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The Well of Ascension

The Well of Ascension

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The Well of Ascension

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The Well of Ascension

FOR PHYLLIS CALL,

Who may never understand my fantasy books,

yet who taught me more about life

—and therefore writing—

than she can probably ever know

(Thanks, Grandma!)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First off, as always, my excellent agent, Joshua Bilmes, and editor, Moshe Feder, deserve high praise for their efforts. This book in particular required some thoughtful drafting, and they were up to the task. They have my thanks, as do their assistants, Steve Mancino (an excellent agent in his own right) and Denis Wong.

There are some other fine folks at Tor who deserve my thanks. Larry Yoder (the best sales rep in the nation) did a wonderful job selling the book. Seth Lerner, Tor’s mass market art director, is a genius at matching books to artists. And, speaking of artists, I think the amazing Christian McGrath did a brilliant job with this cover. More can be seen at christianmcgrath.com. Isaac Stewart, a good friend of mine and a fellow writer, did all of the map work and the symbols for the chapter headings. Find him at nethermore.com. Shawn Boyles is the official Mistborn Llama artist, and a great guy to boot. Check my Web site for more information. Finally, I’d like to thank the Tor publicity department—specifically Dot Lin—which has been wonderful in promoting my books and taking care of me. Thank you so much, all of you!

Another round of thanks needs to go out to my alpha readers. These tireless folks provide feedback on my novels in the early stages, dealing with all of the problems, typos, and inconsistencies before I get them worked out. In no particular order, these people are:

Ben Olsen, Krista Olsen, Nathan Goodrich, Ethan Skarstedt, Eric J. Ehlers, Jillena O’Brien, C. Lee Player, Kimball Larsen, Bryce Cundick, Janci Patterson, Heather Kirby, Sally Taylor, The Almighty Pronoun, Bradley Reneer, Holly Venable, Jimmy, Alan Layton, Janette Layton, Kaylynn ZoBell, Rick Stranger, Nate Hatfield, Daniel A. Wells, Stacy Whitman, Sarah Bylund, and Benjamin R. Olsen.

A special thanks goes to the people at the Provo Waldenbooks for their support. Sterling, Robin, Ashley, and the terrible duo of Steve “Bookstore Guy” Diamond and Ryan McBride (who were also alpha readers). Also, I must acknowledge my brother, Jordan, for his work on my Web site (along with Jeff Creer). Jordo also is the official “keep Brandon’s head on straight” guy, with his solemn duty being to make fun of me and my books.

My mother, father, and sisters are always a wonderful help as well. If I forgot any alpha readers, I’m sorry! I’ll put you in twice next time. Note, Peter Ahlstrom, I didn’t forget you—I just decided to stick you in late to make you sweat a bit.

Finally, my thanks go out to my wonderful wife, whom I married during the editing process of this book. Emily, I love you!

PREFACE

PREFACE

The Well of Ascension was one of the most difficult books of my career. In fact, the only one I can think of that was harder to write was the final book of the Wheel of Time. (And a large measure of that book’s difficulty had to do with expectations.)

If you were to jump back to 2005, when I was writing The Well of Ascension, you’d find in me a largely untested writer with a (perhaps) disproportionate measure of confidence. As I’ve mentioned on numerous occasions, I wrote over a dozen novels before I published one—and this path to publication created in me a strange mix of naiveté and experience.

I’d spent years experimenting with my personal style, and was quite satisfied with it. I’d dealt with rejection, and had spent years learning to write during a time when I didn’t know if this would ever be more than a hobby. I’d come to terms with the fact that I might remain unpublished for the rest of my life, but I kept going. This understanding, paradoxically, left me self-assured. I knew I loved writing. No bad review or market failure could provoke in me a crisis stronger than the ones I’d already been through.

At the same time, there were some things I’d just never done, or at least had done rarely—and at the top of that list was sequels. (Fourteen books into my career, I’d still only written a single sequel.) Almost all of my books had been new worlds, with new magic systems and new characters. That was what I’d practiced, yet there were things I wanted to do with storytelling that required a series.

I came into The Well of Ascension with my characteristic optimism, and then learned firsthand how difficult it can be to take characters and dig into them further. The first book gave me almost no trouble, but this book fell apart at the ending, and had huge pacing problems all the way through. But then, like so many things in life, the bigger the challenge, the more growth it brings. Fixing this book between drafts led to some of my most important growth as a writer.

Perhaps ironic in all of this is that The Well of Ascension was the story I first wanted to tell. I’d been tempted to skip the story of the fall of the Lord Ruler, because I worried about retreading too much familiar ground. Everyone wrote stories about bringing down an empire—but I’d rarely seen a story about revolutionaries forced to become politicians. What happens after you topple a government? Building something up is always harder than tearing something down.

This is the book where I really found time to dig into character motives and to force-feed them some hard questions. What is the line between safety and freedom? What do you do when your ideals fail you? What do you do when you go from being an outlaw to enforcing the law?

I’m extremely proud of this book. It proved to me that I can fix something broken, and that the pain of drafts and revision can yield truly exceptional results. It made good on my dreams, and let me prove to myself that I could write about character and theme—not just about some wacky magic system and setting.

In some ways, it was easy for Kelsier—in Mistborn: The Final Empire—to speak of hope. This is the book that reminds us that such hope and lofty ideals sometimes have a price.

The Well of Ascension

The Well of Ascension

The Well of Ascension

The Well of Ascension

PART ONE

HEIR OF THE SURVIVOR

The Well of Ascension

I write these words in steel, for anything not set in metal cannot be trusted.

The Well of Ascension

1

THE ARMY CREPT LIKE A dark stain across the horizon.

King Elend Venture stood motionless upon the Luthadel city wall, looking out at the enemy troops. Around him, ash fell from the sky in fat, lazy flakes. It wasn’t the burnt white ash that one saw in dead coals; this was a harsher black ash. The Ashmounts had been particularly active lately.

Elend felt the ash dust his face and clothing, but he ignored it. In the distance, the bloodred sun was close to setting. It backlit the army that had come to take Elend’s kingdom from him.

“How many?” Elend asked quietly.

“Fifty thousand, we think,” Ham said, leaning against the parapet, beefy arms folded on the stone. Like everything in the city, the wall had been stained black by countless years of ashfalls.

“Fifty thousand soldiers…” Elend said, trailing off. Despite heavy recruitment, Elend had barely twenty thousand men under his command—and they were peasants with less than a year of training. Maintaining even that small number was straining his resources. If they’d been able to find the Lord Ruler’s atium, perhaps things would be different. As it was, Elend’s rule was in serious danger of economic disaster.

“What do you think?” Elend asked.

“I don’t know, El,” Ham said quietly. “Kelsier was always the one with the vision.”

“But you helped him plan,” Elend said. “You and the others, you were his crew. You were the ones who came up with a strategy for overthrowing the empire, then made it happen.”

Ham fell silent, and Elend felt as if he knew what the man was thinking. Kelsier was central to it all. He was the one who organized, the one who took all the wild brainstorming and turned it into a viable operation. He was the leader. The genius.

And he’d died a year before, on the very same day that the people—as part of his secret plan—had risen up in fury to overthrow their god-emperor. Elend had taken the throne in the ensuing chaos. Now it was looking more and more like he would lose everything that Kelsier and his crew had worked so hard to accomplish. Lose it to a tyrant who might be even worse than the Lord Ruler. A petty, devious bully in “noble” form. The man who had marched his army on Luthadel.

Elend’s own father, Straff Venture.

“Any chance you can talk him out of attacking?” Ham asked.

“Maybe,” Elend said hesitantly. “Assuming the Assembly doesn’t simply surrender the city.”

“They close?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I worry that they are. That army has frightened them, Ham.” And with good reason. “Anyway, I have a proposal for the meeting in two days. I’ll try to talk them out of doing anything rash. Dockson got back today, right?”

Ham nodded. “Just before the army’s advance.”

“I think we should call a meeting of the crew,” Elend said. “See if we can come up with a way out of this.”

“We’ll still be pretty shorthanded,” Ham said, rubbing his chin. “Spook isn’t supposed to be back for another week, and the Lord Ruler only knows where Breeze went. We haven’t had a message from him in months.”

Elend sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t think of anything else, Ham.” He turned, staring out over the ashen landscape again. The army was lighting campfires as the sun set. Soon the mists would appear.

I need to get back to the palace and work on that proposal, Elend thought.

“Where’d Vin run off to?” Ham asked, turning back to Elend.

Elend hesitated. “You know,” he said, “I’m not sure.”

Vin landed softly on the damp cobblestones, watching as the mists began to form around her. They puffed into existence as darkness fell, growing like tangles of translucent vines, twisting and wrapping around one another.

The great city of Luthadel was still. Even now, a year after the Lord Ruler’s death and the rise of Elend’s new free government, the common people stayed in their homes at night. They feared the mists, a tradition that went far deeper than the Lord Ruler’s laws.

Vin slipped forward quietly, senses alert. Inside herself, as always, she burned tin and pewter. Tin enhanced her senses, making it easier for her to see in the night. Pewter made her body stronger, made her lighter on her feet. These, along with copper—which had the power to hide her use of Allomancy from others who were burning bronze—were metals that she left on almost all the time.

Some called her paranoid. She thought herself prepared. Either way, the habit had saved her life on numerous occasions.

She approached a quiet street corner and stopped, peeking out. She’d never really understood how she burned metals; she could remember doing it for as long as she’d been alive, using Allomancy instinctively even before she was formally trained by Kelsier. It didn’t really matter to her. She wasn’t like Elend; she didn’t need a logical explanation for everything. For Vin, it was enough that when she swallowed bits of metal, she was able to draw upon their power.

Power she appreciated, for she well knew what it was like to lack it. Even now, she was not what one would likely envision as a warrior. Slight of frame and barely five feet tall, with dark hair and pale skin, she knew she had an almost frail look about her. She no longer displayed the underfed look she had during her childhood on the streets, but she certainly wasn’t someone any man would find intimidating.

She liked that. It gave her an edge—and she needed every edge she could get.

She also liked the night. During the day, Luthadel was cramped and confining despite its size. But at night the mists fell like a deep cloud. They dampened, softened, shaded. Massive keeps became shadowed mountains, and crowded tenements melted together like a chandler’s rejected wares.

Vin crouched beside her building, still watching the intersection. Carefully, she reached within herself and burned steel—one of the other metals she’d swallowed earlier. Immediately a group of translucent blue lines sprang up around her. Visible only to her eyes, the lines pointed from her chest to nearby sources of metal—all metals, no matter what type. The thickness of the lines was proportionate to the size of the metal pieces they met. Some pointed to bronze door latches, others to crude iron nails holding boards together.

She waited silently. None of the lines moved. Burning steel was an easy way to tell if someone was moving nearby. If they were wearing bits of metal, they would trail telltale moving lines of blue. Of course, that wasn’t the main purpose of steel. Vin reached her hand carefully into her belt pouch and pulled out one of the many coins that sat within, muffled by cloth batting. Like all other bits of metal, this coin had a blue line extending from its center to Vin’s chest.

She flipped the coin into the air, then mentally grabbed its line and—burning steel—Pushed on the coin. The bit of metal shot into the air, arcing through the mists, forced away by the Push. It plinked to the ground in the middle of the street.

The mists continued to spin. They were thick and mysterious, even to Vin. More dense than a simple fog and more constant than any normal weather pattern, they churned and flowed, making rivulets around her. Her tin-enhanced eyes could pierce them; the night seemed lighter to her, the mists less thick. Yet they were still there.

A shadow moved in the city square, responding to her coin—which she had Pushed there as a signal. Vin crept forward, and recognized OreSeur the kandra. He wore a different body than he had a year ago, during the days when he had acted the part of Lord Renoux. Yet this balding, nondescript body had now become just as familiar to Vin.

OreSeur met up with her. “Did you find what you were looking for, mistress?” he asked, tone respectful—yet still a little hostile. As always.

Vin shook her head, glancing around in the darkness. “Maybe I was wrong,” she said. “Maybe I wasn’t being followed.” The acknowledgment made her a bit sad. She’d been looking forward to sparring with the Watcher again tonight. She still didn’t even know who he was; the first night, she’d mistaken him for an assassin. And maybe he was. Yet he seemed to display very little interest in Elend—and a whole lot of interest in Vin.

“We should go back to the wall,” Vin decided, standing up. “Elend will be wondering where I went.”

OreSeur nodded. At that moment, a burst of coins shot through the mists, spraying toward Vin.

The Well of Ascension

I have begun to wonder if I am the only sane man left. Can the others not see? They have been waiting so long for their hero to come—the one spoken of in Terris prophecies—that they quickly jump to conclusions, presuming that each story and legend applies to this one man.

The Well of Ascension

2

VIN REACTED IMMEDIATELY, SPRINGING AWAY. She moved with incredible speed, tasseled cloak swirling as she skidded across the wet cobblestones. The coins hit the ground behind her, throwing out chips of stone, then leaving trails in the mist as they ricocheted away.

“OreSeur, go!” she snapped, though he was already fleeing toward a nearby alleyway.

Vin spun into a low crouch, hands and feet on the cool stones, Allomantic metals flaring in her stomach. She burned steel, watching the translucent blue lines appear around her. She waited, tense, watching for …

Another group of coins shot from the dark mists, each one trailing a blue line. Vin immediately flared steel and Pushed against the coins, deflecting them out into the darkness.

The night fell still again.

The street around her was wide for Luthadel, though tenements rose high on either side. Mist spun lazily, making the ends of the street disappear into a haze.

A group of eight men appeared from the mists and approached. Vin smiled. She had been right: Someone was following her. But these men weren’t the Watcher. They didn’t have his solid grace, his sense of power. These men were something far more blunt. Assassins.

It made sense. If she had arrived with an army to conquer Luthadel, the first thing she’d have done was send a group of Allomancers to kill Elend.

She felt a sudden pressure at her side, and she cursed as she was thrown off balance, her coin pouch jerking away from her waist. She ripped its string free, letting the enemy Allomancer Push the coins away from her. The assassins had at least one Coinshot—a Misting who had the power to burn steel and Push on metals. In fact, two of the assassins trailed blue lines pointing to coin pouches of their own. Vin considered returning the favor and Pushing their pouches away, but hesitated. No need to play her hand yet. She might need those coins.

Without coins of her own, she couldn’t attack from a distance. If this was a good team, then attacking from a distance would be pointless—their Coinshots and Lurchers would be ready to deal with Pushed coins. Fleeing wasn’t an option either. These men hadn’t come for her alone; if she fled, they’d continue on to their real goal.

Nobody sent assassins to kill bodyguards. Assassins killed important men. Men like Elend Venture, king of the Central Dominance. The man she loved.

Vin flared pewter—body growing tense, alert, dangerous. Four Thugs at the front, she thought, eyeing the advancing men. The pewter burners would be inhumanly strong, capable of surviving a great deal of physical punishment. Very dangerous up close. And the one carrying the wooden shield is a Lurcher.

She feinted forward, causing the approaching Thugs to jump backward. Eight Mistings against one Mistborn was decent odds for them—but only if they were careful. The two Coinshots moved up the sides of the street, so that they’d be able to Push at her from both directions. The last man, standing quietly beside the Lurcher, had to be a Smoker—relatively unimportant in a fight, his purpose was to hide his team from enemy Allomancers.

Eight Mistings. Kelsier could have done it; he’d killed an Inquisitor. She wasn’t Kelsier. She had yet to decide if that was a bad or a good thing.

Vin took a deep breath, wishing she had a bit of atium to spare, and burned iron. This let her Pull on a nearby coin—one of those that had been shot at her—much as steel would have let her Push on it. She caught it, dropped it, then jumped, making as if to Push on the coin and shoot herself into the air.

One of the Coinshots, however, Pushed against it first, shooting it away. Since Allomancy would only let a person Push directly away from—or Pull directly toward—their body, Vin was left without a decent anchor. Pushing against the coin would only shoot her sideways.

She dropped back to the ground.

Let them think they have me trapped, she thought, crouching in the center of the street. The Thugs approached a little more confidently. Yes, Vin thought. I know what you’re thinking. This is the Mistborn who killed the Lord Ruler? This scrawny thing? Can it be possible?

I wonder the same thing myself.

The first Thug ducked in to attack, and Vin burst into motion. Obsidian daggers flashed in the night as she ripped them free from their sheaths, and blood sprayed black in the darkness as she ducked beneath the Thug’s staff and slashed her weapons across his thighs.

The man cried out. The night was no longer silent.

Men cursed as Vin moved through them. The Thug’s partner attacked her—blurringly fast, his muscles fueled by pewter. His staff whipped a tassel from Vin’s mistcloak as she threw herself to the ground, then pushed herself back up out of a third Thug’s reach.

A spray of coins flew toward her. Vin reached out and Pushed on them. The Coinshot continued his Push as well—and Vin’s Push smashed against his.

Pushing and Pulling metals was all about weight. And—with the coins between them—that meant Vin’s weight was slammed against the assassin’s weight. Both were tossed backward. Vin shot out of a Thug’s reach; the Coinshot fell to the ground.

A flurry of coins came at her from the other direction. Still tumbling in the air, Vin flared steel, giving herself an extra burst of power. Blue lines were a jumbled mess, but she didn’t need to isolate the coins to Push them all away.

This Coinshot let go of his missiles as soon as he felt Vin’s touch. The bits of metal scattered out into the mists.

Vin hit the cobblestones shoulder-first. She rolled—flaring pewter to enhance her balance—and flipped to her feet. At the same time, she burned iron and Pulled hard on the disappearing coins.

They shot back toward her. As soon as they got close, Vin jumped to the side and Pushed them toward the approaching Thugs. The coins immediately veered aside, twisting through the mists toward the Lurcher—his one Allomantic power as a Misting was to Pull with iron.

He did this effectively, protecting the Thugs. He raised his shield and grunted from the impact as the coins hit it and bounced away.

Vin was already moving again. She ran directly for the now exposed Coinshot to her left, the one who had fallen to the ground. The man yelped in surprise, and the other Coinshot tried to distract Vin, but he was too slow.

The Coinshot died with an obsidian dagger in his chest. He was no Thug; he couldn’t burn pewter to enhance his body. Vin pulled out her dagger, then yanked his pouch free. He gurgled quietly and collapsed back to the stones.

One, Vin thought, spinning, sweat flying from her brow. She now faced seven men down the corridor-like street. They probably expected her to flee. Instead, she charged.

As she got close to the Thugs, she jumped—then threw down the pouch she’d taken from the dying man. The remaining Coinshot cried out, immediately Pushing it away. Vin still managed to get some lift from the coins, throwing herself in a leap directly over the heads of the Thugs.

One of them—the wounded one—had unfortunately been smart enough to remain behind to protect the Coinshot. The Thug raised his cudgel as Vin landed. She ducked his first attack, raised her dagger, and—

A blue line danced into her vision. Quick. Vin reacted immediately, twisting and Pushing against a door latch to throw herself out of the way. She hit the ground on her side, then flung herself up with one hand. She landed skidding on mist-wetted feet.

A coin hit the ground behind her, bouncing against the cobbles. It hadn’t come close to hitting her. In fact, it had seemed aimed at the remaining assassin Coinshot. He’d probably been forced to Push it away.

But who had fired it?

OreSeur? Vin wondered. But that was foolish. The kandra was no Allomancer—and besides, he wouldn’t have taken the initiative. OreSeur did only what he was expressly told.

The assassin Coinshot looked equally confused. Vin glanced up, flaring tin, and was rewarded with the sight of a man standing atop a nearby building. A dark silhouette. He didn’t even bother to hide.

It’s him, she thought. The Watcher.

The Watcher remained atop his perch, offering no further interference as the Thugs rushed Vin. She cursed as she found three staves coming at her at once. She ducked one, spun around the other, then planted a dagger in the chest of the man holding the third. He stumbled backward, but didn’t drop. Pewter kept him on his feet.

Why did the Watcher interfere? Vin thought as she jumped away. Why would he shoot that coin at a Coinshot who could obviously Push it away?

Her preoccupation with the Watcher nearly cost her her life as an unnoticed Thug charged her from the side. It was the man whose legs she’d slashed. Vin reacted barely in time to dodge his blow. But that put her into range of the other three.

All attacked at once.

She managed to twist out of the way of two of the strikes. But the third crashed into her side. The powerful blow tossed her across the street, and she collided with a shop’s wooden door. She heard a crack—from the door, fortunately, and not her bones—and she slumped to the ground, daggers lost. A normal person would be dead. Her pewter-strengthened body was tougher than that.

She gasped for breath, forcing herself up to her feet, and flared tin. The metal enhanced her senses—including her sense of pain—and the sudden shock cleared her mind. Her side ached where she’d been struck. But she couldn’t stop. Not with a Thug charging her, swinging his staff in an overhead blow.

Crouching before the doorway, Vin flared pewter and caught the staff in both hands. She growled, pulling back her left hand, then cracked her fist against the weapon, shattering the fine hardwood in a single blow. The Thug stumbled, and Vin smashed her half of the staff across his eyes.

Though dazed, he stayed on his feet. Can’t fight the Thugs, she thought. I have to keep moving.

She dashed to the side, ignoring her pain. The Thugs tried to follow, but she was lighter, thinner, and—much more important—faster. She circled them, coming back toward the Coinshot, Smoker, and Lurcher. A wounded Thug had again retreated to protect these men.

As Vin approached, the Coinshot threw a double handful of coins at her. Vin Pushed the coins away, then reached out and Pulled on the ones in the bag at the man’s waist.

The Coinshot grunted as the bag whipped toward Vin. It was tied by a short tether to his waist, and the pull of her weight jerked him forward. The Thug grabbed and steadied him.

And since her anchor couldn’t move, Vin was instead Pulled toward it. She flared her iron, flying through the air, raising a fist. The Coinshot cried out and he pulled a tie to free the bag.

Too late. Vin’s momentum carried her forward, and she drove her fist into the Coinshot’s cheek as she passed. His head spun around, neck snapping. As Vin landed, she brought her elbow up into the surprised Thug’s chin, tossing him backward. Her foot followed, crashing against the Thug’s throat.

Neither rose. That was three down. The discarded coin pouch fell to the ground, breaking and throwing a hundred sparkling bits of copper across the cobblestones around Vin. She ignored the throbbing in her elbow and faced down the Lurcher. He stood with his shield, looking strangely unworried.

A crack sounded behind her. Vin cried out, her tin-enhanced ears overamplifying the sudden sound. Pain shot through her head, and she raised hands to her ears. She’d forgotten the Smoker, who stood holding two lengths of wood, crafted to make sharp noises when pounded together.

Movements and reactions, actions and consequences—these were the essence of Allomancy. Tin made her eyes pierce the mists—giving her an edge over the assassins. But tin also made her ears extremely acute. The Smoker raised his sticks again. Vin growled and yanked a handful of coins off the cobblestones, then shot them at the Smoker. The Lurcher, of course, Pulled them toward him instead. They hit the shield and bounced free. And as they sprayed into the air, Vin carefully Pushed one so it fell behind him.

The man lowered his shield, unaware of the coin Vin had manipulated. Vin Pulled, whipping the single coin directly toward her—and into the Lurcher’s upper back. He fell without a sound.

Four.

All fell still. The Thugs running toward her drew to a stop, and the Smoker lowered his sticks. They had no Coinshots and no Lurchers—nobody that could Push or Pull metal—and Vin stood amid a field of coins. If she used them, even the Thugs would fall quickly. All she had to do was—

Another coin shot through the air, fired from the Watcher’s rooftop. Vin cursed, ducking. But the coin wasn’t aimed at her. It took the stick-holding Smoker directly in the forehead. The man toppled backward, dead.

What? Vin thought, staring at the dead man.

The Thugs charged, but Vin retreated, frowning. Why kill the Smoker? He wasn’t a threat anymore.

Unless …

Vin extinguished her copper, then burned bronze, which let her sense when other Allomancers were using powers nearby. She couldn’t feel the Thugs burning pewter. They were still being Smoked, their Allomancy hidden.

Someone else was burning copper.

Suddenly it all made sense. It made sense that the group would risk attacking a full Mistborn. It made sense that the Watcher had fired at the Coinshot. It made sense that he had killed the Smoker.

Vin was in grave danger.

She only had a moment to make her decision. She did so on a hunch, but she’d grown up on the streets, a thief and a scam artist. Hunches felt more natural to her than logic ever would.

“OreSeur!” she yelled. “Go for the palace!”

It was a code, of course. Vin jumped back, momentarily ignoring the Thugs as her servant ducked out of an alleyway. He pulled something off his belt and whipped it toward Vin: a small glass vial, the kind that Allomancers used to store metal shavings. Vin quickly Pulled the vial to her hand. A short distance away, the second Coinshot—who had lain there as if dead—now cursed and scrambled to his feet.

Vin spun, drinking the vial with a quick gulp. It contained only a single bead of metal. Atium. She couldn’t risk carrying it on her own body—couldn’t risk having it Pulled away from her during a fight. She’d ordered OreSeur to remain close this night, ready to give her the vial in an emergency.

The “Coinshot” pulled a hidden glass dagger from his waist, charging at Vin ahead of the Thugs, who were getting close. Vin paused for a moment—regretting her decision, but seeing its inevitability.

The men had hidden a Mistborn among their numbers. A Mistborn like Vin, a person who could burn all ten metals. A Mistborn who had been waiting for the right moment to strike at her, to catch her unprepared.

He would have atium, and there was a single way to fight someone who had atium. It was the ultimate Allomantic metal, usable only by full Mistborn, and it could easily decide the fate of a battle. Each bead was worth a fortune—but what good was a fortune if she died?

Vin burned her atium.

The world around her seemed to change. Every moving object—swinging shutters, blowing ash, attacking Thugs, even trails of mist—shot out a translucent replica of itself. The replicas moved right in front of their real counterparts, showing Vin exactly what would happen a few moments in the future.

Only the Mistborn was immune. Rather than shooting out a single atium shadow, he released dozens—the sign that he was burning atium too. He paused briefly. Vin’s own body would have just exploded with dozens of confusing atium shadows. Now that she could see the future, she could see what he was going to do. That in turn changed what she was going to do. Which changed what he was going to do. And so, like the reflections in two mirrors facing each other, the possibilities continued into infinity. Neither had an advantage.

Though their Mistborn paused, the three unfortunate Thugs continued to charge, having no way to know that Vin burned atium. Vin turned, standing beside the body of the fallen Smoker. With one foot, she kicked the soundsticks into the air.

A Thug arrived, swinging. His diaphanous atium shadow of a staff blow passed through her body. Vin twisted, ducking to the side, and could feel the real staff pass over her ear. The maneuver seemed easy within the aura of atium.

She snatched one of the soundsticks from the air, then slammed it up into the Thug’s neck. She spun, catching the other soundstick, then twisted back and cracked it against the man’s skull. He staggered, groaning, and Vin spun again, easily dodging between two more staves.

She smashed the soundsticks against the sides of the wounded Thug’s head. They shattered—ringing with a hollow sound like that of a drummer’s beat—as the Thug’s skull cracked.

He fell, and did not move again. Vin kicked his staff into the air, then dropped the broken soundsticks and caught it. She spun, twisting the staff and tripping both remaining Thugs at once. In a fluid motion, she delivered two swift—yet powerful—blows to their faces.

She fell to a crouch as the men died, holding the staff in one hand, her other hand resting against the mist-wetted cobbles. The Mistborn held back, and she could see uncertainty in his eyes. Power didn’t necessarily mean competence, and his two best advantages—surprise and atium—had been negated.

He turned, Pulling a group of coins up off the ground, then shot them. Not toward Vin—but toward OreSeur, who still stood in the mouth of an alleyway. The Mistborn obviously hoped that Vin’s concern for her servant would draw her attention away, perhaps letting him escape.

He was wrong.

Vin ignored the coins, dashing forward. Even as OreSeur cried out in pain—a dozen coins piercing his skin—Vin threw her staff at the Mistborn’s head. Once it left her fingers, its atium shadow became firm and singular.

The Mistborn assassin ducked, dodging perfectly. But the move distracted him long enough for her to close the distance. She needed to attack quickly; the atium bead she’d swallowed had been small. It would burn out quickly. And once it was gone, she’d be exposed. Her opponent would have total power over her. He—

Her terrified opponent raised his dagger. At that moment, his atium ran out.

Vin’s predatory instincts reacted instantly, and she swung a fist. He raised an arm to block her blow, but she saw it coming, and she changed the direction of her attack. The blow took him square in the face. Then, with deft fingers, she snatched his glass dagger before it could fall and shatter. She stood and swung it through her opponent’s neck.

He fell quietly.

Vin stood, breathing heavily, the group of assassins dead around her. For a moment she felt overwhelming power. With atium, she was invincible. She could dodge any blow, kill any enemy.

Her atium ran out too.

In an instant, everything seemed to grow dull. The pain in her side returned to her mind, and she coughed, groaning. She’d have bruises—large ones. Perhaps some cracked ribs.

But she’d won again. Barely. What would happen when she failed? When she didn’t watch carefully enough, or fight skillfully enough?

Elend would die.

Vin sighed, and looked up. He was still there, watching her from atop a roof. Despite a half-dozen chases spread across several months, she’d never managed to catch him. Someday she would corner him in the night.

But not today. She didn’t have the energy. In fact, a part of her worried that he’d strike her down. But he saved me, she thought. I would have died if I’d gotten too close to that hidden Mistborn. An instant of him burning atium with me unaware, and I’d have found his daggers in my chest.

The Watcher stood for a few more moments—wreathed, as always, in the curling mists. Then he turned, jumping away into the night. Vin let him go; she had to deal with OreSeur.

She stumbled over to him, then paused. His nondescript body—in a servant’s trousers and shirt—had been pelted with coins, and blood seeped from the several wounds.

He looked up at her. “What?” he asked.

“I didn’t expect there to be blood.”

OreSeur snorted. “You probably didn’t expect me to feel pain either.”

Vin opened her mouth, then hesitated. In truth, she hadn’t ever thought about it. Then she hardened herself. What right does this thing have to chastise me?

Still, OreSeur had proven useful. “Thank you for throwing me the vial,” she said.

“It was my duty, mistress,” OreSeur said, grunting as he pulled his broken body up against the side of the alleyway. “I was charged with your protection by Master Kelsier. As always, I serve the Contract.”

Ah, yes. The almighty Contract. “Can you walk?”

“Only with effort, mistress. The coins shattered several of these bones. I will need a new body. One of the assassins, perhaps?”

Vin frowned. She glanced back toward the dead men, and her stomach twisted slightly at the gruesome sight of their fallen bodies. She’d killed them, eight men, with the cruel efficiency that Kelsier had trained in her.

This is what I am, she thought. A killer, like those men. That was how it had to be. Someone had to protect Elend.

But the thought of OreSeur eating one of them—digesting the corpse, letting his strange kandra senses memorize the positioning of muscles, skin, and organs so that he could reproduce them—sickened her.

She glanced to the side, and saw the veiled scorn in OreSeur’s eyes. They both knew what she thought of him eating human bodies. They both knew what he thought of her prejudice.

“No,” Vin said. “We won’t use one of these men.”

“You’ll have to find me another body, then,” OreSeur said. “The Contract states that I cannot be forced to kill men.”

Vin’s stomach twisted again. I’ll think of something, she thought. His current body was that of a murderer, taken after an execution. Vin was still worried that someone in the city would recognize the face.

“Can you get back to the palace?” Vin asked.

“With time,” OreSeur said.

Vin nodded, dismissing him, then turned back toward the bodies. She suspected that this night would mark a distinct turning point in the fate of the Central Dominance.

Straff’s assassins had done more damage than they would ever know. That bead of atium had been her last. The next time a Mistborn attacked her, she would be exposed.

And would likely die as easily as the Mistborn she’d slain this night.

The Well of Ascension

My brethren ignore the rest of the facts. They cannot connect the other strange things that are happening. They are deaf to my objections and blind to my discoveries.

The Well of Ascension

3

ELEND DROPPED HIS PEN TO his desk with a sigh, then leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead.

He figured that he knew as much about political theory as any living man. He’d certainly read more about economics, studied more about governments, and held more political debates than anyone he knew. He understood all the theories about how to make a nation stable and fair, and had tried to implement those in his new kingdom.

He simply hadn’t realized how incredibly frustrating a parliamentary council would be.

Standing up, he walked over to get some chilled wine. About to pour, he glanced out his balcony doors. In the distance, a glowing haze shone through the mists. The campfires of his father’s army.

He put down the wine. He was already exhausted, and the alcohol probably wouldn’t help. I can’t afford to fall asleep until I get this done! he thought, forcing himself to return to his seat. The Assembly would meet soon, and he needed to have the proposal finished tonight.

Elend picked up the sheet, scanning its contents. His handwriting looked cramped even to him, and the page was scattered with crossed-out lines and notations—reflections of his frustration. They’d known about the army’s approach for weeks now, and the Assembly still quibbled about what to do.

Some of its members wanted to offer a peace treaty; others thought they should simply surrender the city. Still others felt they should attack without delay. Elend feared that the surrender faction was gaining strength; hence his proposal. The motion, if passed, would buy him more time. As king, he already had prime right of parley with a foreign dictator. The proposal would forbid the Assembly from doing anything rash until he’d at least met with his father.

Elend sighed again, dropping the sheet. The Assembly was only twenty-four men, but getting them to agree on anything was almost more challenging than any of the problems they argued about. Elend turned, looking past the solitary lamp on his desk, out through the open balcony doors and toward the fires. Overhead, he heard feet scuttling on the rooftop—Vin, going about her nightly rounds.

Elend smiled fondly, but not even thinking of Vin could restore his good temper. That group of assassins she fought tonight. Can I use that? Perhaps if he made the attack public, the Assembly would be reminded of the disdain Straff had for human life, and then be less likely to surrender the city to him. But … perhaps they’d also get frightened that he’d send assassins after them, and be more likely to surrender.

Sometimes Elend wondered if the Lord Ruler had been right. Not in oppressing the people, of course—but in retaining all of the power for himself. The Final Empire had been nothing if not stable. It had lasted a thousand years, weathering rebellions, maintaining a strong hold on the world.

The Lord Ruler was immortal though, Elend thought. That’s an advantage I’ll certainly never have.

The people would still have a king to provide continuity, to be a symbol of unity. A man who wouldn’t be tainted by the need to get reappointed. And they would also have an Assembly—a council with real legal authority, made up of their peers that could voice their concerns. Thus Elend would craft a stable government. It was a better way.

It all sounded wonderful in theory. Assuming they survived the next few months.

Elend rubbed his eyes, then dipped his pen and began to scratch new sentences at the bottom of the document.

The Lord Ruler was dead.

Even a year later, Vin sometimes found that concept difficult to grasp. The Lord Ruler had been … everything. King and god, lawmaker and ultimate authority. He had been eternal and absolute, and now he was dead.

Vin had killed him.

Of course, the truth wasn’t as impressive as the stories. It hadn’t been heroic strength or mystical power that had let Vin defeat the emperor. She’d merely figured out the trick that he’d been using to make himself immortal, and she’d fortunately—almost accidentally—exploited his weakness. She wasn’t brave or clever. Just lucky.

Vin sighed. Her bruises still throbbed, but she had suffered far worse. She sat atop the palace—once Keep Venture—above Elend’s balcony. Her reputation might have been unearned, but it had helped keep Elend alive. Though dozens of warlords squabbled in the land that had once been the Final Empire, none of them had marched on Luthadel.

Until now.

Fires burned outside the city. Straff would soon learn that his assassins had failed. What then? Assault the city? Ham and Clubs warned that Luthadel couldn’t hold against a determined attack. Straff had to know that.

Still, for the moment Elend was safe. Vin had gotten pretty good at finding and killing assassins; barely a month passed that she didn’t catch someone trying to sneak into the palace. Many were only spies, and very few were Allomancers. But a normal man’s steel knife would kill Elend as easily as an Allomancer’s glass one.

She wouldn’t let that occur. Whatever else happened—whatever sacrifices it required—Elend had to stay alive.

Suddenly apprehensive, she slipped over to the skylight to check on him. Elend sat safely at his desk below, scribbling away on some new proposal or edict. Kingship had changed the man remarkably little. At age twenty-three—a little over four years her senior—Elend was a man who put great stock in learning, but little in appearance. He only bothered to comb his hair when he attended an important function, and he managed to wear even well-tailored outfits with an air of dishevelment.

He was probably the best man she had ever known. Earnest, determined, clever, and caring. And for some reason, he loved her. At times that fact was even more amazing to her than her part in the Lord Ruler’s death.

Vin looked up, glancing back at the army lights. Then she looked to the sides. The Watcher had not returned. Often on nights like this he would tempt her, coming dangerously close to Elend’s room before disappearing into the city.

Of course, if he’d wanted to kill Elend, he could have done it while I was fighting the others.…

It was a disquieting thought. Vin couldn’t watch Elend every moment. He was exposed a frightening amount of the time.

True, Elend had other bodyguards, and some were even Allomancers. But they were stretched as thin as she was. This night’s assassins had been the most skilled, and most dangerous, that she had ever faced. She shivered, thinking about the Mistborn who had hid among them. He hadn’t been very good, but he wouldn’t have needed much skill to burn atium, then strike Vin in the exact right place.

The shifting mists continued to spin. The army’s presence whispered a disturbing truth: The surrounding warlords were beginning to consolidate their domains, and were thinking about expansion. Even if Luthadel stood against Straff somehow, others would come.

Quietly, Vin closed her eyes and burned bronze, still worried that the Watcher—or some other Allomancer—might be nearby, planning to attack Elend in the supposedly safe aftermath of the assassination attempt. Most Mistborn considered bronze to be a relatively useless metal, as it was easily negated. With copper, a Mistborn could mask their Allomancy—not to mention protect themselves from emotional manipulation by zinc or brass. Most Mistborn considered it foolish not to have their copper on at all times.

And yet … Vin had the ability to pierce copperclouds.

A coppercloud wasn’t a visible thing. It was far more vague. A pocket of deadened air where Allomancers could burn their metals and not worry that bronze burners would be able to sense them. But Vin could sense Allomancers who used metals inside a coppercloud. She still wasn’t certain why. Even Kelsier, the most powerful Allomancer she had known, hadn’t been able to pierce a coppercloud.

Tonight, she sensed nothing.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes. Her strange power was confusing, but it wasn’t unique to her. Marsh had confirmed that Steel Inquisitors could pierce copperclouds, and she was certain that the Lord Ruler had been able to do so. But why her? Why could Vin—a girl who barely had two years’ training as a Mistborn—do it?

There was more. She still remembered vividly the morning when she’d fought the Lord Ruler. There was something about that event that she hadn’t told anyone—partially because it made her fear, just a bit, that the rumors and legends about her were true. Somehow she’d drawn upon the mists, using them to fuel her Allomancy instead of metals.

It was only with that power, the power of the mists, that she had been able to beat the Lord Ruler in the end. She liked to tell herself that she had simply been lucky in figuring out the Lord Ruler’s tricks. But … there had been something strange that night, something she’d done. Something she shouldn’t have been able to do, and had never been able to repeat.

Vin shook her head. There was so much they didn’t know, and not only about Allomancy. She and the other leaders of Elend’s fledgling kingdom tried their best, but without Kelsier to guide them, Vin felt blind. Plans, successes, and even goals were like shadowy figures in the mist, formless and indistinct.

You shouldn’t have left us, Kell, she thought. You saved the world—but you should have been able to do it without dying. Kelsier, the Survivor of Hathsin, the man who had conceived and implemented the collapse of the Final Empire. Vin had known him, worked with him, been trained by him. He was a legend and a hero. Yet he had also been a man. Fallible. Imperfect. It was easy for the common skaa of the city to revere him, then blame Elend and the others for the dire situation that Kelsier had created.

The thought left her feeling bitter. Thinking about Kelsier often did that. Perhaps it was the sense of abandonment, or perhaps it was the uncomfortable knowledge that Kelsier—like Vin herself—didn’t fully live up to his reputation.

Vin sighed, closing her eyes, still burning bronze. The evening’s fight had taken a lot out of her, and she was beginning to dread the hours she still intended to spend watching. It would be difficult to remain alert when—

She sensed something.

Vin snapped her eyes open, flaring her tin. She spun and stooped against the rooftop to obscure her profile. There was someone out there burning metal. Bronze pulses thumped weakly, faint, almost unnoticeable—like someone playing drums very quietly. They were muffled by a coppercloud. The person—whoever it was—thought that their copper would hide them.

So far, Vin hadn’t left anyone alive, save Elend and Marsh, who knew of her strange power.

Vin crept forward, fingers and toes chilled by the roof’s copper sheeting. She tried to determine the direction of the pulses. There was something odd about them. She had trouble distinguishing the metals her enemy was burning. Was that the quick, beating thump of pewter? Or was it the rhythm of iron? The pulses seemed indistinct, like ripples in a thick mud.

They were coming from somewhere very close … on the rooftop …

Right in front of her.

Vin froze, crouching, the night breezes blowing a wall of mist across her. Where was he? Her senses argued with each other; her bronze said there was something right in front of her, but her eyes refused to agree.

She studied the dark mists, glanced upward to be certain, then stood. This is the first time my bronze has been wrong, she thought with a frown.

Then she saw it.

Not something in the mists, but something of the mists. The figure stood a few feet away, easy to miss, for its shape was only faintly outlined by the mist. Vin gasped, stepping backward.

The figure continued to stand where it was. She couldn’t tell much about it; its features were cloudy and vague, outlined by the chaotic churnings of windblown mist. If not for the form’s persistence, she could have dismissed it—like the shape of an animal seen briefly in the clouds.

But it stayed. Each new curl of the mist added definition to its thin body and long head. Haphazard, yet persistent. It suggested a human, but it lacked the Watcher’s solidity. It felt—looked—wrong.

The figure took a step forward.

Vin reacted instantly, throwing a handful of coins and Pushing them through the air. The bits of metal zipped forward in the mist, trailing streaks, and passed right through the shadowy figure.

It stood for a moment. Then it simply puffed away, dissipating into the mists’ random curls.

Elend wrote the final line with a flair, though he knew he’d simply have a scribe rewrite the proposal. Still, he was proud. He’d worked out an argument that he thought would finally convince the Assembly that they could not simply surrender to Straff.

He glanced unconsciously toward a stack of papers on his desk. On their top sat an innocent-seeming yellow letter, still folded, bloodlike smudge of wax broken at the seal. The letter had been short. Elend remembered its words easily.

Son,

I trust you’ve enjoyed seeing after Venture interests in Luthadel. I have secured the Northern Dominance, and will shortly be returning to our keep in Luthadel. You may turn over control of the city to me at that time.

King Straff Venture

Of all the warlords and despots that had afflicted the Final Empire since the Lord Ruler’s death, Straff was the most dangerous. Elend knew this firsthand. His father was a true imperial nobleman: He saw life as a competition between lords to see who could earn the greatest reputation. He had played the game well, making House Venture the most powerful of the pre-Collapse noble families.

Elend’s father would not see the Lord Ruler’s death as a tragedy or a victory—merely as an opportunity. The fact that Straff’s supposedly weak-willed fool of a son now claimed to be king of the Central Dominance probably gave him no end of mirth.

Elend shook his head, turning back to the proposal. A few more rereads, a few tweaks, and I’ll finally be able to get some sleep. I just—

A cloaked form dropped from the skylight in the roof and landed with a quiet thump behind him.

Elend raised an eyebrow, turning toward the crouching figure. “You know, I leave the balcony open for a reason, Vin. You could come in that way, if you wanted.”

“I know,” Vin said. Then she darted across the room with an Allomancer’s unnatural litheness. She checked beneath his bed, then moved over to his closet and threw open the doors. She jumped back with the tension of an alert animal, but apparently found nothing inside that met with her disapproval, for she moved over to peek through the door leading into the rest of Elend’s chambers.

Elend watched her with fondness. It had taken him some time to get used to Vin’s particular … idiosyncrasies. He teased her about being paranoid; she claimed she was merely careful. Regardless, half the time she visited his chambers she checked underneath his bed and in his closet. The other times, she held back—but Elend often caught her glancing distrustfully toward potential hiding places.

She was far less jumpy when she didn’t have a particular reason to worry about him. But Elend was only beginning to understand that there was a very complex person hiding behind the face he had once known as Valette Renoux’s. He had fallen in love with her courtly side without ever knowing the nervous, furtive Mistborn side. It was still a little difficult to see them as the same person.

Vin closed the door, then lingered briefly, watching him with her round, dark brown eyes. Elend found himself smiling. Despite her oddities—or more likely because of them—he loved this thin woman with the determined eyes and blunt temperament. She was like no one he had ever known—a woman of simple, yet honest, beauty and wit.

However, she did sometimes worry him.

“Vin?” he asked, standing.

“Have you seen anything strange tonight?”

“Aside from you?”

She frowned, striding across the room. Elend watched her small form, clothed in black trousers and a man’s buttoned shirt, mistcloak tassels trailing behind her. She wore the cloak’s hood down, as usual, and she stepped with a supple grace—the unconscious elegance of a person burning pewter.

Focus! he told himself. You really are getting tired. “Vin? What’s wrong?”

Vin glanced toward the balcony. “That Mistborn, the Watcher, is in the city again.”

“You’re sure?”

Vin nodded. “He saw me fight those assassins. But I don’t think he’s going to come for you tonight.”

Elend frowned. The balcony doors were still open, and trails of mist wafted through them, creeping along the floor until they finally evaporated. Beyond those doors was darkness. Chaos.

It’s only mist, he thought. Water vapor. Nothing to fear. “What makes you think the Mistborn won’t come for me?”

Vin shrugged. “I just feel he won’t.”

She often answered that way. Vin had grown up a creature of the streets, and she trusted her instincts. Oddly, so did Elend. He eyed her, reading the uncertainty in her posture. Something else had unsettled her this night. He looked into her eyes, holding them for a moment, until she glanced away.

“What?” he asked.

“I saw … something else,” she said. “Or I thought I did. Something in the mist, like a person formed from smoke. I could feel it too, with Allomancy. It disappeared though.”

Elend frowned more deeply. He walked forward, putting his arms around her. “Vin, you’re pushing yourself too hard. You can’t keep prowling the city at night and then staying up all day. Even Allomancers need rest.”

She nodded quietly. In his arms, she didn’t seem to him like the powerful warrior who had slain the Lord Ruler. She felt like a woman past the edge of fatigue, a woman overwhelmed by events—a woman who probably felt a lot like Elend did.

She let him hold her. At first, there was a slight stiffness to her posture. It was as if a piece of her still expected to be hurt—a primal sliver that couldn’t understand that it was possible to be touched out of love rather than anger. But then she relaxed. Elend was one of the few she could do that around. When she held him—really held him—she clung with a desperation that bordered on terror. Despite her powerful skill as an Allomancer and her stubborn determination, Vin was frighteningly vulnerable. She seemed to need Elend. For that, he felt lucky.

Frustrated at times. But lucky. Vin and he hadn’t discussed his marriage proposal and her refusal, though Elend often thought of the encounter.

Women are difficult enough to understand, he thought, and I had to go and pick the oddest one of the lot. Still, he couldn’t really complain. She loved him. He could deal with her idiosyncrasies.

Vin sighed, then looked up at him, finally relaxing as he leaned down to kiss her. He held it for a long moment, and she sighed. After the kiss, she rested her head on his shoulder. “We do have another problem,” she said quietly. “I used the last of the atium tonight, fighting the assassins.”

“Well, we knew it would happen eventually. Our stockpile couldn’t last forever.”

“Stockpile?” Vin asked. “Kelsier only left us six beads.”

Elend sighed, then pulled her tight. His new government was supposed to have inherited the Lord Ruler’s atium reserves—a putative cache of the metal comprising an amazing treasure. Kelsier had counted on his new kingdom holding those riches; he had died expecting it. There was only one problem. Nobody had ever located the reserve. They had found a small amount—the atium that had made up the bracers that the Lord Ruler had used as a Feruchemical battery to store up age. They had spent those on supplies for the city, and they had actually contained only a small amount of atium. Nothing like what the cache was said to have. There should still be, somewhere in the city, a wealth of atium thousands of times larger than those bracers.

“We’ll simply have to deal with it,” Elend said.

“If a Mistborn attacks you, I won’t be able to kill him.”

“Only if he has atium,” Elend said. “It’s becoming more and more rare. I doubt the other kings have much of it.”

Kelsier had destroyed the Pits of Hathsin, the only place where atium could be mined. Still, if Vin did have to fight someone with atium …

Don’t think about that, he told himself. Just keep searching. Perhaps we can buy some. Or maybe we’ll yet find the Lord Ruler’s cache. If it even exists …

Vin looked up at him, reading the concern in his eyes, and he knew she had arrived at the same conclusions as he. There was little that could be accomplished at the moment; Vin had done well to conserve their atium as long as she had. Still, as Vin stepped back and let Elend return to his table, he couldn’t help thinking about how they could have spent that atium. His people would need food for the winter.

But by selling the metal, he thought, sitting, we would have put more of the world’s most dangerous Allomantic weapon into the hands of our enemies. Better that Vin used it up.

As he began to work again, Vin poked her head over his shoulder, obscuring his lamplight. “What is it?” she asked.

“The proposal blocking the Assembly until I’ve had my right of parley.”

“Again?” she asked, cocking her head and squinting as she tried to make out his handwriting.

“The Assembly rejected the last version.”

Vin frowned. “Why don’t you tell them that they have to accept it? You’re the king.”

“Now, see,” Elend said, “that’s what I’m trying to prove by all this. I’m only one man, Vin—maybe my opinion isn’t better than theirs. If we all work on the proposal together, it will come out better than if one man had done it himself.”

Vin shook her head. “It will be too weak. No teeth. You should trust yourself more.”

“It’s not about trust. It’s about what’s right. We spent a thousand years fighting against the Lord Ruler—if I do things the same way he did, then what will be the difference?”

Vin turned and looked him in the eyes. “The Lord Ruler was an evil man. You’re a good one. That’s the difference.”

Elend smiled. “It’s that easy for you, isn’t it?”

Vin nodded.

Elend leaned up and kissed her again. “Well, some of us have to make things a little more complicated, so you’ll have to humor us. Now, kindly remove yourself from my light so I can get back to work.”

She snorted, but stood up and rounded the desk, leaving behind a faint scent of perfume. Elend frowned. When’d she put that on? Many of her motions were so quick that he missed them.

Perfume—another of the apparent contradictions that made up the woman named Vin. She wouldn’t have been wearing it out in the mists; she usually put it on only for him. Vin liked to be unobtrusive, but she loved wearing scents—and got annoyed at him if he didn’t notice when she was trying out a new one. She seemed suspicious and paranoid, yet she trusted her friends with a dogmatic loyalty. She went out at night in black and grey, trying so hard to hide—but Elend had seen her at the balls a year ago, and she had looked natural in gowns and dresses.

For some reason she had stopped wearing those. She hadn’t ever explained why.

Elend shook his head, turning back to his proposal. Next to Vin, politics seemed simplistic. She rested her arms on the desktop, watching him work, yawning.

“You should get some rest,” he said, dipping his pen again.

Vin hesitated, then nodded. She removed her mistcloak, wrapped it around herself, then curled up on the rug beside his desk.

“I didn’t mean here, Vin,” Elend said with amusement.

“There’s still a Mistborn out there somewhere,” she said with a tired, muffled voice. “I’m not leaving you.” She twisted in the cloak, and Elend caught a brief grimace of pain on her face. She was favoring her left side.

She didn’t often tell him the details of her fights, not wanting to worry him. It didn’t help.

Elend pushed down his concern and started reading again. He was almost finished—just a bit more and—

A knock came at his door.

Elend turned with frustration, wondering at this new interruption. Ham poked his head in the doorway a second later.

“Ham?” Elend said. “You’re still awake?”

“Unfortunately,” Ham said, stepping into the room.

“Mardra is going to kill you for working late again,” Elend said, setting down his pen. Complain though he might about some of Vin’s quirks, at least she shared Elend’s nocturnal habits.

Ham rolled his eyes at the comment. He still wore his standard vest and trousers. He’d agreed to be the captain of Elend’s guard on a single condition: that he would never have to wear a uniform. Vin cracked an eye as Ham wandered into the room, then relaxed again.

“Regardless,” Elend said. “To what do I owe the visit?”

“I thought you might want to know that we identified those assassins who tried to kill Vin.”

Elend nodded. “Probably men I know.” Most Allomancers were noblemen, and he was familiar with all of those in Straff’s retinue.

“I doubt it,” Ham said. “They were Westerners.”

Elend frowned, and Vin perked up. “You’re sure?”

Ham nodded. “Makes it a bit unlikely that your father sent them—unless he’s done some heavy recruiting in Fadrex City. They were of Houses Gardre and Conrad, mostly.”

Elend sat back. His father was based in Urteau, hereditary home of the Venture family. Fadrex was halfway across the empire from Urteau, several months’ worth of travel. The chances were slim that his father would have access to a group of Western Allomancers.

“Have you heard of Ashweather Cett?” Ham asked.

Elend nodded. “One of the men who’s set himself up as king in the Western Dominance. I don’t know much about him.”

Vin frowned, sitting. “You think he sent these?”

Ham nodded. “They must have been waiting for a chance to slip into the city, and the traffic at the gates these last few days would have provided the opportunity. That makes the arrival of Straff’s army and the attack on Vin’s life something of a coincidence.”

Elend glanced at Vin. She met his eyes, and he could tell that she wasn’t completely convinced that Straff hadn’t sent the assassins. Elend wasn’t so skeptical. Pretty much every tyrant in the area had tried to take him out at one point or another. Why not Cett?

It’s that atium, Elend thought with frustration. He’d never found the Lord Ruler’s cache—but that didn’t stop the despots in the empire from assuming he was hiding it somewhere.

“Well, at least your father didn’t send the assassins,” Ham said, ever the optimist.

Elend shook his head. “Our relationship wouldn’t stop him, Ham. Trust me.”

“He’s your father,” Ham said, looking troubled.

“Things like that don’t matter to Straff. He probably hasn’t sent assassins because he doesn’t think I’m worth the trouble. If we last long enough though, he will.”

Ham shook his head. “I’ve heard of sons killing their fathers to take their place, but fathers killing their sons … I wonder what that says about old Straff’s mind, that he’d be willing to. You think that—”

“Ham?” Elend interrupted.

“Yes?”

“You know I’m usually good for a discussion, but I don’t really have time for philosophy right now.”

“Oh, right.” Ham smiled wanly, turning to go. “I should get back to Mardra anyway.”

Elend nodded, rubbing his forehead and picking up his pen yet again. “Make sure you gather the crew for a meeting. We need to organize our allies, Ham. If we don’t come up with something incredibly clever, this kingdom may be doomed.”

Ham turned back, still smiling. “You make it sound so desperate, El.”

Elend looked over at him. “The Assembly is a mess, a half-dozen warlords with superior armies are breathing down my neck, barely a month passes without someone sending assassins to kill me, and the woman I love is slowly driving me insane.”

