The Mistborn Trilogy (155 page)

“Forgive them their comfort, for now. They’ll have little enough of it in the weeks to come.” Elend paused, looking over at a passing squad of Terris “soldiers”—a group of men who were obviously stewards. Their posture was excellent, and they walked with a smooth grace, but Elend doubted they knew how to use any weapons beyond a cooking knife.

No, there is no army in Terris to help my people.

“You sent Vin back to gather our allies,” Spook said quietly. “To bring them up to meet with us, perhaps to seek refuge in Terris.”

“I know,” Elend said.

“We can’t gather in Terris, though,” Spook said. “Not with the Inquisitors up there.”

“I know,” Elend said again.

Spook was silent for a moment. “The whole world is falling apart, El,” he finally said. “Terris, Luthadel…”

“Luthadel has
not
been destroyed,” Elend said, looking sharply at Spook.

“The koloss—”

“Vin will have found a way to stop them,” Elend said. “For all we know, she already found the power at the Well of Ascension. We need to keep going. We can, and will, rebuild whatever was lost. Then we’ll worry about helping Terris.”

Spook paused, then nodded and smiled. Elend was surprised to see how much his confident words seemed to soothe the boy’s concerns. Spook leaned back, eyeing Elend’s still steaming cup of tea, and Elend handed it over with a mumble that he didn’t like heartroot tea. Spook drank happily.

Elend, however, found matters more troubling than he’d admitted.
The Deepness returning, ghosts in the mist, and Inquisitors making a play for the Terris Dominance. What else have I been ignoring?

“Look, we all know what we need to do,” Cett said, pounding the table. “We’ve got our armies here, ready and willing to fight. Now, let’s go get my damn country back!”

“The empress gave us no command to do such a thing,” Janarle said, sipping his tea, completely unfazed by Cett’s lack of decorum. “I, personally, think that we should wait at least until the emperor returns.”

Penrod, the oldest of the men in the room, had enough tact to look sympathetic. “I understand that you are concerned for your people, Lord Cett. But we haven’t even had a week to rebuild Luthadel. It is far too early to be worrying about expanding our influence. We cannot possibly authorize these preparations.”

“Oh, leave off, Penrod,” Cett snapped. “You’re not in charge of us.”

All three men turned to Sazed. He felt very awkward, sitting at the head of the table in Keep Venture’s conference chamber. Aides and attendants, including some of Dockson’s bureaucrats, stood at the perimeter of the sparse room, but only the three rulers—now kings beneath Elend’s imperial rule—sat with Sazed at the table.

“I think that we should not be hasty, Lord Cett,” Sazed said.

“This isn’t haste,” Cett said, pounding the table again. “I just want to order scout and spy reports, so that we can have information we need when we invade!”

“If we
do
invade,” Janarle said. “If the emperor decides to recover Fadrex City, it won’t happen until this summer, at the very earliest. We have far more pressing concerns. My armies have been away from the Northern Dominance for too long. It is basic political theory that we should stabilize what we have
before
we move into new territory.”

“Bah!” Cett said, waving an indifferent hand.

“You may send your scouts, Lord Cett,” Sazed said. “But they are to seek information only. They are to engage in no raids, no matter how tempting the opportunity.”

Cett shook a bearded head. “
This
is why I never bothered to play political games with the rest of the Final Empire. Nothing gets done because everyone is too busy scheming!”

“There is much to be said for subtlety, Lord Cett,” Penrod said. “Patience brings the greater prize.”

“Greater prize?” Cett asked. “What did the Central Dominance earn itself by waiting? You waited right up until the moment that your city fell! If you hadn’t been the ones with the best Mistborn…”

“Best Mistborn, my lord?” Sazed asked quietly. “Did you not see her take command of the koloss? Did you not see her leap across the sky like an arrow in flight? Lady Vin isn’t simply the ‘best Mistborn.’”

The group fell silent.
I have to keep them focused on her,
Sazed thought.
Without Vin’s leadership—without the threat of her power—this coalition would dissolve in three heartbeats.

He felt so inadequate. He couldn’t keep the men on-topic, and he couldn’t do much to help them with their various problems. He could just keep reminding them of Vin’s power.

The trouble was, he didn’t really want to. He was feeling something very odd in himself, feelings he usually didn’t have. Disconcern. Apathy. Why did anything that these men talked about matter? Why did anything matter, now that Tindwyl was dead?

