The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

  Spook prowled ahead, his keen senses allowing him to detect danger before Elend blundered into it. How does that work, anyway? Elend wondered as he walked. Tin is supposed to make you see better. But what does it matter how far you can see, if the mists just obscure everything?

  Writers claimed that Allomancy could help a person pierce the mists, somehow. Elend had always wondered what that was like. Of course, he had also wondered what it felt like to feel the strength of pewter, or to fight with atium. Allomancers were uncommon, even among Great Houses. Yet, because of the way Straff had treated him, Elend had always felt guilty that he hadn’t been one.

  But, I ended up as king eventually, even without Allomancy, he thought, smiling to himself. He’d lost the throne, true. But, while they could take his crown, they could not take away his accomplishments. He’d proved that an Assembly could work. He’d protected the skaa, given them rights, and a taste of freedom they’d never forget. He’d done more than anyone would have expected of him.

  Something rustled in the mists.

  Elend froze, staring out into the darkness. Sounds like leaves, he thought nervously. Something moving across them? Or…just the wind blowing them?

  He decided at that moment that there was nothing more unnerving than staring into the misty darkness, seeing ever-shifting silhouettes. A part of him would rather face down a koloss army than stand alone, at night, in an unknown forest.

  “Elend,” someone whispered.

  Elend spun. He put a hand to his chest as he saw Spook approaching. He thought about chastising the boy for sneaking up on him—but, well, there wasn’t really any other way to approach in the mists.

  “Did you see something?” Spook asked quietly.

  Elend shook his head. “But I think I heard something.”

  Spook nodded, then darted off into the mists again. Elend stood, uncertain whether he should continue on, or just wait. He didn’t have to debate for very long. Spook returned a few moments later.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Spook said. “Just a mistwraith.”

  “What?” Elend asked.

  “Mistwraith,” Spook said. “You know. Big goopy things? Related to kandra? Don’t tell me you haven’t read about them?”

  “I have,” Elend said, nervously scanning the darkness. “But, I never thought I’d be out in the mists with one.”

  Spook shrugged. “It’s probably just following our scent, hoping that we’ll leave some trash for it to eat. The things are harmless, mostly.”

  “Mostly?” Elend asked.

  “You probably know more about them than I do. Look, I didn’t come back here to chat about scavengers. There’s light up ahead.”

  “A village?” Elend asked, thinking back to when they’d come this way before.

  Spook shook his head. “Looks like watchfires.”

  “An army?”

  “Maybe. I’m just thinking you should wait behind for a bit. It could be awkward if you wander into a scout post.”

  “Agreed,” Elend said.

  Spook nodded, then took off into the mists.

  And Elend was alone in the darkness again. He shivered, pulling his cloak close, and eyed the mists in the direction from which he’d heard the mistwraith. Yes, he’d read about them. He knew they were supposed to be harmless. But the thought of something crawling out there—its skeleton made from random sets of bones—watching him…

  Don’t focus on that, Elend told himself.

  He turned his attention, instead, to the mists. Vin was right about one thing, at least. They were lingering longer and longer despite the sunrise. Some mornings, they remained a full hour after the sun came up. He could easily imagine the disaster that would befall the land should the mists persist all day. Crops would fail, animals would starve, and civilization would collapse.

  Could the Deepness really be something so simple? Elend’s own impressions of the Deepness were seated in scholarly tradition. Some writers dismissed the entire thing as a legend—a rumor used by the obligators to enhance their god’s aura of divinity. The majority accepted the historical definition of the Deepness—a dark monster that had been slain by the Lord Ruler.

  And yet, thinking of it as the mist made some sense. How could a single beast, no matter how dangerous, threaten an entire land? The mists, though…they could be destructive. Kill plants. Perhaps even…kill people, as Sazed had suggested?

  He eyed it shifting around him, playful, deceptive. Yes, he could see it as the Deepness. Its reputation—more frightening than a monster, more dangerous than an army—was one it would deserve. In fact, watching it as he was, he could see it trying to play tricks on his mind. For instance, the mist bank directly in front of him seemed to be forming shapes. Elend smiled as his mind picked out images in the mists. One almost looked like a person standing there, in front of him.

