The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

  Oh, some people had called him skaa. Even now, he could see that word in the eyes of some of the other Assemblymen. They regarded Philen and his fellow merchants with the same disdain that they gave the eight skaa workers on the Assembly. Couldn’t they see that the two groups were completely different?

  Philen shifted a bit on the bench. Shouldn’t the Assembly hall at least have comfortable seating? They were waiting on just a few members; the tall clock in the corner said that fifteen minutes still remained until the meeting began. Oddly, one of those who had yet to arrive was Venture himself. King Elend was usually early.

  Not king anymore, Philen thought with a smile. Just plain old Elend Venture. It was a poor name—not as good as Philen’s own. Of course, he had been just “Lin” until a year and a half ago. Philen Frandeu was what he had dubbed himself after the Collapse. It delighted him to no end that the others had taken to calling him the name without pause. But, why shouldn’t he have a grand name? A lord’s name? Was Philen not as good as any of the “noblemen” sitting aloofly in their places?

  Oh, he was just as good. Better, even. Yes, they had called him skaa—but during those years, they had come to him out of need, and so their arrogant sneers had lacked power. He’d seen their insecurity. They’d needed him. A man they called skaa. But he’d also been a merchant. A merchant who wasn’t noble. Something that wasn’t supposed to have existed in the Lord Ruler’s perfect little empire.

  But, noblemen merchants had to work with the obligators. And, where there had been obligators, nothing illegal could occur. Hence Philen. He’d been…an intermediary, of sorts. A man capable of arranging deals between interested parties who, for various reasons, wanted to avoid the watchful eyes of the Lord Ruler’s obligators. Philen hadn’t been part of a thieving crew—no, that was far too dangerous. And far too mundane.

  He had been born with an eye for finances and trades. Give him two rocks, and he’d have a quarry by the end of the week. Give him a spoke, and he’d change it to a fine horse-drawn carriage. Two bits of corn, and he’d eventually have a massive shipment of grain sailing to the Farmost Dominance markets. Actual noblemen had done the trades, of course, but Philen had been behind it all. A vast empire of his own.

  And still, they couldn’t see. He wore a suit as fine as theirs; now that he could trade openly, he had become one of the wealthiest men in Luthadel. Yet, the noblemen ignored him, just because he lacked a valid pedigree.

  Well, they would see. After today’s meeting…yes, they would see. Philen looked out into the crowd, looking anxiously for the person he had hidden there. Reassured, he looked toward the noblemen of the Assembly, who sat chatting a short distance away. One of their last members—Lord Ferson Penrod—had just arrived. The older man walked up onto the Assembly’s dais, passing by the members, greeting each in turn.

  “Philen,” Penrod said, noticing him. “A new suit, I see. The red vest suits you.”

  “Lord Penrod! Why, you’re looking well. You got over the other night’s ailment, then?”

  “Yes, it passed quickly,” the lord said, nodding a head topped with silver hair. “Just a touch of stomach ills.”

  Pity, Philen thought, smiling. “Well, we’d best be seated. I see that young Venture isn’t here, though….”

  “Yes,” Penrod said, frowning. He’d been most difficult to convince to vote against Venture; he had something of a fondness for the boy. He had come around in the end. They all had.

  Penrod moved on, joining the other noblemen. The old fool probably thought he was going to end up as king. Well, Philen had other plans for that throne. It wasn’t Philen’s own posterior that would sit in it, of course; he had no interest in running a country. Seemed like a terrible way to make money. Selling things. That was a much better way. More stable, less likely to lose one his head.

  Oh, but Philen had plans. He’d always had those. He had to keep himself from glancing at the audience again.

  Philen turned, instead, to study the Assembly. They had all arrived except Venture. Seven noblemen, eight merchants, and eight skaa workers: twenty-four men, with Venture. The three-way division was supposed to give the commoners the most power, since they ostensibly outnumbered the noblemen. Even Venture hadn’t understood that merchants weren’t skaa.

