The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

  Cett glanced at her, and then—apparently despite himself—he started to chuckle. “You’d’ve had him feeding you gourmet foods before the day was through. Maybe I should have left you behind. Then, at least, I’d have known where you were—rather than worrying where you’d run off to next. You didn’t bring that idiot Breeze back with you, did you?”

  “Father!” Allrianne said. “Breezy is a good man.”

  “Good men die quickly in this world, Allrianne,” Cett said. “I know—I’ve killed enough of them.”

  “Oh, yes,” Allrianne said, “you’re very wise. And taking an aggressive stance against Luthadel had such a positive outcome, didn’t it? Chased away with your tail between your legs? You’d be dead now, if dear Vin had as little conscience as you.”

  “That ‘conscience’ didn’t stop her from killing some three hundred of my men,” Cett said.

  “She’s a very confused young lady,” Allrianne said. “Either way, I do feel obliged to remind you that I was right. You should have made an alliance with the Venture boy, instead of threatening him. That means you owe me five new dresses!”

  Cett rubbed his forehead. “This isn’t a damn game, girl.”

  “Fashion, Father, is no game,” Allrianne said firmly. “I can’t very well enchant bandit troops into leading me safely home if I look like a street rat, now can I?”

  “More bandits, Allrianne?” Cett asked with a sigh. “You know how long it took us to get rid of the last group?”

  “Hobart’s a wonderful man,” Allrianne said testily. “Not to mention well-connected with the local thieving community. Give him some gold and some prostitutes, and you might just be able to talk him into helping you with those brigands that are attacking your supply lines.”

  Cett paused, glancing at the map. Then he began to pull at his beard thoughtfully. “Well, you’re back,” he finally said. “Guess we’ll have to take care of you. I suppose you want someone to carry a litter for you as we head home….”

  “Actually,” Allrianne said, “we’re not going back to the dominance. We’re returning to Luthadel.”

  Cett didn’t immediately dismiss the comment; he could usually tell when she was being serious. Instead, he simply shook his head. “Luthadel holds nothing for us, Allrianne.”

  “We can’t go back to the dominance, either,” Allrianne said. “Our enemies are too strong, and some of them have Allomancers. That’s why we had to come here in the first place. We can’t leave the area until we have either money or allies.”

  “There’s no money in Luthadel,” Cett said. “I believe Venture when he says the atium isn’t there.”

  “I agree,” Allrianne said. “I searched that palace well, never found a bit of the stuff. That means we need to leave here with friends, instead of money. Go back, wait for a battle to start, then help whichever side looks like it’s going to win. They’ll feel indebted to us—they might even decide to let us live.”

  Cett stood quietly for a moment. “That’s not going to help save your friend Breeze, Allrianne. His faction is by far the weakest—even teaming with the Venture boy, I doubt we could beat Straff or those koloss. Not without access to the city walls and plenty of time to prepare. If we go back, it will be to help your Breeze’s enemies.”

  Allrianne shrugged. You can’t help him if you’re not there, Father, she thought. They’re going to lose anyway—if you are in the area, then there’s a chance you’ll end up helping Luthadel.

  A very small chance, Breeze. That’s the best I can give you. I’m sorry.

  Elend Venture awoke on their third day out of Luthadel, surprised at how rested he could feel after a night spent in a tent out in the wilderness. Of course, part of that might have been the company.

  Vin lay curled up beside him in their bedroll, her head resting against his chest. He would have expected her to be a light sleeper, considering how jumpy she was, but she seemed to feel comfortable sleeping beside him. She even seemed to become just a little less anxious when he put his arms around her.

  He looked down at her fondly, admiring the form of her face, the slight curl of her black hair. The cut on her cheek was almost invisible now, and she’d already pulled out the stitches. A constant, low burn of pewter gave the body remarkable strength for recovery. She didn’t even favor her right arm anymore—despite the cut shoulder—and her weakness from the fight seemed completely gone.