  The person stepped forward.

  Elend jumped, taking a slight step backward, his foot crunching on a bit of ice-crusted snow. Don’t be silly, he told himself. Your mind is playing tricks on you. There’s nothing—

  The shape in the mists took another step forward. It was indistinct, almost formless, and yet it seemed real. Random movements in the mists outlined its face, its body, its legs.

  “Lord Ruler!” Elend yelped, jumping back. The thing continued to regard him.

  I’m going mad, he thought, hands beginning to shake. The mist figure stopped a few feet in front of him and then raised its right arm and pointed.

  North. Away from Luthadel.

  Elend frowned, glancing in the direction the figure pointed. There was nothing but more empty mists. He turned back toward it, but it stood quietly, arm upraised.

  Vin spoke of this thing, he remembered, forcing down his fear. She tried to tell me about it. And I thought she was making things up! She was right—just as she’d been right about the mists staying longer in the day, and the possibility of the mists being the Deepness. He was beginning to wonder which of them was the scholar.

  The mist figure continued to point.

  “What?” Elend asked, his own voice sounding haunting in the silent air.

  It stepped forward, arm still raised. Elend put a useless hand to his sword, but held his ground.

  “Tell me what you wish of me!” he said forcefully.

  The thing pointed again. Elend cocked his head. It certainly didn’t seem threatening. In fact, he felt an unnatural feeling of peace coming from it.

  Allomancy? he thought. It’s Pulling on my emotions!

  “Elend?” Spook’s voice drifted out of the mists.

  The figure suddenly dissolved, its form melting into the mists. Spook approached, his face dark and shadowed in the night. “Elend? What were you saying?”

  Elend took his hand off his sword, standing upright. He eyed the mists, still not completely convinced that he wasn’t seeing things. “Nothing,” he said.

  Spook glanced back the way he had come. “You should come look at this.”

  “The army?” Elend asked, frowning.

  Spook shook his head. “No. The refugees.”

  “The Keepers are dead, my lord,” the old man said, sitting across from Elend. He didn’t have a tent, only a blanket stretched between several poles. “Either dead, or captured.”

  Another man brought Elend a cup of warm tea, his demeanor servile. Both wore the robes of stewards, and while their eyes bespoke exhaustion, their robes and hands were clean.

  Old habits, Elend thought, nodding thankfully and taking a sip of the tea. Terris’s people might have declared themselves independent, but a thousand years of servitude cannot be so easily thrown off.

  The camp was an odd place. Spook said he counted nearly a thousand people in it—a nightmare of a number to care for, feed, and organize in the cold winter. Many were elderly, and the men were mostly stewards: eunuchs bred for genteel service, with no experience in hunting.

  “Tell me what happened,” Elend said.

  The elderly steward nod
ded, his head shaking. He didn’t seem particularly frail—actually, he had that same air of controlled dignity that most stewards exhibited—but his body had a slow, chronic tremble.

  “The Synod came out into the open, my lord, once the empire fell.” He accepted a cup of his own, but Elend noticed that it was only half full—a precaution that proved wise as the elderly steward’s shaking nearly spilled its contents. “They became our rulers. Perhaps it was not wise to reveal themselves so soon.”

  Not all Terrismen were Feruchemists; in fact, very few were. The Keepers—people like Sazed and Tindwyl—had been forced into hiding long ago by the Lord Ruler. His paranoia that Feruchemical and Allomantic lines might mix—thereby potentially producing a person with his same powers—had led him to try and destroy all Feruchemists.

  “I’ve known Keepers, friend,” Elend said softly. “I find it hard to believe that they could have been easily defeated. Who did this?”

  “Steel Inquisitors, my lord,” the old man said.

  Elend shivered. So that’s where they’ve been.

  “There were dozens of them, my lord,” the old man said. “They attacked Tathingdwen with an army of koloss brutes. But, that was just a distraction, I think. Their real goal was the Synod and the Keepers themselves. While our army, such as it was, fought the beasts, the Inquisitors themselves struck at the Keepers.”