Vin snorted at this last part.

“Oh, is that all?” Ham said. “See? It’s not so bad after all. I mean, we could be facing an immortal god and his all-powerful priests instead.”

Elend chuckled despite himself. “Good night, Ham,” he said, turning back to his proposal.

“Good night, Your Majesty.”

The Well of Ascension

Perhaps they are right. Perhaps I am mad, or jealous, or simply daft. My name is Kwaan. Philosopher, scholar, traitor. I am the one who discovered Alendi, and I am the one who first proclaimed him to be the Hero of Ages. I am the one who started all this.

The Well of Ascension

4

THE BODY SHOWED NO OVERT wounds. It still lay where it had fallen—the other villagers had been afraid to move it. Its arms and legs were twisted in awkward positions, the dirt around it scuffed from predeath thrashings.

Sazed reached out, running his fingers along one of the marks. Though the soil here in the Eastern Dominance held far more clay than did soil in the north, it was still more black than brown. Ashfalls came even this far south. Ashless soil, sifted and fertilized, was a luxury used only for the ornamental plants of noble gardens. The rest of the world had to do what it could with untreated soil.

“You say that he was alone when he died?” Sazed asked, turning to the small cluster of villagers standing behind him.

The leathery-skinned man at the front of the group, Teur, nodded. “Like I said, Master Terrisman. He was just standing there, no one else about. He stiffened, then he fell and wiggled on the ground for a bit. After that, he just … stopped moving.”

Sazed turned back to the corpse, studying the twisted muscles, the face locked in a mask of pain. Sazed had brought his medical coppermind—the metal armband wrapped around his upper right arm—and he reached into it with his mind, pulling out some of the memorized books he had stored therein. Yes, there were some diseases that killed with shakes and spasms. They rarely took a man so suddenly, but it sometimes happened. If it hadn’t been for other circumstances, Sazed would have paid the death little heed.

“Please, repeat to me again what you saw,” Sazed asked.

Teur paled slightly. He was in an odd position—his natural desire for notoriety would make him want to gossip about his experience. However, doing so could earn the distrust of his superstitious fellows.

“I was just passing by, Master Terrisman,” Teur said. “On the path twenty yards yon. I seen old Jed working his field—a hard worker, he was. Some of us took a break when the lords left, but old Jed just kept on. Guess he knew we’d be needing food for the winter, lords or no lords.”

Teur paused, then glanced to the side. “I know what people say, Master Terrisman, but I seen what I seen. It was day when I passed, but there was mist in the valley here. It stopped me, because I’ve never been out in the mist—my wife’ll vouch me that. I was going to turn back, and then I seen old Jed. He was just working away, as if he hadn’t seen the mist.

“I was going to call out to him, but before I could, he just … well, like I told you. I seen him standing there, then he froze. The mist swirled about him a bit, then he began to jerk and twist, like something really strong was holding him and shaking him. He fell. Didn’t get up after that.”

Still kneeling, Sazed looked back at the corpse. Teur apparently had a reputation for tall tales. Yet the body was a chilling corroboration—not to mention Sazed’s own experience several weeks before.

Mist during the day.

Sazed stood, turning toward the villagers. “Please fetch for me a shovel.”

Nobody helped him dig the grave. It was slow, muggy work in the Southern heat, which was strong despite the advent of autumn. The clay earth was difficult to move—but fortunately, Sazed had a bit of extra strength stored up inside a pewtermind, and he tapped it for help.

He needed it, for he wasn’t what one would call an athletic man. Tall and long-limbed, he had the build of a scholar, and still wore the colorful robes of a Terris steward. He also still kept his head shaved, after the manner of the station he had served in for the first forty-some years of his life. He didn’t wear much of his jewelry now—he didn’t want to tempt highway bandits—but his earlobes were stretched out and pierced with numerous holes for earrings.

Tapping strength from his pewtermind enlarged his muscles slightly, giving him the build of a stronger man. Even with the extra strength, his steward’s robes were stained with sweat and dirt by the time he finished digging. He rolled the body into the grave, and stood quietly for a moment. The man had been a dedicated farmer.

Sazed searched through his religions coppermind for an appropriate theology. He started with an index—one of the many that he had created. When he had located an appropriate religion, he retrieved detailed memories about its practices. The writings entered his mind as fresh as when he had barely finished memorizing them. Like all memories they would fade with time, but he intended to place them back in the coppermind long before that happened. It was the way of the Keeper, the method by which his people retained enormous wealths of information.

This day, the memories he selected were of HaDah, a southern religion with an agricultural deity. Like most religions—which had been oppressed during the time of the Lord Ruler—the HaDah faith was a thousand years extinct.

Following the dictates of the HaDah funeral ceremony, Sazed walked over to a nearby tree—or at least one of the shrublike plants that passed for trees in this area. He broke off a long branch—the peasants watching him curiously—and carried it back to the grave. He stooped down and drove it into the dirt at the bottom of the hole, beside the corpse’s head. Then he stood and began to shovel dirt back into the grave.

The peasants watched him with dull eyes. So depressed, Sazed thought. The Eastern Dominance was the most chaotic and unsettled of the five Inner Dominances. The only men in this crowd were well past their prime. The press gangs had done their work efficiently; the young husbands and fathers of this village were likely dead on some battlefield that no longer mattered.

It was hard to believe that anything could be worse than the Lord Ruler’s oppression. Sazed told himself that these people’s pain would pass, that they would someday know prosperity because of what he and the others had done. Yet he had seen farmers forced to slaughter each other, had seen children starve because some despot had “requisitioned” a village’s entire food supply. He had seen thieves kill freely because the Lord Ruler’s troops no longer patrolled the canals. He had seen chaos, death, hatred, and disorder. And he couldn’t help but acknowledge that he was partially to blame.

He continued to refill the hole. He had been trained as a scholar and a domestic attendant; he was a Terrisman steward, the most useful, most expensive, and most prestigious of servants in the Final Empire. That meant almost nothing now. He’d never interred anyone, but he did his best, trying to be reverent as he piled dirt on the corpse. Surprisingly, about halfway through the process the peasants began to help him, pushing dirt from the pile into the hole.

Perhaps there is hope for these yet, Sazed thought, thankfully letting one of the others take his shovel and finish the work. When they were done, the very tip of the HaDah branch breached the dirt at the head of the grave.

“Why’d you do that?” Teur asked, nodding to the branch.

Sazed smiled. “It is a religious ceremony, Goodman Teur. If you please, there is a prayer that should accompany it.”

“A prayer? Something from the Steel Ministry?”

Sazed shook his head. “No, my friend. It is a prayer from a previous time, a time before the Lord Ruler.”

The peasants eyed each other, frowning. Teur rubbed his wrinkled chin. They all remained quiet as Sazed said a short HaDah prayer. When he finished, he turned toward the peasants. “It was known as the religion of HaDah. Some of your ancestors might have followed it, I think. If any of you wish, I can teach you of its precepts.”

The assembled crowd stood quietly. There weren’t many of them—two dozen or so, mostly middle-aged women and a few older men. There was a single young man with a club foot; Sazed was surprised that he’d lived so long on a plantation. Most lords killed invalids among their skaa to keep them from draining resources.

“When is the Lord Ruler coming back?” asked a woman.

“I do not believe that he will,” Sazed said.

“Why did he abandon us?”

“It is a time of change,” Sazed said. “Perhaps it is also time to learn of other truths, other ways.”

The group of people shuffled quietly. Sazed sighed quietly; these people associated faith with the Steel Ministry and its obligators. Religion wasn’t something that skaa worried about—save, perhaps, to avoid it when possible.

The Keepers spent a thousand years gathering and memorizing the dying religions of the world, Sazed thought. Who would have thought that now—with the Lord Ruler gone—people wouldn’t care enough to want what they’d lost?

Yet he found it hard to think ill of these people. They were struggling to survive, their already harsh world suddenly made unpredictable. They were tired. Was it any wonder that talk of beliefs long forgotten failed to interest them?

“Come,” Sazed said, turning toward the village. “There are other things—more practical things—that I can teach you.”

The Well of Ascension

And I am the one who betrayed him, for I now know that he must never be allowed to complete his quest.

The Well of Ascension

5

VIN COULD SEE SIGNS OF anxiety reflected in the city. Workers milled anxiously and markets bustled with an edge of concern—showing the same apprehension one might see in a cornered rodent. Frightened, but not sure what to do. Doomed with nowhere to run.

Many had left the city during the last year—noblemen fleeing, merchants seeking some other place of business. Yet at the same time, the city had swelled with an influx of skaa. They had heard of Elend’s proclamation of freedom, and had come with optimism—or at least as much optimism as an overworked, underfed, repeatedly beaten populace could manage.

And so, despite predictions that Luthadel would soon fall, despite whispers that its army was small and weak, the people had stayed. Worked. Lived. Just as they always had. The life of a skaa had never been very certain.

It was still strange for Vin to see the market so busy. She walked down Kenton Street, wearing her customary trousers and buttoned shirt, thinking about the time when she’d visited the street during the days before the Collapse. It had been the quiet home of some exclusive tailoring shops.

When Elend had abolished the restrictions on skaa merchants, Kenton Street had changed. The thoroughfare had blossomed into a wild bazaar of shops, pushcarts, and tents. In order to target the newly empowered—and newly waged—skaa workers, the shop owners had altered their selling methods. Where once they had coaxed with rich window displays, they now called and demanded, using criers, salesmen, and even jugglers to try to attract trade.

The street was so busy that Vin usually avoided it, and this day was worse than most. The arrival of the army had sparked a last-minute flurry of buying and selling, the people trying to get ready for whatever was to come. There was a grim tone to the atmosphere. Fewer street performers, more yelling. Elend had ordered all eight city gates barred, so flight was no longer an option. Vin wondered how many of the people regretted their decision to stay.

She walked with a businesslike step, hands clasped to keep the nervousness out of her posture. Even as an urchin on the streets of a dozen different cities, she hadn’t liked crowds. It was hard to keep track of so many people, hard to focus with so much going on. As a child, she’d stayed near the edges of crowds, hiding, venturing out to snatch the occasional fallen coin or ignored bit of food.

She was different now. She forced herself to walk with a straight back, and kept her eyes from glancing down or looking for places to hide. She was getting so much better, but seeing the crowds reminded her of what she had once been. What she would always—at least in part—still be.

As if in response to her thoughts, a pair of street urchins scampered through the throng, a large man in a baker’s apron screaming at them. Elend’s new world still had urchins—in fact, as she considered it, paying the skaa population probably made for a far better street life. There were more pockets to pick, more people to distract the shop owners, more scraps to go around, and more hands to feed beggars.

It was difficult to reconcile her childhood with such a life. To her, a child on the street was someone who learned to be quiet and hide, someone who went out at night to search through garbage. Only the most brave of urchins had dared cut purses; skaa lives had been worthless to many noblemen. During her childhood, Vin had known several urchins who had been killed or maimed by passing noblemen who found them offensive.

Elend’s laws might not have eliminated the poor, something he so wanted to do, but he had improved the lives of even the street urchins. For that—among other things—she loved him.

There were still some noblemen in the crowd, men who had been persuaded by Elend or circumstances that their fortunes would be safer in the city than without. They were desperate, weak, or adventuresome. Vin watched one man pass, surrounded by a group of guards. He didn’t give her a second glance; to him, her simple clothing was reason enough to ignore her. Vin turned away—and the shop at the side of the street drew her attention despite herself.

It contained ball gowns.

Inside, dressing dummies stood posed in majestic gowns, the type worn by noblewomen at balls. Vin gazed at the garments, with their tight waists and flaring, bell-like skirts. She could almost imagine herself at a ball, soft music in the background, tables draped in perfect white, Elend standing up on his balcony, leafing through a book.…

Is that what I am now? she wondered. Am I a noblewoman? It could be argued that she was noble simply by association. The king loved her—had asked her to marry him—and she had been trained by the Survivor of Hathsin. Indeed, her father had been noble, though her mother had been skaa. Looking at her reflection in the shop’s glass, Vin reached up and fingered the simple bronze earring that was the only thing she had as a memento of Mother.

It wasn’t much. But then, Vin wasn’t sure she wanted to think about her mother. The woman had, after all, tried to kill her. In fact, she had killed Vin’s full sister. Only the actions of Reen, Vin’s half brother, had saved her. He had pulled her, bloody, from the arms of a woman who had shoved the earring into Vin’s left ear moments before.

Yet Vin kept it, as a reminder of sorts. The truth was, she didn’t feel like a noblewoman. At times she thought she had more in common with her insane mother than she did with the aristocracy of Elend’s world. The balls and parties she had attended before the Collapse—they had been a charade. A dreamlike memory. They had no place in this world of crumbling governments and nightly assassinations. Plus, Vin’s part in the balls—pretending to be the girl Valette Renoux—had always been a sham.

She pretended still. Pretended not to be the urchin who had grown up starving on the streets, a girl who had been beaten far more often than she had been befriended.

Yet Vin lingered before the shop window, held almost as if she were metal being Pulled by those beautiful gowns. The shop was empty of patrons; few thought of dresses on the eve of an invasion—and neither should she. Besides, Vin couldn’t justify such luxury; it had been different when she’d spent Kelsier’s money, but now she spent Elend’s—and his money was the kingdom’s.

Vin sighed, turning from the gowns and walking back out into the flow of people. Those aren’t me anymore. Valette is useless to Elend—he needs a Mistborn, not an uncomfortable girl in a gown she doesn’t quite fill. Her wounds from the night before, now firm bruises, were a reminder of her place. They were healing well—she’d been burning pewter heavily all day—but she’d be stiff for a while yet.

Vin quickened her pace, heading for the livestock pens. As she walked, she caught sight of someone tailing her.

Well, perhaps “tailing” was too generous a word—the man certainly wasn’t doing a very good job of going unnoticed. He was balding on top, but wore the sides of his hair long. He wore a simple skaa’s smock: a single-piece tan garment that was stained dark with ash.

Great, Vin thought. There was another reason she avoided the market—or any place where crowds of skaa gathered.

She sped up again, but the man hurried as well. His awkward movements gained attention—but instead of cursing him, most people paused reverently. Soon others joined him, and Vin had a small crowd trailing her.

A part of her wanted to slap down a coin and shoot away. Yes, Vin thought to herself wryly, use Allomancy in the daylight. That’ll make you inconspicuous.

So, sighing, she turned to confront the group. None of them looked particularly threatening. The men wore trousers and dull shirts; the women wore one-piece utilitarian dresses. Several more men wore ash-covered smocks.

Priests of the Survivor.

“Lady Heir,” one of them said, approaching and falling to his knees.

“Don’t call me that,” Vin said quietly.

The priest looked up at her. “Please. We need direction. We have cast off the Lord Ruler. What do we do now?”

Vin took a step backward. Kelsier had known what he was doing when he had built up the skaa’s faith in him, then had died a martyr to turn them in rage against the Final Empire. But what had he thought would happen after that? Could he have foreseen the Church of the Survivor—had he known that they would replace the Lord Ruler with Kelsier himself as God?

The problem was, Kelsier had left his followers with no doctrine. His only goal had been to defeat the Lord Ruler; partially to get his revenge, partially to seal his legacy, and partially—Vin hoped—because he had wanted to free the skaa.

But now what? These people must feel as she did. Set adrift, with no light to guide them.

Vin could not be that light. “I’m not Kelsier,” she said quietly, taking another step backward.

“We know,” one of the men said. “You’re his heir—he passed on, and this time you Survived.”

“Please,” a woman said, stepping forward, holding a young child in her arms. “Lady Heir. If the hand that struck down the Lord Ruler could touch my child…”

Vin tried to back away farther, but realized she was up against another crowd of people. The woman stepped closer, and Vin finally raised an uncertain hand to the baby’s forehead.

“Thank you,” the woman said.

“You’ll protect us, won’t you, Lady Heir?” asked a young man—no older than Elend—with a dirty face but honest eyes. “The priests say that you’ll stop that army out there, that its soldiers won’t be able to enter the city while you’re here.”

That was too much for her. Vin mumbled a halfhearted response, but turned and pushed her way through the crowd. The group of believers didn’t follow her, fortunately.

By the time she slowed she was breathing deeply, though not from exertion. She moved into an alley between two shops, standing in the shade, wrapping her arms around herself. She had spent her life learning to remain unnoticed, to be quiet and unimportant. Now she could be none of those things.

What did the people expect of her? Did they really think she could stop an army by herself? That was one lesson she’d learned very early into her training: Mistborn weren’t invincible. One man she could kill. Ten men could give her trouble. An army …

Vin took a few calming breaths. Eventually she moved back out onto the busy street. She was near her destination now—a small, open-sided tent surrounded by four pens. The merchant lounged by it, a scruffy man who had hair on only half of his head—the right half. Vin stood there for a moment, trying to decide if the odd hairstyle was due to disease, injury, or preference.

The man perked up when he saw her at the edge of his pens. He brushed himself off, tossing up a small amount of dust. Then he sauntered over to her, smiling with what teeth he still had, acting as if he hadn’t heard—or didn’t care—that there was an army right outside.

“Ah, young lady,” he said. “Lookin’ for a pup? I’ve got some wee scamps that any girl is sure to love. Here, let me grab one. You’ll agree it’s the cutest thing you ever seen.”

Vin folded her arms as the man reached down to grab a puppy from one of the pens. “Actually,” she said, “I was looking for a wolfhound.”

The merchant looked up. “Wolfhound, miss? ’Tis no pet for a girl like you. Mean brutes, those. Let me find you a nice bobbie. Nice dogs, those—smart too.”

“No,” Vin said, drawing him up short. “You will bring me a wolfhound.”

The man looked at her and scratched himself in several undignified places. “Well, I guess I can see…”

He wandered toward the pen farthest from the street. Vin waited quietly, nose turned down at the smell as the merchant yelled at a few of his animals, selecting an appropriate one. Eventually he pulled a leashed dog up to Vin. It was a wolfhound, if a small one—but it had sweet, docile eyes, and an obviously pleasant temperament.

“The runt of the litter,” the merchant said. “A good animal for a young girl, I’d say. Will probably make an excellent hunter too. These wolfhounds, they can smell better than any beast you seen.”

Vin looked down at the dog’s panting face. It almost seemed to be smiling at her. “Oh, for the Lord Ruler’s sake,” she snapped, pushing past the dog and master, stalking toward the back pens.

“Young lady?” the merchant asked, following uncertainly.

Vin scanned the wolfhounds. Near the back, she spotted a massive black and grey beast. It was chained to a post, and it regarded her defiantly, a low growl rising in its throat.

Vin pointed. “How much for that one in the back?”

“That?” the merchant asked. “Good lady, that’s a watchbeast. It’s meant to be set loose on a lord’s grounds to attack anyone who enters! It’s one of the meanest things you’ll ever see!”

“Perfect,” Vin said, reaching toward her coin pouch.

“Good lady, I couldn’t possibly sell you that beast. Not possibly at all. Why, I’ll bet it weighs half again as much as you do.”

Vin nodded, then pulled open the pen gate and strode in. The merchant cried out, but Vin walked right up to the wolfhound. He began to bark wildly at her, frothing.

Sorry about this, Vin thought. Then, burning pewter, she ducked in and slammed her fist into the animal’s head.

The animal froze, wobbled, then fell unconscious in the dirt. The merchant pulled up short beside her, his mouth open.

“Leash,” Vin ordered.

He gave her one. She used it to tie the wolfhound’s feet together, and then—with a flare of pewter—she threw the animal over her shoulders. She cringed only slightly at the pain in her side.

This thing better not get drool on my shirt, she thought, handing the merchant some coins and walking back toward the palace.

Vin slammed the unconscious wolfhound to the floor. The guards had given her some strange looks as she entered the palace, but she was getting used to those. She brushed off her hands.

“What is that?” OreSeur asked. He’d made it back to her rooms at the palace, but his current body was obviously unusable. To even keep the skeleton together he’d needed to form muscles in places that men didn’t normally have them, and while he’d healed his wounds, his body looked unnatural. He still wore the bloodstained clothing from the night before.

“This,” Vin said, pointing at the wolfhound, “is your new body.”

OreSeur hesitated. “That? Mistress, that is a dog.”

“Yes,” Vin said.

“I am a man.”

“You’re a kandra,” Vin said. “You can imitate flesh and muscle. What about fur?”

The kandra did not look pleased. “I cannot imitate it,” he said, “though I can use the beast’s own fur, like I use its bones. But surely there is—”

“I’m not going to kill for you, kandra,” Vin said. “And even if I did kill someone, I wouldn’t let you … eat them. Plus, this will be more inconspicuous. People will begin to talk if I keep replacing my stewards with unknown men. I’ve been telling people for months that I was thinking of dismissing you. Well, I’ll tell them that I finally did—nobody will think to realize that my new pet hound is in fact my kandra.”

She turned, nodding toward the unconscious animal. “This will be very useful. People pay less attention to hounds than they do to humans, and so you’ll be able to listen in on conversations.”

OreSeur’s frown deepened. “I will not do this thing easily. You will need to compel me, by virtue of the Contract.”

“Fine,” Vin said. “You’re commanded. How long will it take?”

“An ordinary body only takes a few hours,” OreSeur said. “This could take longer. Getting that much fur to look right will be challenging.”

“Get started then,” Vin said, turning toward the door. On her way, she noticed a package sitting on her desk. She frowned, walking over and taking off the lid. A note sat inside.

Lady Vin,

Here is the next alloy you requested. Aluminum is very difficult to acquire, but when a noble family recently left the city, I was able to buy some of their diningware.

I do not know if this one will work, but I believe it worth a try. I have mixed the aluminum with four percent copper, and found the outcome quite promising. I have read of this composition; it is called duralumin.

Your servant, Terion

Vin smiled, setting aside the note and removing the rest of the box’s contents: a small pouch of metal dust and a thin silvery bar, both presumably of this “duralumin” metal. Terion was a master Allomantic metallurgist. Though not an Allomancer himself, he had been mixing alloys and creating dusts for Mistborn and Mistings for most of his life.

Vin pocketed both pouch and bar, then turned toward OreSeur. The kandra regarded her with a flat expression.

“This came for me today?” Vin asked, nodding to the box.

“Yes, mistress,” OreSeur said. “A few hours ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I’m sorry, mistress,” OreSeur said in his toneless way, “but you did not command me to tell you if packages arrived.”

Vin ground her teeth. He knew how anxiously she’d been waiting for another alloy from Terion. All of the previous aluminum alloys they’d tried had turned out to be duds. It bothered her to know that there was another Allomantic metal out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she found it.

OreSeur sat where he was, bland expression on his face, unconscious wolfhound on the floor in front of him.

“Just get to work on that hound,” Vin said, spinning and leaving the room to search for Elend.

Vin finally found Elend in his study, going over some ledgers with a familiar figure.

“Dox!” Vin said. He’d retired to his rooms soon after his arrival the day before, and she hadn’t seen much of him.

Dockson looked up and smiled. Stocky without being fat, he had short dark hair and still wore his customary half beard. “Hello, Vin.”

“How was Terris?” she asked.

“Cold,” Dockson replied. “I’m glad to be back. Though I wish I hadn’t arrived to find that army here.”

“In any case, we’re glad you’ve returned, Dockson,” Elend said. “The kingdom practically fell apart without you.”

“That hardly seems the case,” Dockson said, closing his ledger and setting it on the stack. “All things—and armies—considered, it looks like the royal bureaucracy held together fairly well in my absence. You hardly need me anymore!”

“Nonsense!” Elend said.

Vin leaned against the door, eyeing the two men as they continued their discussion. They maintained their air of forced joviality. Both were dedicated to making the new kingdom work, even if it meant pretending that they liked each other. Dockson pointed at places in the ledgers, talking about finances and what he’d discovered in the outlying villages under Elend’s control.

Vin sighed, glancing across the room. Sunlight streamed through the room’s stained-glass rose window, throwing colors across the ledgers and table. Even now, Vin still wasn’t accustomed to the casual opulence of a noble keep. The window—red and lavender—was a thing of intricate beauty. Yet noblemen apparently found its like so commonplace that they had put this one in the keep’s back rooms, in the small chamber that Elend now used as his study.

As one might expect, the room was piled with stacks of books. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, but they were no match for the sheer volume of Elend’s growing collection. She’d never cared much for Elend’s taste in books. They were mostly political or historical works, things with topics as musty as their aged pages. Many of them had once been forbidden by the Steel Ministry, but somehow the old philosophers could make even salacious topics seem boring.

“Anyway,” Dockson said, finally closing his ledgers. “I have some things to do before your speech tomorrow, Your Majesty. Did Ham say there’s a city defense meeting that evening as well?”

Elend nodded. “Assuming I can get the Assembly to agree not to hand the city over to my father, we’ll need to come up with a strategy to deal with his army. I’ll send someone for you tomorrow night.”

“Good,” Dockson said. With that, he nodded to Elend, winked at Vin, then made his way from the cluttered room.

As Dockson shut the door, Elend sighed, then relaxed back in his oversized plush chair.

Vin walked forward. “He really is a good man, Elend.”

“Oh, I realize he is. Being a good man doesn’t always make one likable.”

“He’s nice too,” Vin said. “Sturdy, calm, stable. The crew relied on him.” Even though Dockson wasn’t an Allomancer, he had been Kelsier’s right-hand man.

“He doesn’t like me, Vin,” Elend said. “It’s very hard to get along with someone who looks at me like that.”

“You’re not giving him a fair chance,” Vin complained, stopping beside Elend’s chair.

He looked up at her, smiling wanly, his vest unbuttoned, his hair an absolute mess. “Hum…” he said idly, taking her hand. “I really like that shirt. Red looks good on you.”

Vin rolled her eyes, letting him gently pull her into the chair and kiss her. There was a passion to the kiss—a need, perhaps, for something stable. Vin responded, feeling herself relax as she pressed against him. A few minutes later she sighed, feeling much better snuggled into the chair beside him. He held her close, leaning the chair back into the window’s sunlight.

He smiled and looked at her. “That’s a new … perfume you’re wearing.”

Vin snorted, putting her head against his chest. “It’s not perfume, Elend. It’s dog.”

“Ah, good,” Elend said. “I was worried that you’d departed from your senses. Now, is there any particular reason why you smell like dog?”

“I went to the market and bought one, then carried it back and fed it to OreSeur, so it can be his new body.”

Elend’s eyes widened. “Why, Vin, that’s brilliant! Nobody will suspect a dog to be a spy. I wonder if anyone’s ever thought of that before.”

“Someone must have,” Vin said. “I mean, it makes such sense. But I suspect those who thought of it didn’t share the knowledge.”

“Good point,” Elend said, leaning back. Yet from as close as they were, she could still feel a tension in him.

Tomorrow’s speech, Vin thought. He’s worried about it.

“I must say that I find it a bit disappointing,” Elend said idly, “that you’re not wearing dog-scented perfume. With your social station, I could see some of the local noblewomen trying to imitate you. That could be amusing indeed.”

She leaned up, looking at his smirking face. “You know, Elend—sometimes it’s bloody difficult to tell when you’re teasing, and when you’re merely being dense.”

“That makes me more mysterious, right?”

“Something like that,” she said, snuggling up against him again.

“Now, see, you don’t understand how clever that is of me,” he said. “If people can’t tell when I’m being an idiot and when I’m being a genius, perhaps they’ll assume my blunders are brilliant political maneuverings.”

“As long as they don’t mistake your actual brilliant moves for blunders.”

“That shouldn’t be difficult,” Elend said. “I fear I have few enough of those for people to mistake.”

At the edge in his voice, Vin looked up with concern. He smiled, shifting the topic. “So, OreSeur the dog. Will he still be able to go out with you at nights?”

Vin shrugged. “I guess. I wasn’t really planning on bringing him for a while.”

“I’d like it if you did take him,” Elend said. “I worry about you out there every night, pushing yourself so hard.”

“I can handle it,” Vin said. “Someone needs to watch over you.”

“Yes,” Elend said, “but who watches over you?”

Kelsier. Even now, that was still her immediate reaction. She’d known him for less than a year, but that year had been the first in her life when she had felt protected.

Kelsier was dead. She, like the rest of the world, had to live without him.

“I know you were hurt when you fought those Allomancers the other night,” Elend said. “It would be really nice for my psyche if I knew someone was with you.”

“A kandra’s no bodyguard,” Vin said.

“I know,” Elend said. “But they’re incredibly loyal—I’ve never heard of one breaking Contract. He’ll watch out for you. I worry about you, Vin. You wonder why I stay up so late, scribbling at my proposals? I can’t sleep, knowing that you might be out there fighting—or worse, lying somewhere in a street, dying because nobody was there to help you.”

“I take OreSeur with me sometimes.”

“Yes,” Elend said, “but I know you find excuses to leave him behind. Kelsier bought you the services of an incredibly valuable servant. I can’t understand why you work so hard to avoid him.”

Vin closed her eyes. “Elend. He ate Kelsier.”

“So?” Elend asked. “Kelsier was already dead. Besides, he’s the one who gave that order.”

Vin sighed, opening her eyes. “I just … don’t trust that thing, Elend. The creature is unnatural.”

“I know,” Elend said. “My father always kept a kandra. But OreSeur is something, at least. Please. Promise me you’ll take him with you.”

“All right. But I don’t think he’s going to like the arrangement much either. He and I didn’t get along very well even when he was playing Renoux, and I his niece.”

Elend shrugged. “He’ll hold to his Contract. That’s what is important.”

“He holds to the Contract,” Vin said, “but only grudgingly. I swear he enjoys frustrating me.”

Elend looked down at her. “Vin, kandra are excellent servants. They don’t do things like that.”

“No, Elend,” Vin said. “Sazed was an excellent servant. He enjoyed being with people, helping them. I never felt that he resented me. OreSeur may do everything I command, but he doesn’t like me; he never has. I can tell.”

Elend sighed, rubbing her shoulder. “Don’t you think you might be a little irrational? There’s no real reason to hate him so.”

“Oh?” Vin asked. “Like there’s no reason you shouldn’t get along with Dockson?”

Elend hesitated, then he sighed. “I guess you have a point,” he said. He continued to rub Vin’s shoulder as he stared upward, toward the ceiling, contemplative.

“What?” Vin asked.

“I’m not doing a very good job of this, am I?”

“Don’t be foolish,” Vin said. “You’re a wonderful king.”

“I might be a passable king, Vin, but I’m not him.”

“Who?”

“Kelsier,” Elend said quietly.

“Elend, nobody expects you to be Kelsier.”

“Oh?” he said. “That’s why Dockson doesn’t like me. He hates noblemen; it’s obvious in the way that he talks, the way he acts. I don’t know that I blame him, considering the life he’s known. Regardless, he doesn’t think I should be king. He thinks a skaa should be in my place—or even better, Kelsier. They all think that.”

“That’s nonsense, Elend.”

“Really? And if Kelsier still lived, would I be king?”

Vin hesitated to reply.

“You see? They accept me—the people, the merchants, even the noblemen. But in the back of their minds, they wish they had Kelsier instead.”

“I don’t wish that.”

“Don’t you?”

Vin frowned. Then she sat up, turning so that she was kneeling over Elend in the reclined chair, their faces inches apart. “Don’t you ever wonder that, Elend. Kelsier was my teacher, but I didn’t love him. Not like I love you.”

Elend stared into her eyes, then nodded. Vin kissed him deeply, then snuggled down beside him again.

“Why not?” Elend eventually asked.

“Well, he was old, for one thing.”

Elend chuckled. “I seem to recall you making fun of my age as well.”

“That’s different,” Vin said. “You’re only a few years older than me—Kelsier was ancient.”

“Vin, thirty-eight is not ancient.”

“Close enough.”

Elend chuckled again, but she could tell that he wasn’t satisfied. Why had she chosen Elend rather than Kelsier? Kelsier had been the visionary, the hero, the Mistborn.

“Kelsier was a great man,” Vin said quietly as Elend began to stroke her hair. “But … there were things about him, Elend. Frightening things. He was intense, reckless, even a bit cruel. Unforgiving. He’d slaughter people without guilt or concern, simply because they upheld the Final Empire or worked for the Lord Ruler.

“I could love him as a teacher and a friend. But I don’t think I could ever love—not really love—a man like that. I don’t blame him; he was of the streets, like me. When you struggle so hard for life, you grow strong—but you can grow harsh too. His fault or not, Kelsier reminded me too much of men I … knew when I was younger. Kell was a far better person than they—he really could be kind, and he did sacrifice his life for the skaa. However, he was just so hard.”

She closed her eyes, feeling Elend’s warmth. “You, Elend Venture, are a good man. A truly good man.”

“Good men don’t become legends,” he said quietly.

“Good men don’t need to become legends.” She opened her eyes, looking up at him. “They simply do what’s right anyway.”

Elend smiled. Then he kissed the top of her head and leaned back. They lay there for a time, in a room warm with sunlight, relaxing.

“He saved my life once,” Elend finally said.

“Who?” Vin asked, surprised. “Kelsier?”

Elend nodded. “That day after Spook and OreSeur were captured, the day Kelsier died. There was a battle in the square when Ham and some soldiers tried to free the captives.”

“I was there,” Vin said. “Hiding with Breeze and Dox in one of the alleyways.”

“Really?” Elend said, sounding a bit amused. “Because I came looking for you. I thought that they’d arrested you alongside your ‘uncle’ OreSeur. I tried to get to the cages to rescue you.”

“You did what? Elend, it was a battlefield in that square! There was an Inquisitor there, for the Lord Ruler’s sake!”

“I know,” Elend said, smiling faintly. “See, that Inquisitor is the one who tried to kill me. It had its axe raised and everything. And then Kelsier was there. He smashed into the Inquisitor, throwing it to the ground.”

“Probably a coincidence,” Vin said.

“No,” Elend said softly. “He meant it, Vin. He looked at me while he struggled with the Inquisitor, and I saw it in his eyes. I’ve always wondered about that moment; everyone tells me that Kelsier hated the nobility even more than Dox does.”

“He … started to change a little at the end, I think.”

“Change enough that he’d risk himself to protect a random nobleman?”

“He knew that I loved you,” Vin said, smiling faintly. “I guess in the end, that proved stronger than his hatred.”

“I didn’t realize…” He trailed off as Vin turned, hearing something. Footsteps approaching. She sat up, and a second later Ham poked his head into the room. He stopped short when he saw Vin sitting in Elend’s lap.

“Oh,” Ham said, withdrawing. “Sorry.”

“No, wait,” Vin said. Ham poked his head back in, and Vin turned to Elend. “I almost forgot why I came looking for you in the first place. I got a new package from Terion today.”

“Another one?” Elend asked. “Vin, when are you going to give this up?”

“I can’t afford to,” she said.

“It can’t be all that important, can it?” he asked. “I mean, if everybody’s forgotten what that last metal does, then it must not be very powerful.”

“Either that,” Vin said, “or it was so amazingly powerful that the Ministry worked very hard to keep it a secret.” She stood, then took the pouch and thin bar out of her pocket. She handed the bar to Elend, who sat up in his plush chair.

Silvery and reflective, the metal—like the aluminum from which it was made—felt too light to be real. Any Allomancer who accidentally burned aluminum had their other metal reserves stripped away from them, leaving them powerless. Aluminum had been kept secret by the Steel Ministry; Vin had only found out about it the night she’d been captured by the Inquisitors, the same night she’d killed the Lord Ruler.

They had never been able to figure out the proper Allomantic alloy of aluminum. Allomantic metals always came in pairs—iron and steel, tin and pewter, copper and bronze, zinc and brass. Aluminum and … something. Something powerful, hopefully. Her atium was gone. She needed an edge.

Elend sighed, handing back the bar. “The last time you tried to burn one of those it left you sick for two days, Vin. I was terrified.”

“It can’t kill me,” Vin said. “Kelsier promised that burning a bad alloy would only make me sick.”

Elend shook his head. “Even Kelsier was wrong on occasion, Vin. Didn’t you say that he misunderstood how bronze worked?” His concern was so genuine that Vin felt herself being persuaded. But …

When that army attacks, Elend is going to die. The city’s skaa might survive—no ruler would be foolish enough to slaughter the people of such a productive city. But the king would certainly be killed. She couldn’t fight off an entire army, and she could do little to help with preparations.

She did know Allomancy. The better she got at it, the better she’d be able to protect the man she loved.

“I have to try it, Elend,” she said quietly. “Clubs says that Straff won’t attack for a few days—he’ll need that long to rest his men from the march and scout the city’s defenses. That means I can’t wait. If this metal does make me sick, I’ll be better in time to help fight—but only if I try it now.”

Elend’s face grew grim, but he did not forbid her. He had learned better than that. Instead, he stood. “Ham, you think this is a good idea?”

Ham nodded. He was a warrior; to him, her gamble would make sense. She’d asked him to stay because she’d need someone to carry her back to her bed, should this go wrong.

“All right,” Elend said, turning back to Vin, looking resigned.

Vin climbed into the chair, sat back, then took a pinch of the duralumin dust and swallowed it. She closed her eyes and felt at her Allomantic reserves. The common eight were all there, well stocked. She didn’t have any atium or gold, nor did she have the alloy of the two. Even if she’d had atium, it was too precious to use except in an emergency—and the other two metals had only marginal usefulness.

A new reserve appeared. Exactly as one had the four times before. Each time she’d burned an aluminum alloy, she’d immediately felt a blinding headache. You’d think I’d have learned, she thought. Gritting her teeth, she reached inside and burned the new alloy.

Nothing happened.

“Have you tried it yet?” Elend asked apprehensively.

Vin nodded slowly. “No headache. But I’m not sure whether the alloy is doing anything.”

“But it’s burning?” Ham asked.

Vin nodded. She felt the familiar warmth from within, the tiny fire that told her that a metal was burning. She tried moving about a bit, but couldn’t distinguish any change to her physical self. Finally she looked up and shrugged.

Ham frowned. “If it didn’t make you sick, then you’ve found the right alloy. Each metal only has one valid alloy.”

“That’s what we’ve always been told,” Vin said.

Ham nodded. “What alloy was this?”

“Aluminum and copper.”

“Interesting,” Ham said. “You don’t feel anything at all?”

Vin shook her head.

“You’ll have to practice some more.”

“Looks like I’m lucky,” Vin said, extinguishing the duralumin. “Terion came up with forty different alloys he thought we could try, once we had enough aluminum. This was only the fifth.”

“Forty?” Elend asked incredulously. “I wasn’t aware that there were so many metals you could make an alloy from!”

“You don’t have to have two metals to make an alloy,” Vin said absently. “Just one metal and something else. Look at steel—it’s iron and carbon.”

“Forty…” Elend repeated. “And you would have tried them all?”

Vin shrugged. “Seemed like a good place to start.”

Elend looked concerned at that thought, but didn’t say anything further. Instead, he turned to Ham. “Anyway, Ham, was there something you wanted to see us about?”

“Nothing important,” Ham said. “I wanted to see if Vin was up for some sparring. That army has me feeling antsy, and I figure Vin could still use some practice with the staff.”

Vin shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

“You want to come, El?” Ham asked. “Get in some practice?”

Elend laughed. “And face one of you two? I’ve got my royal dignity to think of!”

Vin frowned slightly, looking up at him. “You really should practice more, Elend. You barely know how to hold a sword, and you’re terrible with a dueling cane.”

“Now, why would I worry about that when I have you to protect me?”

Vin’s concern deepened. “We can’t always be around you, Elend. I’d worry a lot less if you were better at defending yourself.”

He smiled and pulled her to her feet. “I’ll get to it eventually, I promise. But not today—I’ve got too much to think about right now. How about if I come watch you two? Perhaps I’ll pick up something by observation—which is, by the way, the preferable method of weapons training, since it doesn’t involve me getting beaten up by a girl.”

Vin sighed, but didn’t press the point further.

The Well of Ascension

I write this record now, pounding it into a metal slab, because I am afraid. Afraid for myself, yes—I admit to being human. If Alendi does return from the Well of Ascension, I am certain that my death will be one of his first objectives. He is not an evil man, but he is a ruthless one. That is, I think, a product of what he has been through.

The Well of Ascension

6

ELEND LEANED DOWN AGAINST THE railing, looking in at the sparring yard. Part of him did wish to go out and practice with Vin and Ham. The larger part of him didn’t see the point.

Any assassin likely to come after me will be an Allomancer, he thought. I could train ten years and be no match for one of them.

In the yard, Ham took a few swings with his staff, then nodded. Vin stepped up, holding her own staff, which was a good foot taller than she was. Watching the two of them, Elend couldn’t help remarking on the disparity. Ham had the firm muscles and powerful build of a warrior. Vin looked even thinner than usual, wearing only a tight buttoned shirt and a pair of trousers, with no cloak to mask her size.

The inequality was enhanced by Ham’s next words. “We’re practicing with the staff, not practicing Pushing and Pulling. Don’t use anything but pewter, all right?”

Vin nodded.

It was the way they often sparred. Ham claimed that there was no substitute for training and practice, no matter how powerful an Allomancer one was. He did let Vin use pewter, because he said the enhanced strength and dexterity was disorienting unless one was accustomed to it.

The sparring field was like a courtyard. Situated in the palace barracks, it had an open-sided hallway built around it. Elend stood in this, the roof overhead keeping the red sun out of his eyes. That was nice, for a light ashfall had begun, and occasional flakes floated down from the sky. Elend crossed his arms on the railing. Soldiers passed occasionally in the hallway behind, bustling with activity. Some lingered to watch; Vin and Ham’s sparring sessions were something of a welcome diversion to the palace guards.

I should be working on my proposal, Elend thought. Not standing here watching Vin fight.

But … the tension of the last few days had been so pressing that he was finding it difficult to get up the motivation to do yet another read-through of the speech. What he really needed was to spend a few moments thinking.

So he simply watched. Vin approached Ham warily, staff held in a firm, two-handed stance. Once, Elend would probably have found trousers and shirt on a lady to be inappropriate, but he’d been around Vin too long to still be bothered by that. Ball gowns and dresses were beautiful—but there was something right about Vin in simple garb. She wore it more comfortably.

Besides, he kind of liked how the tight clothing looked on her.

Vin usually let others strike first, and this day was no exception. Staves rapped as Ham engaged her, and despite her size, Vin held her own. After a quick exchange, they both backed away, circling warily.

“My money’s on the girl.”

Elend turned as he noticed a form limping down the hallway toward him. Clubs stepped up beside Elend, setting a ten-boxing coin down on the railing with a snap. Elend smiled to the general, and Clubs scowled back—which was generally accepted as Clubs’s version of a smile. Dockson excluded, Elend had warmed quickly to the other members of Vin’s crew. But Clubs had taken a little getting used to. The stocky man had a face like a gnarled toadstool, and he always seemed to be squinting in displeasure—an expression usually matched by his tone of voice.

He was a gifted craftsman, not to mention an Allomancer—a Smoker, though he didn’t get to use his power much anymore. For the better part of a year, Clubs had acted as general of Elend’s military forces. Elend didn’t know where Clubs had learned to lead soldiers, but the man had a remarkable knack for it. He’d probably gotten the skill in the same place he’d acquired the scar on his leg that produced the hobble from which Clubs drew his nickname.

“They’re only sparring, Clubs,” Elend said. “There won’t be a winner.”

“They’ll end with a serious exchange,” Clubs said. “They always do.”

Elend considered. “You’re asking me to bet against Vin, you know,” he noted. “That could be unhealthy.”

“So?”

Elend smiled, pulling out a coin. Clubs still kind of intimidated him, and he didn’t want to risk offending the man.

“Where’s that worthless nephew of mine?” Clubs asked as he watched the sparring.

“Spook?” Elend asked. “He’s back? How’d he get into the city?”

Clubs shrugged. “He left something on my doorstep this morning.”

“A gift?”

Clubs snorted. “It was a woodcarving from a master carpenter up in Yelva City. The note said, ‘I just wanted to show you what real carpenters are up to, old man.’”

Elend chuckled, but trailed off as Clubs eyed him with a discomforting stare. “Whelp was never this insolent before,” Clubs muttered. “I swear, you lot have corrupted the lad.”

Clubs almost seemed to be smiling. Or was he serious? Elend couldn’t ever decide if the man was as crusty as he seemed, or if Elend was the butt of some elaborate joke.

“How is the army doing?” Elend finally asked.

“Terribly,” Clubs said. “You want an army? Give me more than one year to train it. Right now, I’d barely trust those boys against a mob of old women with sticks.”

Great, Elend thought.

“Can’t do much right now though,” Clubs grumbled. “Straff is digging in some cursory fortifications, but mostly he’s resting his men. The attack will come by the end of the week.”

In the courtyard, Vin and Ham continued to fight. It was slow for the moment, Ham taking time to pause and explain principles or stances. Elend and Clubs watched for a short time as the sparring gradually became more intense, the rounds taking longer, the two participants beginning to sweat as their feet kicked up puffs of ash from the packed, sooty earth.

Vin gave Ham a good contest despite the ridiculous differences in strength, reach, and training, and Elend smiled despite himself. She was something special—Elend had realized that when he’d first seen her in the Venture ballroom a year and a half before. He was only now coming to realize how much of an understatement “special” was.

A coin snapped against the wooden railing. “My money’s on Vin too.”

Elend turned with surprise. The man who had spoken was a soldier who had been standing with the others watching behind. Elend frowned. “Who—”

Then Elend cut himself off. The beard was wrong, the posture too straight, but the man standing behind him was familiar. “Spook?” Elend asked incredulously.

The teenage boy smiled behind an apparently fake beard. “Wasing the where of calling out.”

Elend’s head immediately began to hurt. “Lord Ruler, don’t tell me you’ve gone back to the dialect?”

“Oh, just for the occasional nostalgic quip,” Spook said with a laugh. His words bore traces of his Easterner accent; during the first few months Elend had known the boy, Spook had been utterly unintelligible. Fortunately he had grown out of using his street cant, as he’d managed to grow out of most of his clothing. Well over six feet tall, the sixteen-year-old young man hardly resembled the gangly boy Elend had met a year before.

Spook leaned against the railing beside Elend, adopting a teenage boy’s lounging posture and completely destroying his image as a soldier—which indeed he wasn’t.

“Why the costume, Spook?” Elend asked with a frown.

Spook shrugged. “I’m no Mistborn. We more mundane spies have to find ways to get information without flying up to windows and listening outside.”

“How long you been standing there?” Clubs asked, glaring at his nephew.

“Since before you got here, Uncle Grumbles,” Spook said. “And in answer to your question, I got back a couple days ago. Before Dockson, in fact. I just thought I’d take a bit of a break before I went back to duty.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Spook,” Elend said, “but we’re at war. There isn’t a lot of time to take breaks.”

Spook shrugged. “I didn’t want you to send me away again. If there’s going to be war here, I want to be around. You know, for the excitement.”

Clubs snorted. “And where did you get that uniform?”

“Uh … Well…” Spook glanced to the side, displaying a hint of the uncertain boy Elend had known.

Clubs grumbled something about insolent boys, but Elend laughed and clapped Spook on the shoulder. The boy looked up, smiling; though he’d been easy to ignore at first, he was proving as valuable as any of the other members of Vin’s former crew. As a Tineye—a Misting who could burn tin to enhance his senses—Spook could listen to conversations from far away, not to mention notice distant details.

“Anyway, welcome back,” Elend said. “What’s the word from the West?”

Spook shook his head. “I hate to sound too much like Uncle Crusty over there, but the news isn’t good. You know those rumors about the Lord Ruler’s atium being in Luthadel? Well, they’re back. Stronger this time.”

“I thought we were past that!” Elend said. Breeze and his team had spent the better part of six months spreading rumors and manipulating the warlords into believing that the atium must have been hidden in another city, since Elend hadn’t found it in Luthadel.

“Guess not,” Spook said. “And … I think someone’s spreading these rumors intentionally. I’ve been on the street long enough to sense a planted story, and this rumor smells wrong. Someone really wants the warlords to focus on you.”

Great, Elend thought. “You don’t know where Breeze is, do you?”

Spook shrugged, but he no longer seemed to be paying attention to Elend. He was watching the sparring. Elend glanced back toward Vin and Ham.

As Clubs had predicted, the two had fallen into a more serious contest. There was no more instruction; there were no more quick, repetitive exchanges. They sparred in earnest, fighting in a swirling melee of staffs and dust. Ash flew around them, blown up by the wind of their attacks, and even more soldiers stopped in the surrounding hallways to watch.

Elend leaned forward. There was something intense about a duel between two Allomancers. Vin tried an attack. Ham swung simultaneously, his staff blurringly quick. Vin got her own weapon up in time, but the power of Ham’s blow threw her back in a tumble. She hit the ground on one shoulder. Giving barely a grunt of pain, she got a hand beneath her, throwing herself up to land on her feet. She skidded for a moment, retaining her balance, holding her staff up.

Pewter, Elend thought. It made even a clumsy man dexterous. And for a person who was normally graceful like Vin …

Vin’s eyes narrowed, her innate stubbornness showing in the set of her jaw. She didn’t like being beaten—even when her opponent was obviously stronger than she was.

Elend stood up straight, intending to suggest an end to the sparring. At that moment, Vin dashed forward.

Ham brought his staff up expectantly, swinging as Vin came within reach. She ducked to the side, passing within inches of the attack, then brought her weapon around and slammed it into the back of Ham’s staff, throwing him off balance. Then she ducked in for the attack.

Ham recovered quickly. He let the force of Vin’s blow spin him, and he used the momentum to bring his staff around in a powerful blow aimed directly at Vin’s chest.

Elend cried out.

Vin jumped.

She didn’t have metal to Push against, but that didn’t seem to matter. She sprang a good seven feet in the air, easily cresting Ham’s staff. She flipped as the swing passed beneath her, her fingers brushing the air right above the weapon, her own staff spinning in a one-handed grip.

Vin landed, her staff already howling in a low swing, its tip flinging up a line of ash as it ran along the ground. It slammed into the back of Ham’s legs. The blow swept Ham’s feet out from beneath him, and he cried out as he fell.

Vin jumped into the air again.

Ham slammed to the earth on his back, and Vin landed on his chest. Then she calmly rapped him on the forehead with the end of her staff. “I win.”

Ham lay, looking dazed, Vin crouching on his chest. Dust and ash settled quietly in the courtyard.

“Damn…” Spook whispered, voicing a sentiment that seemed to be shared by the dozen or so watching soldiers.

Finally Ham chuckled. “Fine. You beat me—now if you would, kindly get me something to drink while I try to massage some feeling back into my legs.”

Vin smiled, hopping off his chest and scampering away to do as requested. Ham shook his head, climbing to his feet. Despite his words, he walked with barely a limp; he’d probably have a bruise, but it wouldn’t bother him for long. Pewter not only enhanced one’s strength, balance, and speed, it also made one’s body innately stronger. Ham could shrug off a blow that would have shattered Elend’s legs.

Ham joined them, nodding to Clubs and punching Spook lightly on the arm. Then he leaned against the railing and rubbed his left calf, cringing slightly. “I swear, Elend—sometimes sparring with that girl is like trying to fight with a gust of wind. She’s never where I think she’ll be.”

“How did she do that, Ham?” Elend asked. “The jump, I mean. That leap seemed inhuman, even for an Allomancer.”

“Used steel, didn’t she?” Spook said.

Ham shook his head. “No, I doubt it.”

“Then how?” Elend asked.

“Allomancers don’t have to be physically strong to be incredibly powerful.” Ham sighed and put his foot down. “If Vin were a Feruchemist, it would be different—if you ever see Sazed increase his strength, his muscles will grow larger. But with Allomancy, the power comes from the metal itself, not the person’s body.

“Now, most Thugs—myself included—figure that making their bodies strong will only add to their power. After all, a muscular man burning pewter will be that much stronger than a regular man of the same Allomantic power.”

Ham rubbed his chin, eyeing the direction Vin had gone. “But … well, I’m beginning to think that there might be another way. Vin’s a thin little thing, but when she burns pewter, she grows several times stronger than any normal warrior. She packs all that strength into a small body, and doesn’t have to bother with the weight of massive muscles. She’s like … an insect. Far stronger than her mass or her body would indicate. So when she jumps, she can jump.”

“But you’re still stronger than she is,” Spook said.

Ham nodded. “And I can make use of that—assuming I can ever hit her. That’s getting harder and harder to do.”

Vin finally returned, carrying a jug of chilled juice—apparently she’d decided to go all the way to the keep, rather than grabbing some of the warm ale kept on hand in the courtyard. She handed a flagon to Ham, and had thought to bring cups for Elend and Clubs.

“Hey!” Spook said as she poured. “What about me?”

“That beard looks silly on you,” Vin said as she poured.

“So I don’t get anything to drink?”

“No.”

“Vin,” Spook said, “you’re a strange girl.”

Vin rolled her eyes, then glanced toward the water barrel in the corner of the courtyard. One of the tin cups lying beside it lurched into the air, shooting across the courtyard. Vin stuck her hand out, catching it with a slapping sound, then set it on the railing before Spook. “Happy?”

“I will be once you pour me something to drink,” Spook said as Clubs grunted, taking a slurp from his own cup. The old general then reached over, sliding two of the coins off the railing and pocketing them.

“Hey, that’s right!” Spook said. “You owe me, El. Pay up.”

Elend lowered his cup. “I never agreed to the bet.”

“You paid Uncle Irritable. Why not me?”

Elend sighed, pulling out a ten-boxing coin and setting it beside Spook’s. The boy smiled, plucking both up in a smooth street-thief gesture. “Thanks for winning the bout, Vin,” he said with a wink.

Vin frowned at Elend. “You bet against me?”

Elend laughed, leaning across the railing to kiss her. “I didn’t mean it. Clubs bullied me.”

Clubs snorted at that comment, downed the rest of his juice, then held out his cup for a refill. When Vin didn’t respond, he turned to Spook and gave the boy a telling scowl. Finally Spook sighed, picking up the jug.

Vin was still regarding Elend with dissatisfaction.

“I’d be careful, Elend,” Ham said with a chuckle. “She can hit pretty hard.”

Elend nodded. “I should know better than to antagonize her when there are weapons lying around, eh?”

“Tell me about it,” Ham said.

Vin sniffed at that comment, rounding the railing so she could stand next to Elend. He put his arm around her, and as he did, he caught a bare flash of envy in Spook’s eyes. Elend suspected that the boy’d had a crush on Vin for some time—but, well, Elend couldn’t really blame him for that.

Spook shook his head. “I’ve got to find myself a woman.”

“Well, that beard isn’t going to help,” Vin said.

“It’s just a disguise, Vin,” Spook said. “El, I don’t suppose you could give me a title or something?”

Elend smiled. “I don’t think that will matter, Spook.”

“It worked for you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Elend said. “I think Vin fell in love with me despite my title, rather than because of it.”

“But you had others before her,” Spook said. “Noble girls.”

“A couple,” Elend admitted.

“Though Vin has a habit of killing off her competition,” Ham quipped.