  Philen wrinkled his nose. Even though the skaa Assemblymen usually cleaned up before coming to the meetings, he could smell the stink of forges, mills, and shops on them. Men who made things. Philen would have to be certain they were put back in their place, once this was over. An Assembly was an interesting idea, but it should be filled only with those who deserved the station. Men like Philen.

  Lord Philen, he thought. Not long now.

  Hopefully, Elend would be late. Then, maybe they could avoid his speech. Philen could imagine how it would go anyway.

  Um…now, see, this wasn’t fair. I should be king. Here, let me read you a book about why. Now, um, can you all please give some more money to the skaa?

  Philen smiled.

  The man next to him, Getrue, nudged him. “You think he’s going to show up?” he whispered.

  “Probably not. He must know that we don’t want him. We kicked him out, didn’t we?”

  Getrue shrugged. He’d gained weight since the Collapse—a lot of it. “I don’t know, Lin. I mean…we didn’t mean. He was just…the armies…We have to have a strong king, right? Someone who will keep the city from falling?”

  “Of course,” Philen said. “And my name isn’t Lin.”

  Getrue flushed. “Sorry.”

  “We did the right thing,” Philen continued. “Venture is a weak man. A fool.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Getrue said. “He has good ideas….” Getrue glanced downward uncomfortably.

  Philen snorted, glancing at the clock. It was time, though he couldn’t hear the chimes over the crowd. The Assembly meetings had become busy since Venture’s fall. Benches fanned out before the stage, benches crowded with people, mostly skaa. Philen wasn’t sure why they were allowed to attend. They couldn’t vote or anything.

  More Venture foolishness, he thought, shaking his head. At the very back of the room—behind the crowd, opposite the stage—sat two large, broad doors letting in the red sunlight. Philen nodded toward some men, and they pushed the doors shut. The crowds hushed.

  Philen stood to address the Assembly. “Well, since—”

  The Assembly hall doors burst back open. A man in white stood with a small crowd of people, backlit by red sunlight. Elend Venture. Philen cocked his head, frowning.

  The former king strode forward, white cape fluttering behind him. His Mistborn was at his side, as usual, but she was wearing a dress. From the few times Philen had spoken with her, he would have expected her to look awkward in a noblewoman’s gown. And yet, she seemed to wear it well, walking gracefully. She actually looked rather fetching.

  At least, until Philen met her eyes. She did not have a warm look for the Assembly members, and Philen glanced away. Venture had brought all of his Allomancers with him—the former thugs of the Survivor’s crew. Elend apparently wanted to remind everyone who his friends were. Powerful men. Frightening men.

  Men who killed gods.

  And Elend had not one, but two Terrismen with him. One was only a woman—Philen had never seen a Terriswoman before—but still, it was impressive. Everyone had heard how the stewards had left their masters after the Collapse; they refused to work as servants anymore. Where had Venture found not one, but two of the colorful-robed stewards to serve him?

  The crowd sat quietly, watching Venture. Some seemed uncomfortable. How were they to treat this man? Others seemed…awed? Was that right? Who would be awed by Elend Venture—even if the Elend Venture in question was clean-shaven, had styled hair, wore new clothing and…? Philen frowned. Was that a dueling cane the king was wearing? And a wolfhound at his side?

  He’s not king anymore! Philen reminded himself again.

  Venture strode up onto the Assembly
stage. He turned, waving for his people—all eight of them—to sit with the guards. Venture then turned and glanced at Philen. “Philen, did you want to say something?”

  Philen realized he was still standing. “I…was just—”

  “Are you Assembly chancellor?” Elend asked.

  Philen paused. “Chancellor?”

  “The king presides at Assembly meetings,” Elend said. “We now have no king—and so, by law, the Assembly should have elected a chancellor to call speakers, adjudicate time allotments, and break tie votes.” He paused, eyeing Philen. “Someone needs to lead. Otherwise there is chaos.”

  Despite himself, Philen grew nervous. Did Venture know that Philen had organized the vote against him? No, no he didn’t, he couldn’t. He was looking at each of the Assembly members in turn, meeting their eyes. There was none of the jovial, dismissible boy that had attended these meetings before. Standing in the militaristic suit, firm instead of hesitant…he almost seemed like a different person.

