The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

  Even if there were other things Sazed felt he should be doing. Such as leading his people.

  No, Sazed thought, glancing at his portfolio. No. A man with no faith cannot lead them. I must find the truth for myself first. If such a thing exists.

  “It certainly is taking them long enough,” Breeze said, eating a grape. “One would think that after all the talking we did to get to this point, they’d know by now whether they intended to sign the thing or not.”

  Sazed glanced toward the elaborately carved door on the other side of the room. What would King Lekal decide? Did he really have a choice? “Did we do the right thing here, do you think, Lord Breeze?” Sazed found himself asking.

  Breeze snorted. “Right and wrong don’t come into it. If we hadn’t come to bully King Lekal, someone else would have. It comes down to basic strategic necessity. Or, that’s how I see it—perhaps I’m just more calculating than others.”

  Sazed eyed the stocky man. Breeze was a Soother—in fact, he was the most brazen, flagrant Soother Sazed had ever known. Most Soothers used their powers with discrimination and subtlety, nudging emotions only at the most opportune times. Breeze, however, played with everyone’s emotions. Sazed could feel the man’s touch on his own feelings at that moment, in fact—though only because he knew what to look for.

  “If you will excuse the observation, Lord Breeze,” Sazed said, “you do not fool me as easily as you believe you do.”

  Breeze raised an eyebrow.

  “I know you are a good man,” Sazed said. “You work very hard to hide it. You make a great show of being callous and selfish. Yet, to those watching what you do and not just what you say, you become far more transparent.”

  Breeze frowned, and Sazed got a little stab of pleasure at surprising the Soother. He obviously hadn’t expected Sazed to be so blunt.

  “My dear man,” Breeze said, sipping his wine, “I’m disappointed in you. Weren’t you just speaking about being polite? Well, it’s not at all polite to point out a crusty old pessimist’s dark inner secret.”

  “Dark inner secret?” Sazed asked. “That you’re kindhearted?”

  “It’s an attribute in myself that I’ve worked very hard to discourage,” Breeze said lightly. “Unfortunately, I prove too weak. Now, to completely divert us from this subject—which I find far too discomforting—I shall return to your earlier question. You ask if we are doing the right thing? Right thing how? By forcing King Lekal to become a vassal to Elend?”

  Sazed nodded.

  “Well then,” Breeze said, “I’d have to say that yes, we did the right thing. Our treaty will give Lekal the protection of Elend’s armies.”

  “At the cost of his own freedom to govern.”

  “Bah,” Breeze said with a wave of his hand. “We both know that Elend is a far better ruler than Lekal could ever hope to be. Most of his people are living in half-finished shacks, for the Lord Ruler’s sake!”

  “Yes, but you must admit that we bullied him.”

  Breeze frowned. “That’s how all politics is. Sazed, this man’s nephew sent an army of koloss to destroy Luthadel! He’s lucky Elend didn’t just come down and wipe out the entire city in retribution. We have bigger armies, more resources, and better Allomancers. This people will be far better off once Lekal signs that treaty. What is wrong with you, my dear man? You argued all these same points not two days ago at the negotiating table.”

  “I apologize, Lord Breeze,” Sazed said. “I . . . seem to find myself feeling contrary of late.”

  Breeze didn’t respond at first. “It still hurts, does it?” he asked.

  That man is far too good at understanding the emotions of others, Sazed thought. “Yes,” he finally whispered.

  “It will stop,” Breeze said. “Eventually.”

  Will it? Sazed thought, looking away. It had been a year. It still felt . . . as if nothing would ever be right again. Sometimes, he wondered if his immersion in the religions was simply a way of hiding from his pain.

  If that were so, then he’d chosen a poor way to cope, for the pain was always there waiting for him. He had failed. No, his faith had failed him. Nothing was left to him.

  It was all. Just. Gone.

  “Look,” Breeze said, drawing his attention, “sitting here and waiting for Lekal to make up his mind is obviously making us anxious. Why don’t we talk about something else? How about telling me about one of those religions you have memorized. You haven’t tried to convert me in months!”

  “I stopped wearing my copperminds nearly a year ago, Breeze.”