Elend laughed. “Now, see, she only did that once. And I think Shan deserved it—she was, after all, trying to assassinate me at the time.” He looked down fondly, eyeing Vin. “Though, I do have to admit, Vin is a bit hard on other women. With her around, everybody else looks bland by comparison.”

Spook rolled his eyes. “It’s more interesting when she kills them off.”

Ham chuckled, letting Spook pour him some more juice. “Lord Ruler only knows what she’d do to you if you ever tried to leave her, Elend.”

Vin stiffened immediately, pulling him a little tighter. She’d been abandoned far too many times. Even after what they’d been through, even after his proposal of marriage, Elend had to keep promising Vin that he wasn’t going to leave her.

Time to change the topic, Elend thought, the joviality of the moment fading. “Well,” he said, “I think I’m going to go visit the kitchens and get something to eat. You coming, Vin?”

Vin glanced at the sky—likely checking to see how soon it would grow dark. Finally she nodded.

“I’ll come,” Spook said.

“No you won’t,” Clubs said, grabbing the boy by the back of the neck. “You’re going to stay right here and explain exactly where you got one of my soldiers’ uniforms.”

Elend chuckled, leading Vin away. Truth be told, even with the slightly sour end of conversation, he felt better for having come to watch the sparring. It was strange how the members of Kelsier’s crew could laugh and make light, even during the most terrible of situations. They had a way of making him forget about his problems. Perhaps that was a holdover from the Survivor. Kelsier had reportedly insisted on laughing, no matter how bad the situation. It had been a form of rebellion to him.

None of that made the problems go away. They still faced an army several times larger than their own, in a city they could barely defend. Yet if anyone could survive such a situation, it would be Kelsier’s crew.

Later that night, having filled her stomach at Elend’s insistence, Vin made her way with Elend to her rooms.

There, sitting on the floor, was a perfect replica of the wolfhound she had bought earlier. It eyed her, then bowed its head. “Welcome back, mistress,” the kandra said in a growling, muffled voice.

Elend whistled appreciatively, and Vin walked in a circle around the creature. Each hair appeared to have been placed perfectly. If it hadn’t spoken, one would never have been able to tell it wasn’t the original dog.

“How do you manage the voice?” Elend asked curiously.

“A voice box is a construction of flesh, not bone, Your Majesty,” OreSeur said. “Older kandra learn to manipulate their bodies, not merely replicate them. I still need to digest a person’s corpse to memorize and re-create their exact features. But some things I can improvise.”

Vin nodded. “Is that why making this body took you so much longer than you’d said?”

“No, mistress,” OreSeur said. “The hair. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you—placing fur like this takes a great deal of precision and effort.”

“Actually, you did mention it,” Vin said, waving her hand.

“What do you think of the body, OreSeur?” Elend asked.

“Honestly, Your Majesty?”

“Of course.”

“It is offensive and degrading,” OreSeur said.

Vin raised an eyebrow. That’s forward of you, Renoux, she thought. Feeling a little belligerent today, are we?

He glanced at her, and she tried—unsuccessfully—to read his canine expression.

“But,” Elend said, “you’ll wear the body anyway, right?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” OreSeur said. “I would die before breaking the Contract. It is life.”

Elend nodded to Vin, as if he’d made a major point.

Anyone can claim loyalty, Vin thought. If someone has a “Contract” to ensure their honor, then all the better. That makes the surprise more poignant when they do turn on you.

Elend was obviously waiting for something. Vin sighed. “OreSeur, we’ll be spending more time together in the future.”

“If that is what you wish, mistress.”

“I’m not sure if it is,” Vin said. “But it’s going to happen anyway. How well can you move about in that body?”

“Well enough, mistress.”

“Come on,” she said, “let’s see if you can keep up.”

The Well of Ascension

I am also afraid, however, that all I have known—that my story—will be forgotten. I am afraid for the world that is to come. Afraid my plans will fail.

Afraid of a doom even worse than the Deepness.

The Well of Ascension

7

SAZED NEVER THOUGHT HE’D HAVE reason to appreciate dirt floors. However, they proved remarkably useful in writing instruction. He drew several words in the dirt with a long stick, giving his half-dozen students a model. They proceeded to scribble their own copies, rewriting the words several times.

Even after living among various groups of rural skaa for a year, Sazed was still surprised by the dearth of their resources. There wasn’t a single piece of chalk in the entire village, let alone ink or paper. Half the children ran around naked, and the only shelters were the hovels—long, one-room structures with patchy roofs. The skaa had farming tools, fortunately, but no manner of bows or slings for hunting.

Sazed had led a scavenging mission up to the plantation’s abandoned manor. The leavings had been meager. He’d suggested that the village elders relocate their people to the manor for the winter, but he doubted they would do so. They had visited the manor with apprehension, and many hadn’t been willing to leave Sazed’s side. The place reminded them of lords—and lords reminded them of pain.

His students continued to scribble. He had spent quite a bit of effort explaining to the elders why writing was so important. At last they had chosen him some students—partially, Sazed was sure, just to appease him. He shook his head slowly as he watched them write. There was no passion in their learning. They came because they were ordered, and because “Master Terrisman” willed it, not because of any real desire for education.

During the days before the Collapse, Sazed had often imagined what the world would be like once the Lord Ruler was gone. He had pictured the Keepers emerging, bringing forgotten knowledge and truths to an excited, thankful populace. He’d imagined teaching before a warm hearth at night, telling stories to an eager audience. He’d never stopped to consider a village stripped of its working men, whose people were too exhausted at night to bother with tales from the past. He’d never imagined a people who seemed more annoyed by his presence than thankful.

You must be patient with them, Sazed told himself sternly. His dreams now seemed like hubris. The Keepers who had come before him, the hundreds who had died safeguarding their knowledge in secret, had never expected praise or accolades. They had performed their great task with solemn anonymity.

Sazed stood up and inspected his students’ writings. They were getting better—they could recognize all of the letters. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. He nodded to the group, dismissing them to help prepare the evening meal.

They bowed, then scattered. Sazed followed them out, then realized how dim the sky was; he had probably kept his students too late. He shook his head as he strolled between the hill-like hovels. He again wore his steward’s robes, with their colorful V-shaped patterns, and he had put in several of his earrings. He kept to the old ways because they were familiar, even though they were also a symbol of oppression. How would future Terris generations dress? Would a lifestyle forced upon them by the Lord Ruler become an innate part of their culture?

He halted at the edge of the village, glancing down the corridor of the southern valley. It was filled with blackened soil occasionally split by brown vines or shrubs. No mist, of course; mist came only during the night. The stories had to be mistakes. The thing he’d seen had to have been a fluke.

And what did it matter if it wasn’t? It wasn’t his duty to investigate such things. Now that the Collapse had come, he had to disperse his knowledge, not waste time chasing after foolish stories. Keepers were no longer investigators, but instructors. He carried with him thousands of books—information about farming, sanitation, government, and medicine. He needed to give these things to the skaa. That was what the Synod had decided.

And yet, a part of Sazed resisted. That made him feel deeply guilty; the villagers needed his teachings, and he wished dearly to help them. But … he felt that he was missing something. The Lord Ruler was dead, but the story did not seem finished. Was there something he had overlooked?

Something even larger than the Lord Ruler? Something so large, so big, that it was effectively invisible?

Or do I merely want there to be something else? he wondered. I’ve spent most of my adult life resisting and fighting, taking risks that the other Keepers called mad. I wasn’t content with feigned subservience—I had to get involved in the rebellion.

Despite that rebellion’s success, Sazed’s brethren still hadn’t forgiven him for his involvement. He knew that Vin and the others saw him as docile, but compared with other Keepers he was a wild man. A reckless, untrustworthy fool who threatened the entire order with his impatience. They had believed their duty was to wait, watching for the day when the Lord Ruler was gone. Feruchemists were too rare to risk in open rebellion.

Sazed had disobeyed. Now he was having trouble living the peaceful life of a teacher. Was that because some subconscious part of him knew that the people were still in danger, or was it because he simply couldn’t accept being marginalized?

“Master Terrisman!”

Sazed spun. The voice was terrified. Another death in the mists? he thought immediately.

It was eerie how the other skaa remained inside their hovels despite the horrified voice. A few doors creaked, but nobody rushed out in alarm—or even curiosity—as the screamer dashed up to Sazed. She was one of the fieldworkers, a stout, middle-aged woman. Sazed checked his reserves as she approached; he had on his pewtermind for strength, of course, and a very small steel ring for speed. He wished he’d chosen to wear a few more bracelets this day.

“Master Terrisman!” the woman said, out of breath. “Oh, he’s come back! He’s come for us!”

“Who?” Sazed asked. “The man who died in the mists?”

“No, Master Terrisman. The Lord Ruler.”

Sazed found him standing right outside the village. It was already growing dark, and the woman who’d fetched Sazed had returned to her hovel in fear. Sazed could only imagine how the poor people felt—trapped by the onset of the night and its mist, yet huddled and worried at the danger that lurked outside.

And an ominous danger it was. The stranger waited quietly on the worn road, wearing a black robe, standing almost as tall as Sazed. The man was bald, and he wore no jewelry—unless, of course, you counted the massive iron spikes that had been driven point-first through his eyes.

Not the Lord Ruler. A Steel Inquisitor.

Sazed still didn’t understand how the creatures continued to live. The spikes were wide enough to fill the Inquisitor’s entire eye sockets; the nails had destroyed the eyes, and pointed tips jutted out the back of the skull. No blood dripped from the wounds—for some reason, that made them seem more strange.

Fortunately, Sazed knew this particular Inquisitor. “Marsh,” Sazed said quietly as the mists began to form.

“You are a very difficult person to track, Terrisman,” Marsh said—and the sound of his voice shocked Sazed. It had changed, becoming more grating, more gristly. It now had a grinding quality, like that of a man with a cough. Just like the other Inquisitors Sazed had heard.

“Track?” Sazed asked. “I wasn’t planning on others needing to find me.”

“Regardless,” Marsh said, turning south. “I did. You need to come with me.”

Sazed frowned. “What? Marsh, I have a work to do here.”

“Unimportant,” Marsh said, turning back, focusing his eyeless gaze on Sazed.

Is it me, or has he become stranger since we last met? Sazed shivered. “What is this about, Marsh?”

“The Conventical of Seran is empty.”

Sazed considered that. The Conventical was a Ministry stronghold to the south—a place where the Inquisitors and high obligators of the Lord Ruler’s religion had retreated after the Collapse.

“Empty?” Sazed asked. “That isn’t likely, I think.”

“True nonetheless,” Marsh said. He didn’t use body language as he spoke—no gesturing, no facial expressions.

“I…” Sazed trailed off. What kinds of information, wonders, secrets, the Conventical’s libraries must hold.

“You must come with me,” Marsh said. “I may need help, should my brethren discover us.”

My brethren. Since when are the Inquisitors Marsh’s “brethren”? Marsh had infiltrated their numbers as part of Kelsier’s plan to overthrow the Final Empire. He was a traitor to them, not their brother.

Sazed hesitated. Marsh’s profile looked unnatural, even unnerving, in the dim light. Dangerous.

Don’t be foolish, Sazed chastised himself. Marsh was Kelsier’s brother—the Survivor’s only living relative. As an Inquisitor, Marsh had authority over the Steel Ministry, and many of the obligators had listened to him despite his involvement with the rebellion. He had been an invaluable resource for Elend Venture’s fledgling government.

“Go get your things,” Marsh said.

My place is here, Sazed thought. Teaching the people, not gallivanting across the countryside, chasing my own ego.

And yet …

“The mists are coming during the day,” Marsh said quietly.

Sazed looked up. Marsh was staring at him, the heads of his spikes shining like round discs in the last slivers of sunlight. Superstitious skaa thought that Inquisitors could read minds, though Sazed knew that was foolish. Inquisitors had the powers of Mistborn, and could therefore influence other people’s emotions—but they could not read minds.

“Why did you say that?” Sazed asked.

“Because it is true,” Marsh said. “This is not over, Sazed. It has not yet begun. The Lord Ruler … he was merely a delay. A cog. Now that he is gone, we have little time remaining. Come with me to the Conventical—we must search it while we have the opportunity.”

Sazed hesitated, then nodded. “Let me go explain to the villagers. We can leave tonight, I think.”

Marsh nodded, but he didn’t move as Sazed retreated to the village. He remained standing in the darkness, letting the mist gather around him.

The Well of Ascension

It all comes back to poor Alendi. I feel bad for him, for everything he has been forced to endure. For what he has been forced to become.

The Well of Ascension

8

VIN THREW HERSELF INTO THE mists. She soared in the night air, passing over darkened homes and streets. An occasional furtive bob of light glowed in the mists—a guard patrol, or perhaps an unfortunate late-night traveler.

Vin began to descend, and she immediately flipped a coin out before herself. She Pushed against it, her weight plunging it down into the quiet depths. As soon as it hit the street below, her Push forced her upward, and she sprang back into the air. Soft Pushes were very difficult—so each coin she Pushed against, each jump she made, threw her into the air at a tremendous speed. The jumping of a Mistborn wasn’t like a bird’s flight. It was more like the path of a ricocheting arrow.

Yet there was a grace to it. Vin breathed deeply as she arced above the city, tasting the cool, humid air. Luthadel by day smelled of burning forges, sun-heated refuse, and fallen ash. At night, however, the mists gave the air a beautiful chill crispness—almost a cleanliness.

Vin crested her jump, and she hung for a brief moment as her momentum changed. Then she began to plummet back toward the city. Her mistcloak tassels fluttered around her, mingling with her hair. She fell with her eyes closed, remembering her first few weeks in the mist, training beneath Kelsier’s relaxed—yet watchful—tutelage. He had given her this. Freedom. Despite two years as a Mistborn, she had never lost the sense of intoxicating wonder she felt when soaring through the mists.

She burned steel with her eyes closed; the lines appeared anyway, visible as a spray of threadlike blue lines set against the blackness of her eyelids. She picked two, pointing downward behind her, and Pushed, throwing herself into another arc.

What did I ever do without this? Vin thought, opening her eyes, whipping her mistcloak behind her with one arm.

Eventually she began to fall again, and this time she didn’t toss a coin. She burned pewter to strengthen her limbs, and landed with a thump on the wall surrounding Keep Venture’s grounds. Her bronze showed no signs of Allomantic activity nearby, and her steel revealed no unusual patterns of metal moving toward the keep.

Vin crouched on the dark wall for a few moments, right at the edge, toes curling over the lip of the stone. The rock was cool beneath her feet, and her tin made her skin far more sensitive than normal. She could tell that the wall needed to be cleaned; lichen was beginning to grow along its side, encouraged by the night’s humidity, protected from the day’s sun by a nearby tower.

Vin remained quiet, watching a slight breeze push and churn the mists. She heard the movement on the street below before she saw it. She tensed, checking her reserves, before she was able to discern a wolfhound’s shape in the shadows.

She dropped a coin over the side of the wall, then leapt off. OreSeur waited as she landed quietly before him, using a quick Push on the coin to slow her descent.

“You move quickly,” Vin noted appreciatively.

“All I had to do was round the palace grounds, mistress.”

“Still, you stuck closer to me this time than you ever did before. That wolfhound’s body is faster than a human one.”

“I suppose,” OreSeur admitted.

“Think you can follow me through the city?”

“Probably,” OreSeur said. “If you lose me, I will return to this point so you can retrieve me.”

Vin turned and dashed down a side street. OreSeur took off quietly behind her, following.

Let’s see how well he does in a more demanding chase, she thought, burning pewter and increasing her speed. She sprinted along the cool cobbles, barefoot as always. A normal man could never have maintained such a speed. Even a trained runner couldn’t have kept pace with her, for he would have quickly tired.

With pewter, Vin could run for hours at breakneck speeds. It gave her strength, lent her an unreal sense of balance, as she shot down the dark, mist-ruled street, a flurry of cloak tassels and bare feet.

OreSeur kept pace. He loped beside her in the night, breathing heavily, focused on his running.

Impressive, Vin thought, then turned down an alleyway. She easily jumped the six-foot-tall fence at the back, passing into the garden of some lesser nobleman’s mansion. She spun, skidding on the wet grass, and watched.

OreSeur crested the top of the wooden fence, his dark canine form dropping through the mists to land in the loam before Vin. He came to a stop and rested on his haunches, waiting quietly, panting. There was a look of defiance in his eyes.

All right, Vin thought, pulling out a handful of coins. Follow this.

She dropped a coin and threw herself backward up into the air. She spun in the mists, twisting, then Pushed herself sideways off a well spigot. She landed on a rooftop and jumped off, using another coin to Push herself over the street below.

She kept going, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, using coins when necessary. She occasionally shot a glance behind and saw a dark form struggling to keep up. He’d rarely followed her as a human; usually she had checked in with him at specific points. Moving out in the night, jumping through the mists … this was the true domain of the Mistborn. Did Elend understand what he asked when he told her to bring OreSeur with her? If she stayed down on the streets, she’d expose herself.

She landed on a rooftop, jarring to a halt as she grabbed hold of the building’s stone lip and leaned out over a street three stories below. She maintained her balance, mist swirling below her. All was silent.

Well, that didn’t take long, she thought. I’ll just have to explain to Elend that—

OreSeur’s canine form thumped to the rooftop a short distance away. He padded over to her, then sat down on his haunches, waiting expectantly.

Vin frowned. She’d traveled for a good ten minutes, running over rooftops with the speed of a Mistborn. “How … how did you get up here?” she demanded.

“I jumped atop a shorter building, then used it to reach these tenements, mistress,” OreSeur said. “Then I followed you along the rooftops. They are placed so close together that it was not difficult to jump from one to another.”

Vin’s confusion must have shown, for OreSeur continued. “I may have been … hasty in my judgment of these bones, mistress. They certainly do have an impressive sense of smell—in fact, all of their senses are quite keen. It was surprisingly easy to track you, even in the darkness.”

“I … see,” Vin said. “Well, that’s good.”

“Might I ask, mistress, the purpose of that chase?”

Vin shrugged. “I do this sort of thing every night.”

“It seemed like you were particularly intent on losing me. It will be very difficult to protect you if you don’t let me stay near you.”

“Protect me?” Vin asked. “You can’t even fight.”

“The Contract forbids me from killing a human,” OreSeur said. “But I could go for help should you need it.”

Or throw me a bit of atium in a moment of danger, Vin admitted. He’s right—he could be useful. Why am I so determined to leave him behind?

She glanced over at OreSeur, who sat patiently, his chest puffing from exertion. She hadn’t realized that kandra even needed to breathe.

He ate Kelsier.

“Come on,” Vin said. She jumped from the building, Pushing herself off a coin. She didn’t stop to see if OreSeur followed.

As she fell, she reached for another coin, but decided not to use it. She Pushed against a passing window bracket instead. Like most Mistborn, she often used clips—the smallest denomination of coin—to jump. It was very convenient that the economy supplied a prepackaged bit of metal of an ideal size and weight for jumping and shooting. To most Mistborn, the cost of a thrown clip—or even a bag of them—was negligible.

But Vin was not most Mistborn. In her younger years, a handful of clips would have seemed an amazing treasure. That much money could have meant food for weeks, if she scrimped. It also could have meant pain—even death—if the other thieves had discovered that she’d obtained such a fortune.

It had been a long time since she’d gone hungry. Though she still kept a pack of dried food in her quarters, she did so more out of habit than anxiety. She honestly wasn’t sure what she thought of the changes within her. It was nice not to have to worry about basic necessities—yet those worries had been replaced by ones far more daunting. Worries involving the future of an entire nation.

The future of … a people. She landed on the city wall—a structure much higher, and much better fortified, than the small wall around Keep Venture. She hopped up on the battlements, fingers seeking a hold on one of the merlons as she leaned over the edge of the wall, looking out over the army’s fires.

She had never met Straff Venture, but she had heard enough from Elend to be worried.

She sighed, pushing back off the battlement and hopping onto the wall walk. Then she leaned back against a merlon. To the side, OreSeur trotted up the wall steps and approached. Once again, he went down onto his haunches, watching patiently.

For better or for worse, Vin’s simple life of starvation and beatings was gone. Elend’s fledgling kingdom was in serious danger, and she’d burned away the last of his atium trying to keep herself alive. She’d left him exposed—not only to armies, but to any Mistborn assassin who tried to kill him.

An assassin like the Watcher, perhaps? The mysterious figure who had interfered in her fight against Cett’s Mistborn. What did he want? Why did he watch her, rather than Elend?

Vin sighed, reaching into her coin pouch and pulling out her bar of duralumin. She still had the reserve of it within her, the bit she’d swallowed earlier.

For centuries, it had been assumed that there were only ten Allomantic metals: the four base metals and their alloys, plus atium and gold. Yet Allomantic metals always came in pairs—a base metal and an alloy. It had always bothered Vin that atium and gold were considered a pair, when neither was an alloy of the other. In the end, it had turned out that they weren’t actually paired; they each had an alloy. One of these—malatium, the so-called Eleventh Metal—had eventually given Vin the clue she’d needed to defeat the Lord Ruler.

Somehow Kelsier had found out about malatium. Sazed still hadn’t been able to trace the “legends” that Kelsier had supposedly uncovered teaching of the Eleventh Metal and its power to defeat the Lord Ruler.

Vin rubbed her finger on the slick surface of the duralumin bar. When Vin had last seen Sazed, he’d seemed frustrated—or at least as frustrated as Sazed ever grew—that he couldn’t find even hints regarding Kelsier’s supposed legends. Though Sazed claimed he’d left Luthadel to teach the people of the Final Empire—as was his duty as a Keeper—Vin hadn’t missed the fact that Sazed had gone south. The direction in which Kelsier claimed to have discovered the Eleventh Metal.

Are there rumors about this metal too? Vin wondered, rubbing the duralumin. Ones that might tell me what it does?

Each of the other metals produced an immediate effect; only copper, with its ability to create a cloud that masked an Allomancer’s powers from others, didn’t have an obvious sensory clue to its purpose. Perhaps duralumin was similar. Could its effect be noticed only by another Allomancer, one trying to use his or her powers on Vin? It was the opposite of aluminum, which made metals disappear. Did that mean duralumin would make other metals last longer?

Movement.

Vin barely caught the hint of shadowed motion. At first, a primal bit of terror rose in her: Was it the misty form, the ghost in the darkness she had seen the night before?

You were just seeing things, she told herself forcefully. You were too tired. And in truth, the glimmer of motion proved too dark—too real—to be the same ghostly image.

It was him.

He stood atop one of the watchtowers—not crouching, not even bothering to hide. Was he arrogant or foolish, this unknown Mistborn? Vin smiled, her apprehension turning to excitement. She prepared her metals, checking her reserves. Everything was ready.

Tonight I catch you, my friend.

Vin spun, throwing out a spray of coins. Either the Mistborn knew he’d been spotted, or he was ready for an attack, for he easily dodged. OreSeur hopped to his feet, spinning, and Vin whipped her belt free, dropping her metals.

“Follow if you can,” she whispered to the kandra, then sprang into the darkness after her prey.

The Watcher shot away, bounding through the night. Vin had little experience chasing another Mistborn; her only real chance to practice had come during Kelsier’s training sessions. She soon found herself struggling to keep up with the Watcher, and she felt a stab of guilt for what she had done to OreSeur earlier. She was learning firsthand how difficult it was to follow a determined Mistborn through the mists. And she didn’t have the advantage of a dog’s sense of smell.

However, with her tin burning she managed to track the Watcher with her eyes and ears as he moved toward the center of the city. Eventually, he dropped toward one of the central fountain squares. Vin fell as well, hitting the slick cobblestones with a flare of pewter, then dodging to the side as he threw out a handful of coins.

Metal rang against stone in the quiet night, coins plinging against statues and cobblestones. Vin smiled as she landed on all fours; then she bounded forward, jumping with pewter-enhanced muscles and Pulling one of the coins up into her hand.

Her opponent leaped backward, landing on the edge of a nearby fountain. Vin landed, then dropped her coin, using it to throw herself upward over the Watcher’s head. He stooped, watching warily as she passed over him.

Vin caught one of the bronze statues at the center of the fountain and pulled to a stop atop it. She crouched on the uneven footing, looking down at her opponent. He stood balanced on one foot at the edge of the fountain, quiet and black in the churning mists. There was a challenge in his posture.

Can you catch me? he seemed to ask.

Vin whipped her daggers out and jumped from the statue. She Pushed herself directly toward the Watcher, using the cool bronze as an anchor.

The Watcher used the statue as well, Pulling himself forward. He shot right beneath Vin, flinging out a wave of water, his incredible speed letting him skid like a stone across the fountain’s still surface. As he jumped clear of the water, he Pushed himself away, shooting across the square.

Vin landed on the fountain’s edge, chill water spraying across her. She growled and jumped after the Watcher.

As he landed, he spun and whipped out his own daggers. She rolled beneath his first attack, then brought her daggers up in a two-handed double jab. The Watcher jumped quickly out of the way, his daggers sparkling and dropping beads of fountain water. He had a lithe power about him as he came to rest in a crouch. His body looked tense and sure. Capable.

Vin smiled again, breathing quickly. She hadn’t felt like this since … since those nights so long ago, when she’d sparred with Kelsier. She remained in a crouch, waiting, watching the mist curl between her and her opponent. He was of medium height with a wiry build, and he wore no mistcloak.

Why no cloak? Mistcloaks were the ubiquitous mark of her kind, a symbol of pride and security.

She was too far away to distinguish his face. But she thought she saw a hint of a smile as he jumped backward and Pushed against another statue. The chase began again.

Vin followed him through the city, flaring steel, landing on roofs and streets, Pushing herself in great arcing leaps. The two bounded through Luthadel like children on a playground—Vin trying to cut off her opponent, he cleverly managing to stay a bit ahead of her.

He was good. Far better than any Mistborn she had known or faced, save perhaps for Kelsier. But she’d grown greatly in skill since she’d sparred with the Survivor. Could this newcomer be even better? The thought thrilled her. She’d always considered Kelsier a paradigm of Allomantic ability, and it was easy to forget that he’d had his powers for only a couple of years before the Collapse.

That’s the same amount of time that I’ve been training, Vin realized as she landed in a cramped street. She frowned, crouching, remaining still. She’d seen the Watcher fall toward this street.

Narrow and poorly maintained, the street was practically an alleyway, lined on both sides by three- and four-story buildings. There was no motion—either the Watcher had slipped away or he was hiding nearby. She burned iron, but the iron-lines revealed no motion.

There was another way.…

Vin pretended to still be looking around, but she turned on her bronze, flaring it, trying to pierce the coppercloud that she thought might be close.

And there he was. Hiding in a room behind the mostly closed shutters of a derelict building. Now that she knew where to look, she saw the bit of metal he’d probably used to jump up to the second story, the latch he must have Pulled on to quickly close the shutters behind him. He’d probably scouted this street beforehand, always intending to lose her here.

Clever, Vin thought.

He couldn’t have anticipated her ability to pierce copperclouds. But attacking him now might give away that ability. Vin stood quietly, thinking of him crouching above, tensely waiting for her to move off.

She smiled. Reaching inside, she examined the duralumin reserve. There was a possible way to discover if burning it created some change in the way she looked to another Mistborn. The Watcher was likely burning most of his metals, trying to determine what her next move would be.

So, thinking herself clever, Vin burned the fourteenth metal.

A massive explosion sounded in her ears. Vin gasped, dropping to her knees in shock. Everything grew bright around her, as if some crack of energy had illuminated the entire street. And she felt cold; frigidly, stunningly cold.

She moaned, trying to make sense of the sound. It wasn’t one explosion, but many explosions. A rhythmic thudding, like a drum pounding beside her. Her heartbeat. And the breeze, loud as a howling wind. The scratchings of a dog searching for food. Someone snoring in their sleep. It was as if her hearing had been magnified a hundred times.

And then … nothing. Vin fell backward against the cobblestones, the sudden rush of light, coldness, and sound evaporating. A form moved in the shadows nearby, but she couldn’t make it out—she couldn’t see in the darkness anymore. Her tin was …

Gone, she realized, coming to. My entire store of tin has been burned away. I was burning it when … when I turned on the duralumin.

I burned them both at once. That’s the secret. The duralumin had burned away all her tin in a single massive burst. It had made her senses amazingly acute for a very short time, but had stolen away her entire reserve. And, looking, she could see that her bronze and her pewter—the other metals she’d been burning at the time—were gone as well. The onrush of sensory information had been so vast that she hadn’t noticed the effects of the other two.

Think about it later, Vin told herself, shaking her head. She felt like she should be deafened and blinded, but she wasn’t. She was only a bit stunned.

The dark form moved up beside her in the mists. She didn’t have time to recover; she pushed herself to her feet, stumbling. The form, it was too short to be the Watcher. It was …

“Mistress, do you require assistance?”

Vin’s eyes widened as OreSeur padded up to her, then sat on his haunches.

“You … managed to follow,” she said.

“It was not easy, mistress,” OreSeur said flatly. “Do you require assistance?”

“What? No, no assistance.” Vin shook her head, clearing her mind. “I guess that’s one thing I didn’t think of by making you a dog. You can’t carry metals for me now.”

The kandra cocked his head, then padded over into an alleyway. He returned a moment later with something in his mouth. Her belt.

He dropped it by her feet, then returned to his waiting position. Vin picked up the belt, pulling off one of her extra metal vials. “Thank you,” she said slowly. “That is very … thoughtful of you.”

“I fulfill my Contract, mistress,” the kandra said. “Nothing more.”

Well, this is more than you’ve ever done before, she thought, downing a vial and feeling her reserves return. She burned tin, restoring her night vision and releasing a veil of tension from her mind; since she’d discovered her powers, she’d never had to go out at night in complete darkness.

The shutters of the Watcher’s room were open; he had apparently fled during her fit. Vin sighed.

“Mistress!” OreSeur snapped.

Vin spun. A man landed quietly behind her. He looked familiar for some reason. He had a lean face—topped with dark hair—and his head was cocked slightly in confusion. She could see the question in his eyes. Why had she fallen down?

Vin smiled. “Maybe I did it to lure you closer,” she whispered—softly, yet loud enough that she knew tin-enhanced ears would hear her.

The Mistborn smiled, then tipped his head to her as if in respect.

“Who are you?” Vin asked, stepping forward.

“An enemy,” he replied, holding up a hand to ward her back.

Vin hesitated. Mist swirled between them on the quiet street. “Why then did you help me fight those assassins?”

“Because,” he said. “I’m also insane.”

Vin frowned, eyeing the man. She had seen insanity before in the eyes of beggars. This man was not insane. He stood proudly, eyes controlled as he regarded her in the darkness.

What kind of game is he playing? she wondered.

Her instincts—a lifetime’s worth—warned her to be wary. She had only recently learned to trust her friends, and she wasn’t about to offer the same privilege to a man she had met in the night.

Yet it had been over a year since she’d spoken with another Mistborn. There were conflicts within her that she couldn’t explain to the others. Even Mistings, like Ham and Breeze, couldn’t understand the strange dual life of a Mistborn. Part assassin, part bodyguard, part noblewoman … part confused, quiet girl. Did this man have similar troubles with his identity?

Perhaps she could make an ally out of him, bringing a second Mistborn to the defense of the Central Dominance. Even if she couldn’t, she certainly couldn’t afford to fight him. A spar in the night was one thing, but if their contest grew dangerous, atium might come into play.

If that happened, she’d lose.

The Watcher studied her with a careful eye. “Answer something for me,” he said in the mists.

Vin nodded.

“Did you really kill Him?”

“Yes,” Vin whispered. There was only one person he could mean.

He nodded slowly. “Why do you play their games?”

“Whose games?”

The Watcher gestured into the mists, toward Keep Venture.

“Those aren’t games,” Vin said. “It’s no game when the people I love are in danger.”

The Watcher stood quietly, then shook his head as if disappointed. Then he pulled something from his sash.

Vin jumped back immediately. The Watcher simply flipped a coin to the ground between them. It bounced a couple of times, coming to a rest on the cobbles. Then he Pushed himself backward into the air.

Vin didn’t follow. She reached up, rubbing her head; she still felt like she should have a headache.

“You’re letting him go?” OreSeur asked.

Vin nodded. “We’re done for tonight. He fought well.”

“You sound almost respectful,” the kandra said.

Vin turned, frowning at the hint of disgust in the kandra’s voice. OreSeur sat patiently, displaying no further emotion.

She sighed, tying her belt around her waist. “We’re going to need to come up with a harness or something for you,” she said. “I want you to carry extra metal vials for me, like you did as a human.”

“A harness won’t be necessary, mistress,” OreSeur said.

“Oh?”

OreSeur rose, padding forward. “Please get out one of your vials.”

Vin did as requested, pulling out a small glass vial. OreSeur stopped, then turned one shoulder toward her. As she watched, the fur parted and the flesh split, showing forth veins and layers of skin. Vin pulled back a bit.

“There is no need to be worried, mistress,” OreSeur said. “My flesh is not like your own. I have more control over it, you might say. Place the metal vial inside my shoulder.”

Vin did as asked. The flesh sealed around the vial, obscuring it from view. Experimentally, Vin burned iron. No blue lines appeared pointing toward the hidden vial. Metal inside a person’s stomach couldn’t be affected by another Allomancer; indeed, metal piercing a body, like Inquisitor spikes or Vin’s own earring, couldn’t be Pushed or Pulled by someone else. Apparently the same rule applied to metals hidden within a kandra.

“I will deliver this to you in an emergency,” OreSeur said.

“Thank you,” Vin said.

“The Contract, mistress. Do not give me thanks. I do only what I am required.”

Vin nodded slowly. “Let’s go back to the palace then,” she said. “I want to check on Elend.”

The Well of Ascension

But let me begin at the beginning. I met Alendi first in Khlennium; he was a young lad then, and had not yet been warped by a decade spent leading armies.

The Well of Ascension

9

MARSH HAD CHANGED. THERE WAS something … harder about the former Seeker. Something in the way he always seemed to be staring at things Sazed couldn’t see, something in his blunt responses and terse language.

Of course, Marsh had always been a straightforward man. Sazed eyed his friend as the two strode down the dusty highway. They had no horses; even if Sazed had possessed one, most beasts wouldn’t go near an Inquisitor.

What did Spook say that Marsh’s nickname was? Sazed thought to himself as they walked. Before his transformation, they used to call him … Ironeyes. The name that had turned out to be chillingly prophetic. Most of the others found Marsh’s transformed state discomforting, which left him isolated. Though Marsh hadn’t seemed to mind the treatment, Sazed had made a special effort to continue a friendly relationship.

He still didn’t know whether Marsh appreciated the gesture. They did seem to get along well; both shared an interest in scholarship and history, and both were interested in the religious climate of the Final Empire.

And he did come looking for me, Sazed thought. Of course, he claimed that he wanted help in case the Inquisitors weren’t all gone from the Conventical of Seran. It was a weak excuse. Despite his powers as a Feruchemist, Sazed was no warrior.

“You should be in Luthadel,” Marsh said.

Sazed looked up. Marsh had spoken bluntly, as usual, without preamble. “Why do you say that?” Sazed asked.

“They need you there.”

“The rest of the Final Empire has need of me too, Marsh. I am a Keeper—one group of people should not be able to monopolize all of my time.”

Marsh shook his head. “These peasants, they will forget your passing. No one will forget the things that will soon happen in the Central Dominance.”

“You would be surprised, I think, at what men can forget. Wars and kingdoms may seem important now, but even the Final Empire proved mortal. Now that it has fallen, the Keepers have no involvement in politics.” Most would say we never had any business being involved in politics at all.

Marsh turned those eyes toward him, sockets filled entirely with steel. Sazed did not shiver, but he felt distinctly uncomfortable.

“And your friends?” Marsh asked.

This touched on something more personal. Sazed looked away, thinking of Vin and of his vow to Kelsier that he would protect her. She needs little protection now, he thought. She’s grown more adept at Allomancy than even Kelsier was. Yet Sazed knew that there were modes of protection that didn’t relate to fighting. These things—support, counsel, kindness—were vital to every person, and most especially to Vin. So much rested on that poor girl’s shoulders.

“I have sent help,” Sazed said. “What help I can.”

“Not good enough,” Marsh said. “The things happening in Luthadel are too important to ignore.”

“I am not ignoring them, Marsh,” Sazed said. “I am simply performing my duty as best I can.”

Marsh finally turned away. “The wrong duty. You will return to Luthadel once we are finished here.”

Sazed opened his mouth to argue, but said nothing. What was there to say? Marsh was right. Though he had no proof, Sazed knew that there were important things happening in Luthadel—things that would require his aid to fight. Things that likely affected the future of the entire land once known as the Final Empire.

So he closed his mouth and trudged after Marsh. He would return to Luthadel, proving himself a rebel once again. Perhaps in the end he would realize that there was no ghostly threat facing the world—that he had simply returned because of his own selfish desire to be with his friends.

In fact, he hoped that proved to be the truth. The alternative made him very uncomfortable.

The Well of Ascension

Alendi’s height struck me the first time I saw him. Here was a man who towered over others, a man who—despite his youth and his humble clothing—demanded respect.

The Well of Ascension

10

THE ASSEMBLY HALL WAS IN the former Steel Ministry Canton of Finance headquarters. It was a low-ceilinged space, more like a large lecture room. There were rows of benches fanning out in front of a raised stage. On the right side of the stage, Elend had constructed a tier of seats for the Assembly members. On the left of the stage, he had constructed a single lectern for speakers.

The lectern faced the Assemblymen, not the crowd. The common people were encouraged to attend. Elend thought that everyone should be interested in the workings of their government; it pained him that the Assembly’s weekly meetings usually had only a small audience.

Vin’s seat was on the stage, but at the back, directly opposite the audience. From her vantage with the other bodyguards, she would look past the lectern toward the crowd. Another row of Ham’s guards—in street clothes—sat in the first row of the audience, providing a first line of protection. Elend had balked at Vin’s demands to having guards both in front of the stage and behind it—he thought that bodyguards sitting right behind the speakers would be distracting. But Ham and Vin had insisted. If Elend was going to stand up in front of a crowd every week, Vin wanted to be certain she could keep a close eye on him—and on those watching him.

Getting to her chair, therefore, required Vin to walk across the stage. Stares followed her. Some of the watching crowd were interested in the scandal; they believed she was Elend’s mistress, and a king sleeping with his personal assassin made for good gossip. Others were interested in the politics; they wondered how much influence Vin had over Elend, and whether they could use her to get the king’s ear. Still others were curious about the growing legends; they wondered if a girl like Vin could really have slain the Lord Ruler.

Vin hurried her pace. She passed the Assemblymen and found her seat next to Ham, who—despite the formal occasion—still wore a simple vest with no shirt. Sitting next to him in her trousers and shirt, Vin didn’t feel quite so out of place.

Ham smiled, clapping her affectionately on the shoulder. She had to force herself not to jump at the touch. It wasn’t that she disliked Ham—quite the opposite. She loved him as she did all the former members of Kelsier’s band. It was just that … well, she had trouble explaining it, even to herself. Ham’s innocent gesture made her want to squirm. It seemed to her that people shouldn’t be so casual with the way that they touched others.

She pushed those thoughts away. She had to learn to be like other people. Elend deserved a woman who was normal.

He was already there. He nodded to Vin as he noticed her arrival, and she smiled. Then he turned back to speaking quietly with Lord Penrod, one of the noblemen in the Assembly.

“Elend will be happy,” Vin whispered. “Place is packed.”

“They’re worried,” Ham said quietly. “And worried people pay more attention to things like this. Can’t say I’m happy—all these people make our job harder.”

Vin nodded, scanning the audience. The crowd was a strangely mixed one—a collection of different groups who would never have met together during the days of the Final Empire. A major part were noblemen, of course. Vin frowned, thinking of how often various members of the nobility tried to manipulate Elend, and of the promises he made to them.

“What’s that look for?” Ham asked, nudging her.

Vin eyed the Thug. Expectant eyes twinkled in his firm, rectangular face. Ham had an almost supernatural sense when it came to arguments.

Vin sighed. “I don’t know about this, Ham.”

“This?”

“This,” Vin said quietly, waving her hand at the Assembly. “Elend tries so hard to make everyone happy. He gives so much away—his power, his money.…”

“He merely wants to see that everyone is treated fairly.”

“It’s more than that, Ham,” Vin said. “It’s like he’s determined to make everyone a nobleman.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

“If everyone is a nobleman, then there is no such thing as a nobleman. Not everyone can be rich, and not everyone can be in charge. That’s simply not the way things work.”

“Perhaps,” Ham said thoughtfully. “But doesn’t Elend have a civic duty to try to make sure justice is served?”

Civic duty? Vin thought. I should have known better than to talk to Ham about something like this.

Vin looked down. “I just think he could see that everyone was treated well without having an Assembly. All they do is argue and try to take his power away. And he doesn’t stop them.”

Ham let the discussion die, and Vin turned back to her study of the audience. It appeared that a large group of millworkers had arrived first and managed to get the best seats. Early in the Assembly’s history—perhaps ten months before—the nobility had sent servants to reserve seats for them, or had bribed people to give up their places. As soon as Elend had discovered this, he had forbidden both practices.

Other than the noblemen and the millworkers, there was a large number of the “new” class. Skaa merchants and craftsmasters, now allowed to set their own prices for their services. They were the true winners in Elend’s economy. Beneath the Lord Ruler’s oppressive hand, only the few most extraordinarily skilled skaa had been able to rise to positions of even moderate comfort. Without those restrictions, these same people had quickly proven to have abilities and acumen far above many of their noble counterparts’. They represented a faction in the Assembly at least as powerful as that of the nobility.

Other skaa peppered the crowd. They looked much the same as they had before Elend’s rise to power. While noblemen generally wore suits—complete with dayhats and coats—these skaa wore simple trousers. Some of them were still dirty from their day’s labor, their clothing old, worn, and stained with ash.

And yet … there was something different about them. It wasn’t in their clothing, but their postures. They sat a little straighter, their heads held a little higher. And they had enough free time to attend an Assembly meeting.

Elend finally stood to convene the meeting. He had let his attendants dress him this morning, and the result was attire that was almost completely free of dishevelment. His suit fit well; all the buttons were done up and his vest was of an appropriate dark blue. His hair was even neatly styled, the short brown curls lying flat.

Normally Elend would begin the meeting by calling on other speakers, Assemblymen who would drone on for hours about various topics like taxation rates or city sanitation. This day there were more pressing matters.

“Gentlemen,” Elend said. “I beg your leave to depart from our usual agenda this afternoon, in the light of our current … state of city affairs.”

The group of twenty-four Assemblymen nodded, a few muttering under their breath. Elend ignored them. He was comfortable before crowds, far more comfortable than Vin would ever be. As he unrolled his speech, Vin kept one eye on the crowd, watching for reactions or problems.

“The dire nature of our situation should be quite obvious,” Elend said, beginning the speech he had prepared earlier. “We face a danger that this city has never known. Invasion and siege from an outside tyrant.

“We are a new nation, a kingdom founded on principles unknown during the days of the Lord Ruler. Yet we are already a kingdom of tradition. Freedom for the skaa. Rule by our own choice and of our own design. Noblemen who don’t have to cower before the Lord Ruler’s obligators and Inquisitors.

“Gentlemen, one year is not enough. We have tasted freedom, and we need time to savor it. During the last month, we have frequently discussed and argued regarding what to do should this day arrive. Obviously we are of many minds on the issue. Therefore, I ask for a vote of solidarity. Let us promise ourselves, and these people, that we will not give this city over to a foreign power without due consideration. Let us resolve to gather more information, to seek for other avenues, and even to fight should it be deemed necessary.”

The speech went on, but Vin had heard it a dozen times as Elend practiced it. As he spoke, she found herself eyeing the crowd. She was most worried about the obligators she saw sitting in the back. They showed little reaction to the negative light in which Elend’s remarks cast them.

She’d never understood why Elend allowed the Steel Ministry to continue teaching. It was the last real remnant of the Lord Ruler’s power. Most obligators obstinately refused to lend their knowledge of bureaucracy and administration to Elend’s government, and they still regarded skaa with contempt.

Yet Elend let them remain. He maintained a strict rule that they were not allowed to incite rebellion or violence. But he didn’t eject them from the city as Vin had suggested. Actually, if the choice had been solely hers, she probably would have executed them.

Eventually Elend’s speech drew to a close, and Vin turned her attention back to him. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I make this proposal out of faith, and I make it in the names of those we represent. I ask for time. I propose that we forgo all votes regarding the future of the city until a proper royal delegation has been allowed to meet with the army outside and determine what, if any, opportunity there is for negotiations.”

He lowered his sheet, looking up, waiting for comments.

“So,” said Philen, one of the merchants on the Assembly. “You’re asking us to give you the power to decide the city’s fate.” Philen wore his rich suit so well that an observer would never have known that he’d first put one on about a year ago.

“What?” Elend asked. “I said nothing of the sort—I’m simply asking for more time. To meet with Straff.”

“He’s rejected all of our earlier messages,” said another Assemblyman. “What makes you think he’ll listen now?”

“We’re approaching this wrong!” said one of the noble representatives. “We should be resolving to beg Straff Venture not to attack, not resolving to meet with him and chat. We need to establish quickly that we’re willing to work with him. You’ve all seen that army. He’s planning to destroy us!”

“Please,” Elend said, raising a hand. “Let us stay on topic!”

One of the other Assemblymen—one of the skaa—spoke up, as if he hadn’t heard Elend. “You say that because you’re noble,” he said, pointing at the noble Elend had interrupted. “It’s easy for you to talk about working with Straff, since you’ve got very little to lose!”

“Very little to lose?” the nobleman said. “I and all of my house could be executed for supporting Elend against his father!”

“Bah,” said one of the merchants. “This is all pointless. We should have hired mercenaries months ago, as I’d suggested.”

“And where would we have gotten the funds for that?” asked Lord Penrod, senior of the noble Assemblymen.

“Taxes,” the merchant said with a wave of his hand.

“Gentlemen!” Elend said, then, louder, “Gentlemen!”

This garnered him some small measure of attention.

“We have to make a decision,” Elend said. “Stay focused, if you please. What of my proposal?”

“It’s pointless,” said Philen the merchant. “Why should we wait? Let’s just invite Straff into the city and be done. He’s going to take it anyway.”

Vin sat back as the men began to argue again. The problem was, the merchant Philen—as little as she liked him—had a point. Fighting was looking like a very unattractive option. Straff had such a large army. Would stalling really do that much good?

“Look, see,” Elend said, trying to get their attention again—and only partially succeeding. “Straff is my father. Maybe I could talk to him. Get him to listen? Luthadel was his home for years. Perhaps I can convince him not to attack it.”

“Wait,” said one of the skaa representatives. “What of the food issue? Have you seen what the merchants are charging for grain? Before we worry about that army, we should talk about bringing prices down.”

“Always blaming us for your problems,” one of the merchant Assemblymen said, pointing. And the squabbling began again. At the lectern, Elend slumped slightly. Vin shook her head, feeling sorry for Elend as the discussion degenerated. This was what often happened at Assembly meetings; it seemed to her that they simply didn’t give Elend the respect he deserved. Perhaps that was his own fault, for elevating them to his near equals.

Finally the discussion wound down, and Elend got out a piece of paper, obviously planning to record the vote on his proposal. He did not look optimistic.

“All right,” Elend said. “Let’s vote. Please remember—giving me time will not play our hand. It will merely give me a chance to try to make my father reconsider his desire to take our city away from us.”

“Elend, lad,” said Lord Penrod. “We all lived here during the Lord Ruler’s reign. We all know what kind of man your father is. If he wants this city, he is going to take it. Thus, all we can decide is how to best give up. Perhaps we can find a way for the people to retain some freedom under his rule.”

The group sat quietly, and for the first time nobody brought up a new squabble. A few of them turned toward Penrod, who sat with a calm, in-control expression. Vin knew little of the man. He was one of the more powerful noblemen who had remained in the city after the Collapse, and he was politically conservative. She had never heard him speak derogatively of the skaa, which was probably why he was so popular with the people.

“I speak bluntly,” Penrod said, “for it is the truth. We are not in a position to bargain.”

“I agree with Penrod,” Philen said, jumping in. “If Elend wants to meet with Straff Venture, then I guess that’s his right. As I understand it, kingship grants him authority to negotiate with foreign monarchs. But we don’t have to promise not to give Straff the city.”

“Master Philen,” Lord Penrod said. “I think you misjudged my intent. I said that giving up the city was inevitable—but that we should try to gain as much from it as possible. That means at least meeting with Straff to assess his disposition. Voting to give him the city now would be to play our hand too soon.”

Elend looked up, appearing hopeful for the first time since the discussion had initially fallen apart. “So, you support my proposal?” he asked.

“It is an awkward way to achieve the pause I think necessary,” Penrod said. “But, seeing as how the army is already here, then I doubt we have time for anything else. So yes, Your Majesty. I support your proposal.”

Several other members of the Assembly nodded as Penrod spoke, as if giving the proposal consideration for the first time. That Penrod has too much power, Vin thought, eyes narrowing as she regarded the elderly statesman. They listen to him more than they do Elend.

“Should we vote then?” one of the other Assemblymen asked.

And they did. Elend recorded votes as they moved down the line of Assemblymen. The eight noblemen—seven plus Elend—voted for the proposal, giving Penrod’s opinion a great deal of weight. The eight skaa were mostly for it, and the merchants mostly against it. In the end, Elend got the two-thirds vote he needed.

“Proposal accepted,” Elend said, making the final tally, looking a bit surprised. “The Assembly divests itself of the right to surrender the city until after the king has met with Straff Venture in official parley.”

Vin sat back in her seat, trying to decide what she thought of the vote. It was good that Elend had gotten his way, but the manner in which he’d achieved it bothered her.

Elend finally relinquished the lectern, sitting and letting a disgruntled Philen take the lead. The merchant read a proposal calling for a vote to turn control of city food stockpiles over to the merchants. This time Elend led the dissent, and the arguing began again. Vin watched with interest. Did he even realize how much like the others he acted while he was arguing against their proposals?

Elend and a few of the skaa Assemblymen managed to filibuster long enough that the lunch break arrived with no vote cast. The people in the audience stood, stretching, and Ham turned toward her. “Good meeting, eh?”

Vin only shrugged.

Ham chuckled. “We really have to do something about your ambivalence toward civic duty, kid.”

“I already overthrew one government,” Vin said. “I figure that takes care of my ‘civic duty’ for a while.”

Ham smiled, though he kept a wary eye on the crowd—as did Vin. Now, with everyone moving about, would be the perfect time for an attempt on Elend’s life. One person in particular caught her attention, and she frowned.

“Be back in a few seconds,” she said to Ham, rising.

“You did the right thing, Lord Penrod,” Elend said, standing beside the older nobleman, whispering quietly as the break proceeded. “We need more time. You know what my father will do to this city if he takes it.”

Lord Penrod shook his head. “I didn’t do this for you, son. I did it because I wanted to make certain that fool Philen didn’t hand the city over before the nobility extracted promises from your father about our rights to title.”

“Now, see,” Elend said, holding up a finger. “There has to be another way! The Survivor would never have given this city away without a fight.”

Penrod frowned, and Elend quietly cursed himself. The old lord was a traditionalist—invoking the Survivor at him would have little positive effect. Many of the noblemen felt threatened by Kelsier’s influence with the skaa.

“Think about it,” Elend said, glancing to the side as Vin approached. She waved him away from the Assemblymen seats, and he excused himself. He crossed the stage, joining her. “What is it?” he asked quietly.

“Woman at the back,” Vin said quietly, eyes suspicious. “Tall one, in the blue.”

The woman in question wasn’t hard to find; she wore a bright blue blouse and colorful red skirt. She was middle-aged, of a lean build, and had her waist-length hair pulled back in a braid. She waited patiently as people moved about the room.

“What about her?” Elend asked.

“Terris,” Vin said.

“You’re sure?”

Vin nodded. “Those colors … that much jewelry. She’s a Terriswoman for sure.”

“So?”

“So, I’ve never met her,” Vin said. “And she was watching you just now.”

“People watch me, Vin,” Elend noted. “I am the king, after all. Besides, why should you have met her?”

“All of the other Terris people have come to meet me right after they enter the city,” Vin said. “I killed the Lord Ruler; they see me as the one that freed their homeland. But I don’t recognize her. She hasn’t ever come to thank me.”

Elend rolled his eyes, grabbing Vin by the shoulders and turning her away from the woman. “Vin, I feel it’s my gentlemanly duty to tell you something.”

Vin frowned. “What?”

“You’re gorgeous.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Elend said with a smile. “I’m merely trying to distract you.”

Slowly, Vin relaxed, smiling slightly.

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, Vin,” Elend noted, “but you can be a bit paranoid at times.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. Now, I happen to find it rather charming, but do you honestly think that a Terriswoman would try to kill me?”

“Probably not,” Vin admitted. “But old habits…”

Elend smiled. Then he glanced back at the Assemblymen, most of whom were speaking quietly in groups. They didn’t mix. Noblemen spoke with noblemen, merchants with merchants, skaa workers with other skaa workers. They seemed so fragmented, so obstinate. The simplest proposals sometimes met with arguments that could take hours.

They need to give me more time! he thought. Yet even as he thought, he realized the problem. More time for what? Penrod and Philen had accurately poked holes in his proposal.

The truth was, the entire city was in over its head. Nobody really knew what to do about a superior invading force, least of all Elend. He only knew that they couldn’t give up. Not yet. There had to be a way to fight.

Vin kept looking out over the audience. Elend followed her gaze. “Still watching that Terriswoman?”

Vin shook her head. “Something else … something odd. Is that one of Clubs’s messengers?”

Indeed, several soldiers were working their way through the crowd, approaching the stage. At the back of the room, people had begun whispering and shuffling, and some were already moving quickly out of the chamber.

Elend felt Vin stiffen in anxiety, and fear stabbed him. We’re too late. The army has attacked.

One of the soldiers finally reached the stage, and Elend rushed over. “What?” he asked. “Has Straff begun the assault?”

The soldier frowned, looking concerned. “No, my lord.”

Elend sighed slightly. “What then?”

“My lord, it’s a second army. It just arrived outside the city.”

The Well of Ascension

It was Alendi’s simple ingenuousness that first led me to befriend him. I employed him as an assistant during his first months in the grand city.

The Well of Ascension

11

FOR THE SECOND TIME IN three days, Elend stood atop the Luthadel city wall, studying an army that had come to invade his kingdom. Elend squinted against the red afternoon sunlight, but he was no Tineye; he couldn’t make out details of the new arrival.

“Any chance they’re here to help us?” Elend asked hopefully, looking toward Clubs, who stood beside him.

Clubs scowled. “They fly Cett’s banner. Remember him? Guy who sent eight Allomancer assassins to kill you two days back?”

Elend shivered in the chill autumn weather, glancing back out over the second army. It was making camp a good distance from Straff’s army, close to the Luth-Davn Canal, which ran out the west side of the River Channerel. Vin stood next to Elend, though Ham was off organizing things among the city guard. OreSeur, wearing the wolfhound’s body, sat patiently on the wall walk beneath Vin.