  Lord Ruler… Elend thought, stomach twisting. So, what do we do with the book Sazed told us to deliver to the Synod? Do we pass it on to these men, or keep it?

  “They took the bodies with them, my lord,” the old man said. “Terris is in ruins, and that is why we are going south. You said you know King Venture?”

  “I…have met him,” Elend said. “He ruled Luthadel, where I am from.”

  “Will he take us in, do you think?” the old man asked. “We have little hope anymore. Tathingdwen was the Terris capital, but even it wasn’t large. We are few, these days—the Lord Ruler saw to that.”

  “I…do not know if Luthadel can help you, friend.”

  “We can serve well,” the old man promised. “We were prideful to declare ourselves free, I think. We struggled to survive even before the Inquisitors attacked. Perhaps they did us a favor by casting us out.”

  Elend shook his head. “Koloss attacked Luthadel just over a week ago,” he said quietly. “I am a refugee myself, Master Steward. For all I know, the city itself has fallen.”

  The old man fell silent. “Ah, I see,” he finally said.

  “I’m sorry,” Elend said. “I was traveling back to see what happened. Tell me—I traveled this way not long ago. How is it that I missed you in my journey north?”

  “We didn’t come by the canal route, my lord,” the old man said. “We cut across country, straight down, so that we could gather supplies at Suringshath. You…have no further word of events at Luthadel, then? There was a senior Keeper in residence there. We were hoping, perhaps, to seek her counsel.”

  “Lady Tindwyl?” Elend asked.

  The old man perked up. “Yes. You know her?”

  “She was an attendant at the king’s court,” Elend said.

  “Keeper Tindwyl could be considered our leader now, I think,” the old man said. “We aren’t certain how many traveling Keepers there are, but she is the only known member of the Synod who was out of the city when we were attacked.”

  “She was still in Luthadel when I left,” Elend said.

  “Then she might live still,” the old man said. “We can hope, I think. I thank you, traveler, for your information. Please, make yourself comfortable in our camp.”

  Elend nodded, rising. Spook stood a short distance away, in the mists near a pair of trees. Elend joined him.

  The people kept large fires burning in the night, as if to defy the mists. The light did some good in dispelling the mists’ power—and yet the light seemed to accentuate them as well, creating three-dimensional shadows that bewildered the eye. Spook leaned against the scraggly tree trunk, looking around at things Elend couldn’t see. Elend could hear, however, some of what Spook must be inspecting. Crying children. Coughing men. Shuffling livestock.

  “It doesn’t look good, does it?” Elend said quietly.

  Spook shook his head. “I wish they’d take down all these fires,” he muttered. “The light hurts my eyes.”

  Elend glanced to the side. “They aren’t that bright.”

  Spook shrugged. “They’re just wasting wood.”

  “Forgive them their comfort, for now. They’ll have little enough of it in the weeks to come.” Elend paused, looking over at a passing squad of Terris “soldiers”—a group of men who were obviously stewards. Their posture was excellent, and they walked with a smooth grace, but Elend doubted they knew how to use any weapons beyond a cooking knife.

  No, there is no army in Terris to help my people.

  “You sent Vin back to gather our allies,” Spook said quietly. “To bring them up to meet with us, perhaps to seek refuge in Terris.”

  “I know,” Elend said.

  “We can’t gather in Terris, though,” Spook said. “Not with the Inquisitors up there.”

  “I know,” Elend said again.

  Spook was silent for a moment. “The whole world is falling apart, El,” he finally said. “Terris, Luthadel…”

  “Luthadel has not been destroyed,” Elend said, looking sharply at Spook.

  “The koloss—”

  “Vin will have found a way to stop them,” Elend said. “For all we know, she already found the power at the Well of Ascension. We need to keep going. We can, and will, rebuild whatever was lost. Then we’ll worry about helping Terris.”

