The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

  “Yes,” Clubs said. “But we have eight city gates to protect—and any of five are within quick reach of the koloss. None of those gates was built to withstand an attack. And, as it stands, I can barely post a couple thousand guards at each gate, since I really don’t know which way the koloss will come first.”

  “Oh,” Sazed said quietly.

  “What did you expect, Terrisman?” Clubs asked. “Good news? The koloss are bigger, stronger, and far crazier than we are. And they have an advantage in numbers.”

  Sazed closed his eyes, quivering spoon held halfway to his lips. He suddenly felt a weakness unrelated to his metalminds. Why didn’t she go with them? Why didn’t she escape?

  As Sazed opened his eyes, he saw Clubs waving for a servant to bring him something to eat. The young girl returned with a bowl of soup. Clubs eyed it with dissatisfaction for a moment, but then lifted a knotted hand and began to slurp. He shot a glance at Sazed. “You expecting an apology out of me, Terrisman?” he asked between spoonfuls.

  Sazed sat shocked for a moment. “Not at all, Lord Cladent,” he finally said.

  “Good,” Clubs said. “You’re a decent enough person. You’re just confused.”

  Sazed sipped his soup, smiling. “That is comforting to hear. I think.” He thought for a moment. “Lord Cladent. I have a religion for you.”

  Clubs frowned. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  Sazed looked down. It took him a moment to gather together what he’d been thinking about before. “What you said earlier, Lord Cladent. About situational morality. It made me think of a faith, known as Dadradah. Its practitioners spanned many countries and peoples; they believed that there was only one God, and that there was only one right way to worship.”

  Clubs snorted. “I’m really not interested in one of your dead religions, Terrisman. I think that—”

  “They were artists,” Sazed said quietly.

  Clubs hesitated.

  “They thought art drew one closer to God,” Sazed said. “They were most interested in color and hue, and they were fond of writing poetry describing the colors they saw in the world around them.”

  Clubs was silent. “Why preach this religion to me?” he demanded. “Why not pick one that is blunt, like I am? Or one that worshipped warfare and soldiers?”

  “Because, Lord Cladent,” Sazed said. He blinked, recalling memories with effort through his muddled mind. “That is not you. It is what you must do, but it is not you. The others forget, I think, that you were a woodworker. An artist. When we lived in your shop, I often saw you, putting the finishing touches on pieces your apprentices had carved. I saw the care you used. That shop was no simple front for you. You miss it, I know.”

  Clubs didn’t respond.

  “You must live as a soldier,” Sazed said, pulling something from his sash with a weak hand. “But you can still dream like an artist. Here. I had this made for you. It is a symbol of the Dadradah faith. To its people, being an artist was a higher calling, even, than being a priest.”

  He set the wooden disk on the table. Then, with effort, he smiled at Clubs. It had been a long time since he had preached a religion, and he wasn’t certain what had made him decide to offer this one to Clubs. Perhaps it was to prove to himself that there was value in them. Perhaps it was stubbornness, reacting against the things Clubs had said earlier. Either way, he found satisfaction in the way that Clubs stared at the simple wooden disk with the carved picture of a brush on it.

  The last time I preached a religion, he thought, I was in that village to the south, the one where Marsh found me.

  Whatever happened to him, anyway? Why didn’t he return to the city?

  “Your woman has been looking for you,” Clubs finally said, looking up, leaving the disk on the table.

  “My woman?” Sazed said. “Why, we are not…” He trailed off as Clubs eyed him. The surly general was quite proficient at meaningful looks.

  “Very well,” Sazed said, sighing. He glanced down at his fingers and the ten glittering rings they bore. Four were tin: sight, hearing, scent, and touch. He continued to fill these; they wouldn’t handicap him much. He released his pewtermind, however, as well as his steelmind and his zincmind.

  Immediately, strength refilled his body. His muscles stopped sagging, reverting from emaciated to healthy. The fuzz lifted from his mind, allowing him to think clearly, and the thick, swollen slowness evaporated. He stood, invigorated.