“How did we miss their approach?” Elend asked.

“Straff,” Clubs said. “This Cett came in from the same direction, and our scouts were focused on Straff—who probably knew about this other army a few days ago, but we had virtually no chance of seeing them.”

Elend nodded.

“Straff is setting up a perimeter of soldiers, watching the enemy army,” Vin said. “I doubt they’re friendly to each other.” She stood atop one of the sawtooth parapet crenels, feet positioned dangerously close to the wall’s edge.

“Maybe they’ll attack each other,” Elend said hopefully.

Clubs snorted. “I doubt it. They’re too evenly matched, though Straff might be a little stronger. I doubt Cett would take the chance by attacking him.”

“Why come, then?” Elend asked.

Clubs shrugged. “Maybe he hoped he’d beat Venture to Luthadel, and get to take it first.”

He spoke of the event—the capture of Luthadel—as if it were a given. Elend’s stomach twisted as he leaned against the battlement, looking out through a crenel. Vin and the others were thieves and skaa Allomancers—outcasts who had been hunted for most of their lives. Perhaps they were accustomed to dealing with this pressure—this fear—but Elend was not.

How did they live with the lack of control, the sense of inevitability? Elend felt powerless. What could he do? Flee and leave the city to fend for itself? Not an option. Yet, confronted with not one but two armies preparing to destroy his city and take his throne, Elend found it hard to keep his hands steady as he gripped the rough stone of the battlement.

Kelsier would have found a way out of this, he thought.

“There!” Vin’s voice interrupted Elend’s thoughts. “What’s that?”

Elend turned. Vin was squinting, looking toward Cett’s army, using tin to see things that were invisible to Elend’s mundane eyes.

“Someone’s leaving the army,” Vin said. “Riding on horseback.”

“Messenger?” Clubs asked.

“Maybe,” Vin said. “He’s riding pretty fast.” She began to run from one stone tooth to the next, moving along the wall. Her kandra immediately followed, padding quietly across the wall beneath her.

Elend glanced at Clubs, who shrugged, and they began to follow. They caught up with Vin standing on the wall near one of the towers, watching the oncoming rider. Or at least Elend assumed that was what she watched—he still couldn’t see what she had.

Allomancy, Elend thought, shaking his head. Why couldn’t he have at least ended up with a single power—even a weaker one like copper or iron?

Vin cursed suddenly, standing up straight. “Elend, that’s Breeze!”

“What!” Elend said. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! He’s being chased. Archers on horseback.”

Clubs cursed, waving to a messenger. “Send riders! Cut off his pursuit!”

The messenger dashed away. Vin shook her head. “They won’t make it in time,” she said, almost to herself. “The archers will catch him, or at least shoot him. Even I couldn’t get there fast enough, not running. But maybe…”

Elend frowned, looking up at her. “Vin, that’s way too far to jump—even for you.”

Vin glanced at him, smiled, then leaped.

Vin readied the fourteenth metal, duralumin. She had a reserve, but she didn’t burn it—not yet. I hope this works, she thought, seeking an appropriate anchor. The tower beside her had a reinforced iron bulwark on the top—that would work.

She Pulled on the bulwark, yanking herself to the top of the tower. She immediately jumped again, Pushing herself up and out, angling into the air away from the wall. She extinguished all her metals except for steel and pewter.

Then, still Pushing against the bulwark, she burned duralumin.

A sudden force smashed against her. It was so powerful, she was certain that only an equally powerful flash of pewter held her body together. She blasted away from the keep, hurtling through the sky as if tossed by some giant invisible god. The air rushed by so quickly that it roared, and the pressure of sudden acceleration made it difficult to think.

She floundered, trying to regain control. Fortunately she’d picked her trajectory well: she was shooting right toward Breeze and his pursuers. Whatever Breeze had done, it had been enough to make someone extremely angry—for there were a full two dozen men charging after him, arrows nocked.

Vin fell, her steel and pewter completely burned away in that single duralumin-fueled flash of power. She grabbed a metal vial off her belt, downing its contents. As she tossed the vial away, she suddenly felt an odd sense of vertigo. She wasn’t accustomed to jumping during the day. It was strange to see the ground coming at her, strange not to have a mistcloak flapping behind her, strange not to have the mist.

The lead rider lowered his bow, taking aim at Breeze. Neither appeared to have noticed Vin, stooping from above like a bird of prey.

Well, not exactly stooping. Plummeting.

Snapping back to the moment, Vin burned pewter and threw a coin toward the quickly approaching ground. She Pushed against the coin, using it to slow her momentum and to nudge her to the side. She hit right between Breeze and the archers, landing with a jarring crash, tossing up dust and dirt.

The archer released his arrow.

Even as Vin rebounded, dirt spraying around her, she reached out and Pushed herself back into the air straight at the arrow. Then she Pushed against it. The steel arrowhead ripped backward—throwing out shards of wood as it split its own shaft in midair—then smacked directly into the forehead of the archer who had released it.

The man toppled from his mount, and Vin landed from her rebound. She reached out, Pushing against the horseshoes of the two beasts behind the leader, causing the animals to stumble. The Push threw Vin backward into the air, and cries of equine pain sounded amid the crash of bodies hitting the ground.

Vin continued to Push, flying a few feet above the road, quickly catching up with Breeze. The portly man turned in shock, obviously stunned to find Vin hanging in the air beside his galloping horse, her clothing flapping in the wind of her passage. She winked at him, then reached out and Pulled against the armor of another rider.

She immediately lurched in the air. Her body protested the sudden shift in momentum, but she ignored the twist of pain. The man she Pulled against managed to stay in his saddle—until Vin smashed into him feet-first, throwing him backward.

She landed on the black earth, the rider tumbling to the ground beside her. The remaining riders finally reined in their mounts, coming to an abrupt stop a few feet away.

Kelsier probably would have attacked. There were a lot of them, true, but they were wearing armor and their horses were shod. However, Vin was not Kelsier. She had delayed the riders long enough for Breeze to escape. That was enough.

Vin reached out and Pushed against one of the soldiers, throwing herself backward, leaving the riders to gather their wounded. The soldiers promptly pulled out stone-tipped arrows and nocked their bows.

Vin hissed in frustration as the group took aim. Well, friends, she thought, I suggest that you hang on tightly.

She Pushed slightly against them all, then burned duralumin. The sudden crash of force was expected—the wrench in her chest, the massive flare in her stomach, the howling wind. What she didn’t expect was the effect she’d have on her anchors. The blast of power scattered men and horses, throwing them into the air like leaves in the wind.

I’m going to have to be very careful with this, Vin thought, gritting her teeth and spinning in the air. Her steel and pewter were gone again, and she was forced to down her last metal vial. She’d have to start carrying more of those.

She hit the ground running, pewter keeping her from tripping despite her terrific speed. She slowed slightly, letting the mounted Breeze catch up to her, then increased her pace to keep up with him. She dashed like a sprinter, letting pewter’s strength and balance keep her upright as she paced the tiring horse. The beast eyed her as they ran, seeming to display a hint of animal frustration to see a human matching it.

They reached the city a few moments later. Breeze reined in as the doors to Iron Gate began to open, but rather than wait, Vin simply threw down a coin and Pushed, letting her forward momentum carry her toward the walls. As the gates swung open, she Pushed against their studs, and this second Push sent her sailing straight up. She barely crested the battlements—passing between a pair of startled soldiers—before dropping over the other side. She landed in the courtyard, steadying herself with one hand against the cool stones, as Breeze entered through the gate.

Vin stood. Breeze patted his forehead with a handkerchief as he trotted his animal up beside her. He’d let his hair grow longer since she’d last seen him, and he kept it slicked back, its lower fringe tickling his collar. It wasn’t greying yet, though he was in his mid-forties. He wore no hat—it had probably blown free—but he had on one of his rich suits and silken vests. They were powdered with black ash from his hurried ride.

“Ah, Vin, my dear,” Breeze said, breathing almost as deeply as his horse. “I must say, that was a timely arrival on your part. Impressively flamboyant as well. I do hate to force a rescue—but, well, if one is necessary, then it might as well happen with style.”

Vin smiled as he climbed down from the horse—proving he was hardly the most adroit man in the square—and stablehands arrived to care for the beast. Breeze wiped his brow again as Elend, Clubs, and OreSeur scrambled down the steps to the courtyard. One of the aides must have finally found Ham, for he ran up through the courtyard.

“Breeze!” Elend said, approaching and clasping arms with the shorter man.

“Your Majesty,” Breeze said. “You are in good health and good humor, I assume?”

“Health, yes,” Elend said. “Humor … well, there is an army crouching right outside my city.”

“Two armies,” Clubs grumbled as he hobbled up.

Breeze folded up his handkerchief. “Ah, and dear Master Cladent. Optimistic as always, I see.”

Clubs snorted. To the side, OreSeur padded up to sit next to Vin.

“And Hammond,” Breeze said, eyeing Ham, who was smiling broadly. “I’d almost managed to delude myself into forgetting that you would be here when I returned.”

“Admit it,” Ham said. “You’re glad to see me.”

“See you, perhaps. Hear you, never. I had grown quite fond of my time spent away from your perpetual pseudo-philosophical prating.”

Ham merely smiled a little broader.

“I’m glad to see you, Breeze,” Elend said. “But your timing could have been a little better. I was hoping that you would be able to stop some of these armies from marching on us.”

“Stop them?” Breeze asked. “Now why would I want to do that, my dear man? I did, after all, just spend three months working to get Cett to march his army down here.”

Elend cocked his head, and Vin frowned, standing outside the group. Breeze looked rather pleased with himself—though that was admittedly rather common for him.

“So … Lord Cett’s on our side?” Elend asked hopefully.

“Of course not,” Breeze said. “He’s here to ravage the city and steal your presumed atium supply.”

“You,” Vin said. “You’re the one who has been spreading the rumors about the Lord Ruler’s atium stash, aren’t you?”

“Certainly,” Breeze said, eyeing Spook as the boy finally arrived at the gates.

Elend frowned. “But why?”

“Look outside your walls, my dear man,” Breeze said. “I knew that your father was going to march on Luthadel eventually—even my powers of persuasion wouldn’t have been enough to dissuade him. So I began spreading rumors in the Western Dominance, then made myself one of Lord Cett’s advisors.”

Clubs grunted. “Good plan. Crazy, but good.”

“Crazy?” Breeze said. “My mental stability is no issue here, Clubs. The move was not crazy, but brilliant.”

Elend looked confused. “Not to insult your brilliance, Breeze. But how exactly is bringing a hostile army to our city a good idea?”

“It’s basic negotiating strategy, my good man,” Breeze explained as a packman handed him his dueling cane, taken off the horse. Breeze used it to gesture westward, toward Lord Cett’s army. “When there are only two participants in a negotiation, one is generally stronger than the other. That makes things very difficult for the weaker party—which in this case would have been us.”

“Yes,” Elend said, “but with three armies, we’re still the weakest.”

“Ah,” Breeze said, holding up the cane, “but those other two parties are fairly even in strength. Straff is likely stronger, but Cett has a very large force. If either of those warlords risks attacking Luthadel, his army will suffer losses—enough that he won’t be able to defend against the third army. To attack us is to expose oneself.”

“And that makes this a standoff,” Clubs said.

“Exactly,” Breeze said. “Trust me, Elend my boy. In this case, two large enemy armies are far better than a single large enemy army. In a three-way negotiation, the weakest party is the one with the most power—because his allegiance added to either of the other two will choose the eventual winner.”

Elend frowned. “Breeze, we don’t want to give our allegiance to either of these men.”

“I realize that,” Breeze said. “But our opponents do not. By bringing a second army in, I’ve given us time to think. Both warlords thought they could get here first. Now that they’ve arrived at the same time, they’ll have to reevaluate. I’m guessing we’ll end up in an extended siege. A couple of months at least.”

“That doesn’t explain how we’re going to get rid of them,” Elend said.

Breeze shrugged. “I got them here—you get to decide what to do with them. And I’ll tell you, it was no easy task to make Cett arrive on time. He was due to come in a full five days before Venture. Fortunately, a certain … malady spread through camp a few days ago. Apparently someone poisoned the main water supply and gave the entire camp diarrhea.”

Spook, standing behind Clubs, snickered.

“Yes,” Breeze said, eyeing the boy. “I thought you might appreciate that. You still an unintelligible nuisance, boy?”

“Wasing the where of not,” Spook said, smiling.

Breeze snorted. “You still make more sense than Hammond half the time,” he mumbled, turning to Elend. “So, isn’t anyone going to send for a carriage to drive me back to the palace? I’ve been Soothing you ungrateful lot for the better part of five minutes—looking as tired and pathetic as I can—and not one of you has had the good graces to pity me!”

“You must be losing your touch,” Vin said with a smile. A very skilled Soother—and she knew of none more skilled than Breeze—could burn brass to dampen all of a person’s emotions aside from a single one, effectively making them feel exactly as he wanted.

“Actually,” Elend said, turning and looking back up at the wall, “I was hoping we could go back up on the wall and study the armies some more. If you spent time with Lord Cett’s force, then you could probably tell us a lot about it.”

“I can; I will; I am not going to climb those steps. Can’t you see how tired I am, man?”

Ham snorted, clapping Breeze on the shoulder—and tossing up a puff of dust. “How can you be tired? Your poor horse did all the running.”

“It was emotionally exhausting, Hammond,” Breeze said, rapping the larger man’s hand with his cane. “My departure was somewhat disagreeable.”

“What happened, anyway?” Vin asked. “Did Cett find out you were a spy?”

Breeze looked embarrassed. “Let’s just say that Lord Cett and I had a … falling out.”

“Caught you in bed with his daughter, eh?” Ham said, earning a chuckle from the group. Breeze was anything but a ladies’ man. Despite his ability to play with emotions, he had expressed no interest in romance for as long as Vin had known him. Dockson had once noted that Breeze was too focused on himself to consider such things.

Breeze simply rolled his eyes at Ham’s comment. “Honestly, Hammond. I think your jokes are getting worse as you age. One too many hits on the head while sparring, I suspect.”

Ham smiled, and Elend sent for a couple of carriages. While they waited, Breeze launched into a narrative of his travels. Vin glanced down at OreSeur. She still hadn’t found a good opportunity to tell the rest of the crew about the body change. Perhaps now that Breeze was back, Elend would hold a conference with his inner circle. That would be a good time. She had to be quiet about it, since she wanted the palace staff to think she’d sent OreSeur away.

Breeze continued his story, and Vin looked back at him, smiling. Not only was Breeze a natural orator, but he had a very subtle touch with Allomancy. She could barely feel his fingers on her emotions. Once she had found his intrusions offensive, but she was growing to understand that touching people’s emotions was simply part of who Breeze was. Just as a beautiful woman demanded attention by virtue of her face and figure, Breeze drew it by near unconscious use of his powers.

Of course, that didn’t make him any less a scoundrel. Getting others to do as he wished was one of Breeze’s main occupations. Vin simply no longer resented him for using Allomancy to do it.

The carriage finally approached, and Breeze sighed in relief. As the vehicle pulled up, he eyed Vin, then nodded toward OreSeur. “What’s that?”

“A dog,” Vin said.

“Ah, blunt as ever, I see,” Breeze said. “And why is it that you now have a dog?”

“I gave it to her,” Elend said. “She wanted one, so I bought it for her.”

“And you chose a wolfhound?” Ham asked, amused.

“You’ve fought with her before, Ham,” Elend said, laughing. “What would you have given her? A poodle?”

Ham chuckled. “No, I guess not. The wolfhound fits her.”

“Though it’s almost as big as she is,” Clubs added, regarding her with a squinty-eyed look.

Vin reached down, resting her hand on OreSeur’s head. Clubs did have a point; she’d chosen a big animal, even for a wolfhound. He stood over three feet tall at the shoulder—and Vin knew from experience how heavy that body was.

“Remarkably well-behaved for a wolfhound,” Ham said, nodding. “You chose well, El.”

“Regardless,” Breeze said. “Can we please return to the palace? Armies and wolfhounds are all well and good, but I believe supper is more pressing at this point.”

“So, why didn’t we tell them about OreSeur?” Elend asked, as their carriage bumped its way back toward Keep Venture. The three of them had taken a carriage of their own, leaving the other four to follow in the other vehicle.

Vin shrugged. OreSeur sat on the seat across from her and Elend, quietly watching the conversation. “I’ll tell them eventually,” Vin said. “A busy city square didn’t seem the right place for the revelation.”

Elend smiled. “Keeping secrets is a hard habit to break, eh?”

Vin flushed. “I’m not keeping him secret, I’m just…” She trailed off, looking down.

“Don’t feel bad, Vin,” Elend said. “You lived a long time on your own, without anyone to trust. Nobody expects you to change overnight.”

“It hasn’t been one night, Elend,” she said. “It’s been two years.”

Elend laid a hand on her knee. “You’re getting better. The others talk about how much progress you’ve made.”

Vin nodded. Another man would be afraid that I’m keeping secrets from him too. Elend only tries to make me feel less guilty. He was a better man than she deserved.

“Kandra,” Elend said, “Vin says you do well at keeping up with her.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” OreSeur said. “These bones, though distasteful, are well equipped for tracking and quick movement.”

“And if she gets hurt?” Elend said. “Will you be able to pull her to safety?”

“Not with any speed, Your Majesty. I will, however, be able to go for aid. These bones have many limitations, but I will do my best to fulfill the Contract.”

Elend must have caught Vin’s raised eyebrow, for he chuckled. “He’ll do as he says, Vin.”

“The Contract is everything, mistress,” OreSeur said. “It demands more than simple service. It requires diligence and devotion. It is the kandra. By serving it, we serve our people.”

Vin shrugged. The group fell silent, Elend pulling a book from his pocket, Vin leaning against him. OreSeur lay down, filling the entire seat opposite the humans. Eventually the carriage rolled into the Venture courtyard, and Vin found herself looking forward to a warm bath. But as they were climbing from the carriage, a guard rushed up to Elend. Tin allowed Vin to hear what the man said, even though he spoke before she could close the distance.

“Your Majesty,” the guard said, “our messenger reached you then?”

“No,” Elend said with a frown as Vin walked over. The soldier gave her a look, but continued speaking; the soldiers all knew that Vin was Elend’s primary bodyguard and confidant. Still, the man looked oddly concerned when he saw her.

“We … ah, don’t want to be intrusive,” the soldier said. “That’s why we’ve kept this quiet. We were just wondering if … everything is all right.” He looked at Vin as he spoke.

“What is this about?” Elend asked.

The guard turned back toward the king. “The corpse in Lady Vin’s room.”

The “corpse” was actually a skeleton. One picked completely clean, without a hint of blood—or even tissue—marring its shiny white surfaces. A good number of the bones were broken.

“I’m sorry, mistress,” OreSeur said, speaking low enough that only she could hear. “I assumed that you were going to dispose of these.”

Vin nodded. The skeleton was, of course, the one OreSeur had been using before she gave him the animal body. Finding the door unlocked—Vin’s usual sign that she wanted a room cleaned—the maids had entered. Vin had stashed the bones in a basket, intending to deal with them later. Apparently the maids had decided to check and see what was in the basket, and had been somewhat surprised.

“It’s all right, Captain,” Elend said to the young soldier—Captain Demoux, second-in-command of the palace guard. Despite the fact that Ham shunned uniforms, this man clearly took great pride in keeping his own uniform very neat and smart.

“You did well by keeping this quiet,” Elend said. “We knew about these bones already. They aren’t a reason for concern.”

Demoux nodded. “We figured it was something intentional.” He didn’t look at Vin as he spoke.

Intentional, Vin thought. Great. I wonder what this man thinks I did. Few skaa knew what kandra were, and Demoux wouldn’t know what to make of remains like these.

“Could you dispose of these quietly for me, Captain?” Elend asked, nodding to the bones.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the guard said.

He probably assumes I ate the person or something, Vin thought, sighing. Sucked the flesh right off his bones.

Which wasn’t that far from the truth.

“Your Majesty,” Demoux said. “Would you like us to dispose of the other body as well?”

Vin froze.

“Other one?” Elend asked slowly.

The guard nodded. “When we found this skeleton, we brought in some dogs to sniff about. The dogs didn’t turn up any killers, but they did find another body. Exactly like this one—a set of bones, completely cleaned of flesh.”

Vin and Elend shared a look. “Show us,” Elend said.

Demoux nodded and led them out of the room, giving a few whispered orders to one of his men. The four of them—three humans and one kandra—traveled a short distance down the palace hallway, toward a less used section of visitors’ chambers. Demoux dismissed a soldier standing at a particular door, then led them inside.

“This body wasn’t in a basket, Your Majesty,” Demoux said. “It was stuffed in a back closet. We’d probably never have found it without the dogs—they picked up the scent pretty easily, though I can’t see how. These corpses are completely clean of flesh.”

And there it was. Another skeleton like the first, sitting piled beside a bureau. Elend glanced at Vin, then turned to Demoux. “Would you excuse us, Captain?”

The young guard nodded, walking from the room and closing the door.

“Well?” Elend said, turning to OreSeur.

“I do not know where this came from,” the kandra said.

“But it is another kandra-eaten corpse,” Vin said.

“Undoubtedly, mistress,” OreSeur said. “The dogs found it because of the particular scent our digestive juices leave on recently excreted bones.”

Elend and Vin shared a look.

“However,” OreSeur said, “it is probably not what you think. This man was probably killed far from here.”

“What do you mean?”

“They are discarded bones, Your Majesty,” OreSeur said. “The bones a kandra leaves behind…”

“After he finds a new body,” Vin finished.

“Yes, mistress,” OreSeur said.

Vin looked at Elend, who frowned. “How long ago?” he asked. “Maybe the bones were left a year before, by my father’s kandra.”

“Perhaps, Your Majesty,” OreSeur said. But he sounded hesitant. He padded over, sniffing at the bones. Vin picked one up, holding it to her nose. With tin, she easily picked out a sharp scent that reminded her of bile.

“It’s very strong,” she said, glancing at OreSeur.

He nodded. “These bones haven’t been here long, Your Majesty. A few hours at most. Perhaps even less.”

“Which means we have another kandra somewhere in the palace,” Elend said, looking a bit sick. “One of my staff has been … eaten and replaced.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” OreSeur said. “There is no way to tell from these bones who it could be, since these are the discards. The kandra would have taken the new bones, eating their flesh and wearing their clothing.”

Elend nodded, standing. He met Vin’s eyes, and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. It was possible that a member of the palace staff had been replaced, which would mean a slight breach in security. But there was a far more dangerous possibility.

Kandra were incomparable actors; OreSeur had imitated Lord Renoux so perfectly that even people who’d known him had been fooled. Such talent could have been used for the imitation of a maid or a servant. But if an enemy wanted to get a spy into Elend’s closed meetings, he would need to replace a person far more important.

It would be someone that we haven’t seen during the last few hours, Vin thought, dropping the bone. She, Elend, and OreSeur had been on the wall for most of the afternoon and evening—ever since the end of the Assembly meeting—but the city and palace had been in chaos since the second army had arrived. The messengers had had trouble finding Ham, and she still wasn’t certain where Dockson was. In fact, she hadn’t seen Clubs until he’d joined her and Elend on the wall a bit before. And Spook had been the last to arrive.

Vin looked down at the pile of bones, feeling a sickening sense of unease. There was a very good chance that someone in their core team—a member of Kelsier’s former band—was now an impostor.

THE END OF PART ONE

The Well of Ascension

PART TWO

GHOSTS IN THE MIST

The Well of Ascension

It wasn’t until years later that I became convinced that Alendi was the Hero of Ages. Hero of Ages: the one called Rabzeen in Khlennium, the Anamnesor.

Savior.

The Well of Ascension

12

A FORTRESS SAT IN THE misty murk of evening.

It rested at the bottom of a large depression in the land. The steep-sided, craterlike valley was so wide that even in daylight Sazed would barely have been able to see the other side. In the oncoming darkness, obscured by mist, the far edge of the massive hole was only a deep shadow.

Sazed knew very little about tactics and strategy; though his metalminds held dozens of books on the subjects, he had forgotten their contents in order to create the stored records. What he did know told him that this fortress—the Conventical of Seran—was not very defensible. It relinquished the high ground, and the crater sides would provide an excellent location for siege engines to pelt rocks down at the walls.

However, this fortress had not been built to defend against enemy soldiers. It had been built to provide solitude. The crater made it difficult to find, for a slight rise in the land around the crater’s lip made it practically invisible until one drew near. No roads or paths marked the way, and travelers would have great trouble getting down the sheer sides.

The Inquisitors did not want visitors.

“Well?” Marsh asked.

He and Sazed stood on the crater’s northern rim, before a drop of several hundred feet. Sazed tapped his vision tinmind, drawing forth some of the eyesight he had stored within it. The edges of his field of view fuzzed, but things directly in front of him seemed to grow much closer. He tapped a little more sight, ignoring the nausea that came from compounding so much vision.

The increased eyesight let him study the Conventical as if he stood before it. He could see each notch in the dark stone walls—flat, broad, imposing. He could discern each bit of rust on the large steel plates that hung bolted onto the outsides of the walls. He could see each lichen-encrusted corner and ash-stained ledge. There were no windows.

“I do not know,” Sazed said slowly, releasing his vision tinmind. “It is not easy to say whether or not the fortress is inhabited. There is no motion, nor is there light. But perhaps the Inquisitors are hiding inside.”

“No,” Marsh said, his stiff voice uncomfortably loud in the evening air. “They are gone.”

“Why would they leave? This is a place of great strength, I think. Poor defense against an army, but a great defense against the chaos of the times.”

Marsh shook his head. “They are gone.”

“How are you so certain?”

“I do not know.”

“Where did they go then?”

Marsh looked at him, then turned and glanced over his shoulder. “North.”

“Toward Luthadel?” Sazed asked, frowning.

“Among other things,” Marsh said. “Come. I do not know if they will return, but we should exploit this opportunity.”

Sazed nodded. This was why they had come, after all. Still, a part of him hesitated. He was a man of books and genteel service. Traveling the countryside to visit villages was enough removed from his experience to be discomforting. Infiltrating the Inquisitor stronghold …

Marsh obviously didn’t care about his companion’s inner struggles. The Inquisitor turned and began to walk along the rim of the crater. Sazed threw his pack over his shoulder, then followed. They eventually arrived at a cagelike contraption, obviously meant to be lowered down to the bottom by ropes and pulleys. The cage sat locked in place at the top ledge, and Marsh stopped at its side, but did not enter.

“What?” Sazed asked.

“The pulley system,” Marsh said. “The cage is meant to be lowered by men holding it from below.”

Sazed nodded, realizing this was true. Marsh stepped forward and threw a lever. The cage fell. Ropes began to smoke, and pulleys squealed as the massive cage plummeted toward the chasm floor. A muted crash echoed against the rocks.

If there is anyone down there, Sazed thought, they now know we’re here.

Marsh turned toward him, the heads of his eye-spikes glistening slightly in the failing sunlight. “Follow however you wish,” he said. Then he tied off the counterrope and began to climb down the ropes.

Sazed stepped up to the platform’s edge, watching Marsh shimmy down the dangling rope into the shadowed, misty abyss. Then Sazed knelt and opened his pack. He unhooked the large metal bracers around his upper and lower arms—his core copperminds. They contained the memories of a Keeper, the stored knowledge of centuries past. He reverently placed them to the side, then pulled a pair of much smaller bracelets—one iron, one pewter—from the pack. Metalminds for a warrior.

Did Marsh understand how unskilled Sazed was in this area? Amazing strength did not a warrior make. Regardless, Sazed snapped the two bracelets around his ankles. Next he pulled out two rings—tin and copper. These he slipped onto his fingers.

He closed the pack and threw it over his shoulder, then picked up his core copperminds. He carefully located a good hiding place—a secluded hollow between two boulders—and slid them inside. Whatever happened below, he didn’t want to risk them being taken and destroyed by the Inquisitors.

In order to fill a coppermind with memories, Sazed had listened to another Keeper recite his entire collection of histories, facts, and stories. Sazed had memorized each sentence, then shoved those memories into the coppermind for later retrieval. Sazed remembered very little of the actual experience—but he could draw forth any of the books or essays he wished, placing them back into his mind, gaining the ability to recollect them as crisply as when he’d first memorized them. He only had to have the bracers on.

Being without his copperminds made him anxious. He shook his head, walking back over to the platform. Marsh was moving very quickly down toward the chasm floor; like all Inquisitors, he had the powers of a Mistborn. It was a mystery to Sazed how he had obtained them—and how he managed to live despite the spikes that had been driven directly through his brain—but Marsh had declined to answer Sazed’s questions.

Sazed called down, drawing Marsh’s attention, then held up his pack and dropped it. Marsh reached out and the pack lurched, Pulled by its metals into Marsh’s hand. The Inquisitor threw it over his shoulder before continuing his descent.

Sazed nodded thankfully, then stepped off the platform. As he began to fall, he mentally reached into his ironmind, searching for the power he had stored therein. Filling a metalmind always had a cost: in order to store up sight, Sazed had been forced to spend weeks with poor eyesight. During that time, he had worn a tin bracelet, stowing away the excess sight for later use.

Iron was a bit different from the others. It didn’t store up sight, strength, endurance—or even memories. It stored something completely different: weight.

This day, Sazed didn’t tap the power stored inside the ironmind; that would have made him more heavy. Instead he began to fill the ironmind, letting it suck away his weight. He felt a familiar sense of lightness—a sense that his own body wasn’t pressing upon itself as forcefully.

His fall slowed. The Terris philosophers had much to say on using an ironmind. They explained that the power didn’t change a person’s bulk or size—instead it changed the way that the ground pulled against them. Sazed’s fall didn’t slow because of his decrease in weight—it slowed because he suddenly had a relatively large amount of surface exposed to the wind of his fall, and a lighter body to go along with it.

Regardless of the scientific reasons, Sazed didn’t fall as quickly. The thin metal bracelets on his legs were the heaviest things on his body, and they kept him pointed feet-downward. He held out his arms and bent his body slightly, letting the wind push against him. His descent was not terribly slow—not like that of a leaf or a feather. But he didn’t plummet either. Instead he fell in a controlled—almost leisurely—manner. Clothing flapping, arms outspread, he passed Marsh, who watched with a curious expression.

As he approached the ground, Sazed tapped his pewtermind, drawing forth a tiny bit of strength to prepare. He hit the ground—but because his body was so light, there was very little shock. He barely even needed to bend his knees to absorb the force of impact.

He stopped filling the ironmind, released his pewter, and waited quietly for Marsh. Beside him, the carrying cage lay in shambles. Sazed noticed several broken iron shackles with discomfort. Clearly, some of those who had visited the Conventical had not come by choice.

By the time Marsh neared the bottom, the mists were thick in the air. Sazed had lived with them all of his life, and had never before felt uncomfortable in them. Yet now he half expected the mists to begin choking him. To kill him, as they seemed to have done to old Jed, the unfortunate farmer whose death Sazed had investigated.

Marsh dropped the last ten feet or so, landing with an Allomancer’s increased agility. Even after spending so much time with Mistborn, Sazed was impressed with Allomancy’s gifts. He’d never been jealous of them—not really. True, Allomancy was better in a fight; but it could not expand the mind, giving one access to the dreams, hopes, and beliefs of a thousand years of culture. It could not give the knowledge to treat a wound, or help teach a poor village to use modern fertilization techniques. The metalminds of Feruchemy weren’t flamboyant, but they had a far more lasting value to society.

Besides, Sazed knew a few tricks with Feruchemy that were bound to surprise even the most prepared warrior.

Marsh handed him the pack. “Come.”

Sazed nodded, shouldering the pack and following the Inquisitor across the rocky ground. Walking next to Marsh was odd, for Sazed wasn’t accustomed to being around people who were as tall as he was. Terrismen were tall by nature, and Sazed even more so: his arms and legs were a bit too long for his body, a medical condition brought on by his having been castrated as a very young boy. Though the Lord Ruler was dead, Terris culture would long feel the effects of his stewardship and breeding programs—the methods by which he had tried to eliminate Feruchemical powers from the Terris people.

The Conventical of Seran loomed in the darkness, looking even more ominous now that Sazed stood within the crater. Marsh strode right up to the front doors, and Sazed followed behind. He wasn’t afraid, not really. Fear had never been a strong motivator in Sazed’s life. But he did worry. There were so few Keepers left; if he died, that was one fewer person who could travel, restoring lost truths and teaching the people.

Not that I’m doing such at the moment anyway.

Marsh regarded the massive steel doors. Then he threw his weight against one, obviously burning pewter to enhance his strength. Sazed joined him, pushing hard. The door did not budge.

Regretting the expenditure of power, Sazed reached into his pewtermind and tapped strength. He used far more than he had when landing, and his muscles immediately increased in size. Unlike Allomancy, Feruchemy often had direct effects on a person’s body. Beneath his robes, Sazed gained the bulk and build of a lifetime warrior, easily becoming twice as strong as he had been a moment earlier. With their combined effort, the two of them managed to push the door open.

It did not creak. It slid slowly but evenly inward, exposing a long, dark hallway.

Sazed released his pewtermind, reverting to his normal self. Marsh strode into the Conventical, his feet kicking up the mist that had begun to pour through the open doorway.

“Marsh?” Sazed asked.

The Inquisitor turned.

“I won’t be able to see inside there.”

“Your Feruchemy…”

Sazed shook his head. “It can let me see better in darkness, but only if there’s some light to begin with. In addition, tapping that much sight would drain my tinmind in a matter of minutes. I’ll need a lantern.”

Marsh nodded. He turned into the darkness, quickly disappearing from Sazed’s view.

So, Sazed thought, Inquisitors don’t need light to see. It was to be expected: the spikes filled Marsh’s entire sockets, completely destroying the eyeballs. Whatever strange power allowed Inquisitors to see, it apparently worked as well in pure darkness as it did in daylight.

Marsh returned a few moments later, carrying a lamp. From the chains Sazed had seen on the descent cage, Sazed suspected that the Inquisitors had kept a sizable group of slaves and servants to attend their needs. If that was the case, where had the people gone? Had they fled?

Sazed lit the lamp with a flint from his pack. The lamp’s ghostly light illuminated a stark, daunting hallway. He stepped into the Conventical, holding the lamp high, and began to fill the small copper ring on his finger, the process transforming it into a coppermind.

“Large rooms,” he whispered, “without adornment.” He didn’t really need to say the words, but he’d found that speaking helped him form distinct memories. He could then place them into the coppermind.

“The Inquisitors obviously had a fondness for steel,” he continued. “This is not surprising, considering that their religion was often referred to as the Steel Ministry. The walls are hung with massive steel plates that bear no rust, unlike the ones outside. Many of those here are not completely smooth, but instead crafted with some interesting patterns etched into their surfaces.”

Marsh frowned, turning toward him. “What are you doing?”

Sazed held up his right hand, showing the copper ring. “I must make an account of this visit. I will need to repeat this experience back to other Keepers when the opportunity presents itself. There is much to be learned from this place, I think.”

Marsh turned away. “You should not care about the Inquisitors. They are not worthy of your record.”

“It isn’t a matter of worthiness, Marsh,” Sazed said, raising his lamp to study a square pillar. “Knowledge of all religions is valuable. I must make certain these things persist.”

Sazed regarded the pillar for a moment, then closed his eyes and formed an image of it inside his head, which he added to the coppermind. Visual memories were less useful than spoken words. Visualizations faded very quickly once taken out of a coppermind, suffering from the mind’s distortion. Plus, they could not be passed to other Keepers.

Marsh didn’t respond to Sazed’s comment about religion; he merely turned and walked deeper into the building. Sazed followed at a slower pace, speaking to himself, recording the words in his coppermind. It was an interesting experience. As soon as he spoke, he felt the thoughts sucked from his mind, leaving behind a blank hollowness. He had difficulty remembering the specifics of what he had just been saying. But once he was done filling his coppermind, he would be able to tap those memories later and know them with crisp clarity.

“The room is tall,” he said. “There are a few pillars, and they are also wrapped in steel. They are blocky and square, rather than round. I get a sense that this place was created by a people who cared little for subtlety. They ignored small details in favor of broad lines and utilitarianism.

“As we move beyond the main entryway, this architectural theme continues. There are no paintings on the walls, nor are there wooden adornments or tile floors. Instead there are only the long, broad hallways with their harsh lines and reflective surfaces. The floor is constructed of steel squares, each a few feet across. They are … cold to the touch.

“It is strange not to see the tapestries, stained-glass windows, and sculpted stones that are so common in Luthadel’s architecture. There are no spires or vaultings here. Only squares and rectangles. Lines … so many lines. Nothing here is soft. No carpet, no rugs, no windows. It is a place for people who see the world differently from ordinary men.

“Marsh walked straight down this massive hallway, as if oblivious to its decor. I will follow him, then come back to record more later. He seems to be following something … something I cannot sense. Perhaps it is…”

Sazed trailed off as he stepped around a bend and saw Marsh standing in the doorway of a large chamber. The lamplight flickered unevenly as Sazed’s arm quivered.

Marsh had found the servants.

They had been dead long enough that Sazed hadn’t noticed the scent until he had come close. Perhaps that was what Marsh had been following; the senses of a man burning tin could be quite acute.

The Inquisitors had done their work thoroughly. These were the remnants of a slaughter. The room was large, but had only one exit, and the bodies were piled high near the back, killed by what looked like harsh sword or axe strokes. The servants had huddled up against the back wall as they died.

Sazed turned away.

Marsh remained in the doorway. “There is a bad air about this place,” he finally said.

“You have only now noticed that?” Sazed asked.

Marsh turned, glancing at him, demanding his gaze. “We should not spend much time here. There are stairs at the end of the hallway behind us. I will go up—that is where the Inquisitors’ quarters will be. If the information I seek is here, I will find it there. You may stay, or you may descend. But do not follow me.”

Sazed frowned. “Why?”

“I must be alone here. I cannot explain it. I do not care if you witness Inquisitor atrocities. I just … do not wish to be with you when you do.”

Sazed lowered his lamp, turning its light away from the horrific scene. “Very well.”

Marsh turned, brushing past Sazed and disappearing into the dark hallway. And Sazed was alone.

He tried not to think about that very much. He returned to the main hallway, describing the slaughter to his coppermind before giving a more detailed explanation of the architecture and the art—if indeed that was what the different patterns on the wall plates could be called.

As he worked—his voice echoing quietly against the rigid architecture, his lamp a weak drop of light reflected in steel—his eyes were drawn toward the back of the hallway. There was a pool of darkness there. A stairwell leading down.

Even as he turned back to his description of one of the wall mounts, he knew that he would eventually find himself walking toward that darkness. It was the same as ever—the curiosity, the need to understand the unknown. This sense had driven him as a Keeper, had led him to Kelsier’s company. His search for truths could never be completed, but neither could it be ignored. So he eventually turned and approached the stairwell, his own whispering voice his only companion.

“The stairs are akin to what I saw in the hallway. They are broad and expansive, like the steps leading up to a temple or palace. Except these go down into darkness. They are large, likely cut from stone and then lined with steel. They are tall, meant for a determined stride.

“As I walk, I wonder what secrets the Inquisitors deemed worthy of hiding below the earth, in the basement of their stronghold. This entire building is a secret. What did they do here, in these massive hallways and open, empty rooms?

“The stairwell ends in another large, square room. I’ve noticed something—there are no doors in the doorways here. Each room is open, visible to those outside. As I walk, peeking into the rooms beneath the earth, I find cavernous chambers with few furnishings. No libraries, no lounges. Several contain large metal blocks that could be altars.

“There is … something different here in this last room, at the back of the main landing. I’m not certain what to make of it. A torture chamber, perhaps? There are tables—metal tables—set into the floor. They are bloody, though there are no corpses. Blood flakes and powders at my feet—a lot of men have died in this room, I think. There don’t appear to be torture implements beyond …

“Spikes. Like the ones in Inquisitor eyes. Massive, heavy things—like the spikes one might pound into the ground with a very large mallet. Some are tipped with blood, though I don’t think I’ll handle those. These other ones … yes, they look indistinguishable from the ones in Marsh’s eyes. Yet some are of different metals.”

Sazed set the spike down on a table, metal clinking against metal. He shivered, scanning the room again. A place to make new Inquisitors, perhaps? He had a sudden horrific vision of the creatures—once only several dozen in number—having swelled their ranks during their months sequestered in the Conventical.

But that didn’t seem right. They were a secretive, exclusive bunch. Where would they have found enough men worthy of joining their ranks? Why not make Inquisitors from the servants above, rather than simply killing them?

Sazed had always suspected that a man had to be an Allomancer to be changed into an Inquisitor. Marsh’s own experience substantiated that premise: he had been a Seeker, able to burn bronze, before his transformation. Sazed looked again at the blood, the spikes, and the tables, and decided he wasn’t certain that he wanted to know how one made a new Inquisitor.

Sazed was about to leave the room when his lamp revealed something at the back. Another doorway.

He moved forward, trying to ignore the dried blood at his feet, and entered a chamber that didn’t seem to match the rest of the Conventical’s daunting architecture. It was cut directly into the stone, and it twisted down into a very small stairwell. Curious, Sazed walked down the set of worn stone steps. For the first time since entering the building he felt cramped, and he had to stoop as he reached the bottom of the stairwell and entered a small chamber. He stood up straight, and held up his lamp to reveal …

A wall. The room ended abruptly, and his light sparkled off the wall. It held a steel plate, like those above. This one was a good five feet across, and nearly as tall. And it bore writing. Suddenly interested, Sazed set down his pack and stepped forward, raising his lamp to read the top words on the wall.

The text was in Terris.

It was an old dialect, certainly, but one that Sazed could make out even without his language coppermind. His hand trembled as he read the words.

I write these words in steel, for anything not set in metal cannot be trusted.

I have begun to wonder if I am the only sane man left. Can the others not see? They have been waiting so long for their hero to come—the one spoken of in Terris prophecies—that they quickly jump to conclusions, presuming that each story and legend applies to this one man.

My brethren ignore the rest of the facts. They cannot connect the other strange things that are happening. They are deaf to my objections and blind to my discoveries.

Perhaps they are right. Perhaps I am mad, or jealous, or simply daft. My name is Kwaan. Philosopher, scholar, traitor. I am the one who discovered Alendi, and I am the one who first proclaimed him to be the Hero of Ages. I am the one who started all this.

And I am the one who betrayed him, for I now know that he must never be allowed to complete his quest.

“Sazed.”

He jumped, nearly dropping the lamp. Marsh stood in the doorway behind him. Imperious, discomforting, and so dark. He fit this place, with its lines and hardness.

“The upstairs quarters are empty,” Marsh said. “This trip has been a waste—my brethren took anything of use with them.”

“Not a waste, Marsh,” Sazed said, turning back to the plate of text. He hadn’t read all of it; he hadn’t even gotten close. The script was written in a tight, cramped hand, its etchings coating the wall. The steel had preserved the words despite their obvious age. Sazed’s heart beat a little faster.

This was a fragment of text from before the Lord Ruler’s reign. A fragment written by a Terris philosopher—a holy man. Despite ten centuries of searching, the Keepers had never fulfilled the original goal of their creation: they had never discovered their own Terris religion.

The Lord Ruler, himself of Terris, had quashed their religious teachings soon after his rise to power. His persecution of his own people had been the most complete of his long reign, and the Keepers had never found more than vague fragments regarding what their people had once believed.

“I have to copy this down, Marsh,” Sazed said, reaching for his pack. Taking a visual memory wouldn’t work—no man could stare at a wall of so much text, then remember the words. He could perhaps read them into his coppermind. But he wanted a physical record, one that perfectly preserved the structure of lines and punctuation.

Marsh shook his head. “We will not stay here. I do not think we should even have come.”

Sazed considered, looking up. Then he pulled several large sheets of paper from his pack. “Very well then,” he said. “I’ll take a rubbing. That will be better anyway, I think. It will let me see the text exactly as it was written.”

Marsh nodded, and Sazed got out his charcoal.

This discovery … he thought with excitement. This will be like Rashek’s logbook. We are getting close!

Even as he began the rubbing—his hands moving carefully and precisely—another thought occurred to him. With a text like this in his possession, his sense of duty would no longer let him wander the villages. He had to return to the north to share what he had found, lest he die and this text be lost. He had to go to Terris.

Or … to Luthadel. From there he could send messages north. He had a valid excuse to get back to the center of action, to see the other crewmembers again.

Why did that make him feel even more guilty?

The Well of Ascension

When I finally had the realization—finally connected all of the signs of the Anticipation to Alendi—I was so excited. Yet when I announced my discovery to the other Worldbringers, I was met with scorn.

Oh, how I wish that I had listened to them.

The Well of Ascension

13

MIST SWIRLED AND SPUN, LIKE monochrome paints running together on a canvas. Light died in the west, and night came of age.

Vin frowned. “Does it seem like the mists are coming earlier?”

“Earlier?” OreSeur asked in his muffled voice. The kandra wolfhound sat next to her on the rooftop.

Vin nodded. “Before, the mists didn’t start to appear until after it grew dark, right?”

“It is dark, mistress.”

“But they’re already here—they started to gather when the sun was barely beginning to set.”

“I don’t see that it matters, mistress. Perhaps the mists are simply like other weather patterns—they vary sometimes.”

“Doesn’t it seem even a little strange to you?”

“I will think it strange if you wish me to, mistress,” OreSeur said.

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“I apologize, mistress,” OreSeur said. “Tell me what you do mean, and I will be certain to believe as commanded.”

Vin sighed, rubbing her brow. I wish Sazed were back, she thought. It was an idle wish. Even if Sazed were in Luthadel, he wouldn’t be her steward. The Terrismen no longer called any man master. She’d have to make do with OreSeur. The kandra at least could provide information that Sazed could not—assuming she could get it out of him.

“We need to find the impostor,” Vin said. “The one who … replaced someone.”

“Yes, mistress,” OreSeur said.

Vin sat back in the mists, reclining on a slanted rooftop, resting her arms back on the tiles. “Then, I need to know more about you.”

“Me, mistress?”

“Kandra in general. If I’m going to find this impostor, I need to know how he thinks, need to understand his motivations.”

“His motivations will be simple, mistress,” OreSeur said. “He will be following his Contract.”

“What if he’s acting without a Contract?”

OreSeur shook his canine head. “Kandra always have a Contract. Without one, they are not allowed to enter human society.”

“Never?” Vin asked.

“Never.”

“And what if this is some kind of rogue kandra?” Vin said.

“Such a thing does not exist,” OreSeur said firmly.

Oh? Vin thought skeptically. But she let the matter drop. There was little reason for a kandra to infiltrate the palace on his own; it was far more likely that one of Elend’s enemies had sent the creature. One of the warlords perhaps, or maybe the obligators. Even the other nobility in the city would have good reason to spy on Elend.

“Okay,” Vin said. “The kandra is a spy, sent to gather information for another human.”

“Yes.”

“But,” Vin said, “if he did take the body of someone in the palace, he didn’t kill them himself. Kandra can’t kill humans, right?”

OreSeur nodded. “We are all bound by that rule.”

“So, somebody snuck into the palace, murdered a member of the staff, then had their kandra take the body.” She considered, working through the problem. “The most dangerous possibilities—the crewmembers—should be considered first. Fortunately, since the killing happened yesterday, we can eliminate Breeze, who was outside the city at the time.”

OreSeur nodded.

“We can eliminate Elend as well,” Vin said. “He was with us on the wall yesterday.”

“That still leaves the majority of the crew, mistress.”

Vin frowned, sitting back. She’d tried to establish solid alibis for Ham, Dockson, Clubs, and Spook. All of them had at least a few hours unaccounted for. Long enough for a kandra to digest them and take their place.

“All right,” she said. “So, how do I find the impostor? How can I tell him from other people?”

OreSeur sat quietly in the mists.

“There has to be a way,” Vin said. “His imitation can’t be perfect. Would cutting him work?”

OreSeur shook his head. “Kandra replicate a body perfectly, mistress—blood, flesh, skin, and muscle. You have seen that when I split my skin.”

Vin sighed, standing and stepping up on the tip of the peaked rooftop. The mists were already full, and the night was quickly becoming black. She began to walk idly back and forth on the ridge, an Allomancer’s balance keeping her from falling.

“Perhaps I can simply see who isn’t acting oddly,” she said. “Are most kandra as good at imitation as you are?”

“Among kandra, my own skill is average. Some are worse, others are better.”

“But no actor is perfect,” Vin said.

“Kandra don’t often make mistakes, mistress,” OreSeur said. “But this is probably your best method. Be warned—he could be anyone. My kind are very skilled.”

Vin hesitated. It’s not Elend, she told herself forcibly. He was with me all day yesterday. Except in the morning.

Too long, she decided. We were on the wall for hours, and those bones were freshly expelled. Besides, I’d know if it were him … wouldn’t I?

She shook her head. “There has to be another way. Can I spot a kandra with Allomancy?”

OreSeur didn’t answer immediately. She turned toward him in the darkness, studying his canine face. “What?” she asked.

“These are not things we speak of with outsiders.”

Vin sighed. “Tell me anyway.”

“Do you command me to speak?”

“I don’t really care to command you in anything.”

“Then I may leave?” OreSeur asked. “You do not wish to command me, so our Contract is dissolved?”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Vin said.

OreSeur frowned—a strange expression to see on a dog’s face. “It would be easier for me if you would try to say what you mean, mistress.”

Vin gritted her teeth. “Why is it you’re so hostile?”

“I’m not hostile, mistress. I am your servant, and will do as you command. That is part of the Contract.”

“Sure. Are you like this with all of your masters?”

“With most, I am fulfilling a specific role,” OreSeur said. “I have bones to imitate—a person to become, a personality to adopt. You have given me no direction, just the bones of this … animal.”

So that’s it, Vin thought. Still annoyed by the dog’s body. “Look, those bones don’t really change anything. You are still the same person.”

“You do not understand. It is not who a kandra is that’s important. It’s who a kandra becomes. The bones he takes, the role he fulfills. None of my previous masters have asked me to do something like this.”

“Well, I’m not like other masters,” Vin said. “Anyway, I asked you a question. Is there a way I can spot a kandra with Allomancy? And yes, I command you to speak.”

A flash of triumph shone in OreSeur’s eyes, as if he enjoyed forcing her into her role. “Kandra cannot be affected by mental Allomancy, mistress.”

Vin frowned. “Not at all?”

“No, mistress,” OreSeur said. “You can try to Riot or Soothe our emotions, if you wish, but it will have no effect. We won’t even know that you are trying to manipulate us.”

Like someone who’s burning copper. “That’s not exactly the most useful bit of information,” she said, strolling past the kandra on the roof. Testing for a kandra by Soothing someone’s emotions wouldn’t be definitive. When she Soothed or Rioted someone, she simply had to hope that they reacted as she intended—Allomancers couldn’t read emotions or minds. If someone didn’t react, that might mean they were a kandra—but it could also simply mean that they were good at mastering their emotions.

OreSeur watched her pacing. “If it were easy to detect kandra, mistress, then we wouldn’t be worth much as impostors, would we?”

“I suppose not,” Vin acknowledged. Thinking about what he’d said made her consider something else. “Can a kandra use Allomancy? If they eat an Allomancer, I mean?”

OreSeur shook his head.

That’s another method then, Vin thought. If I catch a member of the crew burning metals, then I know he’s not the kandra. Wouldn’t help with Dockson or the palace servants, but it would let her eliminate Ham and Spook.

“There’s something else,” Vin said. “Before, when we were doing the job with Kelsier, he said that we had to keep you away from the Lord Ruler and his Inquisitors. Why was that?”

OreSeur looked away. “This is not a thing we speak of.”

“Then I command you to speak of it.”

“Then I must refuse to answer,” OreSeur said.

“Refuse to answer?” Vin asked. “You can do that?”

OreSeur nodded. “We are not required to reveal secrets about kandra nature, mistress. It is—”

“In the Contract,” Vin finished, frowning. I really need to read that thing again.

“Yes, mistress. I have perhaps said too much already.”

Vin turned away from OreSeur, looking out over the city. The mists continued to spin. Vin closed her eyes, questing out with bronze, trying to feel the telltale pulse of an Allomancer burning metals nearby.

OreSeur rose and padded over beside her, then settled down on his haunches again, sitting on the inclined roof. “Shouldn’t you be at the meeting the king is having, mistress?”

“Perhaps later,” Vin said, opening her eyes. Out beyond the city, watchfires from the armies lit the horizon. Keep Venture blazed in the night to her right, and within it Elend was holding council with the others. Many of the most important men in the government, sitting together in one room. Elend would call her paranoid for insisting that she be the one who watched for spies and assassins. That was fine; he could call her whatever he wanted, as long as he stayed alive.

She settled back down. She was glad Elend had decided to pick Keep Venture as his palace, rather than moving into Kredik Shaw, the Lord Ruler’s home. Not only was Kredik Shaw too big to be properly defended, but it also reminded her of him. The Lord Ruler.

She thought of the Lord Ruler often lately—or rather she thought of Rashek, the man who had become the Lord Ruler. A Terrisman by birth, Rashek had killed the man who should have taken the power at the Well of Ascension and …

And done what? They still didn’t know. The Hero had been on a quest to protect the people from a danger simply known as the Deepness. So much had been lost; so much had been intentionally destroyed. Their best source of information about those days came in the form of an aged journal written by the Hero of Ages during the days before Rashek had killed him. It gave precious few clues about his quest.

Why do I even worry about these things? Vin thought. The Deepness is a thing a thousand years forgotten. Elend and the others are right to be concerned about more pressing events.

And still, Vin was strangely detached from them. Perhaps that was why she found herself scouting outside. It wasn’t that she didn’t worry about the armies. She merely felt removed from the problem. Even now, as she considered the threat to Luthadel, her mind was drawn back to the Lord Ruler.

You don’t know what I do for mankind, he had said. I was your god, even if you couldn’t see it. By killing me, you have doomed yourselves. Those were the Lord Ruler’s last words, spoken as he lay dying on the floor of his own throne room. They worried her. Chilled her, even still.

She needed to distract herself. “What kinds of things do you like, kandra?” she asked, turning to the creature, who still sat on the rooftop beside her. “What are your loves, your hatreds?”

“I do not want to answer that.”

Vin frowned. “Do not want to, or do not have to?”

“Do not want to, mistress.” The implication was obvious. You’re going to have to command me.

She almost did. But something gave her pause, something in those eyes—inhuman though they were. Something familiar.

She’d known resentment like that. She’d felt it often during her youth, when she’d served crewleaders who had lorded over their followers. In the crews, one did what one was commanded—especially if one was a small waif of a girl, without rank or means of intimidation.

“If you don’t wish to speak of it,” Vin said, turning away from the kandra, “then I won’t force you.”

OreSeur was silent.

Vin breathed in the mist, its cool wetness tickling her throat and lungs. “Do you know what I love, kandra?”

