The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

  The first Thug. She’d broken his leg, then forgotten—

  He got his hands around her neck, squeezing as he knelt above her, his legs pressing against her chest, his face wild with rage. His eyes bulged, adrenaline mixing with pewter.

  Vin gasped for breath. She was taken back to years before, to beatings performed by men looming above her. Camon, and Reen, and a dozen others.

  No! she thought, flaring her pewter, struggling. He had her pinned, however, and he was much larger then she was. Much stronger. Elend slammed his staff against the man’s back, but the Thug barely even flinched.

  Vin couldn’t breathe. She felt her throat being crushed. She tried to pry the Thug’s hands apart, but it was as Ham had always said. Her small size was a great advantage to her in most situations—but when it came down to brute strength, she was no match for a man of bulk and muscle. She tried Pulling herself to the side, but the man’s grip was too strong, her weight too small compared with his.

  She struggled in vain. She had duralumin still—burning it only made other metals vanish, not the duralumin itself—but last time that had nearly gotten her killed. If she didn’t take the Thug down quickly, she’d be left without pewter once again.

  Elend pounded, yelling for help, but his voice sounded distant. The Thug pressed his face almost up against Vin’s, and she could see his fury. At that moment, incredibly, a thought occurred to her.

  Where have I seen this man before?

  Her vision darkened. However, as the Thug constricted his grip, he leaned closer, closer, closer….

  She didn’t have a choice. Vin burned duralumin and flared her pewter. She flung her opponent’s hands aside and smashed her head upward into his face.

  The man’s head exploded as easily as the eyeball had earlier.

  Vin gasped for breath and pushed the headless corpse off her. Elend stumbled back, his suit and face sprayed red. Vin stumbled to her feet. Her vision swam as her pewter dissipated—but even through that, she could see an emotion on Elend’s face, stark as the blood on his brilliant white uniform.

  Horror.

  No, she thought, her mind fading. Please, Elend, not that….

  She fell forward, unable to maintain consciousness.

  Elend sat in his ruined suit, hands against forehead, the wreckage of the Assembly Hall hauntingly empty around him.

  “She’ll live,” Ham said. “She actually isn’t hurt that badly. Or…well, not that badly for Vin. She just needs plenty of pewter and some of Sazed’s care. He says the ribs aren’t even broken, just cracked.”

  Elend nodded absently. Some soldiers were clearing away the corpses, among them the six men that Vin had killed, including the one at the end….

  Elend squeezed his eyes shut.

  “What?” Ham asked.

  Elend opened his eyes, forming his hand into a fist to keep it from shaking. “I know you’ve seen a lot of battles, Ham,” he said. “But, I’m not used to them. I’m not used to…” He turned away as the soldiers dragged away the headless body.

  Ham watched the corpse go.

  “I’ve only actually seen her fight once before, you know,” Elend said quietly. “In the palace, a year ago. She only threw a few men against the walls. It was nothing like this.”

  Ham took a seat beside Elend on the benches. “She’s Mistborn, El. What did you expect? A single Thug can easily take down ten men—dozens, if he has a Coinshot to support him. A Mistborn…well, they’re like an army in one person.”

  Elend nodded. “I know, Ham. I know she killed the Lord Ruler—she’s even told me how she faced several Steel Inquisitors. But…I’ve just never seen…”

  He closed his eyes again. The image of Vin stumbling toward him at the end, her beautiful white ball gown covered in the gore of a man she’d just killed with her forehead…

  She did it to protect me, he thought. But that doesn’t make it any less disturbing.

  Maybe that even makes it a little more disturbing.

  He forced his eyes open. He couldn’t afford to be distracted; he had to be strong. He was king.

  “You think Straff sent them?” Elend asked.

  Ham nodded. “Who else? They targeted you and Cett. I guess your threat to kill Straff wasn’t as binding as we assumed.”

  “How is Cett?”

  “He barely escaped alive. As it is, they slaughtered half of his soldiers. In the fray, Demoux and I couldn’t even see what was happening up on the stage with you and Vin.”

