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.
And yet, a part of him acknowledged that if Straff hadn't kept his bastard son hidden, 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. But it also meant that Straff had been able to keep Zane hidden for most of his life. Even still, while rumors were growing about the existence of Straff's Mistbom, 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.
He found insanity no excuse, however, 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. Zane, at least, 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 nightwatch 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 and 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, brown of 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 clinched his fists. This command 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 nightwatch officer just moments before. He had learned from the best.
Finally. 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 really was competent; because of him, the Northern Dominance had avoided the chaos that prevailed in the rest of the Final Empire. Straffs 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 just 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 paused, turning back to his meal. "Actually, 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."
"Perhaps," Straff said. "But, don't underestimate the boy's foolishness. 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 parlay or negotiations. The arrival of the second army made that impossible. Attack now. and Straff would be defeated by Cett.
That meant waiting, waiting in a 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 just 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 just shook his head. Though not a full Mistbom, 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 actually managed to kill me?"
If I estion 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 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 Mistbom 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, however, brought him to face the real qudown 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 just 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 lay 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. He had time, however. As long as an hour, perhaps, and so he relaxed.
For a man who claimed he didn't want to kill Straff, Zanc 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, however, 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, however, 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, however. 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. Immediately, he 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 Mistbom would continue to do as commanded.
Probably.
19
SAZED UNCLASPED HIS FINAL STEEL/WIND. 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, however. In just six days of travel, using steelminds on occasion, 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 a
bout 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. Just 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 Faleast and Tyrian, two of the northern Ashmounts. Tyrian was still just barely visible to the south-a tall.
solitary peak with a cut-off, blackened top. 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 paused. He stood near the central canal, one of the main routes to Luthadel. The canal 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 th'e 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. In addition, his steelminds were empty. He wouldn't be able to run from pursuit.
And yet, an army within a week of Luthadel.... Whose was it, and what threat did it pose? His curiosity, the curiosity 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.
Well of Ascension Page 21