“No, mistress.”

“The mists,” she said, holding out her arms. “The power, the freedom.”

OreSeur nodded slowly. From nearby, Vin felt a faint pulsing with her bronze. Quiet, strange, unnerving. It was the same odd pulsing that she had felt atop Keep Venture a few nights before. She had never been brave enough to investigate it again.

It’s time to do something about that, she decided. “Do you know what I hate, kandra?” she whispered, falling to a crouch, checking her knives and metals.

“No, mistress.”

She turned, meeting OreSeur’s eyes. “I hate being afraid.”

She knew that others thought her jumpy. Paranoid. She had lived with fear for so long that she had once seen it as something natural, like the ash, the sun, or the ground.

Kelsier had taken that fear away. She was still careful, but she didn’t feel a constant sense of terror. The Survivor had given her a life where the ones she loved didn’t beat her, had shown her something better than fear. Trust. Now that she knew of these things, she would not quickly surrender them. Not to armies, not to assassins …

Not even to spirits.

“Follow if you can,” she whispered, then dropped off the rooftop to the street below.

She dashed along the mist-slicked street, building momentum before she had time to lose her nerve. The source of the bronze pulses was close; it came from only one street over, in a building. Not the top, she decided. One of the darkened windows on the third floor, the shutters open.

Vin dropped a coin and jumped into the air. She shot upward, angling herself by Pushing against a latch across the street. She landed in the window’s pitlike opening, arms grabbing the sides of the frame. She flared tin, letting her eyes adjust to the deep darkness within the abandoned room.

And it was there. Formed entirely of mists, it shifted and spun, its outline vague in the dark chamber. It had a vantage to see the rooftop where Vin and OreSeur had been talking.

Ghosts don’t spy on people, do they? Skaa didn’t speak of things like spirits or the dead. It smacked too much of religion, and religion was for the nobility. To worship was death for skaa. That hadn’t stopped some, of course—but thieves like Vin had been too pragmatic for such things.

There was only one thing in skaa lore that this creature matched. Mistwraiths. Creatures said to steal the souls of men foolish enough to go outside at night. But Vin now knew what mistwraiths were. They were cousins to the kandra—strange, semi-intelligent beasts who used the bones of those they ingested. They were odd, true—but hardly phantoms, and not that dangerous. There were no dark wraiths in the night, no haunting spirits or ghouls.

Or so Kelsier had said. The thing standing in the dark room—its insubstantial form writhing in the mists—seemed a powerful counterexample. She gripped the sides of the window, fear—her old friend—returning.

Run. Flee. Hide.

“Why have you been watching me?” she demanded.

The thing did not move. Its form seemed to draw the mists forward, and they spun slightly, as if in an air current.

I can sense it with bronze. That means it’s using Allomancy—and Allomancy attracts the mist.

The thing stepped forward. Vin tensed.

And then the spirit was gone.

Vin frowned. That was it? She had—

Something grabbed her arm. Something cold, something terrible, but something very real. A pain shot through her head, moving as if from her ear and into her mind. She yelled, but cut off as her voice failed. With a quiet groan—her arm quivering and shaking—she fell backward out of the window.

Her arm was still cold. She could feel it whipping in the air beside her, seeming to exude chill air. Mist passed like trailing clouds.

Vin flared tin. Pain, cold, wetness, and lucidity burst into her mind, and she threw herself into a twist and flared pewter. She hit the ground and pushed herself up to her knees, her palms cool against the slick cobblestones. She could still feel the trailing chill in her left arm.

“Mistress?” OreSeur said, darting from the shadows. “Shall I go for aid?”

Vin shook her head, forcing herself into a wobbling stand. She looked through swirling mists toward the black window above.

She shivered. Her shoulder was sore from where she had hit the ground, and her bruised side throbbed, but she could feel her strength returning. She stepped away from the building, still looking up. Above her, the deep mists seemed … ominous. Obscuring.

No, she thought forcefully. The mists are my freedom; the night is my home! This is where I belong. I haven’t needed to be afraid in the night since Kelsier taught me otherwise.

She couldn’t lose that. She wouldn’t go back to the fear. Still, she couldn’t help the quick urgency in her step as she waved to OreSeur and scampered away from the building. She gave no explanation for her strange actions.

He didn’t ask for one.

Elend set a third pile of books onto the table, and it slumped against the other two, threatening to topple the entire lot to the floor. He steadied them, then glanced up.

Breeze, in a prim suit, regarded the table with amusement as he sipped his wine. Ham and Spook were playing a game of stones as they waited for the meeting to begin; Spook was winning. Dockson sat in the corner of the room, scribbling on a ledger, and Clubs sat in a deep plush chair, eyeing Elend with one of his stares.

Any of these men could be an impostor, Elend thought. The thought still seemed insane to him. What was he to do? Exclude them all from his confidence? No, he needed them too much.

The only option was to act normally and watch them. Vin had told him to try to spot inconsistencies in their personalities. He intended to do his best, but the reality was that he wasn’t sure how much he would be able to see. This was more Vin’s area of expertise. He needed to worry about the armies.

Thinking of her, he glanced at the stained-glass window at the back of the study, and was surprised to see it was dark.

That late already? Elend thought.

“My dear man,” Breeze noted. “When you told us you needed to ‘go and gather a few important references,’ you might have warned us that you were planning to be gone for so long.”

“Yes, well,” Elend said, “I kind of lost track of time.”

“For two hours?”

Elend nodded sheepishly. “There were books involved.”

Breeze shook his head. “If the fate of the Central Dominance weren’t at stake—and if it weren’t so fantastically enjoyable to watch Hammond lose an entire month’s earnings to the boy there—I’d have left an hour ago.”

“Yes, well, we can get started now,” Elend said.

Ham chuckled, standing up. “It’s kind of like the old days. Kell always arrived late too—and he liked to hold his meetings at night. Mistborn hours.”

Spook smiled, his coin pouch bulging.

We still use boxings—Lord Ruler imperials—as our coinage, Elend thought. We’ll have to do something about that.

“I miss the charcoal board though,” Spook said.

“I certainly don’t,” Breeze replied. “Kell had atrocious handwriting.”

“Absolutely hideous,” Ham said with a smile, sitting. “You have to admit though—it was distinctive.”

Breeze raised an eyebrow. “It was that, I suppose.”

Kelsier, the Survivor of Hathsin, Elend thought. Even his handwriting is legendary. “Regardless,” he said, “I think perhaps we should get to work. We’ve still got two armies waiting out there. We’re not leaving tonight until we have a plan to deal with them!”

The crewmembers shared looks.

“Actually, Your Majesty,” Dockson said, “we’ve already worked on that problem for a bit.”

“Oh?” Elend asked, surprised. Well, I guess I did leave them alone for a couple of hours. “Let me hear it then.”

Dockson stood, pulling his chair a bit closer to join the rest of the group, and Ham began to speak.

“Here’s the thing, El,” Ham said. “With two armies here, we don’t have to worry about an immediate attack. But we’re still in serious danger. This will probably turn into an extended siege as each army tries to outlast the other.”

“They’ll try to starve us out,” Clubs said. “Weaken us, and their enemies, before attacking.”

“And,” Ham continued, “that puts us in a bind—because we can’t last very long. The city is already on the edge of starvation—and the enemy kings are probably aware of that fact. They’ll hem us in, keep us blockaded until we get desperate enough to side with one of them. Eventually we’ll have to do so—either that or let our people starve.”

“The decision comes down to this,” Breeze said. “We can’t outlast the others, so we have to choose which of those men we want to take over the city. And I would suggest making our decision quickly as opposed to waiting while our supplies run out.”

Elend stood quietly. “By making a deal, we’ll essentially be giving away our kingdom.”

“True,” Breeze said, tapping the side of his cup. “However, what I gained us by bringing a second army is bargaining power. At least we are in a position to demand something in exchange for our kingdom.”

“What good is that?” Elend asked. “We still lose.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Breeze said. “I think that we might be able to persuade Cett to leave you as a provisional leader in Luthadel. He doesn’t like the Central Dominance; he finds it barren and flat.”

“Provisional leader of the city,” Elend said with a frown. “That is somewhat different from king of the Central Dominance.”

“It is,” Dockson said. “But every emperor needs good men to administrate the cities under their rule. You wouldn’t be king, but you—and our armies—would live through the next few months, and Luthadel wouldn’t be pillaged.”

Ham, Breeze, and Dockson all sat resolutely, looking him in the eye. Elend glanced down at his pile of books, thinking of his research and study. Worthless. How long had the crew known that there was only one course of action?

The crew seemed to take Elend’s silence as assent.

“Cett really is the best choice then?” Dockson asked. “Perhaps Straff would be more likely to make an agreement with Elend—they are, after all, family.”

Oh, he’d make an agreement, Elend thought. And he’d break it the moment it was convenient. But the alternative? Give the city over to this Cett? What would happen to this land, this people, if he were in charge?

“Cett is best,” Breeze said. “He is very willing to let others rule, as long as he gets his glory and his coins. The problem is going to be that atium. Cett thinks it is here, and if he doesn’t find it…”

“We simply let him search the city,” Ham said.

Breeze nodded. “You’d have to persuade him that I misled him about the atium—and that shouldn’t be too hard, considering what he thinks of me. Which is another small matter—you’ll have to convince him that I’ve been dealt with. Perhaps he’d believe that I was executed as soon as Elend found out I had raised an army against him.”

The others nodded.

“Breeze?” Elend asked. “How does Lord Cett treat the skaa in his lands?”

Breeze glanced away. “Not well, I’m afraid.”

“Now, see,” Elend said. “I think we need to consider how to best protect our people. I mean, if we give everything over to Cett, then we’d save my skin—but at the cost of the entire skaa population of the dominance!”

Dockson shook his head. “Elend, it’s not a betrayal. Not if this is the only way.”

“That’s easy to say,” Elend said. “But I’m the one who’d have to bear the guilty conscience for doing such a thing. I’m not saying that we should throw out your suggestion, but I do have a few ideas that we might talk about.”

The others shared looks. As usual, Clubs and Spook remained quiet during proceedings; Clubs only spoke when he felt it absolutely necessary, and Spook tended to stay on the periphery of the conversations. Finally Breeze, Ham, and Dockson looked back at Elend.

“This is your country, Your Majesty,” Dockson said carefully. “We’re simply here to give advice.” Very good advice, his tone implied.

“Yes, well,” Elend said, quickly selecting a book. In his haste, he knocked over one of the stacks, sending a clatter of books across the table and landing a volume in Breeze’s lap.

“Sorry,” Elend said, as Breeze rolled his eyes and set the book back on the table. Elend pulled open his own book. “Now, this volume had some very interesting things to say about the movement and arrangement of troop bodies—”

“Uh, El?” Ham asked, frowning. “That looks like a book on shipping grain.”

“I know,” Elend said. “There weren’t a lot of books about warfare in the library. I guess that’s what we get for a thousand years without any wars. But this book does mention how much grain it took to keep the various garrisons in the Final Empire stocked. Do you have any idea how much food an army needs?”

“You have a point,” Clubs said, nodding. “Usually it’s a blasted pain to keep soldiers fed; we often had supply problems fighting on the frontier, and we were only small bands sent to quell the occasional rebellion.”

Elend nodded. Clubs didn’t often speak of his past fighting in the Lord Ruler’s army—and the crew didn’t often ask him about it.

“Anyway,” Elend said, “I’ll bet both Cett and my father are unaccustomed to moving large bodies of men. There will be supply problems, especially for Cett, since he marched so hastily.”

“Maybe not,” Clubs said. “Both armies have secured canal routes into Luthadel. That will make it easy for them to send for more supplies.”

“Plus,” Breeze added, “though much of Cett’s land is in revolt right now, he does still hold the city of Haverfrex, which contains one of the Lord Ruler’s main canneries. Cett has a remarkable amount of food a short canal trip away.”

“Then we disrupt the canals,” Elend said. “We find a way to stop those supplies from coming. Canals make resupply quick, but also vulnerable, since we know exactly which route it will take. And if we can take away their food, perhaps they’ll be forced to turn around and march home.”

“Either that,” Breeze said, “or they’ll decide to risk attacking Luthadel.”

Elend hesitated. “That’s a possibility,” he said. “But, well, I’ve been researching how to hold the city as well.” He reached across the table, picking up a book. “Now, this is Jendellah’s City Management in the Modern Era. He mentions how difficult Luthadel is to police because of its extreme size and large number of skaa slums. He suggests using roving bands of city watchmen. I think we could adapt his methods to use in a battle—our wall is too long to defend in detail, but if we had mobile bands of troops that could respond to—”

“Your Majesty,” Dockson interrupted.

“Hum? Yes?”

“We’ve got an army of boys and men who have barely a year’s training, and we’re facing not one overwhelming foe, but two. We can’t win this battle by force.”

“Oh, yes,” Elend said. “Of course. I was merely saying that if we did have to fight, I have some strategies.”

“If we fight, we lose,” Clubs said. “We’ll probably lose anyway.”

Elend paused for a moment. “Yes, well, I just…”

“Attacking the canal routes is a good idea though,” Dockson said. “We can do that covertly, perhaps hire some of the bandits in the area to waylay supply barges. It probably won’t be enough to send Cett or Straff home, but we could make them each more desperate to ally with us.”

Breeze nodded. “Cett’s already worried about instability back in his home dominance. We should send him a preliminary messenger, let him know we’re interested in an alliance. That way, as soon as his supply problems begin, he’ll think of us.”

“We could even send him a letter explaining Breeze’s execution,” Dockson said, “as a sign of good faith. That—”

Elend cleared his throat. The others stopped talking and looked at him.

“I, uh, wasn’t finished yet,” Elend said.

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Dockson said.

Elend took a deep breath. “You’re right—we can’t afford to fight those armies. But I think we need to find a way to get them to fight each other.”

“A pleasant sentiment, my dear man,” Breeze said. “But getting those two to attack one another isn’t as simple as persuading Spook over there to refill my wine.” He turned, holding out his empty cup. Spook hesitated, then sighed, rising to fetch the wine bottle.

“Well, yes,” Elend said. “But while there aren’t a lot of books on warfare, there are a lot about politics. Breeze, you said the other day that being the weakest party in a three-way stalemate gives us power.”

“Exactly,” Breeze said. “We can tip the battle for either of the two larger sides.”

“Yes,” Elend said, opening a book. “Now that there are three parties involved, it’s not warfare—it’s politics. This is exactly like a contest between houses. And in house politicking, even the most powerful houses can’t stand without allies. The small houses are weak individually, but they are strong when considered as a group.

“We’re like one of those small houses. If we want to make any gains, we’re going to have to get our enemies to forget about us—or at least make them think us inconsequential. If they both assume that they have the better of us—that they can use us to defeat the other army, then turn on us at their leisure—then they’ll leave us alone and concentrate on each other.”

Ham rubbed his chin. “You’re talking about playing both sides, Elend. It’s a dangerous position to put ourselves in.”

Breeze nodded. “We’d have to switch our alliance to whichever side seems weaker at the moment, keep them snapping at each other. And there’s no guarantee that the winner between the two would be weakened enough for us to defeat.”

“Not to mention our food problems,” Dockson said. “What you propose would take time, Your Majesty. Time during which we’d be under siege, our supplies dwindling. It’s autumn right now. Winter will soon be upon us.”

“It will be tough,” Elend agreed. “And risky. But I think we can do it. We make them both think we’re allied with them, but we hold back our support. We encourage them against one another, and we wear away at their supplies and morale, pushing them into a conflict. When the dust settles, the surviving army might be just weak enough for us to beat.”

Breeze looked thoughtful. “It has style,” he admitted. “And it does kind of sound fun.”

Dockson smiled. “You only say that because it involves making someone else do our work for us.”

Breeze shrugged. “Manipulation works so well on a personal level, I don’t see why it wouldn’t be an equally viable national policy.”

“That’s the way of most rulership,” Ham mused. “What is a government but an institutionalized method of making sure somebody else does all the work?”

“Uh, the plan?” Elend asked.

“I don’t know, El,” Ham said, getting back on topic. “It sounds like one of Kell’s—foolhardy, brave, and a little insane.” He seemed surprised to hear Elend propose such a measure.

I can be as foolhardy as any man, Elend thought indignantly, then hesitated. Did he really want to follow that line of thought?

“We could get ourselves into some serious trouble,” Dockson said. “If either side decides it’s tired of our games…”

“They’ll destroy us,” Elend said. “But … well, gentlemen, you’re gamblers. You can’t tell me that this plan doesn’t appeal to you more than simply bowing before Lord Cett.”

Ham shared a look with Breeze, and they seemed to be considering the idea. Dockson rolled his eyes, but perhaps he was objecting simply out of habit.

No, they didn’t want to take the safe way out. These were the men who had challenged the Lord Ruler, men who had made their livelihood scamming noble- men. In some ways they were very careful; they could be precise in their attention to detail, cautious in covering their tracks and protecting their interests. But when it came time to gamble for the big prize, they were often willing.

No, not willing. Eager.

Great, Elend thought. I’ve filled my inner council with a bunch of thrill-seeking masochists. Even worse, I’ve decided to join them. What else could he do?

“We could at least consider it,” Breeze said. “It does sound exciting.”

“Now, see, I didn’t suggest this because it was exciting, Breeze,” Elend said. “I spent my youth trying to plan how I would make a better city of Luthadel once I became leader of my house. I’m not going to throw away those dreams at the first sign of opposition.”

“What about the Assembly?” Ham said.

“That’s the best part,” Elend said. “They voted in my proposal at the meeting two days back. They can’t open the city gates to any invader until I meet with my father in parley.”

The crew sat quietly for a few moments. Finally Ham turned to Elend, shaking his head. “I really don’t know, El. It sounds appealing. We did discuss a few more daring plans like this while we were waiting for you. But…”

“But what?” Elend asked.

“A plan like this depends a lot on you, my dear man,” Breeze said, sipping his wine. “You’d have to be the one to meet with the kings—the one to persuade them both that we’re on their side. No offense, but you’re new to scamming. It’s difficult to agree to a daring plan that puts a newcomer in as the linchpin member of the team.”

“I can do this,” Elend said. “Really.”

Ham glanced at Breeze, then both glanced at Clubs. The gnarled general shrugged. “If the kid wants to try it, then let him.”

Ham sighed, then looked back. “I guess I agree. As long as you’re up to this, El.”

“I think I am,” Elend said, covering his nervousness. “I simply know we can’t give up, not easily. Maybe this won’t work—maybe after a couple months of being besieged, we’ll just end up giving away the city anyway. But that gives us months during which something could happen. It’s worth the risk to wait, rather than fold. Wait and plan.”

“All right then,” Dockson said. “Give us time to come up with some ideas and options, Your Majesty. We’ll meet again in a few days to talk about specifics.”

“All right,” Elend said. “Sounds good. Now, if we can move on to other matters, I’d like to mention—”

A knock came at the door. At Elend’s call, Captain Demoux pushed open the door, looking a little embarrassed. “Your Majesty?” he said. “I apologize, but we caught someone trying to listen in on your meeting.”

“What?” Elend said. “Who?”

Demoux turned to the side, waving in a pair of his guards. The woman they led into the room was vaguely familiar to Elend. Tall, like most Terris, she wore a bright-colored, but utilitarian, dress. Her ears were stretched downward, the lobes elongated to accommodate numerous earrings.

“I recognize you,” Elend said. “From the Assembly hall a few days ago. You were watching me.”

The woman didn’t answer. She looked over the room’s occupants, standing stiffly—even haughtily—despite her bound wrists. Elend had never met a Terriswoman before; he’d only met stewards, eunuchs trained from birth to work as manservants. For some reason, Elend had expected a Terriswoman to seem a bit more servile.

“She was hiding in the next room over,” Demoux said. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I don’t know how she got past us. We found her listening against the wall, though I doubt she heard anything. I mean, those walls are made of stone.”

Elend met the woman’s eyes. Older—perhaps fifty—she wasn’t beautiful, but neither was she homely. She was sturdy, with a straightforward, rectangular face. Her stare was calm and firm, and it made Elend uncomfortable to hold it for long.

“So, what did you expect to overhear, woman?” Elend asked.

The Terriswoman ignored the comment. She turned to the others, and spoke in a lightly accented voice. “I would speak with the king alone. The rest of you are excused.”

Ham smiled. “Well, at least she’s got nerve.”

Dockson addressed the Terriswoman. “What makes you think that we would leave our king alone with you?”

“His Majesty and I have things to discuss,” the woman said in a businesslike manner, as if oblivious to—or unconcerned about—her status as a prisoner. “You needn’t be worried about his safety; I’m certain that the young Mistborn hiding outside the window will be more than enough to deal with me.”

Elend glanced to the side, toward the small ventilation window beside the more massive stained-glass one. How would the Terriswoman have known that Vin was watching? Her ears would have to be extraordinarily keen. Keen enough, perhaps, to listen in on the meeting through a stone wall?

Elend turned back to the newcomer. “You’re a Keeper.”

She nodded.

“Did Sazed send you?”

“It is because of him that I am here,” she said. “But I was not sent.”

“Ham, it’s all right,” Elend said slowly. “You can go.”

“Are you sure?” Ham asked, frowning.

“Leave me bound, if you wish,” the woman said.

If she really is a Feruchemist, that won’t be much of a hindrance, Elend thought. Of course, if she really is a Feruchemist—a Keeper like Sazed—I shouldn’t have anything to fear from her. Theoretically.

The others shuffled from the room, their postures indicating what they thought of Elend’s decision. Though they were no longer thieves by profession, Elend suspected that they—like Vin—would always bear the effects of their upbringing.

“We’ll be right outside, El,” Ham—the last one out—said, then pulled the door shut.

The Well of Ascension

And yet, any who know me will realize that there was no chance I would give up so easily. Once I find something to investigate, I become dogged in my pursuit.

The Well of Ascension

14

THE TERRISWOMAN SNAPPED HER BONDS, and the ropes dropped to the floor.

“Uh, Vin?” Elend said, beginning to wonder about the logic of meeting with this woman. “Perhaps it’s time you came in.”

“She’s not actually there,” the Terriswoman said offhandedly, walking forward. “She left a few minutes ago to do her rounds. That is why I let myself be caught.”

“Um, I see,” Elend said. “I’ll be calling for the guards now.”

“Don’t be a fool,” the Terriswoman said. “If I wanted to kill you, I could do it before the others got back in. Now be quiet for a moment.”

Elend stood uncomfortably as the tall woman walked around the table in a slow circle, studying him as a merchant might inspect a piece of furniture up for auction. Finally she stopped, placing her hands on her hips.

“Stand up straight,” she commanded.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re slouching,” the woman said. “A king must maintain an air of dignity at all times, even when with his friends.”

Elend frowned. “Now, while I appreciate advice, I don’t—”

“No,” the woman said. “Don’t hedge. Command.”

“Excuse me?” Elend said again.

The woman stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and pressing his spine firmly to improve his posture. She stepped back, then nodded slightly.

“Now, see,” Elend said. “I don’t—”

“No,” the woman interrupted. “You must be stronger in the way that you speak. Presentation—words, actions, postures—will determine how people judge you and react to you. If you start every sentence with softness and uncertainty, you will seem soft and uncertain. Be forceful!”

“What is going on here?” Elend demanded, exasperated.

“There,” the woman said. “Finally.”

“You said that you know Sazed?” Elend asked, resisting the urge to slouch back into his earlier posture.

“He is an acquaintance,” the woman said. “My name is Tindwyl; I am, as you have guessed, a Keeper of Terris.” She tapped her foot for a moment, then shook her head. “Sazed warned me about your slovenly appearance, but I honestly assumed that no king could have such a poor sense of self-presentation.”

“Slovenly?” Elend asked. “Excuse me?”

“Stop saying that,” Tindwyl snapped. “Don’t ask questions; say what you mean. If you object, object—don’t leave your words up to my interpretation.”

“Yes, well, while this is fascinating,” Elend said, walking toward the door, “I’d rather avoid further insults this evening. If you’ll pardon me—”

“Your people think you are a fool, Elend Venture,” Tindwyl said quietly.

Elend stopped short.

“The Assembly—a body you organized—ignores your authority. The skaa are convinced that you won’t be able to protect them. Even your own council of friends makes their plans in your absence, assuming your input to be no great loss.”

Elend closed his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath.

“You have good ideas, Elend Venture,” Tindwyl said. “Regal ideas. But you are not a king. A man can only lead when others accept him as their leader, and he has only as much authority as his subjects give to him. All of the brilliant ideas in the world cannot save your kingdom if no one will listen to them.”

Elend turned. “This last year I’ve read every pertinent book on leadership and governance in the four libraries.”

Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. “Then I suspect that you spent a great deal of time in your room that you should have been out, being seen by your people and learning to be a ruler.”

“Books have great value,” Elend said.

“Actions have greater value.”

“And where am I to learn the proper actions?”

“From me.”

Elend hesitated.

“You may know that every Keeper has an area of special interest,” Tindwyl said. “While we all memorize the same store of information, one person can study and understand only a limited amount of that store. Our mutual friend Sazed spends his time on religions.”

“And your specialty?”

“Biographies,” she said. “I have studied the lives of generals, kings, and emperors whose names you have never heard. Understanding theories of politics and leadership, Elend Venture, is not the same as understanding the lives of men who lived such principles.”

“And … you can teach me to emulate those men?”

“Perhaps,” Tindwyl said. “I haven’t yet decided whether you’re a hopeless case. But I am here, so I will do what I can. A few months ago, I received a letter from Sazed explaining your predicament. He did not ask me to come to train you—but then, Sazed is another man who perhaps could learn to be more forceful.”

Elend nodded slowly, meeting the Terriswoman’s eyes.

“Will you accept my instruction?” she asked.

Elend thought for a moment. If she’s anywhere near as useful as Sazed, then … well, I could certainly use some help at this. “I will,” he said.

Tindwyl nodded. “Sazed also mentioned your humility. It can be an asset—assuming you don’t let it get in the way. Now, I believe that your Mistborn has returned.”

Elend turned toward the side window. The shutter swung open, allowing mist to begin streaming into the room and revealing a crouching, cloaked form.

“How did you know I was here?” Vin asked quietly.

Tindwyl smiled—the first such expression Elend had seen on her face. “Sazed mentioned you as well, child. You and I should speak soon in private, I think.”

Vin slipped into the room, drawing mist behind her, then closed the shutter. She didn’t bother to hide her hostility or mistrust as she placed herself between Elend and Tindwyl.

“Why are you here?” Vin demanded.

Tindwyl smiled again. “It took your king there several minutes to get to that question, and here you ask it after a few bare moments. You are an interesting couple, I think.”

Vin’s eyes narrowed.

“Regardless, I should withdraw,” Tindwyl said. “We shall speak again, I assume, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, of course,” Elend said. “Um … is there anything I should begin practicing?”

“Yes,” Tindwyl said, walking to the door. “Stop saying ‘um.’”

“Right.”

Ham poked his head in the door as soon as Tindwyl opened it. He immediately noticed her discarded bonds. He didn’t say anything; he likely assumed that Elend had freed her.

“I think we’re done for the night, everyone,” Elend said. “Ham, would you see that Mistress Tindwyl is given quarters in the palace? She’s a friend of Sazed’s.”

Ham shrugged. “All right then.” He nodded to Vin, then withdrew. Tindwyl did not bid them good night as she left.

Vin frowned, then glanced at Elend. He seemed … distracted. “I don’t like her,” she said.

Elend smiled, stacking up the books on his table. “You don’t like anyone when you first meet them, Vin.”

“I liked you.”

“Thereby demonstrating that you are a terrible judge of character.”

At that, Vin smiled. She walked over and began picking through the books. They weren’t typical Elend fare—far more practical than the kinds of things he usually read. “How did it go tonight?” she asked. “I didn’t have much time to listen.”

Elend sighed. He turned, sitting down on the table, and looked up at the darkened rose window at the back of the room. “It went well, I suppose.”

“I told you they’d like your plan. It’s the sort of thing they’ll find challenging.”

“I suppose,” Elend said again.

Vin frowned. “All right,” she said, sitting beside him. “What is it? Is it something that woman said? What did she want, anyway?”

“Merely to pass on some knowledge,” he said. “You know how Keepers are, always wanting an ear to listen to their lessons.”

“I guess,” Vin said slowly. She hadn’t ever seen Elend depressed, but he did get discouraged. He had so many ideas, so many plans and hopes, that she sometimes wondered how he kept them all straight. She would have said he lacked focus; Reen had always said focus kept a thief alive. But Elend’s dreams were so entwined in who he was. She doubted he could discard them. She didn’t think she would want him to, for they were part of what she loved about him.

“They agreed to the plan, Vin,” Elend said, still looking up at the window. “They even seemed excited, like you said they’d be. But I can’t help thinking that their suggestion was far more rational than mine. They wanted to side with one of the armies, giving it our support in exchange for leaving me as a subjugated ruler in Luthadel.”

“That would be giving up,” Vin said.

“Sometimes giving up is better than failing. I just committed my city to an extended siege. That will mean hunger, perhaps starvation, before this is over with.”

Vin put a hand on his shoulder, watching him uncertainly. Usually he was the one who reassured her. “It’s still a better way,” she said. “The others probably suggested a weaker plan only because they thought you wouldn’t go along with something more daring.”

“No,” Elend said. “They weren’t pandering to me, Vin. They really thought that making a strategic alliance was a good, safe plan.” He looked at her. “Since when did that group represent the reasonable side of my government?”

“They’ve had to grow,” Vin said. “They can’t be the men they once were, not with this much responsibility.”

Elend turned back toward the window. “I’ll tell you what worries me, Vin. I’m worried that their plan wasn’t reasonable—perhaps even it was a bit foolhardy. Perhaps making an alliance would have been a difficult enough task. If that’s the case, then what I’m proposing is downright ludicrous.”

Vin squeezed his shoulder. “We fought the Lord Ruler.”

“You had Kelsier then.”

“Not that again.”

“I’m sorry,” Elend said. “But really, Vin. Maybe my plan to try to hold on to the government is no more than arrogance. What was it you told me about your childhood? When you were in the thieving crews, and everyone was bigger, stronger, and meaner than you, what did you do? Did you stand up to the leaders?”

Memories flashed in her mind. Memories of hiding, of keeping her eyes down, of weakness.

“That was then,” she said. “You can’t let others beat on you forever. That’s what Kelsier taught me—that’s why we fought the Lord Ruler. That’s why the skaa rebellion fought the Final Empire all those years, even when there was no chance of winning. Reen taught me that the rebels were fools. But Reen is dead now—and so is the Final Empire. And…”

She leaned down, catching Elend’s eyes. “You can’t give up the city, Elend,” she said quietly. “I don’t think I’d like what that would do to you.”

Elend smiled slowly. “You can be very wise sometimes, Vin.”

“You think that?”

He nodded.

“Well,” she said, “then obviously you’re as poor a judge of character as I am.”

Elend laughed, putting his arm around her, hugging her against his side. “So, I assume the patrol tonight was uneventful?”

The mist spirit. Her fall. The chill she could still feel—if only faintly remembered—in her forearm. “It was,” she said. The last time she’d told him of the mist spirit, he’d immediately thought she’d been seeing things.

“See,” Elend said, “you should have come to the meeting; I would have liked to have had you here.”

She didn’t reply.

They sat for a few minutes, looking up at the dark window. There was an odd beauty to it; the colors weren’t visible because of the lack of backlight, and she could instead focus on the patterns of glass. Chips, slivers, slices, and plates woven together within a framework of metal.

“Elend?” she finally said. “I’m worried.”

“I’d be concerned if you weren’t,” he said. “Those armies have me so worried that I can barely think straight.”

“No,” Vin said. “Not about that. I’m worried about other things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about what the Lord Ruler said, right before I killed him. Do you remember?”

Elend nodded. He hadn’t been there, but she’d told him.

“He talked about what he’d done for mankind,” Vin said. “The stories say he saved us from the Deepness. But what was the Deepness? You were a nobleman—religion wasn’t forbidden to you. What did the Ministry teach about the Deepness and the Lord Ruler?”

Elend shrugged. “Not much, really. Religion wasn’t forbidden, but it wasn’t encouraged either. There was something proprietary about the Ministry, an air that implied they would take care of religious things—that we didn’t need to worry ourselves.”

“But they did teach you about some things, right?”

Elend nodded. “Mostly they talked about why the nobility were privileged and the skaa cursed. I guess they wanted us to understand how fortunate we were—though honestly, I always found the teachings a little disturbing. See, they claimed that we were noble because our ancestors supported the Lord Ruler before the Ascension. But that meant we were privileged because of what other people had done. Not really fair, eh?”

Vin shrugged. “Fair as anything else, I guess.”

“Didn’t you get angry?” Elend said. “Didn’t it frustrate you that the nobility had so much while you had so little?”

“I didn’t think about it,” Vin said. “The nobility had a lot, so we could take it from them. Why should I care how they got it? Sometimes when I had food, other thieves beat me and took it. What did it matter how I got my food? It was still taken from me.”

“You know,” Elend said, “I wonder what the political theorists I’ve read would say if they met you. I have a feeling they’d throw up their hands in frustration.”

She poked him in the side. “Enough politics. Tell me about the Deepness.”

“Well, I think it was a creature of some sort—a dark and evil thing that nearly destroyed the world. The Lord Ruler traveled to the Well of Ascension, where he was given the power to defeat the Deepness and unite mankind. There are several statues in the city depicting the event.”

Vin frowned. “Yes, but they never really show what the Deepness looked like. It’s depicted as a twisted lump at the Lord Ruler’s feet.”

“Well, the last person who actually saw the Deepness died a year ago, so I guess we’ll have to make do with the statues.”

“Unless it comes back,” Vin said quietly.

Elend frowned, looking at her again. “Is that what this is about, Vin?” His face softened slightly. “Two armies aren’t enough? You have to worry about the fate of the world as well?”

Vin glanced down sheepishly, and Elend laughed, pulling her close. “Ah, Vin. I know you’re a bit paranoid—honestly, considering our situation, I’m starting to feel the same—but I think this is one problem you don’t have to worry about. I haven’t heard any reports of monstrous incarnations of evil rampaging across the land.”

Vin nodded, and Elend leaned back a bit, clearly assuming that he’d answered her question.

The Hero of Ages traveled to the Well of Ascension to defeat the Deepness, she thought. But the prophecies all said that the Hero shouldn’t take the Well’s power for himself. He was supposed to give it up, trust in the power itself to destroy the Deepness.

Rashek didn’t do that—he took the power. Wouldn’t that mean that the Deepness was never defeated? Why then wasn’t the world destroyed?

“The red sun and brown plants,” Vin said. “Did the Deepness do that?”

“Still thinking about that?” Elend frowned. “Red sun and brown plants? What other colors would they be?”

“Kelsier said that the sun was once yellow, and plants were green.”

“That’s an odd image.”

“Sazed agrees with Kelsier,” Vin said. “The legends all say that during the early days of the Lord Ruler, the sun changed colors, and ash began to fall from the skies.”

“Well,” Elend said, “I guess the Deepness could have had something to do with it. I don’t know, honestly.” He sat musingly for a few moments. “Green plants? Why not purple or blue? So odd…”

The Hero of Ages traveled north, to the Well of Ascension, Vin thought again. She turned slightly, her eyes drawn toward the Terris mountains so far away. Was it still up there? The Well of Ascension?

“Did you have any luck getting information out of OreSeur?” Elend asked. “Anything to help us find the spy?”

Vin shrugged. “He told me that kandra can’t use Allomancy.”

“So, you can find our impostor that way?” Elend said, perking up.

“Maybe,” Vin said. “I can test Spook and Ham, at least. Regular people will be more difficult—though kandra can’t be Soothed, so maybe that will let me find the spy.”

“That sounds promising,” Elend said.

Vin nodded. The thief in her, the paranoid girl that Elend always teased, itched to use Allomancy on him—to test him, to see if he reacted to her Pushes and Pulls. She stopped herself. This one man she would trust. The others she would test, but she would not question Elend. In a way, she’d rather trust him and be wrong than deal with the worry of mistrust.

I finally understand, she thought with a start. Kelsier. I understand what it was like for you with Mare. I won’t make your same mistake.

Elend was looking at her.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re smiling,” he said. “Do I get to hear the joke?”

She hugged him. “No,” she said simply.

Elend smiled. “All right then. You can test Spook and Ham, but I’m pretty sure the impostor isn’t one of the crew—I talked to each of them today, and they were all themselves. We need to search the palace staff.”

He doesn’t know how good kandra can be. The enemy kandra had probably studied his victim for months and months, learning and memorizing their every mannerism.

“I’ve spoken to Ham and Demoux,” Elend said. “As members of the palace guard, they know about the bones—and Ham was able to guess what they were. Hopefully they can sort through the staff with minimal disturbance and locate the impostor.”

Vin’s senses itched at how trusting Elend was. No, she thought. Let him assume the best. He has enough to worry about. Besides, perhaps the kandra is imitating someone outside our core team. Elend can search that avenue.

And if the impostor is a member of the crew … well, that’s the sort of situation where my paranoia comes in handy.

“Anyway,” Elend said, standing. “I have a few things to check on before it gets too late.”

Vin nodded. He gave her a long kiss, then left. She sat on the table for a few moments longer, not looking at the massive rose window, but at the smaller window to the side, which she’d left slightly open. Mist churned in the blackness outside, tentatively sending tendrils into the room, evaporating quietly in the warmth.

“I will not fear you,” Vin whispered. “And I will find your secret.” She climbed off the table and slipped out the window, to meet with OreSeur and do another check of the palace grounds.

The Well of Ascension

I had determined that Alendi was the Hero of Ages, and I intended to prove it. I should have bowed before the will of the others; I shouldn’t have insisted on traveling with Alendi to witness his journeys.

It was inevitable that Alendi himself would find out what I believed him to be.

The Well of Ascension

15

ON THE EIGHTH DAY OUT of the Conventical, Sazed awoke to find himself alone.

He stood, pushing off his blanket and the light film of ash that had fallen during the night. Marsh’s place beneath the tree’s canopy was empty, though a patch of bare earth indicated where the Inquisitor had slept.

Sazed stood, following Marsh’s footsteps out into the harsh red sunlight. The ash was deeper here, without the cover of trees, and it had been blown into drifts. Sazed regarded the windswept landscape. There was no further sign of Marsh.

Sazed returned to camp. The trees here—in the middle of the Eastern Dominance—rose twisted and knotted, but they had shelflike overlapping branches, thick with brown needles. These provided decent shelter, though the ash seemed capable of infiltrating any sanctuary.

Sazed made a simple soup for breakfast. Marsh did not return. Sazed washed his brown travel robes in a nearby stream. Marsh did not return. Sazed sewed a rent in his sleeve, oiled his walking boots, and shaved his head. Marsh did not return. Sazed got out the rubbing he’d made in the Conventical, transcribed a few words, then forced himself to put the sheet away—he worried about blurring the words by opening it too often or by getting ash on it. Better to wait until he could have a proper desk and clean room.

Marsh did not return.

Finally, Sazed left. He couldn’t define the sense of urgency that he felt—part excitement to share what he had learned, part desire to see how Vin and the young king Elend Venture were handling events in Luthadel.

Marsh knew the way. He would catch up.

Sazed raised his hand, shading his eyes against the red sunlight, looking down from his hilltop vantage. There was a slight darkness on the horizon, to the east of the main road. He tapped his geography coppermind, seeking out descriptions of the Eastern Dominance.

The knowledge swelled his mind, blessing him with recollection. The darkness was a village named Urbene. He searched through one of his indexes, looking for the right gazetteer. The index was growing fuzzy, its information difficult to remember—which meant that he’d switched it from coppermind to memory and back too many times. Knowledge inside a coppermind would remain pristine, but anything inside his head—even for only a few moments—would decay. He’d have to re-memorize the index later.

He found what he was looking for, and dumped the right memories into his head. The gazetteer listed Urbene as “picturesque,” which probably meant that some important nobleman had decided to make his manor there. The listing said that the skaa of Urbene were herdsmen.

Sazed scribbled a note to himself, then redeposited the gazetteer’s memories. Reading the note told him what he had just forgotten. Like the index, the gazetteer memories had inevitably decayed slightly during their stay in his head. Fortunately he had a second set of copperminds hidden back up in Terris, and would use those to pass his knowledge on to another Keeper. His current copperminds were for everyday use. Unapplied knowledge benefited no one.

He shouldered his pack. A visit to the village would do him some good, even if it slowed him down. His stomach agreed with the decision. It was unlikely the peasants would have much in the way of food, but perhaps they would be able to provide something other than broth. Besides, they might have news of events at Luthadel.

He hiked down the short hill, taking the smaller, eastern fork in the road. Once, there had been little travel in the Final Empire. The Lord Ruler had forbidden skaa to leave the lands of their indenture, and only thieves and rebels had dared disobey. Still, most of the nobility had made their livings by trading, so a village such as this one might be accustomed to visitors.

Sazed began to notice the oddities immediately. Goats roamed the countryside along the road, unwatched. Sazed considered, then dug a coppermind from his pack. He searched through it as he walked. One book on husbandry claimed that herdsmen sometimes left their flocks alone to graze. Yet the unwatched animals made him nervous. He quickened his pace.

To the south, the skaa starve, he thought. Yet here, livestock is so plentiful that nobody can be spared to keep it safe from bandits or predators?

The small village appeared in the distance. Sazed could almost convince himself that the lack of activity—the lack of movement in the streets, the derelict doors and shutters swinging in the breeze—was due to his approach. Perhaps the people were so scared that they were hiding. Or perhaps they simply were all out. Tending flocks …

Sazed stopped. A shift in the wind brought a telltale scent from the village. The skaa weren’t hiding, and they hadn’t fled. It was the scent of rotting bodies.

Suddenly urgent, Sazed pulled out a small ring—a scent tinmind—and slipped it on his thumb. The smell on the wind didn’t seem like that of a slaughter. It was a mustier, dirtier smell. A smell not only of death, but of corruption, unwashed bodies, and waste. He reversed the use of the tinmind, filling it instead of tapping it, and his ability to smell grew very weak—keeping him from gagging.

He continued on, carefully entering the village proper. Like most skaa villages, Urbene was organized simply. It had a group of ten large hovels built in a loose circle with a well at the center. The buildings were wood, and for thatching they used the needle-bearing branches from the trees he’d seen. Overseers’ huts, along with a fine nobleman’s manor, stood a little farther up the valley.

If it hadn’t been for the smell—and the sense of haunted emptiness—Sazed might have agreed with his gazetteer’s description of Urbene. For skaa residences, the hovels looked well maintained, and the village lay in a quiet hollow amid the rising landscape.

It wasn’t until he got a little closer that he found the first bodies. They lay scattered around the doorway to the nearest hovel, about a half dozen of them. Sazed approached carefully, but quickly saw that the corpses were at least several days old. He knelt beside the first one, that of a woman, and could see no visible cause of death. The others were the same.

Nervous, Sazed forced himself to reach up and pull open the door to the hovel. The stench from inside was so strong that he could smell it through his tinmind.

The hovel, like most, was only a single chamber. It was filled with bodies. Most lay wrapped in thin blankets; some sat with backs pressed up against the walls, rotting heads hanging limply from their necks. They had gaunt, nearly fleshless bodies with withered limbs and protruding ribs. Haunted, unseeing eyes sat in desiccated faces.

These people had died of starvation and dehydration.

Sazed stumbled from the hovel, head bowed. He didn’t expect to find anything different in the other buildings, but he checked anyway. He saw the same scene repeated again and again. Woundless corpses on the ground outside; many more bodies huddled inside. Flies buzzed about in swarms, covering faces. In several of the buildings he found gnawed human bones at the center of the room.

He stumbled out of the final hovel, breathing deeply through his mouth. Dozens of people, over a hundred total, dead for no obvious reason. What could possibly have caused so many of them to simply sit hidden in their houses, while they ran out of food and water? How could they have starved when there were beasts running free? And what had killed those that he’d found outside, lying in the ash? They didn’t seem as emaciated as the ones inside, though from the level of decomposition, it was difficult to tell.

I must be mistaken about the starvation, Sazed told himself. It must have been a plague of some sort, a disease. That is a much more logical explanation. He searched through his medical coppermind. Surely there were diseases that could strike quickly, leaving their victims weakened. And the survivors must have fled. Leaving behind their loved ones. Not taking any of the animals from their pastures …

Sazed frowned. At that moment, he thought he heard something.

He spun, drawing auditory power from his hearing tinmind. The sounds were there—the sound of breathing, the sound of movement, coming from one of the hovels he’d visited. He dashed forward, throwing open the door, looking again on the sorry dead. The corpses lay where they had been before. Sazed studied them very carefully, this time watching until he found the one whose chest was moving.

By the forgotten gods, Sazed thought. The man didn’t need to work hard to feign death. His hair had fallen out, and his eyes were sunken into his face. Though he didn’t look particularly starved, Sazed must have missed seeing him because of his dirty, almost corpselike body.

Sazed stepped toward the man. “I am a friend,” he said quietly. The man remained motionless. Sazed frowned as he walked forward and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder.

The man’s eyes snapped open, and he cried out, jumping to his feet. Dazed and frenzied, he scrambled over corpses, moving to the back of the room. He huddled down, staring at Sazed.

“Please,” Sazed said, setting down his pack. “You mustn’t be afraid.” The only food he had besides broth spices was a few handfuls of meal, but he pulled some out. “I have food.”

The man shook his head. “There is no food,” he whispered. “We ate it all. Except … the food.” His eyes darted toward the center of the room. Toward the bones Sazed had noticed earlier. Uncooked, gnawed on, placed in a pile beneath a ragged cloth, as if to hide them.

“I didn’t eat the food,” the man whispered.

“I know,” Sazed said, taking a step forward. “But there is other food. Outside.”

“Can’t go outside.”

“Why not?”

The man looked down. “Mist.”

Sazed glanced toward the doorway. The sun was nearing the horizon, but wouldn’t set for another hour or so. There was no mist. Not now, anyway.

Sazed felt a chill. He slowly turned back toward the man. “Mist … during the day?”

The man nodded.

“And it stayed?” Sazed asked. “It didn’t go away after a few hours?”

The man shook his head. “Days. Weeks. All mist.”

Lord Ruler! Sazed thought, then caught himself. It had been a long time since he’d sworn by that creature’s name, even in his thoughts.

But for the mist to come during the day, then to stay—if this man were to be believed—for weeks … Sazed could imagine the skaa frightened in their hovels, a thousand years of terror, tradition, and superstition keeping them from venturing outside.

But to remain inside until they starved? Even their fear of the mist, deep-seated though it was, wouldn’t have been enough to make them starve themselves to death, would it?

“Why didn’t you leave?” Sazed asked quietly.

“Some did,” the man said, nodding as if to himself. “Jell. You know what happened to him.”

Sazed frowned. “Dead?”

“Taken by the mist. Oh, how he shook. Was a bullheaded one, you know. Old Jell. Oh, how he shook. How he writhed when it took him.”

Sazed closed his eyes. The corpses I found outside the doors.

“Some got away,” the man said.

Sazed snapped his eyes open. “What?”

The crazed villager nodded again. “Some got away, you know. They called to us, after leaving the village. Said it was all right. It didn’t take them. Don’t know why. It killed others though. Some it shook to the ground, but they got up later. Some it killed.”

“The mist let some survive, but it killed others?”

The man didn’t answer. He’d sat down, and now he lay back, his unfocused stare directed at the ceiling.

“Please,” Sazed said. “You must answer me. Who did it kill and who did it let pass? What is the connection?”

The man turned toward him. “Time for food,” he said, then rose. He wandered over to a corpse, then pulled on an arm, ripping the rotted meat free. It was easy to see why he hadn’t starved to death like the others.

Sazed pushed aside nausea, striding across the room and grabbing the man’s arm as he raised the near fleshless bone to his lips. The man froze, then looked up at Sazed. “It’s not mine!” he yelped, dropping the bone and running to the back of the room.

Sazed stood for a moment. I must hurry. I must get to Luthadel. There is more wrong with this world than bandits and armies.

The wild man watched with a feral sort of terror as Sazed picked up his pack, then paused and set it down again. He pulled out his largest pewtermind. He fastened the wide metal bracer to his forearm, then turned and walked toward the villager.

“No!” the man screamed, trying to dash to the side. Sazed tapped the pewtermind, pulling out a burst of strength. He felt his muscles enlarge, his robes growing tight. He snatched the villager as the man ran past, then held him out, far enough away that the man couldn’t do either of them much harm.

Then he carried the man outside the building.

The man stopped struggling as soon as they emerged into the sunlight. He looked up, as if seeing the sun for the first time. Sazed set him down, then released his pewtermind.

The man knelt, looking up at the sun, then turned to Sazed. “The Lord Ruler … why did he abandon us? Why did he go?”

“The Lord Ruler was a tyrant.”

The man shook his head. “He loved us. He ruled us. Now that he’s gone, the mists can kill us. They hate us.”

Then, surprisingly adroit, the man leaped to his feet and scrambled down the pathway out of the village. Sazed took a step forward, but hesitated. What would he do? Pull the man all the way to Luthadel? There was water in the well and there were animals to eat. Sazed could only hope that the poor wretch would be able to manage.

Sighing, Sazed returned to the hovel and retrieved his pack. On his way out, he lingered, then pulled out one of his steelminds. Steel held one of the very most difficult attributes to store up: physical speed. He had spent months filling this particular steelmind in preparation for the possibility that someday he might need to run somewhere very, very quickly.

He put it on now.

The Well of Ascension

Yes, he was the one who fueled the rumors after that. I could never have done what he did, convincing and persuading the world that he was indeed the Hero. I don’t know if he believed it, but he made others think that he must be the one.

The Well of Ascension

16

VIN RARELY USED HER QUARTERS. Elend had assigned her spacious rooms—which was perhaps part of the problem. She’d spent her childhood sleeping in nooks, lairs, or alleys. Having three separate chambers was a bit daunting.

It didn’t really matter. During her time awake she was with either Elend or the mists. Her rooms existed for her to sleep in. Or in this case, for her to make a mess in.

She sat on the floor in the center of her main chamber. Elend’s steward, concerned that Vin didn’t have any furniture, had insisted on decorating her rooms. This morning, Vin had pushed some of this aside, bunching up rugs and chairs next to one wall so that she could sit on the cool stones with her book.

It was the first real book she had ever owned, though it was merely a collection of pages bound loosely at one side. That suited her fine; the simple binding had made the book that much easier to pull apart.

She sat amid stacks of paper. It was amazing how many pages there were in the book, once she had separated them. Vin sat next to one pile, looking over its contents. She shook her head, then crawled over to another pile. She leafed through the pages, eventually selecting one.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m going mad.

Perhaps it is due to the pressure of knowing that I must somehow bear the burden of an entire world. Perhaps it is caused by the death I have seen, the friends I have lost. The friends I have been forced to kill.

Either way, I sometimes see shadows following me. Dark creatures that I don’t understand, nor wish to understand. Are they perhaps some figment of my overtaxed mind?

Vin sat for a moment, rereading the paragraphs. Then she moved the sheet over to another pile. OreSeur lay on the side of the room, head on paws, eyeing her. “Mistress,” he said as she set down the page, “I have been watching you work for the last two hours, and will admit that I am thoroughly confused. What is the point of all this?”

Vin crawled over to another stack of pages. “I thought you didn’t care how I spent my time.”

“I don’t,” OreSeur said. “But I do get bored.”

“And annoyed, apparently.”

“I like to understand what is going on around me.”

Vin shrugged, gesturing toward the stacks of paper. “This is the Lord Ruler’s logbook. Well actually it’s not the logbook of the Lord Ruler we knew, but the logbook of the man who should have been the Lord Ruler.”

“Should have been?” OreSeur asked. “You mean he should have conquered the world, but didn’t?”

“No,” Vin said. “I mean he should have been the one who took the power at the Well of Ascension. This man, the man who wrote this book—we don’t know his name—was some kind of prophesied hero. Or everyone thought he was. Anyway, the man who became the Lord Ruler—Rashek—was this hero’s packman. Don’t you remember us talking about this, back when you were imitating Renoux?”

OreSeur nodded. “I recall you briefly mentioning it.”

“Well, this is the book Kelsier and I found when we infiltrated the Lord Ruler’s palace. We thought it was written by the Lord Ruler, but it turns out it was written by the man the Lord Ruler killed, the man whose place he took.”

“Yes, mistress,” OreSeur said. “Now, why exactly are you tearing it to pieces?”

“I’m not,” Vin said. “I just took off the binding so I could move the pages around. It helps me think.”

“I see,” OreSeur said. “And what exactly are you looking for? The Lord Ruler is dead, mistress. Last I checked, you killed him.”

What am I looking for? Vin thought, picking up another page. Ghosts in the mist.

She read the words on this page slowly.

It isn’t a shadow.

This dark thing that follows me, the thing that only I can see—it isn’t really a shadow. It’s blackish and translucent, but it doesn’t have a shadowlike solid outline. It’s insubstantial—wispy and formless. Like it’s made out of a dark fog.

Or mist, perhaps.

Vin lowered the page. It watched him too, she thought. She remembered reading the words over a year before, thinking that the Hero must have started to go mad. With all the pressures on him, who would have been surprised?

Now, she thought she understood the nameless logbook author better. She knew he was not the Lord Ruler, and could see him for what he might have been. Uncertain of his place in the world, but forced into important events. Determined to do the best he could. Idealistic, in a way.

And the mist spirit had chased him. What did it mean? What did seeing it imply for her?

She crawled over to another pile of pages. She’d spent the morning scanning through the logbook for clues about the mist creature, but was having trouble digging out much beyond these two familiar passages.

She made piles of pages that mentioned anything strange or supernatural. One pile had pages that referenced the mist spirit. Another was for references to the Deepness. This last one, ironically, was both the largest and least informative of the group. The logbook author had a habit of mentioning the Deepness, but not saying much about it.

The Deepness was dangerous, that much was clear. It had ravaged the land, slaying thousands. The monster had sown chaos wherever it stepped, bringing destruction and fear, but the armies of mankind had been unable to defeat it. Only the Terris prophecies and the Hero of Ages had offered any hope.

If he had just been more specific! Vin thought with frustration, riffling papers. The tone of the logbook was more melancholy than informative. It was something that the Hero had written for himself, to stay sane, to let him put his fears and hopes down on paper. Elend said he wrote for similar reasons sometimes. To Vin, it seemed a silly method of dealing with problems.

With a sigh, she turned to the last stack of papers—the one with pages she had yet to study. She lay down on the stone floor and began to read, searching for useful information.

It took time. Not only was she a slow reader, but her mind kept wandering. She’d read the logbook before—and oddly, hints and phrases from it reminded her of where she’d been at the time: more than a year and a world away in Fellise, still recovering from her near death at the hands of a Steel Inquisitor, forced to spend her days in the role of inexperienced country noblewoman Valette Renoux.