  “But surely you remember a bit,” Breeze said. “Why don’t you try to convert me? You know, for old times’ sake and all that.”

  “I don’t think so, Breeze.”

  It felt like a betrayal. As a Keeper—a Terris Feruchemist—he could store memories inside of pieces of copper, then withdraw them later. During the time of the Final Empire, Sazed’s kind had suffered much to gather their vast stores of information—and not just about religions. They had gathered every shred of information they could find about the time before the Lord Ruler. They’d memorized it, passed it on to others, depending on their Feruchemy to maintain accuracy.

  Yet they’d never found the one thing they sought most urgently, the thing that had begun their quest: the religion of the Terris people. It had been erased by the Lord Ruler during the first century of his reign.

  Still, so many had died, worked, and bled so that Sazed could have the vast storages he’d inherited. And he had taken them off. After retrieving his notes about each religion, writing them down on the pages he now carried in his portfolio, he’d removed each and every one of his metalminds and stored them away.

  They just . . . didn’t seem to matter anymore. At times, nothing did. He tried not to dwell too much on that. But the thought lurked in his mind, terrible and impossible to banish. He felt tainted, unworthy. As far as Sazed knew, he was the last living Feruchemist. They didn’t have the resources to search right now, but in a year’s time, no Keeper refugees had made their way to Elend’s domain. Sazed was it. And, like all Terris stewards, he’d been castrated as a child. The hereditary power of Feruchemy might very well die with him. There would be some small trace of it left in the Terris people, but given the Lord Ruler’s efforts to breed it away and the deaths of the Synod . . . things did not look good.

  The metalminds remained packed away, carried along wherever he went, but never used. He doubted he would ever draw upon them again.

  “Well?” Breeze asked, rising and walking over to lean against the window beside Sazed. “Aren’t you going to tell me about a religion? Which is it going to be? That religion where people made maps, maybe? The one that worshipped plants? Surely you’ve got one in there that worships wine. That might fit me.”

  “Please, Lord Breeze,” Sazed said, looking out over the city. Ash was falling. It always did these days. “I do not wish to speak of these things.”

  “What?” Breeze asked. “How can that be?”

  “If there were a God, Breeze,” Sazed said, “do you think he’d have let so many people be killed by the Lord Ruler? Do you think he’d have let the world become what it is now? I will not teach you—or anyone—a religion that cannot answer my questions. Never again.”

  Breeze fell silent.

  Sazed reached down, touching his stomach. Breeze’s comments pained him. They brought his mind back to that terrible time a year before, when Tindwyl had been killed. When Sazed had fought Marsh at the Well of Ascension, and had nearly been killed himself. Even through his clothing, he could feel the scars on his abdomen, where Marsh had hit him with a collection of metal rings, piercing Sazed’s skin and nearly killing him.

  He’d drawn upon the Feruchemical power of those very rings to save his life, healing his body, engulfing them within him. Soon after, however, he’d stored up some health and then had a surgeon remove the rings from his body. Despite Vin’s protests that having them inside him would be an advant
age, Sazed was worried that it was unhealthy to keep them embedded in his own flesh. Besides, he had just wanted them gone.

  Breeze turned to look out the window. “You were always the best of us, Sazed,” he said quietly. “Because you believed in something.”

  “I am sorry, Lord Breeze,” Sazed said. “I do not mean to disappoint you.”

  “Oh, you don’t disappoint me,” Breeze said. “Because I don’t believe what you’ve said. You’re not meant to be an atheist, Sazed. I have a feeling you’ll be no good at it—doesn’t suit you at all. You’ll come around eventually.”

  Sazed looked back out the window. He was brash for a Terrisman, but he did not wish to argue further.

  “I never did thank you,” Breeze said.

  “For what, Lord Breeze?”

  “For pulling me out of myself,” Breeze said. “For forcing me to get up, a year ago, and keep going. If you hadn’t helped me, I don’t know that I would ever have gotten over . . . what happened.”

  Sazed nodded. On the inside, however, his thoughts were more bitter. Yes, you saw destruction and death, my friend. But the woman you love is still alive. I could have come back too, if I hadn’t lost her. I could have recovered, as you did.

  The door opened.

