The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

  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 overreacting to 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. However, the 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 back of the Lurcher’s chest. 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. The coin, however, didn’t strike 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, the metal that 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 just 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 only one 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 just 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. He paused just 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. That 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 four 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 fell forward, groaning, and Vin spun again, easily dodging between two more staves.

  She smashed the noise sticks against the sides of a second Thug’s head. They shattered—ringing with a hollow sound like that of a musician’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, however, its atium shadow became firm and singular.

  The Mistborn assassin ducked, dodging perfectly. The move distracted him long enough for her to close the distance, however. 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 just a moment, she felt overwhelming power. With atium, she was invincible. She could dodge any blow, kill any enemy.

  Her atium ran out.

  Suddenly, 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… she thought. He saved me. 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 paused. Actually, 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.

  However, 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. Somehow 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.

  3

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

  Elend dropped his pen to his desk with a sigh, then leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead.

  Elend 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 just hadn’t realized how incredibly frustrating a parliamentary council would be.

  He stood up and walked over to get himself some chilled wine. He paused, however, as 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 parlay 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 somehow? 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 Assembly was a better way. By giving the people a parliament with real legal authority, Elend would craft a stable government. The people would have a king—a man to provide continuity, a symbol of unity. A man who wouldn’t be tainted by the need to get reappointed. However, they would also have an Assembly—a council made up of their peers that could voice their concerns.

  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 just 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—just 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 know 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 just spies, and very few were Allomancers. However, a normal man’s steel knife would kill Elend just 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. About four years her senior—placing him in his early twenties—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 somehow 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 just 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.