Back then, she still hadn’t believed in Kelsier’s plan to overthrow the Final Empire. She’d stayed with the crew because she valued the strange things they offered her—friendship, trust, and lessons in Allomancy—not because she accepted their goals. She would never have guessed where that would lead her. To balls and parties, to actually growing—a bit—to become the noblewoman she had pretended to be.

But that had been a farce, a few months of make-believe. She forced her thoughts away from the frilly clothing and the dances. She needed to focus on practical matters.

And … is this practical? she asked herself, setting a page in one of the stacks. Studying things I barely comprehend, fearing a threat nobody else even cares to notice?

She sighed, folding her arms under her chin as she lay on her stomach. What was she really worried about? That the Deepness would return? All she had were a few phantom visions in the mist—things that could, as Elend implied, have easily been fabricated by her overworked mind. More important was another question. Assuming that the Deepness was real, what did she expect to do about it? She was no hero, general, or leader.

Oh, Kelsier, she thought, picking up another page. We could use you now. Kelsier had been a man beyond convention … a man who had been able to defy reality. He’d thought that by giving his life to overthrow the Lord Ruler, he would secure freedom for the skaa. But what if his sacrifice had opened the way for a greater danger, something so destructive that the Lord Ruler’s oppression was a preferable alternative?

She finally finished the page, then placed it in the stack of those that contained no useful information. Then she hesitated. She couldn’t even remember what she’d just read. She sighed, picking the page back up, looking at it again. How did Elend do it? He could study the same books over and over again. But for Vin, it was hard to—

She paused. I must assume that I am not mad, the words said. I cannot, with any rational sense of confidence, continue my quest if I do not believe this. The thing following me must, therefore, be real.

She sat up. She only vaguely remembered this section of the logbook. The book was organized like a diary, with sequential—but dateless—entries. It had a tendency to ramble, and the Hero had been fond of droning on about his insecurities. This section had been particularly dry.

But there, in the middle of his complaining, was a tidbit of information.

I believe that it would kill me if it could. There is an evil feel to the thing of shadow and fog, and my skin recoils at its touch. Yet it seems limited in what it can do, especially to me.

It can affect this world, however. The knife it placed in Fedik’s chest proves that much. I’m still not certain which was more traumatic for him—the wound itself, or seeing the thing that did it to him.

Rashek whispers that I stabbed Fedik myself, for only Fedik and I can give witness to that night’s events. However, I must make a decision. I must determine that I am not mad. The alternative is to admit that it was I who held that knife.

Somehow, knowing Rashek’s opinion on the matter makes it much easier for me to believe the opposite.

The next page continued on about Rashek, and the next several entries contained no mention of the mist spirit. But Vin found even these few paragraphs exciting.

He made a decision, she thought. I have to make the same one. She’d never worried that she was mad, but she had sensed some logic in Elend’s words. Now she rejected them. The mist spirit was not some delusion brought on by a mixture of stress and memories of the logbook. It was real.

That didn’t mean the Deepness was returning, nor did it mean that Luthadel was in any sort of supernatural danger. But both were possibilities.

She set this page with the two others that contained concrete information about the mist spirit, then turned back to her studies, determined to pay closer attention to her reading.

The armies were digging in.

Elend watched from atop the wall as his plan, vague though it was, began to take form. Straff was making a defensive perimeter to the north, holding the canal route back a relatively short distance to Urteau, his home city and capital. Cett was digging in to the west of the city, holding the Luth-Davn Canal, which ran back to his cannery in Haverfrex.

A cannery. That was something Elend wished he had in the city. The technology was newer—perhaps fifty years old—but he’d read of it. The scholars had judged its main use to be that of providing easily carried supplies for soldiers fighting at the fringes of the empire. They hadn’t considered stockpiles for sieges—particularly in Luthadel. But then, who would have?

Even as Elend watched, patrols began to move out from the separate armies. Some went to watch the open ground between the two forces, but others went to secure more canal routes, bridges across the River Channerel, and roads leading away from Luthadel. In a remarkably short time, the city felt completely surrounded. Cut off from the world, and the rest of Elend’s small kingdom. No more moving in or out. The armies were counting on disease, starvation, and other weakening factors to bring Elend to his knees.

The siege of Luthadel had begun.

That’s a good thing, he told himself. For this plan to work, they have to think me desperate. They have to be so sure I’m willing to side with them, that they don’t consider that I might be working with their enemies too.

As Elend watched, he noticed someone climbing the steps to the wall. Clubs. The general hobbled over to Elend, who had been standing alone. “Congratulations,” Clubs said. “Looks like you now have a full-blown siege on your hands.”

“Good.”

“It’ll give us a little breathing room, I guess,” Clubs said. Then he eyed Elend with one of his gnarled looks. “You’d better be up to this, kid.”

“I know,” Elend whispered.

“You’ve made yourself the focal point,” Clubs said. “The Assembly can’t break this siege until you meet officially with Straff, and the kings aren’t likely to meet with anyone on the crew other than you. This is all about you. Useful place for a king to be, if he’s a good one.”

Clubs fell silent. Elend kept looking out over the separate armies. The words spoken to him by Tindwyl the Terriswoman still bothered him. You are a fool, Elend Venture.…

So far, neither of the kings had responded to Elend’s requests for a meeting—though the crew was sure that they soon would. His enemies would wait, to make Elend sweat a bit. The Assembly had called another meeting, probably to try to bully him into releasing them from their earlier proposal. Elend had found a convenient reason to skip the meeting.

He looked at Clubs. “And am I a good king, Clubs? In your opinion.”

The general glanced at him, and Elend saw a harsh wisdom in his eyes. “I’ve known worse leaders,” he said. “But I’ve also known a hell of a lot better.”

Elend nodded slowly. “I want to be good at this, Clubs. Nobody else is going to look after the skaa like they deserve. Cett, Straff; they would only make slaves of the people again. I … I want to be more than my ideas though. I want to—need to—be a man that others can look to.”

Clubs shrugged. “My experience has been that the man is usually made by the situation. Kelsier was a selfish dandy until the Pits nearly broke him.” He glanced at Elend. “Will this siege be your Pits of Hathsin, Elend Venture?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly.

“Then we’ll have to wait and see, I guess. For now, someone wants to speak with you.” He turned, nodding down toward the street forty feet below, where a tall, feminine figure stood in colorful Terris robes.

“She told me to send you down,” Clubs said. He hesitated, then glanced at Elend. “It isn’t often I meet someone who feels they can order me around. And a Terriswoman at that. I thought those Terris were all docile and kindly.”

Elend smiled. “I guess Sazed spoiled us.”

Clubs snorted. “So much for a thousand years of breeding, eh?”

Elend nodded.

“You sure she’s safe?” Clubs asked.

“Yes,” Elend said. “Her story checks out—Vin brought in several of the Terris people from the city, and they knew and recognized Tindwyl. She’s apparently a fairly important person back in her homeland.”

Plus, she had performed Feruchemy for him, growing stronger to free her hands. That meant she wasn’t a kandra. All of it together meant she was trustworthy enough; even Vin admitted that, although she continued to dislike the Terriswoman.

Clubs nodded to him, and Elend took a deep breath. Then he walked down the stairs to meet Tindwyl for another round of lessons.

“Today, we will do something about your clothing,” Tindwyl said, closing the door to Elend’s study. A plump seamstress with bowl-cut white hair waited inside, standing respectfully with a group of youthful assistants.

Elend glanced down at his clothing. It wasn’t bad. The suit coat and vest fit fairly well. The trousers weren’t as stiff as those favored by imperial nobility, but he was the king now; shouldn’t he be able to set the trends?

“I don’t see what’s wrong with it,” he said. He held up a hand as Tindwyl began to speak. “I know it’s not quite as formal as what other men like to wear, but it suits me.”

“It’s disgraceful,” Tindwyl said.

“Now, I hardly see—”

“Don’t argue with me.”

“But, see, the other day you said that—”

“Kings don’t argue, Elend Venture,” Tindwyl said firmly. “They command. And part of your ability to command comes from your bearing. Slovenly clothing invites other slovenly habits—such as your posture, which I’ve already mentioned, I believe.”

Elend sighed, rolling his eyes as Tindwyl snapped her fingers. The seamstress and her assistants started unpacking a pair of large trunks.

“This isn’t necessary,” Elend said. “I already have some suits that fit more snugly; I wear them on formal occasions.”

“You’re not going to wear suits anymore,” Tindwyl said.

“Excuse me?”

Tindwyl eyed him with a steely gaze, and Elend sighed.

“Explain yourself!” he said, trying to sound commanding.

Tindwyl nodded. “You have maintained the dress code preferred by the nobility sanctioned by the Final Emperor. In some respects, this was a good idea—it gave you a connection to the former government, and made you seem less of a deviant. But now you are in a different position. Your people are in danger, and the time for simple diplomacy is over. You are at war. Your dress should reflect that.”

The seamstress selected a particular outfit, then brought it over to Elend while the assistants set up a changing screen.

Elend hesitantly accepted the outfit. It was stiff and white, and the front of the jacket appeared to button all the way up to a rigid collar. All and all, it looked like …

“A uniform,” he said, frowning.

“Indeed,” Tindwyl said. “You want your people to believe that you can protect them? Well, a king isn’t simply a lawmaker—he’s a general. It is time you began to act like you deserve your title, Elend Venture.”

“I’m no warrior,” Elend said. “This uniform is a lie.”

“The first point we will soon see to,” Tindwyl said. “The second is not true. You command the armies of the Central Dominance. That makes you a military man whether or not you know how to swing a sword. Now, go change.”

Elend acceded with a shrug. He walked around the changing screen, pushed aside a stack of books to make room, then disrobed. The new white trousers fit snugly and fell straight around the calves. While there was a shirt, it was completely obscured by the large stiff jacket—which had military shoulder ornamentation. It had an array of buttons—all of which, he noticed, were wood instead of metal—as well as a strange shieldlike design over the right breast. It seemed to have some sort of arrow, or perhaps spear, emblazoned in it.

Stiffness, cut, and design considered, Elend was surprised how well the uniform fit. “It’s sized quite well,” he noted, putting on the belt, then pulling down the bottom of the jacket, which came all the way to his hips.

“We got your measurements from your tailor,” Tindwyl said.

Elend stepped around the changing screen, and several assistants approached. One politely motioned for him to step into a pair of shiny black boots, and the other attached a white cape to fastenings at his shoulders. The final assistant handed him a polished hardwood dueling cane and sheath. Elend hooked it onto the belt, then pulled it through a slit in the jacket so it hung outside; that much at least he had done before.

“Good,” Tindwyl said, looking him up and down. “Once you learn to stand up straight, that will be a decent improvement. Now sit.”

Elend opened his mouth to object, but thought better of it. He sat down, and an assistant approached to attach a sheet around his shoulders. She then pulled out a pair of shears.

“Now, wait,” Elend said. “I see where this is going.”

“Then voice an objection,” Tindwyl said. “Don’t be vague!”

“All right then,” Elend said. “I like my hair.”

“Short hair is easier to care for than long hair,” Tindwyl said. “And you have proven that you cannot be trusted in the area of personal grooming.”

“You aren’t cutting my hair,” Elend said firmly.

Tindwyl paused, then nodded. The apprentice backed away, and Elend stood, pulling off the sheet. The seamstress produced a large mirror, and Elend walked forward to inspect himself.

And froze.

The difference was surprising. All his life, he’d seen himself as a scholar and socialite, but also as a bit of a fool. He was Elend—the friendly, comfortable man with the funny ideas. Easy to dismiss, perhaps, but difficult to hate.

The man he saw now was no dandy of the court. He was a serious man—a formal man. A man to be taken seriously. The uniform made him want to stand up straighter, to rest one hand on the dueling cane. His hair—slightly curled, long on the top and sides, and blown loose by the wind atop the city wall—didn’t fit.

Elend turned. “All right,” he said. “Cut it.”

Tindwyl smiled, then nodded for him to sit. He did so, waiting quietly while the assistant worked. When he stood again, his head matched the suit. It wasn’t extremely short like Ham’s hair, but it was neat and precise. One of the assistants approached and handed him a loop of silver-painted wood. He turned to Tindwyl, frowning.

“A crown?” he asked.

“Nothing ostentatious,” Tindwyl said. “This is a more subtle era than some of those gone by. The crown isn’t a symbol of your wealth, but of your authority. You will wear it from now on, whether you are in private or in public.”

“The Lord Ruler didn’t wear a crown.”

“The Lord Ruler didn’t need to remind people that he was in charge,” Tindwyl said.

Elend hesitated, then slipped on the crown. It bore no gemstones or ornamentation; it was just a simple coronet. As he might have expected, it fit perfectly.

He turned back toward Tindwyl, who waved for the seamstress to pack up and leave. “You have six uniforms like this one waiting for you in your rooms,” Tindwyl said. “Until this siege is over, you will wear nothing else. If you want variety, change the color of the cape.”

Elend nodded. Behind him, the seamstress and her assistants slipped out the door. “Thank you,” he told Tindwyl. “I was hesitant at first, but you are right. This makes a difference.”

“Enough of one to deceive people for now, at least,” Tindwyl said.

“Deceive people?”

“Of course. You didn’t think that this was it, did you?”

“Well…”

Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. “A few lessons, and you think you’re through? We’ve barely begun. You are still a fool, Elend Venture—you merely don’t look like one anymore. Hopefully our charade will begin reversing some of the damage you’ve done to your reputation. However, it is going to take a lot more training before I’ll trust you to interact with people and not embarrass yourself.”

Elend flushed. “What do you—” He paused. “Tell me what you plan to teach me, then.”

“Well, you need to learn how to walk, for one thing.”

“Something’s wrong with the way I walk?”

“By the forgotten gods, yes!” Tindwyl said, sounding amused, though no smile marred her lips. “And your speech patterns still need work. Beyond that, of course, there is your inability to handle weapons.”

“I’ve had some training,” Elend said. “Ask Vin—I rescued her from the Lord Ruler’s palace the night of the Collapse!”

“I know,” Tindwyl said. “And from what I’ve heard, it was a miracle you survived. Fortunately the girl was there to do the actual fighting. You apparently rely on her quite a bit for that sort of thing.”

“She’s Mistborn.”

“That is no excuse for your slovenly lack of skill,” Tindwyl said. “You cannot always rely on your woman to protect you. Not only is it embarrassing, but your people—your soldiers—will expect you to be able to fight alongside them. I doubt you will ever be the type of leader who can lead a charge against the enemy, but you should at least be able to handle yourself if your position gets attacked.”

“So, you want me to begin sparring with Vin and Ham during their training sessions?”

“Goodness, no! Can’t you imagine how terrible it would be for morale if the men saw you being beaten up in public?” Tindwyl shook her head. “No, we’ll have you trained discreetly by a dueling master. Given a few months, we should have you competent with the cane and the sword. Hopefully this little siege of yours will last that long before the fighting starts.”

Elend flushed again. “You keep talking down to me. It’s like I’m not even king in your eyes—like you see me as some kind of placeholder.”

Tindwyl didn’t answer, but her eyes glinted with satisfaction. You said it, not I, her expression seemed to say.

Elend flushed more deeply.

“You can perhaps learn to be a king, Elend Venture,” Tindwyl said. “Until then, you’ll simply have to learn to fake it.”

Elend’s angry response was cut off by a knock at the door. Elend gritted his teeth, turning. “Come in.”

The door swung open. “There’s news,” Captain Demoux said, his youthful face excited as he entered. “I—” He froze.

Elend cocked his head. “Yes?”

“I … uh…” Demoux paused and looked Elend over again before continuing. “Ham sent me, Your Majesty. He says that a messenger from one of the kings has arrived.”

“Really?” Elend said. “From Lord Cett?”

“No, Your Majesty. The messenger is from your father.”

Elend frowned. “Well, tell Ham I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Demoux said, retreating. “Uh, I like the new uniform, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Demoux,” Elend said. “Do you by chance know where Lady Vin is? I haven’t seen her all day.”

“I think she’s in her quarters, Your Majesty.”

Her quarters? She never stays there. Is she sick?

“Do you want me to summon her?” Demoux asked.

“No, thank you,” Elend said. “I’ll get her. Tell Ham to make the messenger comfortable.”

Demoux nodded, then withdrew.

Elend turned to Tindwyl, who was smiling to herself with a look of satisfaction. Elend brushed by her, walking over to grab his notebook. “I’m going to learn to do more than merely ‘fake’ being king, Tindwyl.”

“We’ll see.”

Elend shot a glance at the middle-aged Terriswoman in her robes and jewelry.

“Practice expressions like that one,” Tindwyl noted, “and you just might do it.”

“Is that all it is, then?” Elend asked. “Expressions and outfits? Is that what makes a king?”

“Of course not.”

Elend stopped by the door, turning back. “Then what does? What do you think makes a man a good king, Tindwyl of Terris?”

“Trust,” Tindwyl said, looking him in the eyes. “A good king is one who is trusted by his people—and one who deserves that trust.”

Elend nodded. Good answer, he acknowledged, then pulled open the door and rushed out to find Vin.

The Well of Ascension

If only the Terris religion, and belief in the Anticipation, hadn’t spread beyond our people.

The Well of Ascension

17

THE PILES OF PAPER SEEMED to multiply as Vin found more and more ideas in the logbook that she wanted to isolate and remember. What were the prophecies about the Hero of Ages? How did the logbook author know where to go, and what did he think he’d have to do when he got there?

Eventually, lying amid the mess—overlapping piles turned in odd directions to keep them separate—Vin acknowledged a distasteful fact. She was going to have to take notes.

With a sigh, she rose and crossed the room, stepping carefully over several stacks and approaching the room’s desk. She’d never used it before; in fact, she’d complained about it to Elend. What need did she have of a writing desk?

So she’d thought. She selected a pen, then pulled out a little jar of ink, remembering the days when Reen had taught her to write. He’d quickly grown frustrated with her scratchings, complaining about the cost of ink and paper. He’d taught her to read so that she could decipher contracts and imitate a noblewoman, but he’d thought that writing was less useful. In general, Vin shared this opinion.

But writing apparently had uses even if one wasn’t a scribe. Elend was always scribbling notes and memos to himself; she’d often been impressed by how quickly he could write. How did he make the letters come so easily?

She grabbed a couple of blank sheets of paper and walked back over to her sorted piles. She sat down with crossed legs and unscrewed the top of the ink bottle.

“Mistress,” OreSeur noted, still lying with his paws before him, “you do realize that you just left the writing desk behind to sit on the floor.”

Vin looked up. “And?”

“The purpose of a writing desk is, well, writing.”

“But my papers are all over here.”

“Papers can be moved, I believe. If they prove too heavy, you could always burn pewter to give yourself more strength.”

Vin eyed his amused face as she inked the nib of her pen. Well, at least he’s displaying something other than his dislike of me. “The floor is more comfortable.”

“If you say so, mistress, I will believe it to be true.”

She hesitated, trying to determine if he was still mocking her. Blasted dog’s face, she thought. Too hard to read.

With a sigh, she leaned down and began to write out the first word. She had to make each line precisely so that the ink didn’t smudge, and she had to pause often to sound out words and find the right letters. She’d barely written a couple of sentences before a knock came at her door. She looked up with a frown. Who was bothering her?

“Come in,” she called.

She heard a door open in the other room, and Elend’s voice called out. “Vin?”

“In here,” she said, turning back to her writing. “Why did you knock?”

“Well, you might have been changing,” he said, entering.

“So?” Vin asked.

Elend chuckled. “Two years, and privacy is still a strange concept to you.”

Vin looked up. “Well, I did—”

For the briefest flash of a moment, she thought he was someone else. Her instincts kicked in before her brain, and she reflexively dropped the pen, jumping up and flaring pewter.

Then she stopped.

“That much of a change, eh?” Elend asked, holding out his arms so she could get a better look at his outfit.

Vin put a hand to her chest, so shocked that she stepped right on one of her stacks. It was Elend, but it wasn’t. The brilliant white outfit, with its sharp lines and firm figure, looked so different from his normal loose jacket and trousers. He seemed more commanding. More regal.

“You cut your hair,” she said, walking around him slowly, studying the outfit.

“Tindwyl’s idea,” he said. “What do you think?”

“Less for people to grab on to in a fight,” Vin said.

Elend smiled. “Is that all you think about?”

“No,” Vin said absently, reaching up to tug his cape. It came free easily, and she nodded approvingly. Mistcloaks were the same; Elend wouldn’t have to worry about someone grabbing his cape in a fight.

She stepped back, arms folded. “Does this mean I can cut my hair too?”

Elend paused only briefly. “You’re always free to do what you want, Vin. But I kind of think it’s pretty longer.”

It stays then.

“Anyway,” Elend said. “You approve?”

“Definitely,” Vin said. “You look like a king.” Though she suspected a part of her would miss the tangle-haired, disheveled Elend. There had been something endearing about that mixture of earnest competence and distracted inattention.

“Good,” Elend said. “Because I think we’re going to need the advantage. A messenger just…” He trailed off, looking over her stacks of paper. “Vin? Were you doing research?”

Vin flushed. “I was only looking through the logbook, trying to find references to the Deepness.”

“You were!” Elend stepped forward excitedly. To her chagrin, he quickly located the paper with her fledgling notes on it. He held the paper up, then looked over at her. “Did you write this?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Your penmanship is beautiful,” he said, sounding a bit surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me you could write like this?”

“Didn’t you say something about a messenger?”

Elend put the sheet back down, looking oddly like a proud parent. “Right. A messenger from my father’s army has arrived. I’m making him wait for a bit—it didn’t seem wise to appear too eager. But we should probably go meet with him.”

Vin nodded, waving to OreSeur. The kandra rose and padded to her side, and the three of them left her quarters.

That was one nice thing about books and notes: Those could always wait for another time.

They found the messenger waiting in the third-floor Venture atrium. Vin and Elend walked in, and she stopped immediately.

It was him. The Watcher.

Elend stepped forward to meet the man, and Vin grabbed his arm. “Wait,” she hissed quietly.

Elend turned, confused.

If that man has atium, Vin thought with a stab of panic, Elend is dead. We’re all dead.

The Watcher stood quietly. He didn’t look much like a messenger or courier. He wore all black, even a pair of black gloves, with trousers and a silken shirt and no cloak or cape. She remembered that face. It was him.

If he’d wanted to kill Elend, he could have done so already. The thought frightened her, yet she had to admit it was true.

“What?” Elend asked, standing in the doorway with her.

“Be careful,” she whispered. “This is no simple messenger. That man is Mistborn.”

Elend frowned. He turned back toward the Watcher, who stood quietly, clasping his hands behind his back, looking confident. Yes, he was Mistborn; only a man such as he could walk into an enemy palace, completely surrounded by guards, and not be the slightest bit unsettled.

“All right,” Elend said, finally stepping into the room. “Straff’s man. You bring a message for me?”

“Not just a message, Your Majesty,” the Watcher said. “My name is Zane, and I am something of an … ambassador. Your father was very pleased to receive your invitation for an alliance. He’s glad that you are finally seeing reason.”

Vin studied the Watcher, this “Zane.” What was his game? Why come himself? Why reveal who he was?

Elend nodded, keeping a distance from Zane. “Two armies,” Elend said, “camped outside my door … well, that’s not the kind of thing I can ignore. I’d like to meet with my father and discuss possibilities for the future.”

“I think he would enjoy that,” Zane said. “It has been some time since he saw you, and he has long regretted your falling-out. You are, after all, his only son.”

“It’s been hard on both of us,” Elend said. “Perhaps we could set up a tent in which to meet outside the city?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Zane said. “His Majesty rightly fears assassins. If you wish to speak with him, he’d be happy to host you at his tent in the Venture camp.”

Elend frowned. “Now, I don’t think that makes much sense. If he fears assassins, shouldn’t I?”

“I’m certain he could protect you in his own camp, Your Majesty,” Zane said. “You have nothing to fear from Cett’s assassins there.”

“I … see,” Elend said.

“I’m afraid that His Majesty was quite firm on this point,” Zane said. “You are the one who is eager for an alliance—if you wish a meeting, you will have to come to him.”

Elend glanced at Vin. She continued to watch Zane. The man met her eyes, and spoke. “I have heard reports of the beautiful Mistborn who accompanies the Venture heir. She who slew the Lord Ruler, and was trained by the Survivor himself.”

There was silence in the room for a moment.

Elend finally spoke. “Tell my father that I will consider his offer.”

Zane finally turned away from Vin. “His Majesty was hoping for us to set a date and time, Your Majesty.”

“I will send another message when I have made my decision,” Elend said.

“Very well,” Zane said, bowing slightly, though he used the move to catch Vin’s eyes once again. Then he nodded once to Elend, and let the guards escort him away.

In the cold mist of early evening, Vin waited on the short wall of Keep Venture, OreSeur sitting at her side.

The mists were quiet. Her thoughts were far less serene.

Who else would he work for? she thought. Of course he’s one of Straff’s men.

That explained many things. It had been quite a while since their last encounter; Vin had begun to think that she wouldn’t see the Watcher again.

Would they spar more? Vin tried to suppress her eagerness, tried to tell herself that she simply wanted to find this Watcher because of the threat he posed. But the thrill of another fight in the mists—another chance to test her abilities against a Mistborn—made her tense with anticipation.

She didn’t know him, and she certainly didn’t trust him. That only made the prospect of a fight all the more exciting.

“Why are we waiting here, mistress?” OreSeur asked.

“We’re on patrol,” Vin said. “Watching for assassins or spies. Just like every night.”

“Do you command me to believe you, mistress?”

Vin shot him a flat stare. “Believe as you wish, kandra.”

“Very well,” OreSeur said. “Why did you not tell the king that you’ve been sparring with this Zane?”

Vin turned back toward the dark mists. “Assassins and Allomancers are my concern, not Elend’s. No need to worry him yet—he has enough troubles at the moment.”

OreSeur sat back on his haunches. “I see.”

“You don’t believe I’m right?”

“I believe as I wish,” OreSeur said. “Isn’t that what you commanded me, mistress?”

“Whatever,” Vin said. Her bronze was on, and she had to try very hard not to think about the mist spirit. She could feel it waiting in the darkness to her right. She didn’t look toward it.

The logbook never did say what became of that spirit. It nearly killed one of the Hero’s companions. After that, there was barely a mention of it.

Problems for another night, she thought as another source of Allomancy appeared to her bronze senses. A stronger, more familiar source.

Zane.

Vin hopped up onto the battlements, nodded farewell to OreSeur, then jumped out into the night.

Mist twisted in the sky, different breezes forming silent streams of white, like rivers in the air. Vin skimmed them, burst through them, and rode them like a bouncing stone cast upon the waters. She quickly reached the place where she and Zane had last parted, the lonely abandoned street.

He waited in the center, still wearing black. Vin dropped to the cobbles before him in a flurry of mistcloak tassels. She stood up straight.

He never wears a cloak. Why is that?

The two stood opposite one another for a few silent moments. Zane had to know of her questions, but he offered no introduction, greeting, or explanation. Eventually he reached into a pocket and pulled out a coin. He tossed it to the street between them, and it bounced—metal ringing against stone—and came to a stop.

He jumped into the air. Vin did likewise, both Pushing against the coin. Their separate weights nearly canceled each other out, and they shot up and back, like the two arms of a “V.”

Zane spun, throwing a coin behind him. It slammed against the side of a building and he Pushed, throwing himself toward Vin. Suddenly she felt a force slam against her coin pouch, threatening to toss her back down to the ground.

What is the game tonight, Zane? she thought even as she yanked the tie on her pouch, dropping it free from her belt. She Pushed against it, and it shot downward, forced by her weight. When it hit the ground, Vin had the better upward force: she was Pushing against the pouch from directly above, while Zane was only pushing from the side. Vin lurched upward, streaking past Zane in the cool night air, then threw her weight against the coins in his own pocket.

Zane began to drop. However, he grabbed the coins—keeping them from ripping free—and Pushed down on her pouch. He froze in the air—Vin Pushing him from above, his own Push forcing him upward. And because he stopped, Vin’s Push suddenly threw her backward.

Vin let go of Zane and allowed herself to drop. Zane, however, didn’t let himself fall. He Pushed his body back up into the air, then began to bound away, never letting his feet touch rooftops or cobblestones.

He tried to force me to the ground, Vin thought. First one to fall loses, is that it? Still tumbling, Vin spun herself in the air. She retrieved her coin pouch with a careful Pull, then threw it down toward the ground and Pushed herself upward.

She Pulled the pouch back into her hand even as she flew, then jumped after Zane, Pushing recklessly through the night, trying to catch up. In the darkness, Luthadel seemed cleaner than it did during the day. She couldn’t see the ash-stained buildings, the dark refineries, the haze of smoke from the forges. Around her, the empty keeps of the old high nobility watched like silent monoliths. Some of the majestic buildings had been given to lesser nobles, and others had become government offices. The rest—after being plundered at Elend’s command—lay unused, their stained-glass windows dark, their vaultings, statues, and murals ignored.

Vin wasn’t certain if Zane purposely headed to Keep Hasting, or if she simply caught up to him there. Either way, the enormous structure loomed as Zane noticed her proximity and turned, throwing a handful of coins at her.

Vin Pushed against them tentatively. Sure enough, as soon as she touched them, Zane flared steel and increased his Push. If she’d been Pushing hard, the force of his attack would have thrown her backward. As it was, she was able to deflect the coins to her sides.

Zane immediately Pushed against her coin pouch again, throwing himself upward along one of Keep Hasting’s walls. Vin was ready for this move as well. Flaring pewter, she grabbed the pouch in a two-handed grip and ripped it in half.

Coins sprayed beneath her, shooting toward the ground under the force of Zane’s Push. She selected one and Pushed herself, gaining lift as soon as it hit the ground. She spun, facing upward, her tin-enhanced ears hearing a shower of metal hit the stones far below. She’d still have access to the coins, but she didn’t have to carry them on her body.

She shot up toward Zane, one of the keep’s outer towers looming in the mists to her left. Keep Hasting was one of the finest in the city. It had a large tower at the center—tall, imposing, wide—with a ballroom at the very top. It also had six smaller towers rising equidistant around the central structure, each one connected to it by a thick wall. It was an elegant, majestic building. She suspected that Zane had sought it out for that reason.

Vin watched him now, his Push losing power as he got too far from the coin anchor. He spun directly above her, a dark figure against a shifting sky of mist, still well below the top of the wall. Vin yanked sharply on several coins below, Pulling them into the air in case she needed them.

Zane plummeted toward her. Vin reflexively Pushed against the coins in his pocket, then realized that was probably what he’d wanted: it gave him lift while forcing her down. She let go as she fell, and she soon passed the group of coins she’d Pulled into the air. She Pulled on one, bringing it into her hand, then Pushed on another, sending it sideways into the wall.

Vin shot to the side. Zane whooshed by her in the air, his passing churning the mists. He soon bobbed back up—probably using a coin from below—and flung a double handful of coins straight at her.

Vin spun, again deflecting the coins. They shot around her, and she heard several pling against something in the mists behind her. Another wall. She and Zane were sparring between a pair of the keep’s outer towers; there was an angled wall to either side of them, with the central tower a short distance in front of them. They were fighting near the tip of an open-bottomed triangle of stone walls.

Zane shot toward her. Vin reached out to throw her weight against him, but realized with a start that he was no longer carrying any coins. He was Pushing on something behind him though—the same coin Vin had slammed against the wall with her weight. She Pushed herself upward, trying to get out of the way, but he angled upward as well.

Zane crashed into her, and they began to fall. As they spun together, Zane grabbed her by the upper arms, holding his face close to hers. He didn’t seem angry, or even very forceful.

He merely seemed calm.

“This is what we are, Vin,” he said quietly. Wind and mist whipped around them as they fell, the tassels of Vin’s mistcloak writhing in the air around Zane. “Why do you play their games? Why do you let them control you?”

Vin placed her hand lightly against Zane’s chest, then Pushed on the coin that had been in her palm. The force of the Push lurched her free of his grip, flipping him up and backward. She caught herself a few feet from the ground, Pushing against fallen coins, throwing herself upward again.

She passed Zane in the night, and saw a smile on his face as he fell. Vin reached downward, locking on to the blue lines extending toward the ground far below, then flared iron and Pulled against all of them at once. Blue lines zipped around her, the coins rising and shooting past the surprised Zane.

She Pulled a few choice coins into her hands. Let’s see if you can stay in the air now, Vin thought with a smile, Pushing outward, spraying the other coins away into the night. Zane continued to fall.

Vin began to fall as well. She threw a coin to each side, then Pushed. The coins shot into the mists, flying toward the stone walls. They slapped against stone, and Vin lurched to a halt in the air.

She Pushed hard, holding herself in place, anticipating a Pull from below. If he Pulls, I Pull too, she thought. We both fall, and I keep the coins between us in the air. He’ll hit the ground first.

A coin shot past her in the air.

What! Where did he get that! She’d been sure that she’d Pushed away every coin below.

The coin arced upward, through the mists, trailing a blue line visible to her Allomancer’s eyes. It crested the top of the wall to her right. Vin glanced down just in time to see Zane slow, then lurch upward—Pulling on the coin that was now held in place atop the wall by the stone railing.

He passed her with a self-satisfied look on his face.

Show-off.

Vin let go of the coin to her left while still Pushing to her right. She lurched to the left, nearly colliding with the wall before she threw another coin at it. She Pushed on this one, throwing herself upward and to the right. Yet another coin sent her back upward to the left, and she continued to bounce between the walls, back and forth, until she crested the top.

She smiled as she twisted in the air. Zane—hovering in the air above the wall’s top—nodded appreciatively as she passed. She noticed that he’d grabbed a few of her discarded coins.

Time for a little attack myself, Vin thought.

She slammed a Push against the coins in Zane’s hand, and they shot her upward. But Zane was still Pushing against the coin on the wall top below, so he didn’t fall. Instead he hung in the air between the two forces—his own Push forcing him upward, Vin’s Push forcing him downward.

Vin heard him grunt in exertion, and she Pushed harder. She was so focused that she barely saw him open his other hand and Push a coin up toward her. She reached out to Push against it, but fortunately his aim was off, and the coin missed her by a few inches.

Or perhaps it didn’t. Immediately the coin zipped back downward and hit her in the back. Zane Pulled on it forcefully, and the bit of metal dug into Vin’s skin. She gasped, flaring pewter to keep the coin from cutting through her.

Zane didn’t relent. Vin gritted her teeth, but he weighed much more than she did. She inched down toward him in the night, her Push straining to keep the two of them apart, the coin digging painfully into her back.

Never get into a raw Pushing match, Vin, Kelsier had warned her. You don’t weigh enough—you’ll lose every time.

She stopped Pushing on the coin in Zane’s hand. She fell immediately, Pulled by the coin on her back. She Pushed on it slightly, giving herself a little leverage, then threw her final coin to the side. It hit at the last moment, and Vin’s Push scooted her out from between Zane and his coin.

Zane’s coin snapped him in the chest, and he grunted: he had obviously been trying to get Vin to collide with him again. Vin smiled, then Pulled against the coin in Zane’s hand.

Give him what he wants, I guess.

He turned in time to see her slam feet-first into him. Vin spun, feeling him crumple beneath her. She exulted in the victory, spinning in the air above the wall walk. Then she noticed something: several faint lines of blue disappearing into the distance. Zane had pushed all of their coins away.

Desperate, Vin grabbed one of the coins and Pulled it back. Too late. She searched frantically for a closer source of metal, but all was stone or wood. Disoriented, she hit the stone wall walk, tumbling amid her mistcloak until she came to a halt beside the wall’s stone railing.

She shook her head and flared tin, clearing her vision with a flash of pain and other senses. Surely Zane hadn’t fared better. He must have fallen as—

Zane hung a few feet away. He’d found a coin—Vin couldn’t fathom how—and was Pushing against it below him. But he didn’t shoot away. He hovered a few feet above the wall top, still in a half tumble from Vin’s kick.

As Vin watched, Zane rotated slowly in the air, hand outstretched beneath him, twisting like a skilled acrobat on a pole. There was a look of intense concentration on his face, and his muscles—all of them, arms, face, chest—were taut. He turned in the air until he was facing her.

Vin watched with awe. It was possible to Push slightly against a coin, regulating the amount of force with which one was thrown backward. It was incredibly difficult—so difficult that even Kelsier had struggled with it. Most of the time, Mistborn simply used short bursts. When Vin fell, for instance, she slowed herself by throwing a coin and Pushing against it briefly—but powerfully—to counteract her momentum.

She’d never seen an Allomancer with as much control as Zane. His ability to push slightly against that coin would be of little use in a fight; it obviously took too much concentration. Yet there was a grace to it, a beauty to his movements that implied something Vin herself had felt.

Allomancy wasn’t just about fighting and killing. It was about skill and grace. It was something beautiful.

Zane rotated until he was upright, standing in a gentlemanly posture. Then he dropped to the wall walk, his feet slapping quietly against the stones. He regarded Vin—who still lay there—with a look that lacked contempt.

“You are very skilled,” he said. “And quite powerful.”

He was tall, impressive. Like … Kelsier. “Why did you come to the palace today?” she asked, climbing to her feet.

“To see how they treated you. Tell me, Vin. What is it about Mistborn that makes us—despite our powers—so willing to act as slaves to others?”

“Slaves?” Vin said. “I’m no slave.”

Zane shook his head. “They use you, Vin.”

“Sometimes it’s good to be useful.”

“Those words are spoken of insecurity.”

Vin eyed him. “Where did you get that coin, at the end? There were none nearby.”

Zane smiled, then opened his mouth and pulled out a coin. He dropped it to the stones with a pling. Vin opened her eyes wide. Metal inside a person’s body can’t be affected by another Allomancer.… That’s such an easy trick! Why didn’t I think of it?

Why didn’t Kelsier think of it?

Zane shook his head. “We don’t belong with them, Vin. We don’t belong in their world. We belong here, in the mists.”

“I belong with those who love me,” Vin said.

“Love you?” Zane asked quietly. “Tell me. Do they understand you, Vin? Can they understand you? And can a man love something he doesn’t understand?”

He watched her for a moment. When she didn’t respond, he nodded to her slightly, then Pushed against the coin he had dropped moments before, throwing himself back into the mists.

Vin let him go. His words held more weight than he probably understood. We don’t belong in their world.… He couldn’t know that she’d been pondering her place, wondering whether she was noblewoman, assassin, or something else.

Zane’s words meant something important. He felt himself to be an outsider. A little like herself. It was a weakness in him, certainly. Perhaps she could turn him against Straff—his willingness to spar with her, to reveal himself, hinted at that much.

She breathed in deeply of the cool misty air, her heart still beating quickly from the exchange. She felt tired, yet alive, from fighting someone who might actually be better than she was. Standing in the mists atop the wall of an abandoned keep, she decided something.

She had to keep sparring with Zane.

The Well of Ascension

If only the Deepness hadn’t come when it did, providing a threat that drove men to desperation in both action and belief.

The Well of Ascension

18

“KILL HIM,” GOD WHISPERED.

Zane hung quietly in the mists, looking through Elend Venture’s open balcony doors. The mists swirled around him, obscuring him from the king’s view.

“You should kill him,” God said again.

In a way, Zane hated Elend, though he had never met the man before today. Elend was everything that Zane should have been. Favored. Privileged. Pampered. He was Zane’s enemy, a block in the road to domination, the thing that was keeping Straff—and therefore Zane—from ruling the Central Dominance.

But he was also Zane’s brother.

Zane let himself drop through the mists, falling silently to the ground outside Keep Venture. He Pulled his anchors up into his hand—three small bars he had been pushing on to hold himself in place. Vin would be returning soon, and he didn’t want to be near the keep when she did. She had a strange ability to know where he was; her senses were far more keen than any Allomancer he had ever known or fought. Of course, she had been trained by the Survivor himself.

I would like to have known him, Zane thought as he moved quietly across the courtyard. He was a man who understood the power of being Mistborn. A man who didn’t let others control him.

A man who did what had to be done, no matter how ruthless it seemed. Or so the rumors said.

Zane lingered beside the outer keep wall, below a buttress. He stooped, removing a cobblestone, and found the message left there by his spy inside Elend’s palace. Zane retrieved it, replaced the cobblestone, then dropped a coin and launched himself out into the night.

Zane did not slink. Nor did he creep, skulk, or cower. In fact, he didn’t even like to hide.

So, he approached the Venture army camp with a determined stride. It seemed to him that Mistborn spent too much of their existence hiding. True, anonymity offered some limited freedom. But his experience had been that it bound them more than it freed them. It let them be controlled, and it let society pretend that they didn’t exist.

Zane strode toward a guard post, where two soldiers sat beside a large fire. He shook his head; they were virtually useless, blinded by the firelight. Normal men feared the mists, and that made them less valuable. That wasn’t arrogance; it was a simple fact. Allomancers were more useful, and therefore more valuable, than normal men. That was why Zane had Tineyes watching in the darkness as well. These regular soldiers were more a formality than anything else.

“Kill them,” God commanded as Zane walked up to the guard post. Zane ignored the voice, though it was growing more and more difficult to do so.

“Halt!” one of the guards said, lowering a spear. “Who is that?”

Zane Pushed the spear offhandedly, flipping up the tip. “Who else would it be?” he snapped, walking into the firelight.

“Lord Zane!” the other soldier said.

“Summon the king,” Zane said, passing the guard post. “Tell him to meet me in the command tent.”

“But my lord,” the guard said. “The hour is late. His Majesty is probably…”

Zane turned, giving the guard a flat stare. The mists swirled between them. Zane didn’t even have to use emotional Allomancy on the soldier; the man simply saluted, then rushed off into the night to do as commanded.

Zane strode through the camp. He wore no uniform or mistcloak, but soldiers stopped and saluted as he passed. This was the way it should be. They knew him, knew what he was, knew to respect him.

Yet a part of him acknowledged that if Straff hadn’t kept his bastard son hidden for most of his life, Zane might not be the powerful weapon that he was today. That secrecy had forced Zane to live a life of near squalor while his half brother Elend had been privileged. Now, while rumors were growing about the existence of Straff’s Mistborn, few realized that Zane was Straff’s son.

Plus, living a harsh life had taught Zane to survive on his own. He had become hard and powerful. Things he suspected Elend would never understand. Unfortunately, one side effect of his childhood was that it had apparently driven him mad.

“Kill him,” God whispered as Zane passed another guard. The voice spoke every time he saw a person—it was Zane’s quiet, constant companion. He understood that he was insane. It hadn’t really been all that hard to determine, all things considered. Normal people did not hear voices. Zane did.

Regardless, he found insanity no excuse for irrational behavior. Some men were blind, others had poor tempers. Still others heard voices. It was all the same in the end. A man was defined not by his flaws, but by how he overcame them.

And so Zane ignored the voice. He killed when he wanted to, not when it commanded. In his estimation, he was actually quite lucky. Other madmen saw visions, or couldn’t distinguish their delusions from reality. At least Zane could control himself.

For the most part.

He Pushed on the metal clasps on the flaps of the command tent. The flaps flipped backward, opening for him as the soldiers to either side saluted. Zane ducked inside.

“My lord!” said the night watch officer of command.

“Kill him,” God said. “He’s really not that important.”

“Paper,” Zane ordered, walking to the room’s large table. The officer scrambled to comply, grabbing a stack of sheets. Zane Pulled on the nib of a pen, flipping it across the room to his waiting hand. The officer brought the ink.

“These are troop concentrations and night patrols,” Zane said, scribbling down some numbers and diagrams on the paper. “I observed them tonight, while I was in Luthadel.”

“Very good, my lord,” the soldier said. “We appreciate your help.”

Zane paused. Then he slowly continued to write. “Soldier, you are not my superior. You aren’t even my equal. I am not ‘helping’ you. I am seeing to the needs of my army. Do you understand?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Good,” Zane said, finishing his notes and handing the paper to the soldier. “Now leave—or I’ll do as a friend has suggested and ram this pen through your throat.”

The soldier accepted the paper, then quickly withdrew. Zane waited impatiently. Straff did not arrive. Finally Zane cursed quietly, then Pushed open the tent flaps and strode out. Straff’s tent was a blazing red beacon in the night, well lit by numerous lanterns. Zane passed the guards, who knew better than to bother him, and entered the king’s tent.

Straff was having a late dinner. He was a tall man, with brown hair like both his sons—the two important ones at least. He had fine nobleman’s hands, which he used to eat with finesse. He didn’t react as Zane entered.

“You’re late,” Straff said.

“Kill him,” God said.

Zane clenched his fists. This order from the voice was the hardest to ignore. “Yes,” he said. “I’m late.”

“What happened tonight?” Straff asked.

Zane glanced at the servants. “We should do this in the command tent.”

Straff continued to sip his soup, staying where he was, implying that Zane had no power to order him about. It was frustrating, but not unexpected. Zane had used virtually the same tactic on the night watch officer moments before. He had learned from the best.

Zane sighed, taking a seat. He rested his arms on the table, idly spinning a dinner knife as he watched his father eat. A servant approached to ask Zane if he wanted a meal, but he waved the man away.

“Kill Straff,” God commanded. “You should be in his place. You are stronger than he is. You are more competent.”

But I’m not as sane, Zane thought.

“Well?” Straff asked. “Do they have the Lord Ruler’s atium or not?”

“I’m not sure,” Zane said.

“Does the girl trust you?” Straff asked.

“She’s beginning to,” Zane said. “I did see her use atium, that once, fighting Cett’s assassins.”

Straff nodded thoughtfully. He truly was competent; because of him, the Northern Dominance had avoided the chaos that prevailed in the rest of the Final Empire. Straff’s skaa remained under control, his noblemen quelled. True, he had been forced to execute a number of people to prove that he was in charge. But he did what needed to be done. That was one attribute in a man that Zane respected above all others.

Especially since he had trouble displaying it himself.

“Kill him!” God yelled. “You hate him! He kept you in squalor, forcing you to fight for your survival as a child.”

He made me strong, Zane thought.

“Then use that strength to kill him!”

Zane grabbed the carving knife off the table. Straff looked up from his meal, then flinched slightly as Zane sliced the flesh of his own arm. He cut a long gash into the top of his forearm, drawing blood. The pain helped him resist the voice.

Straff watched for a moment, then waved for a servant to bring Zane a towel so he wouldn’t get blood on the rug.

“You need to get her to use atium again,” Straff said. “Elend may have been able to gather one or two beads. We’ll only know the truth if she runs out.” He turned back to his meal. “In fact, what you need to do is get her to tell you where the stash is hidden, if they even have it.”

Zane sat, watching the blood seep from the gash on his forearm. “She’s more capable than you think, Father.”

Straff raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you believe those stories, Zane? The lies about her and the Lord Ruler?”

“How do you know they are lies?”

“Because of Elend,” Straff said. “That boy is a fool; he only controls Luthadel because every nobleman with half a wit in his head fled the city. If that girl were powerful enough to defeat the Lord Ruler, I sincerely doubt that your brother could ever have gained her loyalty.”

Zane cut another slice in his arm. He didn’t cut deeply enough to do any real damage, and the pain worked as it usually did. Straff finally turned from his meal, masking a look of discomfort. A small, twisted piece of Zane took pleasure from seeing that look in his father’s eyes. Perhaps it was a side effect of his insanity.

“Anyway,” Straff said, “did you meet with Elend?”

Zane nodded. He turned to a serving girl. “Tea,” he said, waving his uncut arm. “Elend was surprised. He wanted to meet with you, but he obviously didn’t like the idea of coming into your camp. I doubt he’ll come.”

“Don’t underestimate the boy’s foolishness,” Straff said. “Either way, perhaps now he understands how our relationship will proceed.”

So much posturing, Zane thought. By sending this message, Straff took a stand: he wouldn’t be ordered about, or even inconvenienced, on Elend’s behalf.

Being forced into a siege inconvenienced you though, Zane thought with a smile. What Straff would have liked to do was attack directly, taking the city without parley or negotiations. The arrival of the second army made that impossible. Attack now, and Straff would be defeated by Cett.

That meant waiting in the siege, until Elend saw reason and joined with his father willingly. But waiting was something Straff disliked. Zane didn’t mind as much. It would give him more time to spar with the girl. He smiled.

As the tea arrived, Zane closed his eyes, then burned tin to enhance his senses. His wounds burst to life, minor pains becoming great, shocking him to wakefulness.

There was a part of all this he wasn’t telling Straff. She is coming to trust me, he thought. And there’s something else about her. She’s like me. Perhaps … she could understand me.

Perhaps she could save me.

He sighed, opening his eyes and using the towel to clean his arm. His insanity frightened him sometimes. But it seemed weaker around Vin. That was all he had to go on for the moment. He accepted his tea from the serving girl—long braid, firm chest, homely features—and took a sip of the hot cinnamon.

Straff raised his own cup, then hesitated, sniffing delicately. He eyed Zane. “Poisoned tea, Zane?”

Zane said nothing.

“Birchbane too,” Straff noted. “That’s a depressingly unoriginal move for you.”

Zane said nothing.

Straff made a cutting motion. The girl looked up with terror as one of Straff’s guards stepped toward her. She glanced at Zane, expecting some sort of aid, but he looked away. She yelled pathetically as the guard pulled her off to be executed.

She wanted the chance to kill him, he thought. I told her it probably wouldn’t work.

Straff shook his head. Though not a Mistborn, the king was a Tineye. Still, even for one with such an ability, sniffing birchbane amid the cinnamon was an impressive feat.

“Zane, Zane…” Straff said. “What would you do if you managed to kill me?”

If I actually wanted to kill you, Zane thought, I’d use that knife, not poison. But he let Straff think what he wished. The king expected assassination attempts. So Zane provided them.

Straff held something up—a small bead of atium. “I was going to give you this, Zane. But I see that we’ll have to wait. You need to get over these foolish attempts on my life. If you were ever to succeed, where would you get your atium?”

Straff didn’t understand, of course. He thought that atium was like a drug, and assumed that Mistborn relished using it. Therefore, he thought he could control Zane with it. Zane let the man continue in his misapprehension, never explaining that he had his own personal stockpile of the metal.

That brought him to face the real question that dominated his life. God’s whispers were returning, now that the pain was fading. And of all the people the voice whispered about, Straff Venture was the one who most deserved to die.

“Why?” God asked. “Why won’t you kill him?”

Zane looked down at his feet. Because he’s my father, he thought, finally admitting his weakness. Other men did what they had to. They were stronger than Zane.

“You’re insane, Zane,” Straff said.

Zane looked up.

“Do you really think you could conquer the empire yourself, if you were to kill me? Considering your … particular malady, do you think you could run even a city?”

Zane looked away. “No.”

Straff nodded. “I’m glad we both understand that.”

“You should attack,” Zane said. “We can find the atium once we control Luthadel.”

Straff smiled, then sipped the tea. The poisoned tea.

Despite himself, Zane started, sitting up straight.

“Don’t presume to think you know what I’m planning, Zane,” Straff said. “You don’t understand half as much as you assume.”

Zane sat quietly, watching his father drink the last of the tea.

“What of your spy?” Straff asked.

Zane laid the note on the table. “He’s worried that they might suspect him. He has found no information about the atium.”

Straff nodded, setting down the empty cup. “You’ll return to the city and continue to befriend the girl.”

Zane nodded slowly, then turned and left the tent.

Straff thought he could feel the birchbane already, seeping through his veins, making him tremble. He forced himself to remain in control. Waiting for a few moments.

Once he was sure Zane was distant, he called for a guard. “Bring me Amaranta!” Straff ordered. “Quickly!”

The soldier rushed to do his master’s bidding. Straff sat quietly, tent rustling in the evening breeze, a puff of mist floating to the floor from the once open flap. He burned tin, enhancing his senses. Yes … he could feel the poison within him. Deadening his nerves. But he had time. As long as an hour perhaps, and so he relaxed.

For a man who claimed he didn’t want to kill Straff, Zane certainly spent a lot of effort trying. Fortunately, Straff had a tool even Zane didn’t know about—one that came in the form of a woman. Straff smiled as his tin-enhanced ears heard soft footsteps approaching in the night.

The soldiers sent Amaranta right in. Straff hadn’t brought all of his mistresses with him on the trip—just his ten or fifteen favorites. Mixed in with the ones he was currently bedding were some women that he kept for their effectiveness rather than their beauty. Amaranta was a good example. She had been quite attractive a decade before, but now she was creeping up into her late twenties. Her breasts had begun to sag from childbirth, and every time Straff looked at her, he noticed the wrinkles that were appearing on her forehead and around her eyes. He got rid of most women long before they reached her age.

This one, however, had skills that were useful. If Zane heard that Straff had sent for the woman this night, he’d assume that Straff had simply wanted to bed her. He’d be wrong.

“My lord,” Amaranta said, getting down on her knees. She began to disrobe.

Well, at least she’s optimistic, Straff thought. He would have thought that after four years without being called to his bed, she would understand. Didn’t women realize when they were too old to be attractive?

“Keep your clothing on, woman,” he snapped.

Amaranta’s face fell, and she laid her hands in her lap, leaving her dress half undone, one breast exposed—as if she were trying to tempt him with her aging nudity.

“I need your antidote,” he said. “Quickly.”

“Which one, my lord?” she asked. She wasn’t the only herbalist Straff kept; he learned scents and tastes from four different people. Amaranta was the best of them.

“Birchbane,” Straff said. “And … maybe something else. I’m not sure.”

“Another general potion then, my lord?” Amaranta asked.

Straff nodded curtly. Amaranta rose, walking to his poison cabinet. She lit the burner at the side, boiling a small pot of water as she quickly mixed powders, herbs, and liquids. The concoction was her particular specialty—a mixture of all of the basic poison antidotes, remedies, and reagents in her repertoire. Straff suspected that Zane had used the birchbane to cover something else. Whatever it was, Amaranta’s concoction would deal with—or at least identify—it.

Straff waited uncomfortably as Amaranta worked, still half naked. The concoction needed to be prepared freshly each time, but it was worth the wait. She eventually brought him a steaming mug. Straff gulped it, forcing down the harsh liquid despite its bitterness. He immediately began to feel better.

He sighed—another trap avoided—as he drank the rest of the cup to be certain. Amaranta knelt expectantly again.

“Go,” Straff ordered.

Amaranta nodded quietly. She put her arm back through the dress’s sleeve, then retreated from the tent.

Straff sat stewing, empty cup cooling in his hand. He knew he held the edge. As long as he appeared strong before Zane, the Mistborn would continue to do as commanded.

Probably.

The Well of Ascension

If only I had passed over Alendi when looking for an assistant all those years ago.

The Well of Ascension

19

SAZED UNCLASPED HIS FINAL STEELMIND. He held it up, the braceletlike band of metal glistening in the red sunlight. To another man, it might seem valuable. To Sazed, it was now just another empty husk—a simple steel bracelet. He could refill it if he wished, but for the moment he didn’t consider the weight worth carrying.

With a sigh, he dropped the bracelet. It fell with a clank, tossing up a puff of ash from the ground. Five months of storing, of spending every fifth day drained of speed, my body moving as if impeded by a thick molasses. And now it’s all gone.