  “That’s fascinating,” Clubs mumbled.

  Sazed looked down.

  “I could see the change,” Clubs said. “Your body grew stronger, and your eyes focused. Your arms stopped shaking. I guess you don’t want to face that woman without all of your faculties, eh? I don’t blame you.” Clubs grunted to himself, then continued to eat.

  Sazed bid farewell to the man, then strode out of the kitchen. His feet and hands still seemed like nearly unfeeling lumps. Yet, he felt an energy. There was nothing like simple contrast to awaken a man’s sense of indomitability.

  And there was nothing that could sap that sensation more quickly than the prospect of meeting with the woman he loved. Why had Tindwyl stayed? And, if she was determined not to go back to Terris, why had she avoided him these last few days? Was she mad that he had sent Elend away? Was she disappointed that he insisted on staying to help?

  He found her inside Keep Venture’s grand ballroom. He paused for a moment, impressed—as always—by the room’s unquestionable majesty. He released his sight tinmind for just a moment, removing his spectacles as he looked around the awesome space.

  Enormous, rectangular stained-glass windows reached to the ceiling along both walls of the huge room. Standing at the side, Sazed was dwarfed by massive pillars that supported a small gallery that ran beneath the windows on either side of the chamber. Every bit of stone in the room seemed carved—every tile a part of one mosaic or another, every bit of glass colored to sparkle in the early-evening sunlight.

  It’s been so long… he thought. The first time he’d seen this chamber, he had been escorting Vin to her first ball. It was then, while playing the part of Valette Renoux, she had met Elend. Sazed had chastised her for carelessly attracting the attention of so powerful a man.

  And now he himself had performed their marriage. He smiled, replacing his spectacles and filling his eyesight tinmind again. May the Forgotten Gods watch over you, children. Make something of our sacrifice, if you can.

  Tindwyl stood speaking with Dockson and a small group of functionaries at the center of the room. They were crowded around a large table, and as Sazed approached, he could see what was spread atop it.

  Marsh’s map, he thought. It was an extensive and detailed representation of Luthadel, complete with notations about Ministry activity. Sazed had a visual image of the map, as well as a detailed description of it, in one of his copperminds—and he had sent a physical copy to the Synod.

  Tindwyl and the others had covered the large map with their own notations. Sazed approached slowly, and as soon as Tindwyl saw him, she waved for him to approach.

  “Ah, Sazed,” Dockson said in a businesslike tone, voice muddled to Sazed’s weak ears. “Good. Please, come here.”

  Sazed stepped up onto the low dance floor, joining them at the table. “Troop placements?” he asked.

  “Penrod has taken command of our armies,” Dockson said. “And he’s put noblemen in charge of all twenty battalions. We’re not certain we like that situation.”

  Sazed looked over the men at the table. They were a group of scribes that Dockson himself had trained—all skaa. Gods! Sazed thought. He can’t be planning a rebellion now of all times, can he?

  “Don’t look so frightened, Sazed,” Dockson said. “We’re not going to do anything too drastic—Penrod is still letting Clubs organize the city defenses, and he seems to be taking advice from his military commanders. Besides, it’s far too late to try something too ambitious.”

  Dockson almost seemed disappointed.


  “However,” Dockson said, pointing at the map, “I don’t trust these commanders he’s put in charge. They don’t know anything about warfare—or even about survival. They’ve spent their lives ordering drinks and throwing parties.”

  Why do you hate them so? Sazed thought. Ironically, Dockson was the one in the crew who looked most like a nobleman. He was more natural in a suit than Breeze, more articulate than Clubs or Spook. Only his insistence on wearing a very unaristocratic half beard made him stand out.

  “The nobility may not know warfare,” Sazed said, “but they are experienced with command, I think.”

  “True,” Dockson said. “But so are we. That’s why I want one of our people near each gate, just in case things go poorly and someone really competent needs to take command.”

