map. According to messengers, Ham had reached Keep Lekal. It wouldn't last long. The Venture grand hall was a flurry of motion and chaos as panicked scribes ran this way and that, finally realizing that koloss didn't care if a man were skaa, scholar, nobleman, or merchant. The creatures just liked to kill. "He should have seen this coming," Dockson continued. "He left us with this mess, and then he just assumed that we'd find a way to fix it. Well, I can't hide a city from its enemies—not like I hid a crew. Just because we were excellent thieves doesn't mean we'd be any good at running a kingdom!" Nobody was listening to him. His messengers had all fled, and his guards fought at the keep gates. Each of the keeps had its own defenses, but Clubs—rightly—had decided to use them only as a fallback option. They weren't designed to repel a large-scale attack, and they were too secluded from each other. Retreating to them only fractured and isolated the human army. "Our real problem is follow-through," Dockson said, making a final notation at Tin Gate, explaining what had happened there. He looked over the map. He'd never expected Sazed's gate to be the last one to hold. "Follow-through," he continued. "We assumed we could do a better job than the noblemen, but once we had the power, we put them back in charge. If we'd killed the whole lot, perhaps then we could have started fresh. Of course, that would have meant invading the other dominances—which would have meant sending Vin to take care of the most important, most problematic, noblemen. There would have been a slaughter like the Final Empire had never seen. And, if we'd done that. . ." He trailed off,
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looking up as one of the massive, majestic stained-glass windows shattered. The others began to explode as well, broken by thrown rocks. A few large koloss jumped through the holes, landing on the shard-strewn marble floor. Even broken, the windows were beautiful, the spiked glass edges twinkling in the evening light. Through one of them, Dockson could see that the storm was breaking, letting sunlight through. "If we'd done that," Dockson said quietly, "we'd have been no better than beasts." Scribes screamed, trying to flee as the koloss began the slaughter. Dockson stood quietly, hearing noise behind—grunts, harsh breathing—as koloss approached through the back hallways. He reached for the sword on his table as men began to die. He closed his eyes. You know, Kell, he thought. I almost started to believe that they were right, that you were watching over us. That you were some sort of god. He opened his eyes and turned, pulling the sword from its sheath. Then he froze, staring at the massive beast approaching from behind. So big! Dockson gritted his teeth, sending a final curse Kelsier's way, then charged, swinging. The creature caught his weapon in an indifferent hand, ignoring the cut it caused. Then, it brought its own weapon down, and blackness followed. "My lord," Janarle said. "The city has fallen. Look, you can see it burning. The koloss have penetrated all but one of the four gates under attack, and they run wild in the city. They aren't stopping to pillage—they're just killing. Slaughtering. There aren't many soldiers left to oppose them." Straff sat quietly, watching Luthadel burn. It seemed. . .a symbol to him. A symbol of justice. He'd fled this city once, leaving it to the skaa vermin inside, and when he'd come back to demand it be returned to him, the people had resisted. They had been defiant. They had earned this. "My lord," Janarle said. "The koloss army is weakened enough already. Their numbers are hard to count, but the corpses they left behind indicate that as much as a third of their force has fallen. We can take them!" "No," Straff said, shaking his head. "Not yet." "My lord?" Janarle said. "Let the koloss have the damn city," Straff said quietly. "Let them clear it out and burn the whole thing to the ground. Fires can't hurt our atium—in fact, they'll probably make the metal easier to find." "I. . ." Janarle seemed shocked. He didn't object further, but his eyes were rebellious. I'll have to take care of him later, Straff thought. He'll rise against me if he finds that Zane is gone. That didn't matter at the moment. The city had rejected him, and so it would die. He'd build a better one in its place. One dedicated to Straff, not the Lord Ruler. "Father!" Allrianne said urgently. Cett shook his head. He sat on his horse, beside his daughter's horse, on a hill to the west of Luthadel. He could see Straff's army, gathered to the north, watching—as he watched—the death throes of a doomed
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