  Elend nodded. By the time Ham had arrived, Vin had already dealt with the assassins. It had taken her only a few minutes to wipe out all six of them.

  Ham was silent for a moment. Finally, he turned to Elend. “I’ll admit, El,” he said quietly. “I’m impressed. I didn’t see the fight, but I saw the aftermath. It’s one thing to fight six Allomancers, but it’s another to do that while trying to protect a regular person, and to keep any bystanders from harm. And that last man…”

  “Do you remember when she saved Breeze?” Elend asked. “It was so far away, but I swear I saw her throw horses into the air with her Allomancy. Have you ever heard of anything like that?”

  Ham shook his head.

  Elend sat quietly for a moment. “I think we need to do some planning. What with today’s events, we can’t…”

  Ham looked up as Elend trailed off. “What?”

  “Messenger,” Elend said, nodding toward the doorway. Sure enough, the man presented himself to the soldiers, then was escorted up to the stage. Elend stood, walking over to meet the short man, who wore Penrod’s heraldry on his coat.

  “My lord,” the man said, bowing. “I’ve been sent to inform you that the voting will proceed at Lord Penrod’s mansion.”

  “The voting?” Ham asked. “What nonsense is this? His Majesty was nearly killed today!”

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” the aide said. “I was simply told to deliver the message.”

  Elend sighed. He’d hoped that, in the confusion, Penrod wouldn’t remember the deadline. “If they don’t choose a new leader today, Ham, then I get to retain the crown. They’ve already wasted their grace period.”

  Ham sighed. “And if there are more assassins?” he asked quietly. “Vin will be laid up for a few days, at least.”

  “I can’t rely on her to protect me all the time,” Elend said. “Let’s go.”

  “I vote for myself,” Lord Penrod said.

  Not unexpected, Elend thought. He sat in Penrod’s comfortable lounge, accompanied by a group of shaken Assemblymen—none of whom, thankfully, had been hurt in the attack. Several held drinks, and there was a veritable army of guards waiting around the perimeter, eyeing each other warily. The crowded room also held Noorden and three other scribes, who were there to witness the voting, according to the law.

  “I vote for Lord Penrod as well,” said Lord Dukaler.

  Also not unexpected, Elend thought. I wonder how much that cost Penrod.

  Mansion Penrod was not a keep, but it was lavishly decorated. The plushness of Elend’s chair was welcome as a relief from the tensions of the day. Yet, Elend feared that it was too soothing. It would be very easy to drift off….

  “I vote for Cett,” said Lord Habren.

  Elend perked up. It was the second for Cett, which put him behind Penrod by three.

  Everyone turned to Elend. “I vote for myself,” he said, trying to project a firmness that was hard to maintain after everything that had happened. The merchants were next. Elend settled back, prepared for the expected run of votes for Cett.

  “I vote for Penrod,” Philen said.

  Elend sat upright, alert. What!

  The next merchant voted for Penrod as well. As did the next, and the next. Elend sat stunned, listening. What did I miss? he thought. He glanced at Ham, who shrugged in confusion.

  Philen glanced at Elend, smiling pleasantly. Elend couldn’t tell if there was bitterness or satisfaction in that look, however. They switched allegiances? That quickly? Phil
en had been the one to sneak Cett into the city in the first place.

  Elend looked down the row of merchants, trying with little success to gauge their reactions. Cett himself wasn’t in the meeting; he had retreated to Keep Hasting to nurse his wound.

  “I vote for Lord Venture,” said Haws, foremost of the skaa faction. This also managed to get a stir out of the room. Haws met Elend’s eye, and nodded. He was a firm believer in the Church of the Survivor, and while the different preachers of the religion were beginning to disagree on how to organize their followers, they all agreed that a believer on the throne would be better for them than handing the city over to Cett.

  There will be a price to pay for this allegiance, Elend thought as the skaa voted. They knew Elend’s reputation for honesty, and he would not betray their trust.

  He had told them he would become an open member of their sect. He hadn’t promised them belief, but he had promised them devotion. He still wasn’t certain what he had given away, but both of them knew they would need each other.