  Dockson pointed at the table, toward one of the gates—Steel Gate. It bore a notation of a thousand men in a defensive formation. “This is your battalion, Sazed. Steel Gate is the farthest the koloss are likely to reach, and so you might not even see any fighting. However, when the battle begins, I want you there with a group of messengers to bring word back to Keep Venture in case your gate gets attacked. We’ll set up a command post here in the main ballroom—it’s easily accessible with those broad doors, and can accommodate a lot of motion.”

  And it was a not-so-subtle smack in the face of Elend Venture, and nobility in general, to use such a beautiful chamber as a setting from which to run a war. No wonder he supported me in sending Elend and Vin away. With them gone, he’s gained undisputed control of Kelsier’s crew.

  It wasn’t a bad thing. Dockson was an organizational genius and a master of quick planning. He did have certain prejudices, however.

  “I know you don’t like to fight, Saze,” Dockson said, leaning down on the table with both hands. “But we need you.”

  “I think he is preparing for battle, Lord Dockson,” Tindwyl said, eyeing Sazed. “Those rings on his fingers give good indication of his intentions.”

  Sazed glanced across the table at her. “And what is your place in this, Tindwyl?”

  “Lord Dockson came to me for advice,” Tindwyl said. “He has little experience with warfare himself, and wished to know the things I have studied about the generals of the past.”

  “Ah,” Sazed said. He turned to Dockson, frowning in thought. Eventually, he nodded. “Very well. I will take part in your project—but, I must warn you against divisiveness. Please, tell your men not to break the chain of command unless they absolutely must.”

  Dockson nodded.

  “Now, Lady Tindwyl,” Sazed said. “Might we speak for a moment in private?”

  She nodded, and they excused themselves, walking under the nearest over hanging gallery. In the shadows, behind one of the pillars, Sazed turned toward Tindwyl. She looked so pristine—so poised, so calm—despite the dire situation. How did she do that?

  “You’re storing quite a large number of attributes, Sazed,” Tindwyl noted, glancing at his fingers again. “Surely you have other metalminds prepared from before?”

  “I used all of my wakefulness and speed making my way to Luthadel,” Sazed said. “And I have no health stored at all—I used up the last of it overcoming a sickness when I was teaching in the South. I always intended to fill another one, but we’ve been too busy. I do have some large amount of strength and weight stored, as well as a good selection of tinminds. Still, one can never be too well prepared, I think.”

  “Perhaps,” Tindwyl said. She glanced back at the group around the table. “If it gives us something to do other than think about the inevitable, then preparation has not been wasted, I think.”

  Sazed felt a chill. “Tindwyl,” he said quietly. “Why did you stay? There is no place for you here.”

  “There is no place for you either, Sazed.”

  “These are my friends,” he said. “I will not leave them.”

  “Then why did you convince their leaders to leave?”

  “To flee and live,” Sazed said.

  “Survival is not a luxury often afforded to leaders,” Tindwyl said. “When they accept the devotion of others, they must accept the responsibility that comes with it. This people will die—but they need not die feeling betrayed.”

  “They were not—”

  “They expect to be saved, Sazed,” Tindwyl hissed quietly. “Even those men over there—even Dockson, the most practical one in this bunch—think that they’ll survive. And do you know why? Because, deep down, they believe that something will save them. Something that saved them before, the only piece of the Survivor they have left. She represents hope to them now. And you sent her away.”

  “To live, Tindwyl,” Sazed repeated. “It would have been a waste to lose Vin and Elend here.”

  “Hope is never wasted,” Tindwyl said, eyes flashing. “I thought you of all people would understand that. You think it was stubbornness that kept me alive all those years in the hands of the Breeders?”

  “And is it stubbornness or hope that kept you here, in the city?” he asked.

  She looked up at him. “Neither.”

  Sazed looked at her for a long moment in the shadowed alcove. Planners talked in the ballroom, their voices echoing. Shards of light from the windows reflected off the marble floors, throwing slivers of illumination across the walls. Slowly, awkwardly, Sazed put his arms around Tindwyl. She sighed, letting him hold her.

  He released his tinminds and let his senses return in a flood.