The loss had purchased something valuable. In a mere six days, using steelminds regularly, he had traveled the equivalent of six weeks’ worth of walking. According to his cartography coppermind, Luthadel was now a little over a week away. Sazed felt good about the expenditure. Perhaps he’d overreacted to the deaths he’d found in the little southern village. Perhaps there was no need for him to hurry. But he’d created the steelmind to be used.

He hefted his pack, which was much lighter than it had been. Though many of his metalminds were small, they were heavy in aggregate. He’d decided to discard some of the less valuable or less full ones as he ran. Like the steel bracelet, which he left sitting in the ash behind him as he went on.

He was definitely in the Central Dominance now. He’d passed the Ashmounts Doriel and Faleast, the latter of which—a tall, solitary peak with a cut-off, blackened top—had vanished below the southern horizon days ago. The landscape had grown flat, the trees changing from patchy brown pines to the willowy white aspens common around Luthadel. The aspens rose like bones growing from the black soil, clumping, their ashen white bark scarred and twisted. They—

Sazed halted. He stood near the central canal, one of the main routes to Luthadel. It was empty of boats at the moment; travelers were rare these days, even more rare than they had been during the Final Empire, for bandits were far more common. Sazed had outrun several groups of them during his hurried flight to Luthadel.

No, solitary travelers were rare. Armies were far more common—and judging from the several dozen trails of smoke he saw rising ahead of him, he had run afoul of one. It stood directly between him and Luthadel.

He thought quietly for a moment, flakes of ash beginning to fall lightly around him. It was midday; if that army had scouts, Sazed would have a very difficult time getting around it. And since his steelminds were now empty, he wouldn’t be able to run from pursuit.

Yet, an army within a week of Luthadel … Whose was it, and what threat did it pose? His curiosity, that of a scholar, prodded him to seek a vantage from which to study the troops. Vin and the others could use any information he gathered.

Decision made, Sazed located a hill with a particularly large stand of aspens. He dropped his pack at the base of a tree, then pulled out an ironmind and began to fill it. He felt the familiar sensation of decreased weight, and he easily climbed to the top of the thin tree—his body was now light enough that it didn’t take much strength to pull himself upward.

Hanging from the very tip of the tree, Sazed tapped his tinmind. The edges of his view fuzzed as always, but with the increased vision he could make out details about the large group that was settled in a hollow before him.

He was right about it being an army. He was wrong about it being made up of men.

“By the forgotten gods…” Sazed whispered, so shocked that he nearly lost his grip. The army was organized in only the most simplistic and primitive way. There were no tents, no vehicles, no horses. Just hundreds of large cooking fires, each ringed with figures.

And those figures were of a deep blue. They varied greatly in size; some were only five feet tall, others were lumbering hulks of ten feet or more. They were all the same species, Sazed knew. Koloss. The creatures—though similar to men in base form—never stopped growing. They simply continued to get bigger as they aged, until their hearts could no longer support them. Then they died, killed by their body’s own growth imperative.

But before that happened, they got very large. And very dangerous.

Sazed dropped from the tree, making his body light enough that he hit the ground softly. He hurriedly searched through his copperminds. When he found the one he wanted, he strapped it to his upper left arm, then climbed back up the tree.

He searched an index quickly. Somewhere, he’d taken notes on a book about the koloss—he’d studied it trying to decide if the creatures had a religion. He’d had someone repeat the notes back to him, so he could store them in the coppermind. He had the book memorized too, of course, but placing so much information directly in his mind would ruin the—

There, he thought, recovering the notes. He tapped them from the coppermind, filling his mind with knowledge.

Most koloss bodies gave out before they reached twenty years of age. The more “ancient” creatures were often a massive twelve feet in height, with stocky, powerful bodies. Few koloss lived that long—and not only because of heart failure. Their society—if it could be called that—was extremely violent.

Excitement suddenly overcoming apprehension, Sazed tapped tin for vision again, searching through the thousands of blue humanoids, trying to get visual proof of what he’d read. It wasn’t hard to find fights. Scuffles around the fires seemed common, and interestingly they were always between koloss of nearly the same size. Sazed magnified his view even further—gripping the tree tightly to overcome the nausea—and got his first good look at a koloss.

It was a creature of smaller size—perhaps six feet tall. It was man-shaped, with two arms and legs, though its neck was hard to distinguish. It was completely bald. The oddest feature was its blue skin, which hung loose and folded. The creature looked like a fat man might, had all his fat been drained away, leaving the stretched skin behind.

And … the skin didn’t seem to be connected very well. Around the creature’s red, blood-drop eyes, the skin sagged, revealing the facial muscles. The same was true around the mouth: the skin sagged a few inches below the chin, the lower teeth and jaw completely exposed.

It was a stomach-turning sight, especially for a man who was already nauseated. The creature’s ears hung low, flopping down beside its jawline. Its nose was formless and loose, with no cartilage supporting it. Skin hung baggily from the creature’s arms and legs, and its only clothing was a crude loincloth.

Sazed turned, selecting a larger creature—one perhaps eight feet tall—to study. The skin on this beast wasn’t as loose, but it still didn’t seem to fit quite right. Its nose twisted at a crooked angle, pulled flat against the face by an enlarged head that sat on a stumpy neck. The creature turned to leer at a companion, and again the skin around its mouth didn’t quite fit: the lips didn’t close completely, and the holes around the eyes were too big, so they exposed the muscles beneath.

Like a person wearing a mask made of skin, Sazed thought, trying to push away his disgust. So … their body continues to grow, but their skin doesn’t?

His thought was confirmed as a massive, ten-foot-tall beast of a koloss wandered into the group. Smaller creatures scattered before this newcomer, who thumped up to the fire, where several horses were roasting.

This largest creature’s skin was pulled so tight it was beginning to tear. The hairless blue flesh had ripped around the eyes, at the edges of the mouth, and around the massive chest muscles. Sazed could see little trails of red blood dripping from the rips. Even where the skin wasn’t torn, it was pulled taut—the nose and ears were so flat they were almost indistinguishable from the flesh around them.

In that instant, Sazed’s study didn’t seem so academic. Koloss had come to the Central Dominance. Creatures so violent and uncontrollable that the Lord Ruler had been forced to keep them away from civilization. Sazed extinguished his tinmind, welcoming the return to normal vision. He had to get to Luthadel and warn the others. If they—

Sazed froze. One problem with enhancing his vision was that he temporarily lost the ability to see close up—so it wasn’t odd that he hadn’t noticed the koloss patrol surrounding his aspens.

By the forgotten gods! He held firm to the tip of the tree, thinking quickly. Several koloss were already pushing their way into the stand. If he dropped to the ground, he’d be too slow to escape. As always, he wore a pewtermind; he could easily become as strong as ten men, and maintain it for a good amount of time. He could fight, perhaps.…

Yet the koloss carried crude-looking but massive swords. Sazed’s notes, his memory, and his lore all agreed: Koloss were very dangerous warriors. Strong as ten men or not, Sazed wouldn’t have the skill to defeat them.

“Come down,” called a deep, slurred voice from below. “Come down now.”

Sazed looked down. A large koloss, skin barely beginning to stretch, stood at the tree’s base. It gave the aspen a shake.

“Come down now,” the creature repeated.

Those lips don’t work very well, Sazed thought. He sounds like a man trying to talk without moving his lips. He wasn’t surprised that the creature could talk; his notes mentioned that. But he was surprised at how calm it sounded.

I could run, he thought. He could keep to the tops of trees, perhaps cross the distance between patches of aspens by dropping his metalminds and trying to ride gusts of wind. But it would be very difficult—and very unpredictable.

And he would have to leave his copperminds—a thousand years of history—behind.

So, pewtermind ready in case he needed strength, Sazed let go of the tree. The koloss leader—Sazed could only assume that was what he was—watched Sazed fall to the ground with a red-eyed stare. The creature did not blink. Sazed wondered if it even could blink, its skin stretched as it was.

Sazed plunked to the ground beside the tree, then reached for his pack.

“No,” the koloss snapped, grabbing the pack with an inhumanly quick swipe of the arm. It tossed the pack to another koloss.

“I need that,” Sazed said. “I will be much more cooperative if—”

“Quiet!” the koloss yelled with a rage so sudden that Sazed took a step backward. Terrismen were tall—especially Terrismen eunuchs—and it was very disconcerting to be dwarfed by this beastly creature, well over nine feet in height, its skin a blackish blue, its eyes the color of the sun at dusk. It loomed over Sazed, and he cringed in spite of himself.

Apparently that was the proper reaction, for the lead koloss nodded and turned away. “Come,” it slurred, lumbering through the small aspen forest. The other koloss—seven of them—followed.

Sazed didn’t want to find out what would happen if he disobeyed. He chose a god—Duis, once said to watch over wearied travelers—and said a quick, silent prayer. Then he hurried forward, staying with the pack of koloss as they walked toward the camp.

At least they didn’t kill me out of hand, Sazed thought. He’d half expected that, considering what he’d read. Of course, even the books didn’t say much. The koloss had been kept separate from mankind for centuries; the Lord Ruler only called upon them in times of great martial need, to quell revolts, or to conquer new societies discovered on the inner islands. At those times, the koloss had caused absolute destruction and slaughter—or so the histories claimed.

Could all that have been propaganda? Sazed wondered. Maybe the koloss aren’t as violent as we assumed.

One of the koloss beside Sazed howled in sudden anger. Sazed spun as the koloss jumped at one of its companions. The creature ignored the sword on its back, instead punching his enemy’s head with a blocky fist. The others stopped, turning to watch the fight, but none of them seemed alarmed.

Sazed watched with growing horror as the aggressor proceeded to repeatedly pummel his enemy. The defender tried to protect himself, getting out a dagger and managing to score a cut on the aggressor’s arm. The blue skin tore, seeping bright red blood, as the aggressor got his hands around his opponent’s thick head and twisted.

There was a snap. The defender stopped moving. The aggressor removed the sword from his victim’s back and strapped it on beside his own weapon, then removed a small pouch that was tied beside the sword. After that he stood, ignoring the wound on his arm, and the group began to walk again.

“Why?” Sazed asked, shocked. “What was that for?”

The wounded koloss turned around. “I hated him,” he said.

“Move!” the lead koloss snapped at Sazed.

Sazed forced himself to start walking. They left the corpse lying in the road. The pouches, he thought, trying to find something to focus on besides the brutality. They all carry those pouches. The koloss kept them tied to their swords. They didn’t carry the weapons in sheaths; they were simply bound on their backs with leather straps. And tied to those straps were pouches. Sometimes there was only one, though the two largest creatures in the group each had several.

They look like coin pouches, Sazed thought. But the koloss don’t have an economy. Perhaps they keep personal possessions in them? What would beasts like these value?

They entered the camp. There didn’t appear to be sentries at the borders—but then, why would guards be necessary? It would be very difficult for a human to sneak into this camp.

A group of smaller koloss—the five-foot-tall ones—rushed forward as soon as the group arrived. The murderer threw his extra sword to one of them, then pointed into the distance. He kept the pouch for himself, and the small ones rushed off, following the road in the direction of the body.

Burial detail? Sazed wondered.

He walked uncomfortably behind his captors as they penetrated the camp. Beasts of all sorts were being roasted over the firepits, though Sazed didn’t think any of them had once been human. In addition, the ground around the camp had been completely stripped of plant life, as if grazed by a group of particularly aggressive goats.

According to his coppermind, that wasn’t far from the truth. Koloss could apparently subsist on practically anything. They preferred meat, but would eat any kind of plant—even grass, going so far as to pull it up by the roots. Some reports spoke of them eating dirt and ash, though Sazed found that difficult to believe.

He continued to walk. The camp smelled of smoke, grime, and a strange musk that he assumed was koloss body odor. Some of the creatures turned as he passed, watching him with steady red eyes.

It’s like they only have two emotions, he thought, jumping as a fireside koloss suddenly screamed and attacked a companion. They’re either indifferent or enraged.

What would it take to set them all off at once? And what kind of a disaster would they cause if that happened? He nervously revised his earlier thoughts. No, the koloss had not been maligned. The stories he had heard—of koloss running wild in the Farmost Dominance, causing widespread destruction and death—were obviously true.

But something kept this group marginally reined in. The Lord Ruler had been able to control the koloss, though no book explained how. Most writers simply accepted this ability as part of what had made the Lord Ruler God. The man had been immortal—compared with that, other powers seemed mundane.

However, his immortality was a trick, Sazed thought. Simply a clever combination of Feruchemical and Allomantic powers. The Lord Ruler had been a normal man—albeit one with an unusual combination of abilities and opportunities.

That being the case, how had he controlled the koloss? There was something different about the Lord Ruler, something more than his powers. What he did at the Well of Ascension forever changed the world. Perhaps his ability to control the koloss came from that.

Sazed’s captors ignored the occasional fights around firepits. There didn’t appear to be any female koloss in the camp—or if there were, they were indistinguishable from the males. Sazed did notice a koloss corpse lying forgotten near one of the fires. It had been flayed, the blue skin ripped free.

How could any society exist like this? he thought with horror. His books said the koloss bred and aged quickly—a fortunate situation for them, considering the number of deaths he had already seen. Even so, it seemed to him that this species killed too many of its members to continue.

Yet continue they did. Unfortunately. The Keeper in him believed strongly that nothing should be lost, that every society was worth remembering. The brutality of the koloss camp—the wounded creatures who sat ignoring the gashes in their skin, the flayed corpses along the path, the sudden bellows of anger and subsequent murders—tested this belief.

His captors led him around a small hillock, and Sazed hesitated as he saw something very unexpected.

A tent.

“Go,” the lead koloss said, pointing.

Sazed frowned. There were several dozen humans outside the tent, carrying spears and dressed like imperial guards. The tent was large, and behind it stood a line of boxy carts.

“Go!” the koloss yelled.

Sazed did as he was told. Behind him, one of the koloss indifferently tossed Sazed’s pack toward the human guards. The metalminds inside clinked together as they hit the ashy ground, causing Sazed to cringe. The soldiers watched the koloss retreat with a wary eye; then one picked up the pack. Another leveled his spear at Sazed.

Sazed held up his hands. “I am Sazed, a Keeper of Terris, once steward, now teacher. I am not your enemy.”

“Yes, well,” the guard said, still watching the retreating koloss. “You’re still going to have to come with me.”

“May I have my possessions back?” Sazed asked. This hollow appeared free of koloss; apparently the human soldiers wanted to keep their distance.

The first guard turned to his companion, who was perusing Sazed’s pack. The second guard looked up and shrugged. “No weapons. Some bracelets and rings, maybe worth something.”

“None of them are of precious metals,” Sazed said. “They are the tools of a Keeper, and are of little value to anyone but myself.”

Both guards were of standard Central Dominance coloring—dark hair, light skin, the build and height of those who’d had proper nutrition as children. The first guard was the older of the two, and was obviously in charge. He took the bag from his companion. “We’ll see what His Majesty says.”

Ah, Sazed thought. “Let us speak with him then.”

The guard turned, pushing aside the tent door and motioning for Sazed to enter. Sazed stepped from red sunlight into a functional—if sparsely furnished—tent room. This main chamber was large, and contained several more guards. Sazed had seen perhaps two dozen so far.

The lead guard walked forward and poked his head into a room at the rear. A few moments later, he waved Sazed forward and pulled aside the tent door.

Sazed entered the second chamber. The man inside wore the trousers and suit jacket of a Luthadel nobleman. He was balding—his hair reduced to a few struggling wisps—despite his youth. He stood, tapping the side of his leg with a nervous hand, and jumped slightly when Sazed entered.

Sazed recognized the man. “Jastes Lekal.”

“King Lekal,” Jastes snapped. “Do I know you, Terrisman?”

“We have not met, Your Majesty,” Sazed said, “but I have had some dealings with a friend of yours, I think. King Elend Venture of Luthadel?”

Jastes nodded absently. “My men say the koloss brought you. They found you poking around the camp?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Sazed said carefully, watching as Jastes began to pace. This man isn’t much more stable than the army he apparently leads, he thought with dissatisfaction. “How is it that you have persuaded the creatures to serve you?”

“You are a prisoner, Terrisman,” Jastes snapped. “No questions. Did Elend send you to spy on me?”

“I was sent by no man,” Sazed said. “You happened to be in my path, Your Majesty. I meant no harm by my observations.”

Jastes halted, eyeing Sazed, before beginning to pace again. “Well, never mind. I’ve been without a proper steward for some time. You will serve me now.”

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Sazed said, bowing slightly. “But that will not be possible.”

Jastes frowned. “You’re a steward—I can tell that from the robes. Is Elend so great a master that you would deny me?”

“Elend Venture is not my master, Your Majesty,” Sazed said, meeting the young king’s eyes. “Now that we are free, the Terrismen no longer call any man master. I cannot be your servant, for I can be no man’s servant. Keep me as prisoner, if you must. But I will not serve you. I apologize.”

Jastes stopped again. Instead of being angry, he simply seemed … embarrassed. “I see.”

“Your Majesty,” Sazed said calmly, “I realize that you commanded me to ask no questions, so I will instead make observations. You appear to have placed yourself in a very poor position. I know not how you control these koloss, but I cannot help but think that your grip is tenuous. You are in danger, and you appear intent on sharing that danger with others.”

Jastes flushed. “Your ‘observations’ are flawed, Terrisman. I am in control of this army. They obey me completely. How many other noblemen have you seen gather koloss armies? None—only I have been successful.”

“They do not seem very much under control, Your Majesty.”

“Oh?” Jastes asked. “And did they tear you apart when they found you? Pummel you to death for sport? Ram a stick through you and roast you over one of their fires? No. They don’t do these things because I commanded them otherwise. It may not seem like much, Terrisman, but trust me—this is a sign of great restraint and obedience for koloss.”

“Civilization is no great achievement, Your Majesty.”

“Do not try me, Terrisman!” Jastes snapped, running a hand through the remnants of his hair. “These are koloss we speak of—we can’t expect much from them.”

“And you bring them to Luthadel?” Sazed asked. “Even the Lord Ruler feared these creatures, Your Majesty. He kept them away from cities. You bring them to the most populated area in all of the Final Empire!”

“You don’t understand,” Jastes said. “I tried overtures of peace, but nobody listens unless you have money or an army. Well, I have one, and I’ll soon have the other. I know Elend’s sitting on that stash of atium—and I’m merely coming to … to make an alliance with him.”

“An alliance where you take over control of the city?”

“Bah!” Jastes said with a wave of his hand. “Elend doesn’t control Luthadel—he’s simply a placeholder waiting for someone more powerful to come along. He’s a good man, but he’s an innocent idealist. He’s going to lose his throne to one army or another, and I’ll give him a better deal than Cett or Straff will, that’s certain.”

Cett? Straff? What kind of trouble has young Venture gotten himself into? Sazed shook his head. “Somehow I doubt that a ‘better deal’ involves the use of koloss, Your Majesty.”

Jastes frowned. “You certainly are smart-mouthed, Terrisman. You’re a sign—your entire people are a sign—of what has gone wrong with the world. I used to respect the Terris people. There’s no shame in being a good servant.”

“There’s often little pride in it either,” Sazed said. “But I apologize for my attitude, Your Majesty. It is not a manifestation of Terris independence. I have always been too free with my comments, I think. I never made the best of stewards.” Or the best of Keepers, he added to himself.

“Bah,” Jastes said again, resuming his pacing.

“Your Majesty,” Sazed said. “I must continue to Luthadel. There are … events I need to deal with. Think what you will of my people, but you must know that we are honest. The work I do is beyond politics and wars, thrones and armies. It is important for all men.”

“Scholars always say things like that,” Jastes said. He hesitated. “Elend always said things like that.”

“Regardless,” Sazed continued, “I must be allowed to leave. In exchange for my freedom, I will deliver a message from you to His Majesty King Elend, if you wish.”

“I could send a messenger of my own at any time!”

“And leave yourself with one less man to protect you from the koloss?” Sazed said.

Jastes halted briefly.

Ah, so he does fear them. Good. At least he’s not insane.

“I will be leaving, Your Majesty,” Sazed said. “I do not mean to be arrogant, but I can see that you don’t have the resources to keep prisoners. You can let me go, or you can give me to the koloss. Although I would be wary of letting them get into a habit of killing humans.”

Jastes eyed him. “Fine,” he said. “Deliver this message then. Tell Elend that I don’t care if he knows I’m coming—I don’t even care if you give our numbers. Be sure you’re accurate though! I have over twenty thousand koloss in this army. He can’t fight me. He can’t fight the others either. But if I had those city walls … well, I could hold off both other armies for him. Tell him to be logical. If he gives over the atium, I’ll even let him keep Luthadel. We can be neighbors. Allies.”

One bankrupt of coin, the other bankrupt of common sense, Sazed thought. “Very well, Your Majesty. I will speak with Elend. And I will need the return of my possessions.”

The king waved a hand in annoyance, and Sazed withdrew, waiting quietly as the lead guard entered the king’s chambers again and received his orders. As he waited for the soldiers to prepare—his pack thankfully returned to him—Sazed thought about what Jastes had said. Cett or Straff. Exactly how many forces were working on Elend to take his city?

If Sazed had wanted a quiet place to study, he’d apparently chosen the wrong direction to run.

The Well of Ascension

It wasn’t until a few years later that I began to notice the signs. I knew the prophecies—I am a Terris Worldbringer, after all. And yet, not all of us are religious men; some such as myself are more interested in other topics. However, during my time with Alendi, I could not help but become more interested in the Anticipation. He seemed to fit the signs so well.

The Well of Ascension

20

“THIS IS GOING TO BE dangerous, Your Majesty,” Dockson said.

“It’s our only option,” Elend said. He stood behind his table, stacked with books as usual. He was lit by the study’s window, and its colors fell upon the back of his white uniform, dyeing it a brilliant maroon.

He certainly does look more commanding in that outfit, Vin thought, sitting in Elend’s plush reading chair, OreSeur resting patiently on the floor beside her. She still wasn’t sure what to think of the changes in Elend. She knew the alterations were mostly visual—new clothing, new haircut—but other things about him seemed to be changing as well. He stood up straighter when he spoke, and was more authoritative. He was even training in the sword and the cane.

Vin glanced at Tindwyl. The matronly Terriswoman sat in a stiff chair at the back of the room, watching the proceedings. She had perfect posture, and was ladylike in her colorful skirt and blouse. She didn’t sit with her legs folded beneath her, as Vin currently did, and she never wore trousers.

What is it about her? Vin thought. I’ve spent a year trying to get Elend to practice his swordsmanship. Tindwyl’s been here less than a month, and she already has him sparring.

Why did Vin feel bitter? Elend wouldn’t change that much, would he? She tried to quiet the little piece of her that worried about this new confident, well-dressed warrior of a king—worried that he would turn out to be different from the man she loved.

What if he stopped needing her?

She pulled down into the chair a bit farther as Elend continued to speak with Ham, Dox, Clubs, and Breeze.

“I worry that if you enter the enemy camp,” Dockson said, “you’ll never come out.”

“Only if I fail,” Elend said. “If I follow the plan—convince my father that we’re his allies—he’ll let me return. I didn’t spend a lot of time politicking in the court when I was younger. One thing I did learn to do was manipulate my father. I know Straff Venture—and I know that I can beat him. Besides, he doesn’t want me dead.”

“Can we be sure of that?” Ham asked, rubbing his chin.

“Yes,” Elend said. “After all, Straff hasn’t sent assassins after me, while Cett has. It makes sense. What better person for Straff to leave in control of Luthadel than his own son? He thinks I’m a fool he can control—he’ll assume that he can make me give him Luthadel. If I convince him I’m no threat, I should be able to get him to attack Cett.”

“He does have a point,” Ham said.

“Yes,” Dockson said, “but what’s to keep Straff from simply taking you hostage and forcing his way into Luthadel?”

“He’ll still have Cett to deal with,” Elend said. “He doesn’t want to expose himself to attack from behind.”

“But he’ll have you, my dear man,” Breeze said. “He wouldn’t have to attack Luthadel—he could make us open the gates.”

“You’ll have orders to let me die first,” Elend said. “That’s why I set up the Assembly. It has the power to choose a new king.”

“But why?” Ham asked. “Why take this risk, El? Let’s wait a bit longer and see if we can get Straff to meet with you in a more neutral location.”

Elend sighed. “You have to listen to me, Ham. Siege or no siege, we can’t just sit here. If we do, either we’ll get starved out, or one of those armies will decide to break the siege and attack us, hoping to take our walls, then turn and immediately defend them against its enemies. They won’t do that easily, but it could happen. It will happen, if we don’t play the kings against one another.”

The room fell silent. The others slowly turned toward Clubs, who nodded. He agreed.

Good job, Elend, Vin thought.

“Someone has to meet with my father,” Elend said. “And I need to be that person. Then I’ll go persuade Cett that I want to ally with him. When they finally attack one another—each thinking we’re on their side—we’ll withdraw instead and force them to fight it out. The winner won’t have enough strength left to take the city from us!”

Ham and Breeze nodded their heads. Dockson shook his. “The plan is good in theory, but going into the enemy camp without any soldiers? That seems foolish.”

“Now, see,” Elend said. “I think this is to our advantage. My father believes strongly in control and domination. If I walk into his camp, I’ll essentially be telling him that I agree he has authority over me. I’ll seem weak, and he’ll assume that he can take me whenever he wants. It’s a risk, but if I don’t do this, we die.”

The men eyed each other.

Elend stood up a little straighter and pulled his hands into fists at his sides. He always did that when he was nervous.

“I’m afraid that this isn’t a discussion,” Elend said. “I’ve made my decision.”

They’re not going to accept a declaration like that, Vin thought. The crew were an independent lot.

Yet surprisingly, none of them objected.

Dockson finally nodded his head. “All right, Your Majesty,” he said. “You’re going to need to walk a dangerous line with Straff—to make him believe that he can count on our support, but also that he can betray us at his leisure. You have to make him want our strength of arms while at the same time dismissing our strength of will.”

“And,” Breeze added, “you need to do so without him figuring out that you’re playing both sides.”

“Can you do it?” Ham asked. “Honestly, Elend?”

Elend nodded. “I can do it, Ham. I’ve gotten much better at politics this last year.” He said the words with confidence, though Vin noticed that he still had his fists clenched. He’ll have to learn not to do that.

“You may perhaps understand politics,” Breeze said, “but this is scamming. Face it, my friend, you’re dreadfully honest—always talking about how to defend the rights of skaa and the like.”

“Now see, you’re being unfair,” Elend said. “Honesty and good intentions are completely different. Why, I can be just as dishonest as—” He paused. “Why am I arguing this point? We admit what has to be done, and we know that I’m the one who has to do it. Dox, would you draft a letter to my father? Suggest that I would be happy to visit him. In fact…”

Elend glanced at Vin. Then he continued. “In fact, tell him that I want to discuss the future of Luthadel, and because I want to introduce him to someone special.”

Ham chuckled. “Ah, nothing like bringing a girl home to meet the father.”

“Especially when that girl happens to be the most dangerous Allomancer in the Central Dominance,” Breeze added.

“You think he’ll agree to letting her come?” Dockson said.

“If he doesn’t, there’s no deal,” Elend said. “Make sure he knows that. But I do think he’ll agree. Straff has a habit of underestimating me—probably with good reason. I’ll bet that sentiment extends to Vin as well. He’ll assume she isn’t as good as everyone says.”

“Straff has his own Mistborn,” Vin added. “To protect him. It will only be fair for Elend to be able to bring me. And if I’m there, I can get him out should something go wrong.”

Ham chuckled again. “That probably wouldn’t make for a very dignified retreat—getting slung over Vin’s shoulder and carried to safety.”

“Better than dying,” Elend said, obviously trying to act good-natured, but flushing slightly at the same time.

He loves me, but he’s still a man, Vin thought. How many times have I hurt his pride by being Mistborn while he’s simply a normal person? A lesser man would never have fallen in love with me.

But doesn’t he deserve a woman that he feels he can protect? A woman who’s more like … a woman?

Vin pulled down in her chair again, seeking warmth within its plushness. It was Elend’s study chair, where he read. Didn’t he also deserve a woman who shared his interests, one who didn’t find reading a chore? A woman with whom he could talk about his brilliant political theories?

Why am I thinking about our relationship so much lately? Vin thought.

We don’t belong in their world, Zane had said. We belong here, in the mists.

You don’t belong with them.…

“There is something else I wanted to mention, Your Majesty,” Dockson said. “You should meet with the Assembly. They’ve been growing impatient to get your ear—something about counterfeit coins being passed in Luthadel.”

“I don’t have time for city business right now,” Elend said. “The prime reason I set up the Assembly was so that they could deal with these kinds of issues. Go ahead and send them a message, telling them that I trust their judgment. Apologize for me, and explain that I’m seeing to the city’s defense. I’ll try to make the Assembly meeting next week.”

Dockson nodded, scribbling a note to himself. “Though,” he noted, “that is something else to consider. By meeting with Straff, you’ll give up your hold on the Assembly.”

“This isn’t an official parley,” Elend said. “Merely an informal meeting. My resolution from before will still stand.”

“In all honesty, Your Majesty,” Dockson said, “I highly doubt that they will see it that way. You know how angry they are to be left without recourse until you decide to hold the parley.”

“I know,” Elend said. “But the risk is worthwhile. We need to meet with Straff. Once that is done, I can return with—hopefully—good news for the Assembly. At that point, I can argue that the resolution hasn’t been fulfilled. For now, the meeting goes forward.”

More decisive indeed, Vin thought. He’s changing.…

She had to stop thinking about things like that. Instead, she focused on something else. The conversation turned to specific ways that Elend could manipulate Straff, each of the crewmembers giving him tips on how to scam effectively. Vin found herself watching them, looking for discrepancies in their personalities, trying to decide if any of them might be the kandra spy.

Was Clubs being even quieter than normal? Was Spook’s shift in language patterns due to growing maturity, or because the kandra had difficulty mimicking his slang? Was Ham perhaps too jovial? He also seemed to focus less on his little philosophical puzzles than he once had. Was that because he was more serious now, or because the kandra didn’t know how to imitate him properly?

It was no good. If she thought too much, she could spot apparent discrepancies in anyone. Yet at the same time, they all seemed like themselves. People were too complex to reduce to simple personality traits. Plus, the kandra would be good—very good. He would have a lifetime of training in the art of imitating others, and he had probably been planning his insertion for a long time.

It came down to Allomancy then. With all of the activities surrounding the siege and her studies about the Deepness, she hadn’t had a chance to test her friends. As she thought about it, she admitted that the lack of time was a weak excuse. The truth was that she was distracting herself because the thought of one of the crew—one of her first group of friends—being a traitor was too upsetting.

She had to get over that. If there really were a spy in the group, that would be the end of them. If the enemy kings found out about the tricks Elend was planning …

This in mind, she tentatively burned bronze. She immediately sensed an Allomantic pulse from Breeze—dear, incorrigible Breeze. He was so good at Allomancy that even Vin couldn’t detect his touch most of the time, but he was also compulsive about using his power.

He wasn’t currently using it on her. She closed her eyes, focusing. Once, long ago, Marsh had tried to train her in the fine art of using bronze to read Allomantic pulses. She hadn’t realized at the time quite how large a task he’d begun.

An Allomancer burning a metal gave off a drumlike beat that only someone burning bronze could sense. The rhythm of these pulses—how quickly the beats came, the way they “sounded”—told exactly what metal was being burned.

It took practice, but Vin was getting better at reading the pulses. If I focus harder … She could feel a pattern washing over her, a double dum-dum beat with each pulse. They felt oriented to her right. The pulses were washing against something else, something that was sucking them in.

Elend. Breeze was focused on Elend. Not surprising, considering the current discussion. Breeze was always Pushing on the people he interacted with.

Satisfied, Vin sat back. But then she hesitated. Marsh implied there was much more to bronze than many people thought. I wonder.…

She squeezed her eyes shut—ignoring the fact that any of the others who saw her would think her actions strange—and focused again on the Allomantic pulses. She flared the bronze, concentrating so hard she felt she’d give herself a headache. There was a … vibration to the pulses. But what that could mean, she wasn’t certain.

Focus! she told herself. The pulses stubbornly refused to yield any further information.

Fine, she thought. I’ll cheat. She turned off her tin—she almost always had it on a little bit—then reached inside and burned the fourteenth metal. Duralumin.

The Allomantic pulses became so loud, so powerful, she swore she could feel their vibrations shaking her apart. They pounded like beats from a massive drum set right beside her. But she got something from them.

Anxiety, nervousness, worry, insecurity, anxiety, nervousness, worry—

It was gone, her bronze expended in one massive flare of power. Vin opened her eyes; no one in the room was looking at her except OreSeur.

She felt drained. The headache she’d predicted before now came in full force, thudding inside her head like the tiny brother of the drum she’d now banished. But she held to the information she’d gleaned. It hadn’t come in words, but feelings—and her first fear was that Breeze was making these emotions appear. Anxiety, nervousness, worry. Then she immediately realized that since Breeze was a Soother, if he focused on emotions, they would be the ones he was dampening. The ones he was using his powers to Soothe away.

She looked from him to Elend. Why, he’s making Elend more confident! If Elend stood a little taller, it was because Breeze was quietly helping, Soothing away anxiety and worry. And Breeze did this even as he argued and made his usual mocking comments.

Vin studied the plump man, ignoring her headache, feeling a newfound sense of admiration. She’d always wondered a little at Breeze’s placement in the crew. To some extent, the other men were all idealists. Even Clubs, beneath his crotchety exterior, had always struck her as a solidly good man.

Breeze was different. Manipulative, a little selfish—he seemed like he’d joined the crew for the challenge, not because he really wanted to help the skaa. But Kelsier had always claimed that he’d chosen his crew carefully, picking the men for their integrity, not just their skill.

Perhaps Breeze wasn’t an exception after all. Vin watched him pointing his cane at Ham as he said something flippant. Yet on the inside, he was completely different.

You’re a good man, Breeze, she thought, smiling to herself. You merely try your best to hide it.

And he also wasn’t the impostor. She’d known that before, of course; Breeze hadn’t been in the city when the kandra had made the switch. Having a second confirmation lifted a tiny bit of her burden.

Now if she could only eliminate some of the others.

Elend bade the crew farewell after the meeting. Dockson went to pen the requested letters, Ham to go over security, Clubs back to training the soldiers, and Breeze to try to placate the Assembly regarding Elend’s lack of attention.

Vin shot him a glance, then eyed Tindwyl. Suspicious of her still, eh? Elend thought with amusement. He nodded reassuringly, and Vin frowned, looking a little annoyed. He would have let her stay, but … well, facing Tindwyl was embarrassing enough alone.

Vin trailed out of the room, wolfhound kandra at her side. Looks like she’s growing more attached to the creature, Elend thought with satisfaction. It was good to know that someone watched over her.

She shut the door behind her, and Elend sighed, rubbing his shoulder. Several weeks of training with the sword and cane were taking a lot out of him, and his body was bruised. He tried to keep the pain from showing—or rather from letting Tindwyl see him show the pain. At least I proved that I’m learning, he thought. She had to see that.

“Well?” he asked.

“You are an embarrassment,” Tindwyl said, standing before her chair.

“So you like to say,” Elend said, walking forward to begin piling up a stack of books. Tindwyl said that he needed to let servants keep his study clean, something he’d always resisted. The clutter of books and papers felt right to him, and he certainly didn’t want someone else moving them around.

With her standing there looking at him, it was difficult not to feel self-conscious about the mess. He stacked another book on the pile.

“Surely you noticed how well I did,” Elend said. “I got them to let me go into Straff’s camp.”

“You are king, Elend Venture,” Tindwyl said, arms folded. “Nobody ‘lets’ you do anything. The first change in attitude has to be your own—you have to stop thinking that you need permission or agreement from those who follow you.”

“A king should lead by consent of his citizens,” Elend said. “I will not be another Lord Ruler.”

“A king should be strong,” Tindwyl said firmly. “He accepts counsel, but only when he asks for it. He makes it clear that the final decision is his, not his counselors’. You need better control over your advisors. If they don’t respect you, then your enemies won’t either—and the masses never will.”

“Ham and the others respect me.”

Tindwyl raised an eyebrow.

“They do!”

“What do they call you?”

Elend shrugged. “They’re my friends. They use my name.”

“Or a close approximation of it. Right, ‘El’?”

Elend flushed, setting one final book on the stack. “You’d have me force my friends to address me by my title?”

“Yes,” Tindwyl said. “Especially in public. You should be addressed as ‘Your Majesty,’ or at least as ‘my lord.’”

“I doubt Ham would deal well with that,” Elend said. “He has some issues with authority.”

“He will get over them,” Tindwyl said, wiping her finger along a bookcase. She didn’t need to hold it up for Elend to know there would be dust on it.

“What about you?” Elend challenged.

“Me?”

“You call me ‘Elend Venture,’ not ‘Your Majesty.’”

“I am different,” Tindwyl said.

“Well, I don’t see why you should be. You can call me ‘Your Majesty’ from now on.”

Tindwyl smiled slyly. “Very well, Your Majesty. You can unclench your fists now. You’re going to have to work on that—a statesman should not give visual clues of his nervousness.”

Elend glanced down, relaxing his hands. “All right.”

“In addition,” Tindwyl continued, “you still hedge too much in your language. It makes you appear timid and hesitant.”

“I’m working on that.”

“Don’t apologize unless you really mean it,” Tindwyl said. “And don’t make excuses. You don’t need them. A leader is often judged by how well he bears responsibility. As king, everything that happens in your kingdom—regardless of who commits the act—is your fault. You are even responsible for unavoidable events such as earthquakes or storms.”

“Or armies,” Elend said.

Tindwyl nodded. “Or armies. It is your responsibility to deal with these things, and if something goes wrong it is your fault. You must accept this.”

Elend nodded, picking up a book.

“Now, let’s talk about guilt,” Tindwyl said, seating herself. “Stop cleaning. That isn’t a job for a king.”

Elend sighed, setting down the book.

“Guilt,” Tindwyl said, “does not become a king. You have to stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

“You just told me everything that happens in the kingdom is my fault!”

“It is.”

“How can I not feel guilty then?”

“You have to feel confident that your actions are the best,” Tindwyl explained. “You have to know that no matter how bad things get, they would be worse without you. When disaster occurs, you take responsibility, but you don’t wallow or mope. You aren’t allowed that luxury; guilt is for lesser men. You simply need to do what is expected.”

“And that is?”

“To make everything better.”

“Great,” Elend said flatly. “And if I fail?”

“Then you accept responsibility, and make everything better on the second try.”

Elend rolled his eyes. “And what if I can’t ever make things better? What if I’m really not the best man to be king?”

“Then you remove yourself from the position,” Tindwyl said. “Suicide is the preferred method—assuming, of course, that you have an heir. A good king knows not to foul up the succession.”

“Of course,” Elend said. “So, you’re saying I should simply kill myself.”

“No. I’m telling you to have pride in yourself, Your Majesty.”

“That’s not what it sounds like. Every day you tell me how poor a king I am, and how my people will suffer because of it! Tindwyl, I’m not the best man for this position. He got himself killed by the Lord Ruler.”

“That is enough!” Tindwyl snapped. “Believe it or not, Your Majesty, you are the best person for this position.”

Elend snorted.

“You are best,” Tindwyl said, “because you hold the throne now. If there is anything worse than a mediocre king, it is chaos—which is what this kingdom would have if you hadn’t taken the throne. The people on both sides, noblemen and skaa, accept you. They may not believe in you, but they accept you. Step down now—or even die accidentally—and there will be confusion, collapse, and destruction. Poorly trained or not, weak of character or not, mocked or not, you are all this country has. You are king, Elend Venture.”

“I’m … not sure if you’re making me feel any better about myself, Tindwyl.”

“It’s—”

Elend raised a hand. “Yes, I know. It’s not about how I feel.”

“You have no place for guilt. Accept that you’re king, accept that you can do nothing constructive to change that, and accept responsibility. Whatever you do, be confident.”

Elend nodded.

“Arrogance, Your Majesty,” Tindwyl said. “Successful leaders all share one common trait—they believe that they can do a better job than the alternatives. Humility is fine when considering your responsibility and duty, but when it comes time to make a decision, you must not question yourself.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good,” Tindwyl said. “Perhaps now we can move on to another matter. Tell me, why haven’t you married that young girl?”

Elend frowned. Wasn’t expecting that. “That’s a very personal question, Tindwyl.”

“Good.”

Elend deepened his frown, but she sat expectantly, watching him with one of her unrelenting stares.

“I don’t know,” Elend finally said, sitting back in his chair, sighing. “Vin isn’t … like other women.”

Tindwyl raised an eyebrow, her voice softening slightly. “I think that the more women you come to know, Your Majesty, the more you’ll find that statement applies to all of them.”

Elend nodded ruefully.

“In any case,” Tindwyl said, “things are not well as they stand. I will not pry further into your relationship, but—as we’ve discussed—appearances are very important to a king. It isn’t appropriate for you to be seen as having a mistress. I realize that sort of thing was common for imperial nobility. The skaa want to see something better in you. Perhaps because many noblemen were so frivolous with their sexual lives, the skaa have always prized monogamy. They wish desperately for you to respect their values.”

“They’ll just have to be patient with us,” Elend said. “I do want to marry Vin, but she won’t have it.”

“Do you know why?”

Elend shook his head. “She … doesn’t seem to make sense a lot of the time.”

“Perhaps she isn’t right for a man in your position.”

Elend looked up sharply. “What does that mean?”

“Perhaps you need someone a little more refined,” Tindwyl said. “I’m certain she’s a capable bodyguard, but as a lady, she—”

“Stop,” Elend snapped. “Vin is fine as she is.”

Tindwyl smiled.

“What?” Elend demanded.

“I’ve insulted you all afternoon, Your Majesty, and you barely grew sullen. I mentioned your Mistborn in a mildly disparaging way, and now you’re ready to throw me out.”

“So?”

“So, you do love her?”

“Of course,” Elend said. “I don’t understand her, but yes. I love her.”

Tindwyl nodded. “I apologize then, Your Majesty. I had to be certain.”

Elend frowned, relaxing in his chair slightly. “So this was some kind of test then? You wanted to see how I would react to your words about Vin?”

“You will always be tested by those you meet, Your Majesty. You might as well grow accustomed to it.”

“But why do you care about my relationship with Vin?”

“Love is not easy for kings, Your Majesty,” Tindwyl said in an uncharacteristically kind voice. “You will find that your affection for the girl can cause far more trouble than any of the other things we’ve discussed.”

“And that’s a reason to give her up?” Elend asked stiffly.

“No,” Tindwyl said. “No, I don’t think so.”

Elend studied the stately Terriswoman with her square features and stiff posture. “That seems odd, coming from you. What about kingly duty and appearances?”

“We must allow the occasional exception,” Tindwyl said.

Interesting, Elend thought. He wouldn’t have considered her the type to agree to any sort of exception. Perhaps she’s a little deeper than I’ve assumed.

“Now,” Tindwyl said. “How are your training sessions going?”

Elend rubbed his sore arm. “All right, I suppose. But—”

He was interrupted by a knock at the door. Captain Demoux entered a moment later. “Your Majesty, a visitor has arrived from Lord Cett’s army.”

“A messenger?” Elend said, standing.

Demoux looked a little embarrassed. “Well … sort of. She says she’s Lord Cett’s daughter, and she’s come looking for Breeze.”

The Well of Ascension

He was born of a humble family, yet married the daughter of a king.

The Well of Ascension

21

THE YOUNG WOMAN’S EXPENSIVE DRESS—light red silk with a shawl and lace sleeves—might have lent her an air of dignity, had she not scampered forward as soon as Breeze entered the room. Her light Western hair bouncing, she made a squeal of happiness as she threw her arms around Breeze’s neck.

She was perhaps eighteen years old.

Elend glanced at Ham, who stood dumbfounded.

“Well, looks like you were right about Breeze and Cett’s daughter,” Elend whispered.

Ham shook his head. “I didn’t think … I mean I joked, because it was Breeze, but I didn’t expect to be right!”

Breeze, for his part, at least had the decency to look terribly uncomfortable in the young woman’s arms. They stood inside the palace atrium, where Elend had met with his father’s messenger. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the afternoon light, and a group of servants stood at one side of the room to wait on Elend’s orders.

Breeze met Elend’s eyes, blushing deeply. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do that before, Elend thought.

“My dear,” Breeze said, clearing his throat, “perhaps you should introduce yourself to the king?”

The girl finally let go of Breeze. She stepped back, curtsying to Elend with a noblewoman’s grace. She was a bit plump, her hair long after pre-Collapse fashion, and her cheeks were red with excitement. She was a cute thing, obviously well trained for the court—exactly the sort of girl that Elend had spent his youth trying to avoid.

“Elend,” Breeze said, “might I introduce Allrianne Cett, daughter to Lord Ashweather Cett, king of the Western Dominance?”

“Your Majesty,” Allrianne said.

Elend nodded. “Lady Cett.” He paused, then—with a hopeful voice—continued. “Your father sent you as an ambassador?”

Allrianne hesitated. “Um … he didn’t exactly send me, Your Majesty.”

“Oh dear,” Breeze said, pulling out a handkerchief to dab his brow.

Elend glanced at Ham, then back at the girl. “Perhaps you should explain,” he said, gesturing toward the atrium’s seats. Allrianne nodded eagerly, but stayed close to Breeze as they sat. Elend waved for some servants to bring chilled wine.

He had a feeling he was going to want something to drink.

“I seek asylum, Your Majesty,” Allrianne said, speaking with a quick voice. “I had to go. I mean, Breezy must have told you how my father is!”

Breeze sat uncomfortably, and Allrianne put an affectionate hand on his knee.

“How your father is?” Elend asked.

“He is so manipulative,” Allrianne said. “So demanding. He drove Breezy away, and I absolutely had to follow. I wouldn’t spend another moment in that camp. A war camp! He brought me, a young lady, along with him to war! Why, do you know what it’s like to be leered at by every passing soldier? Do you understand what it is like to live in a tent?”

“I—”

“We rarely had fresh water,” Allrianne continued. “And I couldn’t take a decent bath without fear of peeping soldiers! During our travels, there was dreadful nothing to do all day but sit in the carriage and bounce, bounce, bounce. Why, until Breezy came, I hadn’t had a refined conversation in weeks. And then Father drove him away.…”

“Because?” Ham asked eagerly.

Breeze coughed.

“I had to escape, Your Majesty,” Allrianne said. “You have to give me asylum! I know things that could help you. Like, I saw my father’s camp. I’ll bet you don’t know that he is getting supplies from the cannery in Haverfrex! What do you think of that?”

“Um … impressive,” Elend said hesitantly.

Allrianne nodded curtly.

“And you came to find Breeze?” Elend asked.

Allrianne flushed slightly, glancing to the side. When she spoke, she displayed little tact. “I had to see him again, Your Majesty. So charming, so … wonderful. I wouldn’t have expected Father to understand a man such as he.”

“I see,” Elend said.

“Please, Your Majesty,” Allrianne said. “You have to take me in. Now that I’ve left Father, I have nowhere else to go!”

“You may stay—for a time at least,” Elend said, nodding greetings to Dockson, who had entered through the atrium doors. “But you’ve obviously had a difficult trip. Perhaps you would like an opportunity to refresh yourself?”

“Oh, I would much appreciate that, Your Majesty!”

Elend eyed Cadon, one of the palace stewards, who stood at the back of the room with other servants. He nodded; rooms were prepared. “Then,” Elend said, standing, “Cadon will lead you to some rooms. We will take dinner this evening at seven, and can speak again then.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!” Allrianne said, jumping up from her chair. She gave Breeze another hug, then stepped forward, as if to do the same for Elend. Fortunately she thought better of it, instead allowing the servants to lead her away.

Elend sat. Breeze sighed deeply, leaning back in a wearied posture as Dockson walked forward, taking the girl’s seat.

“That was … unexpected,” Breeze noted.

There was an awkward pause, the atrium trees shifting slightly in the breeze from the balcony. Then—with a sharp bark—Ham began to laugh. The noise sparked Elend, and—despite the danger, despite the gravity of the problem— he found himself laughing as well.

“Oh, honestly,” Breeze huffed, which only encouraged them. Perhaps it was the sheer incongruity of the situation, perhaps it was because he needed to release tension, but Elend found himself laughing so hard he almost fell from the chair. Ham wasn’t doing much better, and even Dockson cracked a smile.

“I fail to see the levity in this situation,” Breeze said. “The daughter of Lord Cett—a man who is currently besieging our home—has demanded asylum in the city. If Cett wasn’t determined to kill us before, he certainly will be now!”

“I know,” Elend said, taking deep breaths. “I know. It’s just…”

“It’s the image of you,” Ham said, “being hugged by that courtly fluffcake. I can’t think of anything more awkward than you being confronted by an irrational young woman!”

“This throws another wrinkle into things,” Dockson noted. “Although I’m not accustomed to you being the one to bring us a problem of this nature, Breeze. Honestly, I thought we would be able to avoid unplanned female attachments now that Kell is gone.”

“This isn’t my fault,” Breeze said pointedly. “The girl’s affection is completely misplaced.”

“That’s for sure,” Ham mumbled.

“All right,” a new voice said. “What was that pink thing I passed in the hallway?”

Elend turned to find Vin standing, arms folded, in the atrium doorway. So quiet. Why does she walk stealthily even in the palace? She never wore shoes that clicked, never wore skirts that could rustle, and never had metal on her clothing that could clink or be Pushed by Allomancers.

“That wasn’t pink, my dear,” Breeze said. “That was red.”

“Close enough,” Vin said, walking forward. “She was bubbling to the servants about how hot her bath needed to be, and making certain they wrote down her favorite foods.”

Breeze sighed. “That’s Allrianne. We’ll probably have to get a new pastry chef—either that or have desserts ordered in. She’s rather particular about her pastries.”

“Allrianne Cett is the daughter of Lord Cett,” Elend explained as Vin—ignoring the chairs—sat on the edge of a planter beside his chair, laying a hand on his arm. “Apparently she and Breeze are something of an item.”

“Excuse me?” Breeze huffed.

Vin wrinkled her nose. “That’s disgusting, Breeze. You’re old. She’s young.”

“There was no relationship,” Breeze snapped. “Besides, I’m not that old—nor is she that young.”

“She sounded like she was about twelve,” Vin said.

Breeze rolled his eyes. “Allrianne was a child of the country court—a little innocent, a little spoiled—but she hardly deserves to be spoken of in that manner. She’s actually quite witty, in the right circumstances.”

“So, was there anything between you?” Vin pressed.

“Of course not,” Breeze said. “Well, nothing real, though it could have been taken the wrong way. Was taken the wrong way, once her father discovered … Anyway, who are you to talk, Vin? I seem to remember a certain young girl pining for an old Kelsier a few years back.”

Elend perked up at this.

Vin flushed. “I never pined over Kelsier.”

“Not even at the beginning?” Breeze asked. “Come now, a dashing man like him? He saved you from being beaten by your old crewleader, took you in…”

“You’re a sick man,” Vin declared, folding her arms. “Kelsier was like a father to me.”

“Eventually, perhaps,” Breeze said, “but—”

Elend held up a hand. “Enough,” he said. “This line of discussion is useless.”

Breeze snorted, but fell silent. Tindwyl is right, Elend thought. They will listen to me if I act like I expect them to.

“We have to decide what to do,” Elend said.

“The daughter of the man threatening us could be a very powerful bargaining chip,” Dockson said.

“You mean take her hostage?” Vin said, eyes narrowing.

Dockson shrugged. “Someone has to state the obvious, Vin.”

“Not really a hostage,” Ham said. “She came to us, after all. Simply letting her stay could have the same effect as taking her hostage.”

“That would risk antagonizing Cett,” Elend said. “Our original plan was to make him think we’re his ally.”

“We could give her back,” Dockson said. “That could get us a long way in the negotiations.”

“And her request?” Breeze asked. “The girl wasn’t happy in her father’s camp. Shouldn’t we at least consider her wishes?”

All eyes turned toward Elend. A mere few weeks ago, they would have kept on arguing. It seemed strange that they should so quickly begin to look to him for decisions.

Who was he? A man who had haphazardly ended up on the throne? A poor replacement for their brilliant leader? An idealist who hadn’t considered the dangers his philosophies would bring? A fool? A child? An impostor?

The best they had.

“She stays,” Elend said. “For now. Perhaps we’ll be forced to return her eventually, but this will make a useful distraction for Cett’s army. Let them sweat for a bit. It will only buy us more time.”

The crewmembers nodded, and Breeze looked relieved.

I’ll do what I can, make the decisions as I see they must be made, Elend thought.

Then accept the consequences.

The Well of Ascension

He could trade words with the finest of philosophers, and had an impressive memory. Nearly as good as my own. Yet he was not argumentative.

The Well of Ascension

22

CHAOS AND STABILITY, THE MIST was both. Upon the land there was an empire, within that empire were a dozen shattered kingdoms, within those kingdoms were cities, towns, villages, plantations. And above them all, within them all, around them all, was the mist. It was more constant than the sun, for it could not be hidden by clouds. It was more powerful than the storms, for it would outlast any weather’s fury. It was always there. Changing, but eternal.

Day was an impatient sigh awaiting the night. But when the darkness came, Vin found that the mists did not calm her as they used to.

Nothing seemed certain anymore. Once the night had been her refuge; now she found herself glancing over her shoulder, watching for ghostly outlines. Once Elend had been her peace, but he was changing. Once she had been able to protect the things she loved—but she was growing more and more afraid that the forces moving against Luthadel were beyond her capacity to stop.

Her own impotence frightened her most. During her childhood she had taken it for granted that she couldn’t change things, but Kelsier had given her pride in herself.

If she couldn’t protect Elend, what good was she?

There are still some things I can do, she thought forcefully. She crouched quietly on a ledge, mistcloak tassels hanging down, waving slightly in the wind. Below her, torches burned fitfully at the front of Keep Venture, illuminating a pair of Ham’s guards. They stood alert in the swirling mists, showing impressive diligence.

The guards wouldn’t be able to see her sitting just above them; they’d barely be able to see twenty feet in the thick mists. They weren’t Allomancers. Aside from the core crew, Elend had access to barely half a dozen Mistings—which made him Allomantically weak compared with most of the other new kings in the Final Empire. Vin was supposed to make up the difference.

The torches flickered as the doors opened, and a figure left the palace. Ham’s voice echoed quietly in the mist as he greeted his guards. One reason—perhaps the main reason—that the guards were so diligent was because of Ham. He might have been a bit of an anarchist at heart, but he could be a very good leader if he was given a small team. Though his guards weren’t the most disciplined, polished soldiers Vin had seen, they were fiercely loyal.

Ham talked with the men for a time, then waved farewell and walked out into the mists. The small courtyard between the keep and its wall contained a couple of guard posts and patrols, and Ham would visit each one in turn. He walked boldly in the night, trusting to diffused starlight to see, rather than blinding himself with a torch. A thief’s habit.