  She still hadn’t given him much of an explanation regarding that night. She had fought Zane—who had apparently been Elend’s half brother—and TenSoon the kandra had left. Yet, neither of those things seemed like they could have caused the distress in her he’d sensed when she’d come to him in his rooms.

  He didn’t know if he’d ever get the answers he wanted. Yet, he was coming to realize that he could love her even if he didn’t completely understand her. He bent down and kissed the top of her head.

  She immediately tensed, eyes opening. She sat up, exposing a bare torso, then glanced around their small tent. It was dimly lit with the light of dawn. Finally, she shook her head, looking over at him. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

  “Oh?” he asked, smiling as he rested on one arm.

  Vin nodded, running a hand through her hair. “You’re making me get used to sleeping at night,” she said. “Plus, I don’t sleep in my clothing anymore.”

  “If you did, it would make things a little awkward.”

  “Yes,” she said, “but what if we get attacked during the night? I’d have to fight them naked.”

  “I wouldn’t mind watching that.”

  She gave him a flat stare, then reached for a shirt.

  “You’re having a bad influence on me, too, you know,” he said as he watched her dress.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re making me relax,” he said. “And letting me stop worrying. I’ve been so tied up with things in the city lately that I’d forgotten what it was like to be an impolite recluse. Unfortunately, during our trip, I’ve had time to read not only one, but all three volumes of Troubeld’s Arts of Scholarship.”

  Vin snorted, kneeling in the low tent as she pulled her belt tight; then she crawled over to him. “I don’t know how you read while riding,” she said.

  “Oh, it’s quite easy—if you aren’t afraid of horses.”

  “I’m not afraid of them,” Vin said. “They just don’t like me. They know I can outrun them, and that makes them surly.”

  “Oh, is that it?” Elend asked, smiling, pulling her over to straddle him.

  She nodded, then leaned down to kiss him. She ended it after a moment, however, moving to stand. She swatted his hand away as he tried to pull her back down.

  “After all the trouble I took to get dressed?” she asked. “Besides, I’m hungry.”

  He sighed, reclining back as she scampered out of the tent, into the red morning sunlight. He lay for a moment, quietly remarking to himself on his fortune. He still wasn’t sure how their relationship had worked out, or even why it made him so happy, but he was more than willing to enjoy the experience.

  Eventually, he looked over at his clothing. He had brought only one of his nice uniforms—along with the riding uniform—and he didn’t want to wear either too often. He didn’t have servants anymore to wash the ash out of his clothing; in fact, despite the tent’s double flap, some ash had managed to work its way inside during the night. Now that they were out of the city, there were no workers to sweep the ash away, and it was getting everywhere.

  So, he dressed in an outfit far more simple: a pair of riding trousers, not unlike the pants that Vin often wore, with a buttoning gray shirt and a dark jacket. He’d never been forced to ride long distances before—carriages were generally preferred—but Vin and he were taking the trip relatively slowly. They had no real urgency. Straff’s scouts hadn’t followed them for long, and nobody was expecting them at their destination. They had time to ride leisurely, taking breaks, occasionally walking so that they wouldn’t
get too sore from riding.

  Outside, he found Vin stirring up the morning fire and Spook caring for the horses. The young man had done some extensive traveling, and he knew how to tend horses—something that Elend was embarrassed to have never learned.

  Elend joined Vin at the firepit. They sat for a few moments, Vin poking at the coals. She looked pensive.

  “What?” Elend asked.

  She glanced southward. “I…” Then she shook her head. “It’s nothing. We’re going to need more wood.” She glanced to the side, toward where their axe lay beside the tent. The weapon flipped up into the air, shooting toward her blade-first. She stepped to the side, snatching the handle as it passed between her and Elend. Then she stalked over to a fallen tree. She took two swings at it, then easily kicked it down and broke it in two.

  “She has a way of making the rest of us feel a little redundant, doesn’t she?” Spook asked, stepping up beside Elend.

  “At times,” Elend said with a smile.

  Spook shook his head. “Whatever I see or hear, she can sense better—and she can fight whatever it is that she finds. Every time I come back to Luthadel, I just feel…useless.”

