The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

  “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 paused, then nodded. Good answer, he acknowledged, then pulled open the door and rushed out to find Vin.

  17

  If only the Terris religion, and belief in the Anticipation, hadn’t spread beyond our people.

  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.

  Apparently, however, writing 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 paused, trying to determine if he was still mocking her or not. 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 just 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 costume.

  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 costume, 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 costume.

  “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 just 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 just 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. They 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. He wore trousers and a silken shirt, with no cloak or cape. She remembered that face. It was him.

  But… she thought, 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 paused, frowning. 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?
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br />   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 again, then? 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 just 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 just 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 mention 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 himself 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 buildings. 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 Pushed harder. 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 ac
cess 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. Somehow, 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 below. 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 just 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.