Vin smiled, leaping quietly to the ground, then scampering after Ham. He walked on, ignorant of her presence. What would it be like to have only one Allomantic power? Vin thought. To be able to make yourself stronger, but to have ears as weak as those of any normal man? It had been only two years, but already she had come to rely so heavily on her abilities.

Ham continued forward, Vin following discreetly, until they reached the ambush. Vin tensed, flaring her bronze.

OreSeur howled suddenly, jumping from a pile of boxes. The kandra was a dark silhouette in the night, his inhuman baying disturbing even to Vin. Ham spun, cursing quietly.

And he instinctively flared pewter. Focused on her bronze, Vin confirmed that the pulses were definitely coming from him. Ham spun around, searching in the night as OreSeur landed. Vin simply smiled. Ham’s Allomancy meant he wasn’t the impostor. She could cross another name off her list.

“It’s okay, Ham,” Vin said, walking forward.

Ham slowly lowered his dueling cane. “Vin?” he asked, squinting in the mist.

“It’s me,” she said. “I’m sorry, you startled my hound. He can get jumpy at night.”

Ham relaxed. “We all can, I guess. Anything happening tonight?”

“Not that I can tell,” she said. “I’d let you know.”

Ham nodded. “I’d appreciate it—though I doubt you’d need me. I’m captain of the guard, but you’re the one who does all the work.”

“You’re more valuable than you think, Ham,” Vin said. “Elend confides in you. Since Telden, Jastes, and the others left, he’s needed a friend.”

Ham nodded. Vin turned, glancing into the mists, where OreSeur sat waiting on his haunches. He seemed to be getting more and more comfortable with his hound’s body.

Now that she knew Ham was not an impostor, there was something she needed to discuss with him. “Ham,” she said, “your protection of Elend is more valuable than you know.”

“You’re talking about the impostor,” Ham said quietly. “El has me searching through the palace staff to see who might have gone missing for a few hours on that day. But it’s a tough task.”

She nodded. “There’s something else, Ham. I’m out of atium.”

He stood quietly in the mists for a moment, and then she heard him mutter a curse.

“I’ll die the next time I fight a Mistborn,” she said.

“Not unless he has atium,” Ham said.

“What are the chances that someone would send a Mistborn to fight me without atium?”

He hesitated.

“Ham,” she said, “I need to find a way to fight against someone who is burning atium. Tell me that you know a way.”

Ham shrugged in the darkness. “There are lots of theories, Vin. I once had a long conversation with Breeze about this—though he spent most of it grumbling that I was annoying him.”

“Well?” Vin asked. “What can I do?”

He rubbed his chin. “Most people agree that the best way to kill a Mistborn with atium is to surprise them.”

“That doesn’t help if they attack me first,” Vin said.

“Well,” Ham said, “barring surprise, there isn’t much. Some people think that you might be able to kill an atium-using Mistborn if you catch them in an unavoidable situation. It’s like a game of fets—sometimes the only way to take a piece is to corner it so that no matter which way it moves, it dies.

“Doing that to a Mistborn is pretty tough. Since atium lets the Mistborn see the future, he knows when a move will trap him, so he can avoid the situation. Atium is supposed to enhance his mind somehow too.”

“It does. When I’m burning it, I often dodge before I even register the attacks that are coming.”

Ham nodded.

“So,” Vin said, “what else?”

“That’s it, Vin,” Ham said. “Thugs talk about this topic a lot—we’re all afraid of going up against a Mistborn. Those are your two options: Surprise him or overwhelm him. I’m sorry.”

Vin frowned. Neither option would do her much good if she got ambushed. “Anyway, I need to keep moving. I promise to tell you about any corpses I produce.”

Ham laughed. “How about you try to avoid getting into situations where you have to produce them, eh? The Lord only knows what this kingdom would do if we lost you.”

Vin nodded, though she wasn’t certain how much Ham could see of her in the darkness. She waved to OreSeur and headed out toward the keep wall, leaving Ham on the cobbled path.

“Mistress,” OreSeur said as they reached the top of the wall, “might I know the purpose of surprising Master Hammond like that? Are you that fond of startling your friends?”

“It was a test,” Vin said, pausing beside a gap between merlons, looking out over the city.

“A test, mistress?”

“To see if he would use Allomancy. That way, I could know that he wasn’t the impostor.”

“Ah,” the kandra said. “Clever, mistress.”

Vin smiled. “Thank you,” she said. A guard patrol was moving toward them. Not wanting to have to deal with them, Vin nodded to the wall-top stone guardhouse. She jumped, pushing off a coin, and landed on its roof. OreSeur bounded up beside her, using his strange kandra musculature to leap the ten feet.

Vin sat down cross-legged to think, and OreSeur padded over to the roof’s side and lay down, paws hanging over the edge. As they sat, Vin considered something. OreSeur told me that a kandra didn’t gain Allomantic powers if he ate an Allomancer … but can a kandra be an Allomancer on his own? I never did finish that conversation.

“This will tell me if a person isn’t a kandra, won’t it?” Vin asked, turning to OreSeur. “Your people don’t have Allomantic powers, right?”

OreSeur didn’t answer.

“OreSeur?” Vin said.

“I’m not required to answer that question, mistress.”

Yes, Vin thought with a sigh. The Contract. How am I supposed to catch this other kandra if OreSeur won’t answer any of my questions? She leaned back in frustration, staring up into the endless mists, using her mistcloak to cushion her head.

“Your plan will work, mistress,” OreSeur said quietly.

Vin rolled her head to look at him. He lay with head on forepaws, staring over the city. “If you sense Allomancy from someone, then they aren’t a kandra.”

Vin sensed a hesitant reluctance to his words, and he didn’t look at her. It was as if he spoke grudgingly, giving up information that he’d rather have kept to himself.

So secretive, Vin thought. “Thank you,” she said.

OreSeur shrugged a pair of canine shoulders.

“I know you’d rather not have to deal with me,” she said. “We’d both rather keep our distance from each other. But we’ll have to make things work this way.”

OreSeur nodded again, then turned his head slightly and looked at her. “Why is it that you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” Vin said.

OreSeur raised a canine eyebrow. There was a wisdom in those eyes, an understanding that Vin was surprised to see. She’d never seen such things in him before.

“I…” Vin trailed off, looking away. “I haven’t ever gotten over the fact that you ate Kelsier’s body.”

“That isn’t it,” OreSeur said, turning back to look at the city. “You’re too smart to be bothered by that.”

Vin frowned indignantly, but the kandra wasn’t looking at her. She turned, staring back up at the mists. Why did he bring this up? she thought. We were just starting to get along. She’d been willing to forget.

You really want to know? she thought. Fine.

“It’s because you knew,” she whispered.

“Excuse me, mistress?”

“You knew,” Vin said, still looking into the mists. “You were the only one on the crew who knew Kelsier was going to die. He told you that he was going to let himself be killed, and that you were to take his bones.”

“Ah,” OreSeur said quietly.

Vin turned accusing eyes at the creature. “Why didn’t you say something? You knew how we felt about Kelsier. Did you even consider telling us that the idiot planned to kill himself? Did it even cross your mind that we might be able to stop him, that we might be able to find another way?”

“You are being quite harsh, mistress.”

“Well, you wanted to know,” Vin said. “It was worst right after he died. When you came to be my servant, by his order. You never even spoke of what you’d done.”

“The Contract, mistress,” OreSeur said. “You do not wish to hear this, perhaps, but I was bound. Kelsier did not wish you to know of his plans, so I could not tell you. Hate me if you must, but I do not regret my actions.”

“I don’t hate you.” I got over that. “But honestly, you wouldn’t even break the Contract for his own good? You served Kelsier for two years. Didn’t it even hurt you to know he was going to die?”

“Why should I care if one master or another dies?” OreSeur said. “There is always another to take their place.”

“Kelsier wasn’t that kind of master,” Vin said.

“Wasn’t he?”

“No.”

“I apologize, mistress,” OreSeur said. “I will believe as commanded, then.”

Vin opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it closed. If he was determined to keep thinking like a fool, then it was his right to do so. He could continue to resent masters, just as …

Just as she resented him. For keeping his word, for holding to his Contract.

Ever since I’ve known him, I’ve done nothing but treat him poorly, Vin thought. First, when he was Renoux, I reacted against his haughty bearing—but that bearing wasn’t his, it was part of the act he had to play. Then, as OreSeur, I avoided him. Even hated him, for letting Kelsier die. Now I’ve forced him into an animal’s body.

And in two years of knowing him, the only times I’ve asked about his past, I did it so that I could glean more information about his people so that I could find the impostor.

Vin watched the mists. Of all the people in the crew, only OreSeur had been an outsider. He hadn’t been invited to their conferences. He hadn’t inherited a position in the government. He’d helped as much as any of them, playing a vital role—that of the “spirit” Kelsier, who had returned from the grave to incite the skaa to their final rebellion. Yet while the rest of them had titles, friendships, and duties, the only thing OreSeur had gained from overthrowing the Final Empire was another master.

One who hated him.

No wonder he reacts like he does, Vin thought. Kelsier’s last words to her returned to her mind: You have a lot to learn about friendship, Vin.… Kell and the others had invited her in, treated her with dignity and friendliness, even when she hadn’t deserved it.

“OreSeur,” she said, “what was your life like before you were recruited by Kelsier?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with finding the impostor, mistress,” OreSeur said.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with that,” Vin said. “I simply thought maybe I should get to know you better.”

“My apologies, mistress, but I don’t want you to know me.”

Vin sighed. So much for that.

But … well, Kelsier and the others hadn’t turned away when she’d been blunt with them. There was a familiar tone to OreSeur’s words. Something in them that she recognized.

“Anonymity,” Vin said quietly.

“Mistress?”

“Anonymity. Hiding, even when you’re with others. Being quiet, unobtrusive. Forcing yourself to stay apart—emotionally, at least. It’s a way of life. A protection.”

OreSeur didn’t answer.

“You serve beneath masters,” Vin said. “Harsh men who fear your competence. The only way to keep them from hating you is to make certain they don’t pay attention to you. So, you make yourself look small and weak. Not a threat. But sometimes you say the wrong thing, or you let your rebelliousness show.”

She turned toward him. He was watching her. “Yes,” he finally said, turning to look back over the city.

“They hate you,” Vin said quietly. “They hate you because of your powers, because they can’t make you break your word, or because they worry that you are too strong to control.”

“They become afraid of you,” OreSeur said. “They grow paranoid—terrified, even as they use you, that you will take their place. Despite the Contract, despite knowing that no kandra would break his sacred vow, they fear you. And men hate what they fear.”

“And so,” Vin said, “they find excuses to beat you. Sometimes, even your efforts to remain harmless seem to provoke them. They hate your skill, they hate the fact that they don’t have more reasons to beat you, so they beat you.”

OreSeur turned back to her. “How do you know these things?” he demanded.

Vin shrugged. “That’s not only how they treat kandra, OreSeur. That’s the same way crewleaders treat a young girl—an anomaly in a thieving underground filled with men. A child who had a strange ability to make things happen—to influence people, to hear what she shouldn’t, to move more quietly and quickly than others. A tool, yet a threat at the same time.”

“I … didn’t realize, mistress.…”

Vin frowned. How could he not have known about my past? He knew I was a street urchin. Except … had he? For the first time, Vin realized how OreSeur must have seen her two years before, when she’d first met him. He had arrived in the area after her recruitment; he probably assumed that she’d been part of Kelsier’s team for years, like the others.

“Kelsier recruited me for the first time a few days before I met you,” Vin said. “Well, he didn’t so much recruit me as rescue me. I spent my childhood serving in one thieving crew after another, always working for the least reputable and most dangerous men, for those were the only ones who would take in a couple of transients like my brother and me. The smart crewleaders learned that I was a good tool. I’m not sure if they figured out that I was an Allomancer—some probably did, others just thought I was ‘lucky.’ Either way, they needed me. And that made them hate me.”

“So they beat you?”

Vin nodded. “The last one especially. That was when I was really beginning to figure out how to use Allomancy, even though I didn’t know what it was. But Camon knew. And he hated me even as he used me. I think he was afraid that I would fully figure out my powers. And on that day, he worried that I would kill him…” Vin turned her head, looking at OreSeur. “Kill him and take his place as crewleader.”

OreSeur sat quietly, up on his haunches now, regarding her.

“Kandra aren’t the only ones that humans treat poorly,” Vin said quietly. “We’re pretty good at abusing each other too.”

OreSeur snorted. “With you, at least they had to hold back for fear they’d kill you. Have you ever been beaten by a master who knows that no matter how hard he hits, you won’t die? All he has to do is get you a new set of bones, and you’ll be ready to serve again the next day. We are the ultimate servant—you can beat us to death in the morning, then have us serve you dinner that night. All the sadism, none of the cost.”

Vin closed her eyes. “I understand. I wasn’t a kandra, but I did have pewter. I think Camon knew he could beat me far harder than he should have been able to.”

“Why didn’t you run?” OreSeur asked. “You didn’t have a Contract bonding you to him.”

“I … don’t know,” Vin said. “People are strange, OreSeur, and loyalty is so often twisted. I stayed with Camon because he was familiar, and I feared leaving more than I did staying. That crew was all I had. My brother was gone, and I was terrified of being alone. It seems kind of strange now, thinking back.”

“Sometimes a bad situation is still better than the alternative. You did what you needed to do to survive.”

“Perhaps,” Vin said. “But there’s a better way, OreSeur. I didn’t know it until Kelsier found me, but life doesn’t have to be like that. You don’t have to spend your years mistrusting, staying in the shadows and keeping yourself apart.”

“Perhaps if you are human. I am kandra.”

“You can still trust,” Vin said. “You don’t have to hate your masters.”

“I don’t hate them all, mistress.”

“But you don’t trust them.”

“It is nothing personal, mistress.”

“Yes it is,” Vin said. “You don’t trust us because you’re afraid we’ll hurt you. I understand that—I spent months with Kelsier wondering when I was going to get hurt again.

“But OreSeur, nobody betrayed us. Kelsier was right. It seems incredible to me even now, but the men in this crew—Ham, Dockson, Breeze—they’re good people. And even if one of them were to betray me, I’d still rather have trusted them. I can sleep at night, OreSeur. I can feel peace, I can laugh. Life is different. Better.”

“You are human,” OreSeur said stubbornly. “You can have friends because they don’t worry that you’ll eat them, or some other foolishness.”

“I don’t think that about you.”

“Don’t you? Mistress, you just admitted that you resent me because I ate Kelsier. Beyond that, you hate the fact that I followed my Contract. You at least have been honest.

“Human beings find us disturbing. They hate that we eat their kind, even though we only take bodies that are already dead. Your people find it unsettling that we can take their forms. Don’t tell me that you haven’t heard the legends of my people. Mistwraiths, they call us—creatures that steal the shapes of men who go into the mists. You think a monster like that, a legend used to frighten children, will ever find acceptance in your society?”

Vin frowned.

“This is the reason for the Contract, mistress,” OreSeur said, his muffled voice harsh as he spoke through dog lips. “You wonder why we don’t simply run away from you? Meld into your society, and become unseen? We tried that. Long ago, when the Final Empire was new. Your people found us, and they started to destroy us. They used Mistborn to hunt us down, for there were many more Allomancers in those days. Your people hated us because they feared we would replace them. We were almost completely destroyed—and then we came up with the Contract.”

“But what difference does that make?” Vin asked. “You’re still doing the same things, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but now we do them at your command,” OreSeur said. “Men like power, and they love controlling something powerful. Our people offered to serve, and we devised a binding contract—one that every kandra vowed to uphold. We will not kill men. We will take bones only when we are commanded. We will serve our masters with absolute obedience. We began to do these things, and men stopped killing us. They still hated and feared us—but they also knew they could command us.

“We became your tools. As long as we remain subservient, mistress, we survive. And that is why I obey. To break the Contract would be to betray my people. We cannot fight you, not while you have Mistborn, and so we must serve you.”

Mistborn. Why are Mistborn so important? He implied that they could find kandra.…

She kept this tidbit to herself; she sensed that if she pointed it out, he’d close up again. So instead, she sat up and met his eyes in the darkness. “If you wish, I will free you from your Contract.”

“And what would that change?” OreSeur asked. “I’d merely get another Contract. By our laws I must wait another decade before I have time for freedom—and then only two years, during which I won’t be able to leave the kandra Homeland. To do otherwise would risk exposure.”

“Then at least accept my apology,” she asked. “I was foolish to resent you for following your Contract.”

“That still doesn’t fix things, mistress. I still have to wear this cursed dog’s body—I have no personality or bones to imitate!”

“I’d think that you would appreciate the opportunity simply to be yourself.”

“I feel naked,” OreSeur said. He sat quietly for a moment; then he bowed his head. “But … I have to admit that there are advantages to these bones. I didn’t realize how unobtrusive they would make me.”

Vin nodded. “There were times in my life when I would have given anything to be able to take the form of a dog and just live my life being ignored.”

“But not anymore?”

Vin shook her head. “No. Not most of the time, anyway. I used to think that everyone was like you say—hateful, hurtful. But there are good people in the world, OreSeur. I wish I could prove that to you.”

“You speak of this king of yours,” OreSeur said, glancing toward the keep.

“Yes,” Vin said. “And others.”

“You?”

Vin shook her head. “No, not me. I’m not a good person or a bad person. I’m only here to kill things.”

OreSeur watched her for a moment, then settled back down. “Regardless,” he said, “you are not my worst master. That is something of a compliment among our people.”

Vin smiled, but her own words left her a bit haunted. Only here to kill things …

She glanced toward the light of the armies outside the city. A part of her—the part that had been trained by Reen, the part that still occasionally used his voice in the back of her mind—whispered that there was another way to fight these armies. Rather than rely on politics and parleys, the crew could use Vin. Send her on a quiet visit into the night that left the kings and generals of the armies dead.

But she knew that Elend wouldn’t approve of something like that. He’d argue against using fear to motivate, even on one’s enemies. He’d point out that if she killed Straff or Cett, they’d just be replaced by other men even more hostile toward the city.

Still, it seemed like such a brutal, logical answer. A part of Vin itched to do it, if only to be doing something other than waiting and talking. She was not a person meant to be besieged.

No, she thought. That’s not my way. I don’t have to be like Kelsier was. Hard. Unyielding. I can be something better. Something that trusts in Elend’s way.

She shoved aside that ruthless part of her, then turned her attention to other things. She focused on her bronze, watching for signs of Allomancy. Though she liked to jump around and “patrol” the area, the truth was that she was as effective staying in one place. Assassins would be likely to scout the front gates, for that was where patrols began and the largest concentration of soldiers waited.

Yet she felt her mind wandering. There were forces moving in the world, and Vin wasn’t certain she wanted to be part of them.

What is my place? she thought. She never felt that she’d discovered it—not back when she’d been playing as Valette Renoux, and not now, when she acted as the bodyguard to the man she loved. Nothing quite fit.

She closed her eyes, burning tin and bronze, feeling the touch of wind-borne mist on her skin. And oddly, she felt something else, something very faint. In the distance she could sense Allomantic pulses. They were so dull she almost missed them.

They were kind of like the pulses given off by the mist spirit. She could hear those too, much closer. Atop a building out in the city. She was getting used to its presence, not that she had much choice. Still, as long as it only watched …

It tried to kill one of the Hero’s companions, she thought. It knifed him somehow. Or so the logbook claimed.

But … what was that pulsing in the far distance? It was soft … yet powerful. Like a faraway drum. She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing.

“Mistress?” OreSeur said, suddenly perking up.

Vin snapped her eyes open. “What?”

“Didn’t you hear that?”

Vin sat up. “Wha—” Then she picked it out. Footsteps outside the wall a short distance away. She leaned closer, noticing a dark figure walking down the street toward the keep. She’d been so focused on her bronze that she’d completely tuned out real sounds.

“Good job,” she said, approaching the edge of the guard station’s roof. Only then did she realize something important. OreSeur had taken the initiative: he’d alerted her of the danger without specifically being ordered to listen.

It was a small thing, but it seemed important.

“What do you think?” she asked quietly, watching the figure approach. He carried no torch, and he seemed very comfortable in the mists.

“Allomancer?” OreSeur asked, crouching beside her.

Vin shook her head. “There’s no Allomantic pulse.”

“So if he is one, he’s Mistborn,” OreSeur said. He still didn’t know she could pierce copperclouds. “He’s too tall to be your friend Zane. Be careful, mistress.”

Vin nodded, dropped a coin, then threw herself into the mists. Behind her, OreSeur jumped down from the guardhouse, then leapt off the wall and dropped some twenty feet to the ground.

He certainly does like to push the limits of those bones, she thought. Of course, if a fall couldn’t kill him, then she could perhaps understand his courage.

She guided herself by Pulling on the nails in a wooden roof, landing a short distance from the dark figure. She pulled out her knives and prepared her metals, making certain she had duralumin. Then she moved quietly across the street.

Surprise, she thought. Ham’s suggestion still left her nervous. She couldn’t always depend on surprise. She followed the man, studying him. He was tall—very tall. And in robes. In fact, those robes …

Vin stopped short. “Sazed?” she asked with shock.

The Terrisman turned, face now visible to her tin-enhanced eyes. He smiled. “Ah, Lady Vin,” he said with his familiar, wise voice. “I was beginning to wonder how long it would take you to find me. You are—”

He was cut off as Vin grabbed him in an excited embrace. “I didn’t think you were going to come back so soon!”

“I was not planning to return, Lady Vin,” Sazed said. “But events are such that I could not avoid this place, I think. Come, we must speak with His Majesty. I have news of a rather disconcerting nature.”

Vin let go, looking up at his kindly face, noting the tiredness in his eyes. Exhaustion. His robes were dirty and smelled of ash and sweat. Sazed was usually very meticulous, even when he traveled. “What is it?” she asked.

“Problems, Lady Vin,” he said quietly. “Problems and troubles.”

The Well of Ascension

The Terris rejected him, but he came to lead them.

The Well of Ascension

23

“KING LEKAL CLAIMED THAT HE had twenty thousand of the creatures in his army,” Sazed said quietly.

Twenty thousand! Elend thought in shock. That was easily as dangerous as Straff’s fifty thousand men. Probably more so.

The table fell silent, and Elend glanced at the others. They sat in the palace kitchen, where a couple of cooks hurriedly prepared a late-night dinner for Sazed. The white room had an alcove at the side with a modest table for servant meals. Not surprisingly, Elend had never dined in the room, but Sazed had insisted that they not wake the servants it would require to prepare the main dining hall, though he apparently hadn’t eaten all day.

So they sat on the low wooden benches, waiting while the cooks worked—far enough away that they couldn’t hear the hushed conversation in the alcove. Vin sat beside Elend, arm around his waist, her wolfhound kandra on the floor beside her. Breeze sat on the other side of him, looking disheveled; he’d been rather annoyed when they’d woken him. Ham had already been up, as had Elend himself. Another proposal had needed work—a letter he would send to the Assembly explaining that he was meeting with Straff informally, rather than in official parley.

Dockson pulled over a stool, as usual choosing a place away from Elend. Clubs sat slumped on his side of the bench, though Elend couldn’t tell if the posture was from weariness or from general Clubs grumpiness. That left only Spook, who sat on one of the serving tables a distance away, legs swinging over the side as he occasionally pilfered a tidbit of food from the annoyed cooks. He was, Elend noticed with amusement, flirting quite unsuccessfully with a drowsy kitchen girl.

And then there was Sazed. The Terrisman sat directly across from Elend with the calm air of collectedness that only Sazed could manage. His robes were dusty, and he looked odd without his earrings—removed to not tempt thieves, Elend would guess—but his face and hands were clean. Even dirtied from travel, Sazed still gave off a sense of tidiness.

“I do apologize, Your Majesty,” Sazed said. “But I do not think that Lord Lekal is trustworthy. I realize that you were friends with him before the Collapse, but his current state seems somewhat … unstable.”

Elend nodded. “How is he controlling them, you think?”

“I cannot guess, Your Majesty,” Sazed said.

Ham shook his head. “I have men in the guard who came up from the South after the Collapse. They were soldiers, serving in a garrison near a koloss camp. The Lord Ruler hadn’t been dead a day before the creatures went crazy. They attacked everything in the area—villages, garrisons, cities.”

“The same happened in the Northwest,” Breeze said. “Lord Cett’s lands were being flooded with refugees running from rogue koloss. Cett tried to recruit the koloss garrison near his own lands, and they followed him for a time. But then something set them off, and they attacked his army. He had to slaughter the whole lot—and lost nearly two thousand soldiers killing a small garrison of five hundred koloss.”

The group grew quiet again, the clacking and talking of the cooking staff nearby sounding louder. Five hundred koloss killed two thousand men, Elend thought. And the Jastes force contains twenty thousand of the creatures. Lord Ruler …

“How long?” said Clubs. “How far away?”

“It took me a little over a week to get here,” Sazed said. “Though it looked as if King Lekal had been camped there for a time. He is obviously coming this direction, but I don’t know how quickly he intends to march.”

“Probably wasn’t expecting to find that two other armies beat him to the city,” Ham noted.

Elend nodded. “What do we do?”

“I don’t see that we can do anything, Your Majesty,” Dockson said, shaking his head. “Sazed’s report doesn’t give me much hope that we’ll be able to reason with Jastes. And with the siege we’re already under, there is little we can do.”

“He might turn around and go,” Ham said. “With two armies already here…”

Sazed looked hesitant. “He knew about the armies, Lord Hammond. He seemed to trust in his koloss over the human armies.”

“With twenty thousand,” Clubs said, “he could probably take either of those other armies.”

“But he’d have trouble with both of them,” Ham said. “That would give me pause, if I were him. By showing up with a pile of volatile koloss, he could easily worry Cett and Straff enough that they would join forces against him.”

“Which would suit us just fine,” Clubs said. “The more that other people fight, the better off we are.”

Elend sat back, feeling a looming anxiety. It was good to have Vin’s arm around him, even if she didn’t say much—sometimes he felt stronger simply because of her presence. Twenty thousand koloss. This threat alone scared him more than either human army.

“This could be a good thing,” Ham said. “If Jastes were to lose control of those beasts near Luthadel, there’s a good chance they’d attack one of those other armies.”

“Agreed,” Breeze said tiredly. “I think we need to keep stalling, draw out this siege until the koloss army arrives. One more army in the mix means more advantage for us.”

“I don’t like the idea of koloss in the area,” Elend said, shivering slightly. “No matter what advantage they offer us. If they attack the city…”

“I say we worry about that when and if they arrive,” Dockson said. “For now, we have to continue our plan as we intended. With luck, the imminent koloss presence will make Straff more willing to deal with His Majesty.”

Elend nodded. Straff had agreed to meet, and they’d set a date for a few days away. The Assembly was angry that he hadn’t consulted with them about the time and place, but there was little they could do about the matter.

“Anyway,” Elend said, sighing, “you said you had other news, Saze? Better, hopefully?”

Sazed hesitated. The palace chef finally walked over, setting a plate of food before him: steamed barley with strips of steak and some spiced lagets. The scents were enough to make Elend a little hungry. He nodded thankfully to the chef, who had insisted on preparing the meal himself despite the late hour, and who waved to his staff and began to withdraw.

Sazed sat quietly, waiting to speak until the cooks were again out of earshot. “I hesitate to mention this, Your Majesty, for your burdens already seem great.”

“You might as well tell me,” Elend said.

Sazed nodded. “I fear that we may have exposed the world to something when we killed the Lord Ruler, Your Majesty. Something unanticipated.”

Breeze raised a tired eyebrow. “Unanticipated? You mean other than ravaging koloss, power-hungry despots, and bandits?”

“I speak of items a little more nebulous, I fear,” Sazed said. “There is something wrong with the mists.”

Vin perked up slightly beside Elend. “What do you mean?”

“I have been following a trail of events,” Sazed explained. He looked down as he spoke, as if embarrassed. “I have been performing an investigation, you might say. You see, I have heard numerous reports of the mists coming during the daytime.”

Ham shrugged. “That happens sometimes. There are foggy days, especially in the fall.”

“That is not what I mean, Lord Hammond,” Sazed said. “There is a difference between the mist and ordinary fog. It is difficult to spot, perhaps, but it is noticeable to a careful eye. The mist is thicker, and … well…”

“It moves in larger patterns,” Vin said quietly. “Like rivers in the sky. It never hangs in one place; it floats in the breeze, almost like it makes the breeze.”

“And it can’t enter buildings,” Clubs said. “Or tents. It evaporates soon after it does.”

“Yes,” Sazed said. “When I first heard these reports of day mist, I assumed that the people were letting their superstitions get out of control. I have known many skaa who refused to go out on a foggy morning. But I was curious about the reports, so I traced them to a village in the South. I taught there for some time, and never received confirmation of the stories. So I made my way from that place.”

He frowned slightly. “Your Majesty, please do not think me mad. During those travels I passed a secluded valley, and saw what I swear was mist, not fog. It was moving across the landscape, creeping toward me. During the full light of day.”

Elend glanced at Ham. He shrugged. “Don’t look at me.”

Breeze snorted. “He was asking your opinion, my dear man.”

“Well, I don’t have one.”

“Some philosopher you are.”

“I’m not a philosopher,” Ham said. “I just like to think about things.”

“Well, think about this then,” Breeze said.

Elend glanced at Sazed. “Have those two always been this way?”

“I am not certain, Your Majesty,” Sazed said, smiling slightly. “I have known them for only slightly longer than yourself.”

“Yes, they’ve always been like this,” Dockson said, sighing quietly. “If anything, they’ve gotten worse over the years.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Elend asked, nodding to Sazed’s plate.

“I can eat once our discussion is finished,” Sazed said.

“Sazed, you’re not a servant anymore,” Vin said. “You don’t have to worry about things like that.”

“It is not a matter of serving or not, Lady Vin,” Sazed said. “It is a matter of being polite.”

“Sazed,” Elend said.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

He pointed at the plate. “Eat. You can be polite another time. Right now, you look famished—and you’re among friends.”

Sazed gave Elend an odd look. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, picking up a knife and spoon.

“Now,” Elend began, “why does it matter if you saw mist during the day? We know that the things the skaa say aren’t true—there’s no reason to fear the mist.”

“The skaa may be more wise than we credit them, Your Majesty,” Sazed said, taking small, careful bites. “It appears that the mist has been killing people.”

“What?” Vin asked, leaning forward.

“I have never seen it myself, Lady Vin,” Sazed said. “But I have seen its effects, and have collected several separate reports. They all agree that the mist has been killing people.”

“That’s preposterous,” Breeze said. “Mist is harmless.”

“That is what I thought, Lord Ladrian,” Sazed said. “However, several of the reports are quite detailed. The incidents always occurred during the day, and each one tells of the mist curling around some unfortunate individual, who then died—usually in a seizure. I gathered interviews with witnesses myself.”

Elend frowned. From another man, he’d dismiss the news. But Sazed … he was not a man that one dismissed. Vin, sitting beside Elend, watched the conversation with interest, chewing slightly on her bottom lip. Oddly she didn’t object to Sazed’s words—though the others seemed to be reacting as Breeze had.

“It doesn’t make sense, Saze,” Ham said. “Thieves, nobles, and Allomancers have gone out in the mists for centuries.”

“Indeed they have, Lord Hammond,” Sazed said with a nod. “The only explanation I can think of involves the Lord Ruler. I heard no substantive reports of mist deaths before the Collapse, but I have had little trouble finding them since. The reports are concentrated in the outer dominances, but the incidents appear to be moving inward. I found one … very disturbing incident several weeks to the south, where an entire village seems to have been trapped in their hovels by the mists.”

“Why would the Lord Ruler’s death have anything to do with the mists?” Breeze asked.

“I am not certain, Lord Ladrian,” Sazed said. “But it is the only connection I have been able to hypothesize.”

Breeze frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“I apologize, Lord Breeze,” Sazed said. “I am still accustomed to calling people by their full names.”

“Your name is Ladrian?” Vin asked.

“Unfortunately,” Breeze said. “I’ve never been fond of it, and with dear Sazed putting ‘Lord’ before it … well, the alliteration makes it even more atrocious.”

“Is it me,” Elend said, “or are we going off on even more tangents than usual tonight?”

“We get that way when we’re tired,” Breeze said with a yawn. “In any case, our good Terrisman must have his facts wrong. Mist doesn’t kill.”

“I can only report what I have discovered,” Sazed said. “I will need to do some more research.”

“So, you’ll be staying?” Vin asked, obviously hopeful.

Sazed nodded.

“What about teaching?” Breeze asked, waving his hand. “When you left, I recall that you said something about spending the rest of your life traveling, or some nonsense like that.”

Sazed blushed slightly, glancing down again. “That duty will have to wait, I fear.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, Sazed,” Elend said, shooting a glare at Breeze. “If what you say is true, then you’ll be doing a greater service through your studies than you would by traveling.”

“Perhaps,” Sazed said.

“Though,” Ham noted with a chuckle, “you probably could have picked a safer place to set up shop—one that isn’t being pushed around by two armies and twenty thousand koloss.”

Sazed smiled, and Elend gave an obligatory chuckle. He said that the incidents involving the mist were moving inward, toward the center of the empire. Toward us.

Something else to worry about.

“What’s going on?” a voice suddenly asked. Elend turned to the kitchen doorway, where a disheveled-looking Allrianne stood. “I heard voices. Is there a party?”

“We were discussing matters of state interest, my dear,” Breeze said quickly.

“The other girl is here,” Allrianne said, pointing at Vin. “Why didn’t you invite me?”

Elend frowned. She heard voices? The guest quarters aren’t anywhere near the kitchens. And Allrianne was dressed, wearing a simple noblewoman’s gown. She’d taken the time to get out of her sleeping clothing, but she’d left her hair disheveled. Perhaps to make herself look more innocent?

I’m starting to think like Vin, Elend told himself with a sigh. As if to corroborate his thoughts, he noticed Vin narrowing her eyes at the new girl.

“Go back to your rooms, dear,” Breeze said soothingly. “Don’t trouble His Majesty.”

Allrianne sighed dramatically, but turned and did as he asked, trailing off into the hallway. Elend turned back to Sazed, who was watching the girl with a curious expression. Elend gave him an “ask later” look, and the Terrisman turned back to his meal. A few moments later, the group began to break up. Vin hung back with Elend as the others left.

“I don’t trust that girl,” Vin said as a couple of servants took Sazed’s pack and guided him away.

Elend smiled, turning to look down at Vin. “Do I have to say it?”

She rolled her eyes. “I know. ‘You don’t trust anyone, Vin.’ This time I’m right. She was dressed, but her hair was disheveled. She must have done that intentionally.”

“I noticed.”

“You did?” She sounded impressed.

Elend nodded. “She must have heard the servants waking up Breeze and Clubs, so she got up. That means she spent a good half an hour eavesdropping. She kept her hair mussed so we’d assume that she had just come down.”

Vin opened her mouth slightly, then frowned, studying him. “You’re getting better,” she eventually said.

“Either that, or Miss Allrianne simply isn’t very good.”

Vin smiled.

“I’m still trying to figure out why you didn’t hear her,” Elend noted.

“The cooks,” Vin said. “Too much noise. Besides, I was a little distracted by what Sazed was saying.”

“And what do you think of it?”

Vin hesitated. “I’ll tell you later.”

“All right,” Elend said. To Vin’s side, the kandra rose and stretched its wolfhound body. Why did she insist on bringing OreSeur to the meeting? he wondered. Wasn’t it only a few weeks ago that she couldn’t stand the thing?

The wolfhound turned, glancing at the kitchen windows. Vin followed its gaze.

“Going back out?” Elend asked.

Vin nodded. “I don’t trust this night. I’ll stay near your balcony, in case there’s trouble.”

She kissed him, then moved away. He watched her go, wondering why she had been so interested in Sazed’s stories, wondering what it was she wasn’t telling him.

Stop it, he told himself. Perhaps he was learning her lessons a little too well—of all the people in the palace, Vin was the last one he needed to be paranoid about. But every time he felt like he was beginning to figure Vin out, he realized exactly how little he understood her.

And that made everything else seem a bit more depressing. With a sigh, he turned to seek his rooms, where his half-finished letter to the Assembly waited to be completed.

Perhaps I should not have spoken of the mists, Sazed thought, following a servant up the stairs. Now I’ve troubled the king about something that might simply be my delusion.

They reached the top of the stairs, and the servant asked if he wished a bath drawn. Sazed shook his head. In most other circumstances he would have welcomed the opportunity to get clean. However, running all the way to the Central Dominance, being captured by the koloss, then marching the rest of the way up to Luthadel had left him wearied to the farthest fringe of exhaustion. He’d barely had the strength to eat. Now he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

The servant nodded and led Sazed down a side corridor.

What if he was imagining connections that didn’t exist? Every scholar knew that one of the greatest dangers in research was the desire to find a specific answer. He had not imagined the testimonies he had taken, but had he exaggerated their importance? What did he really have? The words of a frightened man who had seen his friend die of a seizure? The testimony of a lunatic crazed to the point of cannibalism? The fact remained that Sazed himself had never seen the mists kill.

The servant led him to a guest chamber, and Sazed thankfully bade the man good night. He watched the man walk away, holding only a candle, his lamp left for Sazed to use. During most of Sazed’s life, he had belonged to a class of stewards prized for their refined sense of duty and decorum. He’d been in charge of households and manors, supervising servants like the one who had led him to his rooms.

Another life, he thought. He had always been a bit frustrated that his duties as a steward had left him little time for study. How ironic it was that he should help overthrow the Final Empire, then find himself with even less time.

He reached for the door, and froze almost immediately. There was already a light inside the room.

Did they leave a lamp on for me? he wondered. He slowly pushed the door open. Someone was waiting for him.

“Tindwyl,” Sazed said quietly. She sat beside the room’s writing desk, collected and neatly dressed, as always.

“Sazed,” she replied as he stepped in, shutting the door. Suddenly he was more acutely aware of his dirty robes.

“You responded to my request,” he said.

“And you ignored mine.”

Sazed didn’t meet her eyes. He walked over, setting his lamp on top of the room’s bureau. “I noticed the king’s new clothing, and he appears to have gained a bearing to match them. You have done well, I think.”

“We are only just started,” she said dismissively. “You were right about him.”

“King Venture is a very good man,” Sazed said, walking to the washbasin to wipe down his face. He welcomed the cold water; dealing with Tindwyl was bound to tire him even further.

“Good men can make terrible kings,” Tindwyl noted.

“But bad men cannot make good kings,” Sazed said. “It is better to start with a good man and work on the rest, I think.”

“Perhaps,” Tindwyl said. She watched him with her normal hard expression. Others thought her cold—even harsh. But Sazed had never seen that in her. Considering what she had been through, he found it remarkable—amazing—that she was so confident. Where did she get it?

“Sazed, Sazed…” she said. “Why did you return to the Central Dominance? You know the directions the Synod gave you. You are supposed to be in the Eastern Dominance, teaching the people on the borders of the burnlands.”

“That is where I was,” Sazed said. “And now I am here. The South will get along for a time without me, I think.”

“Oh?” Tindwyl asked. “And who will teach them irrigation techniques, so they can produce enough food to survive the cold months? Who will explain to them basic lawmaking principles so that they may govern themselves? Who will show them how to reclaim their lost faiths and beliefs? You were always so passionate about that.”

Sazed set down the washcloth. “I will return to teach them when I am certain there is not a greater work I need to do.”

“What greater work could there be?” Tindwyl demanded. “This is our life’s duty, Sazed. This is the work of our entire people. I know that Luthadel is important to you, but there is nothing for you here. I will care for your king. You must go.”

“I appreciate your work with King Venture,” Sazed said. “My course has little to do with him, however. I have other research.”

Tindwyl frowned, eyeing him with a cool stare. “You’re still looking for this phantom connection of yours. This foolishness with the mists.”

“There is something wrong, Tindwyl,” he said.

“No,” Tindwyl said, sighing. “Can’t you see, Sazed? You spent ten years working to overthrow the Final Empire. Now you can’t content yourself with ordinary work, so you have invented some grand threat to the land. You’re afraid of being irrelevant.”

Sazed looked down. “Perhaps. If you are correct, then I will seek the forgiveness of the Synod. I should probably seek it anyway, I think.”

“Oh, Sazed,” Tindwyl said, shaking her head slightly. “I can’t understand you. It makes sense when young fireheads like Vedzan and Rindel buck the Synod’s advice. But you? You are the soul of what it means to be Terris—so calm, so humble, so careful and respectful. So wise. Why are you the one who consistently defies our leaders? It makes no sense.”

“I am not so wise as you think, Tindwyl,” Sazed said quietly. “I am simply a man who must do as he believes. Right now, I believe there to be a danger in the mists, and I must investigate my impressions. Perhaps it is simply arrogance and foolishness. But I would rather be known as arrogant and foolish than risk danger to the people of this land.”

“You will find nothing.”

“Then I will be proven wrong,” Sazed said. He turned, looking into her eyes. “But kindly remember that the last time I disobeyed the Synod, the result was the collapse of the Final Empire and the freedom of our people.”

Tindwyl made a tight-lipped frown. She didn’t like being reminded of that fact—none of the Keepers did. They held that Sazed had been wrong to disobey, but they couldn’t very well punish him for his success.

“I don’t understand you,” she repeated quietly. “You should be a leader among our people, Sazed. Not our greatest rebel and dissident. Everyone wants to look up to you—but they can’t. Must you defy every order you are given?”

He smiled wanly, but did not answer.

Tindwyl sighed, rising. She walked toward the door, but lingered, taking his hand as she passed. She looked into his eyes for a moment, then he removed the hand.

She shook her head and left.

The Well of Ascension

He commanded kings, and though he sought no empire, he became greater than all who had come before.

The Well of Ascension

24

SOMETHING IS GOING ON, VIN thought, sitting in the mists atop Keep Venture.

Sazed was not prone to exaggeration. He was meticulous—that much showed in his mannerisms, his cleanliness, the way he spoke. And he was even more meticulous when it came to his studies. Vin was inclined to believe his discoveries.

And she’d certainly seen things in the mists. Dangerous things. Could the mist spirit explain the deaths Sazed had encountered? But if that’s the case, why didn’t Sazed speak of figures in the mist?

She sighed, closing her eyes and burning bronze. She could hear the spirit, watching nearby. And she could hear it again as well, the strange thumping in the distance. She opened her eyes, leaving her bronze on, and quietly unfolded something from her pocket: a sheet from the logbook. By the light from Elend’s balcony below, and with tin, she could easily read the words.

I sleep but a few hours each night. We must press forward, traveling as much as we can each day—but when I finally lie down, I find sleep elusive. The same thoughts that trouble me during the day are only compounded by the stillness of night.

And above it all, I hear the thumping sounds from above, the pulsings from the mountains. Drawing me closer with each beat.

She shivered. She had asked one of Elend’s seekers to burn bronze, and he had claimed to hear nothing from the north. Could it be that Vin heard a rhythm nobody else could hear? Nobody except a man a thousand years dead.

A man everyone had assumed was the Hero of Ages.

You’re being silly, she told herself, refolding the paper. Jumping to conclusions. To her side, OreSeur rustled, lying quietly and staring out over the city.

Yet she kept thinking of Sazed’s words. Something was happening with the mists. Something was wrong.

Zane didn’t find her atop Keep Hasting.

He stopped in the mists, standing quietly. He’d expected to find her waiting, for this was the place of their last fight. Even thinking of the event made him tense with anticipation.

During the months of sparring, they had always met again at the place where he’d eventually lost her. Yet he’d returned to this location on several nights, and had never found her. He frowned, thinking of Straff’s orders, and of necessity.

Eventually he would be ordered to kill this girl. He wasn’t certain what bothered him more—his growing reluctance to consider such an act, or his growing worry that he might not be able to beat her.

She could be it, he thought. The thing that finally lets me resist. The thing that convinces me to just … leave.

He couldn’t explain why he needed a reason. Part of him simply ascribed it to his insanity, though the rational part of him felt that was a weak excuse. Deep down, he admitted that Straff was all he had ever known. Zane wouldn’t be able to leave until he knew he had someone else to rely on.

He turned away from Keep Hasting. He’d had enough of waiting; it was time to seek her out. Zane threw coins, bounding across the city for a time. And sure enough there she was: sitting atop Keep Venture, watching over his foolish brother.

Zane rounded the keep, keeping far enough away that even tin-enhanced eyes wouldn’t see him. He landed on the back of the keep’s roof, then walked forward quietly. He approached, watching her sit on the edge. The air was silent.

Finally she turned around, jumping slightly. He swore that she could sense him when she shouldn’t be able to.

In any case, he was discovered.

“Zane,” Vin said flatly, easily identifying the silhouette. He wore his customary black on black, with no mistcloak.

“I’ve been waiting,” he said quietly. “Atop Keep Hasting. Hoping you’d come.”

She sighed, careful to keep an eye on him, but relaxing slightly. “I’m not really in the mood for sparring right now.”

He watched her. “Pity,” he finally said. He walked over, prompting Vin to rise cautiously to her feet. He stopped beside the rim of the rooftop, looking down at Elend’s lit balcony.

Vin glanced at OreSeur. He was tense, alternately watching her and Zane.

“You’re so worried about him,” Zane said quietly.

“Elend?” Vin asked.

Zane nodded. “Even though he uses you.”

“We’ve had this discussion, Zane. He isn’t using me.”

Zane looked up at her, meeting her eyes, standing straight-backed and confident in the night.

He’s so strong, she thought. So sure of himself. So different from …

She stopped herself.

Zane turned away. “Tell me, Vin,” he said, “when you were younger, did you ever wish for power?”

Vin cocked her head, frowning at the strange question. “What do you mean?”

“You grew up on the streets,” Zane said. “When you were younger, did you wish for power? Did you dream of having the ability to free yourself, to kill those who brutalized you?”

“Of course I did,” Vin said.

“And now you have that power,” Zane said. “What would the child Vin say if she could see you? A Mistborn who is bent and bowed by the weight of another’s will? Powerful, yet somehow still subservient?”

“I’m a different person now, Zane,” Vin said. “I’d like to think that I’ve learned things since I was a child.”

“I’ve found that a child’s instincts are often the most honest,” Zane said. “The most natural.”

Vin didn’t respond.

Zane turned quietly, looking out over the city, seemingly unconcerned that he was exposing his back to her. Vin eyed him, then dropped a coin. It plinked against the metal rooftop, and he immediately glanced toward her.

No, she thought, he doesn’t trust me.

He turned away again, and Vin watched him. She understood what he meant, for she had once thought as he did. Idly, she wondered what kind of person she might have become if she’d gained full access to her powers without simultaneously learning of friendship and trust from Kelsier’s crew.

“What would you do, Vin?” Zane asked, turning back toward her. “Assuming you didn’t have any constraints—assuming there were no repercussions for your actions?”

Go north. The thought was immediate. Find out what is causing that thumping. But she didn’t say it. “I don’t know,” she said instead.

He eyed her. “You aren’t taking me seriously, I see. I apologize for wasting your time.”

He started to leave, walking directly between her and OreSeur. Vin watched him and felt a sudden stab of concern. He’d come to her, willing to talk rather than merely fight—and she’d wasted the opportunity. She was never going to turn him to her side if she didn’t talk to him.

“You want to know what I’d do?” she asked, her voice ringing in the silent mists.

Zane halted.

“If I could use my power as I wanted?” Vin asked. “No repercussions? I’d protect him.”

“Your king?” Zane asked, turning.

Vin nodded sharply. “These men who brought armies against him—your master, this man named Cett. I’d kill them. I’d use my power to make certain that nobody could threaten Elend.”

Zane nodded quietly, and she saw respect in his eyes. “And why don’t you?”

“Because…”

“I see the confusion in your eyes,” Zane said. “You know that your instincts to kill those men are right—yet you hold back. Because of him.”

“There would be repercussions, Zane,” Vin said. “If I killed those men, their armies might attack. Right now, diplomacy could still work.”

“Perhaps,” Zane said. “Until he asks you to go kill someone for him.”

Vin snorted. “Elend doesn’t work that way. He doesn’t give me orders, and the only people I kill are the ones who try to kill him first.”

“Oh?” Zane said. “You may not act at his order, Vin, but you certainly refrain from action at it. You are his toy. I don’t say this to insult you—you see, I’m as much a toy as you are. Neither of us can break free. Not alone.”

Suddenly the coin Vin had dropped snapped into the air, flying toward Zane. She tensed, but it simply streaked into Zane’s waiting hand.

“It’s interesting,” he said, turning the coin in his fingers. “Many Mistborn stop seeing the value in coins. To us, they simply become something to be used for jumping. It’s easy to forget the value of something when you use it so often. When it becomes commonplace and convenient to you. When it becomes … just a tool.”

He flipped the coin up, then shot it out into the night. “I must go,” he said, turning.

Vin raised a hand. Seeing him use Allomancy made her realize that there was another reason she wanted to speak with him. It had been so long since she’d talked with another Mistborn, one who understood her powers. Someone like her.

But it seemed to her that she was too desperate for him to stay. So she let him go, and returned to her vigil.

The Well of Ascension

He fathered no children, yet all of the land became his progeny.

The Well of Ascension

25

VIN WAS A VERY LIGHT sleeper—a heritage from her youth. Thieving crews worked together out of necessity, and any man who couldn’t guard his own possessions was considered to be unworthy of them. Vin, of course, had been at the very bottom of the hierarchy—and while she never had many possessions to protect, being a young girl in a primarily male environment gave her other reasons to be a light sleeper.

So it was that when she awoke to a quiet bark of warning, she reacted without thinking. She tossed off her covers, reaching immediately for the vial on her bedstand. She didn’t sleep with metals inside her; many of the Allomantic metals were poisonous to some small extent. It was unavoidable that she’d have to deal with some of that danger, but she had been warned to burn away excess metals at the end of each day.

She downed this vial even as she reached for the obsidian daggers hidden beneath her pillow. The door to her sleeping chamber swung open, and Tindwyl walked in. The Terriswoman froze in midstep as she saw Vin crouching on the bed’s footboard a few feet away, twin daggers glistening, body tense.

Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. “So you are awake.”

“Now.”

The Terriswoman smiled.

“What are you doing in my rooms?” Vin demanded.

“I came to wake you. I thought we might go shopping.”

“Shopping?”

“Yes, dear,” Tindwyl said, walking over to pull open the curtains. It was far earlier in the day than Vin usually rose. “From what I hear, you’re going to meet with His Majesty’s father on the morrow. You’ll want a suitable dress for the occasion, I assume?”

“I don’t wear dresses anymore.” What is your game?

Tindwyl turned, eyeing Vin. “You sleep in your clothing?”

Vin nodded.

“You don’t keep any ladies-in-waiting?”

Vin shook her head.

“Very well then,” Tindwyl said, turning to walk from the room. “Bathe and change. We’ll leave when you’re ready.”

“I don’t take commands from you.”

Tindwyl lingered by the door, turning. Then her face softened. “I know you don’t, child. You may come with me if you wish—the choice is yours. But do you really want to meet with Straff Venture in trousers and a shirt?”

Vin hesitated.

“At least come browse,” Tindwyl said. “It will help take your mind off things.”

Finally Vin nodded. Tindwyl smiled again, then left.

Vin glanced at OreSeur, who sat beside her bed. “Thanks for the warning.”

The kandra shrugged.

Once, Vin wouldn’t have been able to imagine living in a place like Keep Venture. The young Vin had been accustomed to hidden lairs, skaa hovels, and the occasional alley. Now she lived in a building bedecked with stained glass, bounded by mighty walls and grand archways.

Of course, Vin thought as she left the stairwell, many things have happened that I didn’t expect. Why think about them now?

Her youth in the thieving crews had been much on her mind of late, and Zane’s comments—ridiculous though they were—itched at her. Did Vin belong in a place like this keep? She had a great many skills, but few of them were “beautiful hallway” types of skills. They were more … “ash-stained alleyway” types.

She sighed, OreSeur at her side as she made her way to the southern entry, where Tindwyl said she’d be waiting. The hallway here grew wide and grand, and opened directly into the courtyard. There was a roofed coach portico where carriages came right up to the entryway to drop off and pick up their occupants—that way the noblemen wouldn’t be exposed to the elements.

As she approached, her tin let her hear voices. One was Tindwyl, the other …

“I didn’t bring much,” Allrianne said. “A couple hundred boxings. But I do so need something to wear. I can’t survive on borrowed gowns forever!”

Vin stopped as she turned into the last part of the hallway.

“The king’s gift will surely be enough to pay for a dress, dear,” Tindwyl said, noticing Vin. “Ah, here she is.”

A sullen-looking Spook stood with the two women. He had on his palace guard’s uniform, though he wore the jacket undone and the trousers loose. Vin walked forward slowly. “I wasn’t expecting company,” she said.

“Young Allrianne was trained as a courtly noblewoman,” Tindwyl said. “She will know the current fashions, and will be able to advise on your purchases.”

“And Spook?”

Tindwyl turned, eyeing the boy. “Packman.”

Well, that explains his mood, Vin thought.

“Come,” Tindwyl said, walking toward the courtyard. Allrianne followed quickly, walking with a light, graceful step. Vin glanced at Spook, who shrugged, and they followed as well.

“How did you get pulled into this?” Vin whispered to Spook.

“Was up too early, sneaking food,” Spook grumbled. “Miss Imposing there noticed me, smiled like a wolfhound, and said, ‘We’ll be needing your services this afternoon, young man.’”

Vin nodded. “Stay alert and keep your tin burning. Remember, we’re at war.”

Spook obediently did what she said. Standing close to him as she was, Vin easily picked up and identified his tin’s Allomantic pulses—meaning he wasn’t the spy.

Another one off the list, Vin thought. At least this trip won’t be a total waste.

A coach waited for them by the front keep gates. Spook climbed up beside the coachman, and the women piled into the back. Vin sat down inside, and OreSeur climbed in and took the seat next to her. Allrianne and Tindwyl sat across from her, and Allrianne eyed OreSeur with a frown, wrinkling her nose. “Does the animal have to sit on the seats with us?”

“Yes,” Vin said as the carriage started moving.

Allrianne obviously expected more of an explanation, but Vin didn’t give one. Finally, Allrianne turned to look out the window. “Are you sure we’ll be safe, traveling with only one manservant, Tindwyl?”

Tindwyl eyed Vin. “Oh, I think that we’ll be all right.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Allrianne said, looking back at Vin. “You’re an Allomancer! Are the things they say true?”

“What things?” Vin asked quietly.

“For one, they say you killed the Lord Ruler. And that you’re kind of … um … well.” Allrianne bit her lip. “A bit rickety.”

“Rickety?”

“And dangerous,” Allrianne said. “But, well, that can’t be true. I mean, you’re going shopping with us, right?”

Is she trying to provoke me on purpose?

“Do you always wear clothing like that?” Allrianne asked.

Vin was in her standard grey trousers and tan shirt. “It’s easy to fight in.”