He gritted his teeth, trying to force himself to focus.

“Very well,” Cett said, waving a hand. “I’ll send the scouts. Has that food arrived from Urteau yet, Janarle?”

The younger nobleman grew uncomfortable. “We…may have trouble with that, my lord. It seems that an unwholesome element has been rabble-rousing in the city.”

“No wonder you want to send troops back to the Northern Dominance!” Cett accused. “You’re planning to conquer your kingdom back and leave mine to rot!”

“Urteau is
much
closer than your capital, Cett,” Janarle said, turning back to his tea. “It only makes sense to set me up there before we turn our attention westward.”

“We will let the empress make that decision,” Penrod said. He liked to act the mediator—and by doing so, he made himself seem above the issues. In essence, he put himself in control by putting himself in between the other two.

Not all that different from what Elend tried to do,
Sazed thought,
with our armies.
The boy had more of a sense of political strategy than Tindwyl had ever credited him with.

I shouldn’t think about her,
he told himself, closing his eyes. Yet, it was hard not to. Everything Sazed did, everything he thought, seemed wrong because she was gone. Lights seemed dimmer. Motivations were more difficult to reach. He found that he had trouble even
wanting
to pay attention to the kings, let alone give them direction.

It was foolish, he knew. How long had Tindwyl been back in his life? Only a few months. Long ago, he had resigned himself to the fact that he would never be loved—in general—and that he certainly would never have
her
love. Not only did he lack manhood, but he was a rebel and a dissident—a man well outside of the Terris orthodoxy.

Surely her love for him had been a miracle. Yet, whom did he thank for that blessing, and whom did he curse for stealing her away? He knew of hundreds of gods. He would hate them all, if he thought it would do any good.

For the sake of his own sanity, he forced himself to get distracted by the kings again.

“Listen,” Penrod was saying, leaning forward, arms on the tabletop. “I think we’re looking at this the wrong way, gentlemen. We shouldn’t be squabbling, we should be happy. We are in a very unique position. In the time since the Lord Ruler’s empire fell, dozens—perhaps hundreds—of men have tried to set themselves up as kings in various ways. The one thing they shared, however, was that they all lacked stability.

“Well, it appears that
we
are going to be forced to work together. I am starting to see this in a favorable light. I will give my allegiance to the Venture couple—I’ll even live with Elend Venture’s eccentric views of government—if it means that I’ll still be in power ten years from now.”

Cett scratched at his beard for a moment, then nodded. “You make a good point, Penrod. Maybe the first good one I’ve ever heard out of you.”

“But we can’t continue trying to assume that we know what we are to do,” Janarle said. “We need direction. Surviving the next ten years, I suspect, is going to depend heavily on my not ending up dead on the end of that Mistborn girl’s knife.”

“Indeed,” Penrod said, nodding curtly. “Master Terrisman. When can we expect the empress to take command again?”

Once again, all three pairs of eyes turned to Sazed.

I don’t really care,
Sazed thought, then immediately felt guilty. Vin was his friend. He did care. Even if it was hard to care about anything for him. He looked down in shame. “Lady Vin is suffering greatly from the effects of an extended pewter drag,” he said. “She pushed herself very hard this last year, and then ended it by running all the way back to Luthadel. She is in great need of rest. I think we should let her be for a time longer.”

The others nodded, and returned to their discussion. Sazed’s mind, however, turned to Vin. He’d understated her malady, and he was beginning to worry. A pewter drag drained the body, and he suspected that she’d been forcing herself to stay awake with the metal for months now.

When a Keeper stored up wakefulness, he slept as if in a coma for a time. He could only hope that the effects of such a terrible pewter drag were the same, for Vin hadn’t awoken a single time since her return a week before. Perhaps she’d awake soon, like a Keeper who came out of sleep.

Perhaps it would last longer. Her koloss army waited outside the city, controlled—apparently—even though she was unconscious. But for how long? Pewter dragging could kill, if the person had pushed themselves too hard.

What would happen to the city if she never woke up?

Ash was falling.
A lot of ashfalls lately,
Elend thought as he and Spook emerged from the trees and looked out over the Luthadel plain.

“See,” Spook said quietly, pointing. “The city gates are broken.”