  Softness from her skin and warmth from her body washed across him as she moved farther into the embrace, resting her head against his chest. The scent of her hair—unperfumed, but clean and crisp—filled his nose, the first thing he’d smelled in three days. With a clumsy hand, Sazed pulled free his spectacles so he could see her clearly. As sounds returned fully to his ears, he could hear Tindwyl breathing beside him.

  “Do you know why I love you, Sazed?” she asked quietly.

  “I cannot fathom,” he answered honestly.

  “Because you never give in,” she said. “Other men are strong like bricks—firm, unyielding, but if you pound on them long enough, they crack. You…you’re strong like the wind. Always there, so willing to bend, but never apologetic for the times when you must be firm. I don’t think any of your friends understand what a power they had in you.”

  Had, he thought. She already thinks of all this in the past tense. And…it feels right for her to do so. “I fear that whatever I have won’t be enough to save them,” Sazed whispered.

  “It was enough to save three of them, though,” Tindwyl said. “You were wrong to send them away…but maybe you were right, too.”

  Sazed just closed his eyes and held her, cursing her for staying, yet loving her for it all the same.

  At that moment, the wall-top warning drums began to beat.

  51

  And so, I have made one final gamble.

  The misty red light of morning was a thing that should not have existed. Mist died before daylight. Heat made it evaporate; even locking it inside of a closed room made it condense and disappear. It shouldn’t have been able to withstand the light of the rising sun.

  Yet it did. The farther they’d gotten from Luthadel, the longer the mists lingered in the mornings. The change was slight—they were still only a few days’ ride from Luthadel—but Vin knew. She saw the difference. This morning, the mists seemed even stronger than she’d anticipated—they didn’t even weaken as the sun came up. They obscured its light.

  Mist, she thought. Deepness. She was increasingly sure that she was right about it, though she couldn’t know for certain. Still, it felt right to her for some reason. The Deepness hadn’t been some monster or tyrant, but a force more natural—and therefore more frightening. A creature could be killed. The mists…they were far more daunting. The Deepness wouldn’t oppress with priests, but use the people’s own superstitious terror. It wouldn’t slaughter with armies, but with starvation.

  How did one fight something lar
ger than a continent? A thing that couldn’t feel anger, pain, hope, or mercy?

  Yet, it was Vin’s task to do just that. She sat quietly on a large boulder beside the night’s firepit, her legs up, knees to her chest. Elend still slept; Spook was out scouting.

  She didn’t question her place any longer. She was either mad or she was the Hero of Ages. It was her task to defeat the mists. Yet… she thought, frowning. Shouldn’t the thumpings be getting louder, not softer? The longer they traveled, the weaker the thumpings seemed. Was she too late? Was something happening at the Well to dampen its power? Had someone else already taken it?

  We have to keep moving.

  Another person in her place might have asked why he had been chosen. Vin had known several men—both in Camon’s crew and in Elend’s government—who would complain every time they were given an assignment. “Why me?” they would ask. The insecure ones didn’t think they were up to the task. The lazy ones wanted out of the work.

  Vin didn’t consider herself to be either self-assured or self-motivated. Still, she saw no point in asking why. Life had taught her that sometimes things simply happened. Often, there hadn’t been any specific reason for Reen to beat her. And, reasons were weak comforts, anyway. The reasons that Kelsier had needed to die were clear to her, but that didn’t make her miss him any less.

  She had a job to do. The fact that she didn’t understand it didn’t stop her from acknowledging that she had to try to accomplish it. She simply hoped that she’d know what to do when the time came. Though the thumpings were weaker, they were still there. They drew her forward. To the Well of Ascension.

  Behind her, she could feel the lesser vibration of the mist spirit. It never disappeared until the mists themselves did. It had been there all morning, standing just behind her.

  “Do you know the secret to this all?” she asked quietly, turning toward the spirit in the reddish mists. “Do you have—”

  The Allomantic pulse of the mist spirit was coming from directly inside the tent she shared with Elend.