  Spook paused, then nodded and smiled. Elend was surprised to see how much his confident words seemed to soothe the boy’s concerns. Spook leaned back, eyeing Elend’s still steaming cup of tea, and Elend handed it over with a mumble that he didn’t like heartroot tea. Spook drank happily.

  Elend, however, found matters more troubling than he’d admitted. The Deepness returning, ghosts in the mist, and Inquisitors making a play for the Terris Dominance. What else have I been ignoring?

  57

  It is a distant hope. Alendi has survived assassins, wars, and catastrophes. And yet, I hope that in the frozen mountains of Terris, he may finally be exposed. I hope for a miracle.

  “Look, we all know what we need to do,” Cett said, pounding the table. “We’ve got our armies here, ready and willing to fight. Now, let’s go get my damn country back!”

  “The empress gave us no command to do such a thing,” Janarle said, sipping his tea, completely unfazed by Cett’s lack of decorum. “I, personally, think that we should wait at least until the emperor returns.”

  Penrod, the oldest of the men in the room, had enough tact to look sympathetic. “I understand that you are concerned for your people, Lord Cett. But we haven’t even had a week to rebuild Luthadel. It is far too early to be worrying about expanding our influence. We cannot possibly authorize these preparations.”

  “Oh, leave off, Penrod,” Cett snapped. “You’re not in charge of us.”

  All three men turned to Sazed. He felt very awkward, sitting at the head of the table in Keep Venture’s conference chamber. Aides and attendants, including some of Dockson’s bureaucrats, stood at the perimeter of the sparse room, but only the three rulers—now kings beneath Elend’s imperial rule—sat with Sazed at the table.

  “I think that we should not be hasty, Lord Cett,” Sazed said.

  “This isn’t haste,” Cett said, pounding the table again. “I just want to order scout and spy reports, so that we can have information we need when we invade!”

  “If we do invade,” Janarle said. “If the emperor decides to recover Fadrex City, it won’t happen until this summer, at the very earliest. We have far more pressing concerns. My armies have been away from the Northern Dominance for too long. It is basic political theory that we should stabilize what we have before we move into new territory.”<
br />
  “Bah!” Cett said, waving an indifferent hand.

  “You may send your scouts, Lord Cett,” Sazed said. “But they are to seek information only. They are to engage in no raids, no matter how tempting the opportunity.”

  Cett shook a bearded head. “This is why I never bothered to play political games with the rest of the Final Empire. Nothing gets done because everyone is too busy scheming!”

  “There is much to be said for subtlety, Lord Cett,” Penrod said. “Patience brings the greater prize.”

  “Greater prize?” Cett asked. “What did the Central Dominance earn itself by waiting? You waited right up until the moment that your city fell! If you hadn’t been the ones with the best Mistborn…”

  “Best Mistborn, my lord?” Sazed asked quietly. “Did you not see her take command of the koloss? Did you not see her leap across the sky like an arrow in flight? Lady Vin isn’t simply the ‘best Mistborn.’”

  The group fell silent. I have to keep them focused on her, Sazed thought. Without Vin’s leadership—without the threat of her power—this coalition would dissolve in three heartbeats.

  He felt so inadequate. He couldn’t keep the men on-topic, and he couldn’t do much to help them with their various problems. He could just keep reminding them of Vin’s power.

  The trouble was, he didn’t really want to. He was feeling something very odd in himself, feelings he usually didn’t have. Disconcern. Apathy. Why did anything that these men talked about matter? Why did anything matter, now that Tindwyl was dead?

  He gritted his teeth, trying to force himself to focus.

  “Very well,” Cett said, waving a hand. “I’ll send the scouts. Has that food arrived from Urteau yet, Janarle?”

  The younger nobleman grew uncomfortable. “We…may have trouble with that, my lord. It seems that an unwholesome element has been rabble-rousing in the city.”

  “No wonder you want to send troops back to the Northern Dominance!” Cett accused. “You’re planning to conquer your kingdom back and leave mine to rot!”

  “Urteau is much closer than your capital, Cett,” Janarle said, turning back to his tea. “It only makes sense to set me up there before we turn our attention westward.”