Elend frowned. “But the koloss are camped
outside
the city.” Indeed, Straff’s army camp was also still there, right where it had been.

“Work crews,” Spook said, shading his face against the sunlight to protect his overly sensitive Allomancer’s eyes. “Looks like they’re burying corpses outside the city.”

Elend’s frown deepened.
Vin. What happened to her? Is she all right?

He and Spook had cut across country, taking a cue from the Terrismen, to make certain that they didn’t get discovered by patrols from the city. Indeed, this day they’d broken their pattern, traveling a little bit during the day so that they could arrive at Luthadel just before nightfall. The mists would soon be coming, and Elend was fatigued—both from rising early and from walking so long.

More than that, he was tired of not knowing what had happened to Luthadel. “Can you see whose flag is set over the gates?” he asked.

Spook paused, apparently flaring his metals. “Yours,” he finally said, surprised.

Elend smiled.
Well, either they managed to save the city somehow, or this is a very elaborate trap to capture me.
“Come on,” he said, pointing to a line of refugees who were being allowed back into the city—likely those who had fled before, returning for food now that the danger was past. “We’ll mix with those and make our way in.”

Sazed sighed quietly, shutting the door to his room. The kings were finished with the day’s arguments. Actually, they were starting to get along quite well, considering the fact that they’d all tried to conquer each other just a few weeks before.

Sazed knew he could take no credit for their newfound amiability, however. He had other preoccupations.

I’ve seen many die, in my days,
he thought, walking into the room.
Kelsier. Jadendwyl. Crenda. People I respected. I never wondered what had happened to
their
spirits.

He set his candle on the table, the fragile light illuminating a few scattered pages, a pile of strange metal nails taken from koloss bodies, and one manuscript. Sazed sat down at the table, fingers brushing the pages, remembering the days spent with Tindwyl, studying.

Maybe this is why Vin put me in charge,
he thought.
She knew I’d need something to take my mind off Tindwyl.

And yet, he was finding more and more that he didn’t
want
to take his mind off her. Which was more potent? The pain of memory, or the pain of forgetting? He was a Keeper—it was his life’s work to remember. Forgetting, even in the name of personal peace, was not something that appealed to him.

He flipped through the manuscript, smiling fondly in the dark chamber. He’d sent a cleaned-up, rewritten version with Vin and Elend to the north. This, however, was the original. The frantically—almost desperately—scribbled manuscript made by two frightened scholars.

As he fingered the pages, the flickering candlelight revealed Tindwyl’s firm, yet beautiful, script. It mixed easily with paragraphs written in Sazed’s own, more reserved hand. At times, a page would alternate between their different hands a dozen different times.

He didn’t realize that he was crying until he blinked, sending loose a tear, which hit the page. He looked down, stunned as the bit of water caused a swirl in the ink.

“What now, Tindwyl?” he whispered. “Why did we do this? You never believed in the Hero of Ages, and I never believed in anything, it appears. What was the point of all this?”

He reached up and dabbed the tear with his sleeve, preserving the page as best he could. Despite his tiredness, he began to read, selecting a random paragraph. He read to remember. To think of days when he hadn’t worried about why they were studying. He had simply been content to do what he enjoyed best, with the person he had come to love most.

We gathered everything we could find on the Hero of Ages and the Deepness,
he thought, reading.
But so much of it seems contradictory.

He flipped through to a particular section, one that Tindwyl had insisted that they include. It contained the several most blatant self-contradictions, as declared by Tindwyl. He read them over, giving them fair consideration for the first time. This was Tindwyl the scholar—a cautious skeptic. He fingered through the passages, reading her script.

The Hero of Ages will be tall of stature,
one read.
A man who cannot be ignored by others.

The power must not be taken,
read another.
Of this, we are certain. It must be held, but not used. It must be released.
Tindwyl had found that condition foolish, since other sections talked about the Hero using the power to defeat the Deepness.

All men are selfish,
read another.
The Hero is a man who can see the needs of all beyond his own desires.
“If all men are selfish,” Tindwyl had asked, “then how can the Hero be selfless, as is said in other passages? And, indeed, how can a humble man be expected to conquer the world?”

Sazed shook his head, smiling. At times, her objections had been very well conceived—but at other times, she had just been struggling to offer another opinion, no matter how much of a stretch it required. He ran his fingers across the page again, but paused on the first paragraph.