  “Imagine being a regular person,” Elend said. “At least you’re an Allomancer.”

  “Maybe,” Spook said, the sound of Vin chopping coming from the side. “But people respect you, El. They just dismiss me.”

  “I don’t dismiss you, Spook.”

  “Oh?” the young man asked. “When’s the last time I did anything important for the crew?”

  “Three days ago,” Elend said. “When you agreed to come with Vin and me. You’re not just here to tend horses, Spook—you’re here because of your skills as a scout and a Tineye. Do you still think we’re being followed?”

  Spook paused, then shrugged. “I can’t be sure. I think Straff’s scouts turned back, but I keep catching sight of someone back there. I never get a good glimpse of them, though.”

  “It’s the mist spirit,” Vin said, walking by and dumping an armload of wood beside the firepit. “It’s chasing us.”

  Spook and Elend shared a look. Then Elend nodded, refusing to act on Spook’s uncomfortable stare. “Well, as long as it stays out of our way, it’s not a problem, right?”

  Vin shrugged. “I hope not. If you see it, though, call for me. The records say it can be dangerous.”

  “All right,” Elend said. “We’ll do that. Now, let’s decide what to have for breakfast.”

  Straff woke up. That was his first surprise.

  He lay in bed, inside his tent, feeling like someone had picked him up and slammed him against the wall a few times. He groaned, sitting up. His body was free from bruises, but he ached, and his head was pounding. One of the army healers, a young man with a full beard and bulging eyes, sat beside his bed. The man studied Straff for a moment.

  “You, my lord, should be dead,” the young man said.

  “I’m not,” Straff said, sitting up. “Give me some tin.”

  A soldier approached with a metal vial. Straff downed it, then scowled at how dry and sore his throat was. He burned the tin only lightly; it made his wounds feel worse, but he had come to depend on the slight edge the enhanced senses gave him.

  “How long?” he asked.

  “Better part of three days, my lord,” the healer said. “We…weren’t sure what you’d eaten, or why. We thought about trying to get you to vomit, but it appeared that you’d taken the draught of your own choice, so…”

  “You did well,” Straff said, holding his arm up in front of him. It still shook a bit, and he couldn’t make it stop. “Who is in charge of the army?”

  “General Janarle,” the healer said.

  Straff nodded. “Why hasn’t he had me killed?”

  The healer blinked in surprise, glancing at the soldiers.

  “My lord,” said Grent the soldier, “who would dare betray you? Any man who tried would end up dead in his tent. General Janarle was most worried about your safety.”

  Of course, Straff realized with shock. They don’t know that Zane is gone. Why…if I did die, then everyone assumes that Zane would either take control himself, or get revenge on those he thought responsible. Straff laughed out loud, shocking those watching over him. Zane had tried to kill him, but had accidentally saved his life by sheer force of reputation.

  I beat you, Straff realized. You’re gone, and I’m alive. That didn’t, of course, mean that Zane wouldn’t return—but, then again, he might not. Perhaps…just maybe…Straff was rid of him forever.

  “Elend’s Mistborn,” Straff said suddenly.

  “We followed her for a while, my lord,” Grent said. “But, they got too far from the army, and Lord Janarle ordered the scouts back. It appears she’s making for Terris.”

  He frowned. “Who else was with her?”

  “We think your son Elend escaped as well,” the soldier said. “But it could have been a decoy.”

  Zane did it, Straff thought with shock. He actually got rid of her.

  Unless it’s a trick of some sort. But, then…

  “The koloss army?” Straff asked.

  “There’s been a lot of fighting in its ranks lately, sir,” Grent said. “The beasts seem more restless.”

  “Order our army to break camp,” Straff said. “Immediately. We’re retreating back toward the Northern Dominance.”

  “My lord?” Grent said with shock. “I think Lord Janarle is planning an assault, waiting only for your word. The city is weak, and their Mistborn is gone.”

  “We’re pulling back,” Straff said, smiling. “For a while, at least.” Let’s see if this plan of yours works, Zane.