  You found a coach, it appears, Philen thought. A little too late. Just wait….

  Philen sat down. “Actually, we didn’t get a chance to choose a chancellor,” he said. “We were just getting to that.”

  Elend nodded, a dozen different instructions rattling in his head. Keep eye contact. Use subtle, but firm, expressions. Never appear hurried, but don’t seem hesitant. Sit down without wiggling, don’t shuffle, use a straight posture, don’t form your hands into fists when you’re nervous….

  He shot a quick glance at Tindwyl. She gave him a nod.

  Get back to it, El, he told himself. Let them sense the differences in you.

  He walked over to take his seat, nodding to the other seven noblemen on the Assembly. “Very well,” he said, taking the lead. “Then, might I nominate a chancellor?”

  “Yourself?” asked Dridel, one of the noblemen; his sneer seemed permanent, as far as Elend could tell. It was a passably appropriate expression for one with such a sharp face and dark hair.

  “No,” Elend said. “I’m hardly an unbiased party in today’s proceedings. Therefore, I nominate Lord Penrod. He’s as honorable a man as we’re likely to find, and I believe he can be trusted to mediate our discussions.”

  The group was quiet for a moment.

  “That seems logical,” Hettel, a forge worker, finally said.

  “All in favor?” Elend said, raising his hand. He got a good eighteen hands—all of the skaa, most of the nobility, only one of the merchants. It was a majority, however.

  Elend turned to Lord Penrod. “I believe that means that you are in charge, Ferson.”

  The stately man nodded appreciatively, then rose to formally open the meeting, something Elend had once done. Penrod’s mannerisms were polished, his posture strong as he stood in his well-cut suit. Elend couldn’t help but feel a little jealous, watching Penrod act so naturally in the things that Elend was struggling to learn.

  Maybe he would make a better king than I, Elend thought. Perhaps…

  No, he thought firmly. I have to be confident. Penrod is a decent man and an impeccable noble, but those things do not make a leader. He hasn’t read what I’ve read, and doesn’t understand legislative theory as I do. He’s a good man, but he’s still a product of his society—he doesn’t consider skaa animals, but he’ll never be able to think of them as equals.

  Penrod finished the introductions, then turned to Elend. “Lord Venture, you called this meeting. I believe that the law grants you first opportunity to address the Assembly.”

  Elend nodded thankfully, rising.

  “Will twenty minutes be enough time?” Penrod asked.

  “It should be,” Elend said, passing Penrod as they traded places. Elend stood up at the lectern. To his right, the floor of the hall was packed with shuffling, coughing, whispering people. There was a tension to the room—this was the first time Elend had confronted the group that had betrayed him.

  “As many of you know,” Elend said to the twenty-three Assembly members, “I recently returned from a meeting with Straff Venture—the warlord who is, unfortunately, my father. I would like to give a report of this encounter. Realize that because this is an open meeting, I will adjust my report to avoid mentioning sensitive matters of national security.”

  He paused just slightly, and saw the looks of confusion he had expected. Finally, Philen the merchant cleared his throat.

  “Yes, Philen?” Elend asked.

  “This is all well and good, Elend,” Philen said. “But aren’t you going to address the matter that brought us here?”

  “The reason we meet together, Philen,” Elend said, “is so that we can discuss how to keep Luthadel safe and prosperous. I think the people are most worried about the armies—and we should, primarily, seek to address their concerns. Matters of leadership in the Assembly can wait.”

  “I…see,” Philen said, obviously confused.

  “The time is yours, Lord Venture,” Penrod said. “Proceed as you wish.”

  “Thank you, Chancellor,” Elend said. “I wish to make it very clear that my father is not going to attack this city. I can understand why people would be concerned, particularly because of last week’s preliminary assault on our walls. That, however, was simply a test—Straff fears attacking too much to commit all of his resources.