  “I vote for Penrod,” said Jasten, a canal worker.

  “As do I,” said Thurts, his brother.

  Elend gritted his teeth. He’d known they would be trouble; they never had liked the Church of the Survivor. But, four of the skaa had already given him their votes. With only two remaining, he had a very good shot at a deadlock.

  “I vote for Venture,” said the next man.

  “I do, too,” said the final skaa. Elend gave the man, Vet, a smile of appreciation.

  That left fifteen votes for Penrod, two for Cett, and seven for Elend. Deadlock. Elend reclined slightly, head resting against the chair’s pillowed back, sighing softly.

  You did your job, Vin, he thought. I did mine. Now we just need to keep this country in one piece.

  “Um,” a voice asked, “am I allowed to change my vote?”

  Elend opened his eyes. It was Lord Habren, one of the votes for Cett.

  “I mean, it’s obvious now that Cett isn’t going to win,” Habren said, flushing slightly. The young man was a distant cousin of the Elariel family, which was probably how he’d gotten his seat. Names still meant power in Luthadel.

  “I’m not sure if you can change or not,” Lord Penrod said.

  “Well, I’d rather my vote meant something,” Habren said. “There are only two votes for Cett, after all.”

  The room fell silent. One by one, the members of the Assembly turned to Elend. Noorden the scribe met Elend’s eyes. There was a clause allowing for men to change their votes, assuming that the chancellor hadn’t officially closed the voting—which, indeed, he hadn’t.

  The clause was a rather oblique; Noorden was probably the only other one in the room who knew the law well enough to interpret it. He nodded slightly, still meeting Elend’s eyes. He would hold his tongue.

  Elend sat still in a room full of men who trusted him, even as they rejected him. He could do as Noorden did. He could say nothing, or could say that he didn’t know.

  “Yes,” Elend said softly. “The law allows for you to change your vote, Lord Habren. You may only do so once, and must do so before the winner is declared. Everyone else has the same opportunity.”

  “Then I vote for Lord Penrod,” Habren said.

  “As do I,” said Lord Hue, the other who had voted for Cett.

  Elend closed his eyes.

  “Are there any other alterations?” Lord Penrod asked.

  No one spoke.

  “Then,” Penrod said, “I see seventeen votes for myself, seven votes for Lord Venture. I officially close the voting and humbly accept your appointment as king. I shall serve as best I can in this capacity.”

  Elend stood, then slowly removed his crown. “Here,” he said, setting it on the mantle. “You’ll need this.”

  He nodded to Ham, then left without looking back at the men who had discarded him.

  THE END OF PART THREE

  Part Four

  Knives

  39

  I know your argument. We speak of the Anticipation, of things foretold, of promises made by our greatest prophets of old. Of course the Hero of Ages will fit the prophecies. He will fit them perfectly. That’s the idea.

  Straff Venture rode quietly in the misty twilight air. Though he would have preferred a carriage, he felt it important to travel by horseback and present a compelling image for the troops. Zane, not surprisingly, chose to walk. He sauntered along beside Straff’s horse, the two of them leading a group of fifty soldiers.

  Even with the troops, Straff felt exposed. It wasn’t just the mists, and it wasn’t just the darkness. He could still remember her touch on his emotions.

  “You’ve failed me, Zane,” Straff said.

  The Mistborn looked up, and—burning tin—Straff could see a frown on his face. “Failed?”

  “Venture and Cett still live. Beyond that, you sent a batch of my best Allomancers to their deaths.”

  “I warned you that they might die,” Zane said.

  “For a purpose, Zane,” Straff said sternly. “Why did you need a group of secret Allomancers if you were just going to send them on a suicide mission in the middle of a public gathering? You may assume our resources to be unlimited, but let me assure you—those six men cannot be replaced.”

  It had taken Straff decades of work with his mistresses to gather so many hidden Allomancers. It had been pleasurable work, but work all the same. In one reckless gambit, Zane had destroyed a good third of Straff’s Allomancer children.

  My children dead, our hand exposed, and that…creature of Elend’s still lives!