  Sazed sat in a small kitchen alcove, hands on the table before him, a metallic ring glittering on each finger. They were small, for metalminds, but storing up Feruchemical attributes took time. It would take weeks to fill even a ring’s worth of metal—and he barely had days. In fact, Sazed was surprised the koloss had waited so long.

  Three days. Not much time at all, but he suspected he would need every available edge in the approaching conflict. So far he’d been able to store up a small amount of each attribute. Enough for a boost in an emergency, once his other metalminds ran out.

  Clubs hobbled into the kitchen. He seemed a blur to Sazed. Even wearing his spectacles—to help compensate for the vision he was storing in a tinmind—it was difficult for him to see.

  “That’s it,” Clubs said, his voice muffled—another tinmind was taking Sazed’s hearing. “They’re finally gone.”

  Sazed paused for a moment, trying to decipher the comment. His thoughts moved as if through a thick, turgid soup, and it took him a moment to understand what Clubs had said.

  They’re gone. Straff’s troops. They’ve withdrawn. He coughed quietly before replying. “Did he ever respond to any of Lord Penrod’s messages?”

  “No,” Clubs said. “But he did execute the last messenger.”

  Well, that isn’t a very good sign, Sazed thought slowly. Of course, there hadn’t been very many good signs over the last few days. The city was on the edge of starvation, and their brief respite of warmth was over. It would snow this evening, if Sazed guessed right. That made him feel even more guilty to be sitting in the kitchen nook, beside a warm hearth, sipping broth as his metalminds sapped his strength, health, senses, and power of thought. He had rarely tried to fill so many at once.

  “You don’t look so good,” Clubs noted, sitting.

  Sazed blinked, thinking through the comment. “My…goldmind,” he said slowly. “It draws my health, storing it up.” He glanced at his bowl of broth. “I must eat to maintain my strength,” he said, mentally preparing himself to take a sip.

  It was an odd process. His thoughts moved so slowly that it took him a moment to decide to eat. Then his body reacted slowly, the arm taking a few seconds to move. Even then, the muscles quivered, their strength sapped away and stored in his pewtermind. Finally, he was able to get a spoonful to his lips and
take a quiet sip. It tasted bland; he was filling scent as well, and without it, his sense of taste was severely hampered.

  He should probably be lying down—but if he did that, he was liable to sleep. And, while sleeping, he couldn’t fill metalminds—or, at least, he could fill only one. A bronzemind, the metal that stored wakefulness, would force him to sleep longer in exchange for letting him go longer without sleep on another occasion.

  Sazed sighed, carefully setting down his spoon, then coughing. He’d done his best to help avert the conflict. His best plan had been to send a letter to Lord Penrod, urging him to inform Straff Venture that Vin was gone from the city. He had hoped that Straff would then be willing to make a deal. Apparently, that tactic had been unsuccessful. Nobody had heard from Straff in days.

  Their doom approached like the inevitable sunrise. Penrod had allowed three separate groups of townspeople—one of them composed of nobility—to try to flee Luthadel. Straff’s soldiers, more wary after Elend’s escape, had caught and slaughtered each group. Penrod had even sent a messenger to Lord Jastes Lekal, hoping to strike some deal with the Southern leader, but the messenger had not returned from the koloss camp.

  “Well,” Clubs said, “at least we kept them off for a few days.”

  Sazed thought for a moment. “It was simply a delay of the inevitable, I fear.”

  “Of course it was,” Clubs said. “But it was an important delay. Elend and Vin will be almost four days away by now. If the fighting had started too soon, you can bet that little Miss Mistborn would have come back and gotten herself killed trying to save us.”

  “Ah,” Sazed said slowly, forcing himself to reach for another spoonful of broth. The spoon was a dull weight in his numb fingers; his sense of touch, of course, was being siphoned into a tinmind. “How are the city defenses coming?” he asked as he struggled with the spoon.

  “Terribly,” Clubs said. “Twenty thousand troops may sound like a lot—but try stringing them out through a city this big.”

  “But the koloss won’t have any siege equipment,” Sazed said, focused on his spoon. “Or archers.”