  “During our meeting, Straff told me that he had made an alliance with Cett. However, I believe this to have been a bluff—if, unfortunately, a bluff with teeth. I suspect that he was, indeed, planning to risk attacking us, despite Cett’s presence. That attack has been halted.”

  “Why?” asked one of the worker representatives. “Because you’re his son?”

  “No, actually,” Elend said. “Straff is not one to let familial relationships hamper his determination.” Elend paused, glancing at Vin. He was beginning to realize that she didn’t like being the one who held the knife at Straff’s throat, but she had given him permission to speak of her in his speech.

  Still…

  She said it was all right, he told himself. I’m not choosing duty over her!

  “Come now, Elend,” Philen said. “Stop with the theatrics. What did you promise Straff to keep his armies out of the city?”

  “I threatened him,” Elend said. “My fellow Assemblymen, when facing down my father in parlay, I realized that we—as a group—have generally ignored one of our greatest resources. We think of ourselves as an honorable body, created by the mandate of the people. However, we are not here because of anything we ourselves did. There is only one reason we have the positions we do—and that reason is the Survivor of Hathsin.”

  Elend looked the members of the Assembly in the eyes as he continued. “I have, at times, felt as I suspect that many of you do. The Survivor is a legend already, one we cannot hope to emulate. He has power over this people—a power stronger than our own, even though he is dead. We’re jealous. Insecure, even. These are natural, human feelings. Leaders feel them just as acutely as other people—perhaps even more so.

  “Gentlemen, we cannot afford to continue thinking like this. The Survivor’s legacy doesn’t belong to one group, or even to this city alone. He is our progenitor—the father of everyone who is free in this land. Whether or not you accept his religious authority, you must admit that without his bravery and sacrifice, we would not now enjoy our current freedom.”

  “What does this have to do with Straff?” Philen snapped.

  “Everything,” Elend said. “For, though the Survivor is gone, his legacy remains. Specifically, in the form of his apprentice.” Elend nodded toward Vin. “She is the most powerful Mistborn alive—something Straff now knows for himself. Gentlemen, I know my father’s temperament. He will not attack this city while he fears retribution from a source he cannot stop. He now realizes that if he attacks, he will incur the wrath of the Survivor’s heir—a wrath not even the Lord Ruler himself could withstand.”

  Elend fell silent, listening to the whispered conversations move through the crowd. Ne
ws of what he’d just said would reach the populace, and bring them strength. Perhaps, even, news would reach Straff’s army through the spies Elend knew must be in the audience. He’d noticed his father’s Allomancer sitting in the crowd, the one named Zane.

  And when news reached Straff’s army, the men there might think twice about obeying any orders to attack. Who would want to face the very force that had destroyed the Lord Ruler? It was a weak hope—the men of Straff’s army probably didn’t believe all of the stories out of Luthadel—but every little bit of weakened morale would help.

  It also wouldn’t hurt for Elend to associate himself a little more strongly with the Survivor. He was just going to have to get over his insecurity; Kelsier had been a great man, but he was gone. Elend would just have to do his best to see that the Survivor’s legacy lived on.

  For that was what would be best for his people.

  Vin sat with a twisted stomach, listening to Elend’s speech.

  “You okay with this?” Ham whispered, leaning over to her as Elend gave a more detailed account of his visit with Straff.

  Vin shrugged. “Whatever helps the kingdom.”

  “You were never comfortable with the way that Kell set himself up with the skaa—none of us were.”

  “It’s what Elend needs,” Vin said.

  Tindwyl, who sat just before them, turned and gave her a flat look. Vin expected some recrimination for whispering during the Assembly proceedings, but apparently the Terriswoman had a different kind of castigation in mind.

  “The king—” She still referred to Elend that way. “—needs this link with the Survivor. Elend has very little of his own authority to rely upon, and Kelsier is currently the most well loved, most celebrated man in the Central Dominance. By implying that the government was founded by the Survivor, the king will make the people think twice about meddling with it.”

  Ham nodded thoughtfully. Vin glanced downward, however. What’s the problem? Just earlier, I was beginning to wonder if I were the Hero of Ages, and now I’m worried about the notoriety Elend is giving me?