  “I’m sorry, Father,” Zane said. “I thought that the chaos and crowded quarters would keep the girl isolated, and force her not to use coins. I really thought this would work.”

  Straff frowned. He well knew that Zane thought himself more competent than his father; what Mistborn wouldn’t think such a thing? Only a delicate mixture of bribery, threats, and manipulation kept Zane under control.

  Yet, no matter what Zane thought, Straff was no fool. He knew, at that moment, that Zane was hiding something. Why send those men to die? Straff thought. He must have intended them to fail—otherwise he would have helped them fight the girl.

  “No,” Zane said softly, talking to himself as he sometimes did. “He’s my father…” He trailed off, then shook his head sharply. “No. Not them either.”

  Lord Ruler, Straff thought, looking down at the muttering madman beside him. What have I gotten myself into? Zane was growing more unpredictable. Had he sent those men to die out of jealousy, out of lust for violence, or had he simply been bored? Straff didn’t think that Zane had turned on him, but it was difficult to tell. Either way, Straff didn’t like having to rely on Zane for his plans to work. He didn’t really like having to rely on Zane for anything.

  Zane looked up at Straff, and stopped talking. He did a good job of hiding his insanity, most of the time. A good enough job that Straff sometimes forgot about it. Yet, it still lurked there, beneath the surface. Zane was as dangerous a tool as Straff had ever used. The protection provided by a Mistborn outweighed the danger of Zane’s insanity.

  Barely.

  “You needn’t worry, Father,” Zane said. “The city will still be yours.”

  “It will never be mine as long as that woman lives,” Straff said. He shivered. Perhaps that’s what this was all about. Zane’s attack was so obvious that everyone in the city knows I was behind it, and when that Mistborn demon wakes, she will come after me in retribution.

  But, if that were Zane’s goal, then why not just kill me himself? Zane didn’t make sense. He didn’t have to. That was, perhaps, one of the advantages of being insane.

  Zane shook his head. “I think you will be surprised, Father. One way or another, you will soon have nothing to fear from Vin.”

  “She thinks I tried to have her beloved king assassinated.”

  Zane smiled. “No, I don’t think that she does. She’s far too clever for that.”
>
  Too clever to see the truth? Straff thought. However, his tin-enhanced ears heard shuffling in the mists. He held up a hand, halting his procession. In the distance, he could just barely pick out the flickering blobs of wall-top torches. They were close to the city—uncomfortably close.

  Straff’s procession waited quietly. Then, from the mists before them, a man on horseback appeared, accompanied by fifty soldiers of his own. Ferson Penrod.

  “Straff,” Penrod said, nodding.

  “Ferson.”

  “Your men did well,” Penrod said. “I’m glad your son didn’t have to die. He’s a good lad. A bad king, but an earnest man.”

  A lot of my sons died today, Ferson, Straff thought. The fact that Elend still lives isn’t fortunate—it’s irony.

  “You are ready to deliver the city?” Straff asked.

  Penrod nodded. “Philen and his merchants want assurances that they will have titles to match those Cett promised them.”

  Straff waved a dismissive hand. “You know me, Ferson.” You used to practically grovel before me at parties every week. “I always honor business agreements. I’d be an idiot not to appease those merchants—they’re the ones who will bring me tax revenue from this dominance.”

  Penrod nodded. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding, Straff. I don’t trust Cett.”

  “I doubt you trust me,” Straff said.

  Penrod smiled. “But I do know you, Straff. You’re one of us—a Luthadel nobleman. Besides, you have produced the most stable kingdom in the dominances. That’s all we’re looking for right now. A little stability for this people.”

  “You almost sound like that fool son of mine.”

  Penrod paused, then shook his head. “Your boy isn’t a fool, Straff. He’s just an idealist. In truth, I’m sad to see his little utopia fall.”

  “If you are sad for him, Ferson, then you are an idiot, too.”

  Penrod stiffened. Straff caught the man’s proud eyes, holding them with his stare, until Penrod looked down. The exchange was a simple one, mostly meaningless—but it did serve as a very important reminder.