  Sazed and Breeze both turned. A solitary aide entered, bearing an ornate sheet of parchment. King Lekal had signed the treaty at the bottom. His signature was small, almost cramped, in the large space allotted. He knew he was beaten.

  The aide set the treaty on the table, then retreated.

  Each time Rashek tried to fix things, he made them worse. He had to change the world’s plants to make them able to survive in the new, harsh environment. Yet, that change left the plants less nutritious to mankind. Indeed, the falling ash would make men sick, causing them to cough like those who spent too long mining beneath the earth. And so Rashek changed mankind itself as well, altering them so that they could survive.

  5

  ELEND KNELT BESIDE THE FALLEN INQUISITOR, trying to ignore the mess that was left of the thing’s head. Vin approached, and he noted the wound on her forearm. As usual, she all but ignored the injury.

  The koloss army stood quietly on the battlefield around them. Elend still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of controlling the creatures. He felt . . . tainted by even associating with them. Yet, it was the only way.

  “Something’s wrong, Elend,” Vin said.

  He looked up from the body. “What? You think there might be another one around?”

  She shook her head. “Not that. That Inquisitor moved too quickly at the end. I’ve never seen a person—Allomancer or not—with that kind of speed.”

  “He must have had duralumin,” Elend said, looking down. For a time, he and Vin had held an edge, since they’d had access to an Allomantic metal the Inquisitors hadn’t known about. Reports now indicated that edge was gone.

  Fortunately, they still had electrum. The Lord Ruler was to be thanked for that, actually. Poor man’s atium. Normally, an Allomancer who was burning atium was virtually invincible—only another Allomancer burning the metal could fight him. Unless, of course, one had electrum. Electrum didn’t grant the same invincibility as atium—which allowed an Allomancer to see slightly into the future—but it did make one immune to atium.

  “Elend,” Vin said, kneeling, “it wasn’t duralumin. The Inquisitor was moving too quickly even for that.”

  Elend frowned. He had seen the Inquisitor move only out of the corner of his eye, but surely it hadn’t been that fast. Vin had a tendency to be paranoid and assume the worst.

  Of course, she also had a habit of being right.

  She reached out and grabbed the front of the corpse’s robe, ripping it free. Elend turned away. “Vin! Have respect for the dead!”

  “I have no respect for these things,” she said, “nor will I ever. Did you see how that thing tried to use one of its spikes to kill you?”

  “That was odd. Perhaps he felt he couldn’t get to the axes in time.”

  “Here, look.”

  Elend glanced back. The Inquisitor had the standard spikes—three pounded between the ribs on each side of the chest. But . . . there was another one—one Elend hadn’t seen in any other Inquisitor corpse—pounded directly through the front of this creature’s chest.

  Lord Ruler! Elend thought. That one would have gone right through its heart. How did it survive? Of course, if two spikes through the brain didn’t kill it, then one through the heart probably wouldn’t either.

  Vin reached down and yanked the spike free. Elend winced. She held it up, frowning. “Pewter,” she said.

  “Really?” Elend asked.

  She nodded. “That makes ten spikes. Two through the eyes and one through the shoulders: all steel. Six through the ribs: two steel, four bronze. Now this, a pewter one—not to mention the one he tried to use on you, which appears to be steel.”

  Elend studied the spike in her hand. In Allomancy and Feruchemy, different metals did different things—he could only guess that for Inquisitors, the type of metal used in the various spikes was important as well. “Perhaps they don’t use Allomancy at all, but some . . . third power.”

  “Maybe,” Vin said, gripping the spike, standing up. “We’ll need to cut open the stomach and see if it had atium.”

  “Maybe this one will finally have some.” They always burned electrum as a precaution; so far, none of the Inquisitors they’d met had actually possessed any atium.

  Vin shook her head, staring out over the ash-covered battlefield. “We’re missing something, Elend. We’re like children, playing a game we’ve watched our parents play, but not really knowing any of the rules. And . . . our opponent created the game in the first place.”

  Elend stepped around the corpse, moving over to her. “Vin, we don’t even known that it’s out there. The thing we saw a year ago at the Well . . . perhaps it’s gone. Perhaps it left, now that it’s free. That could be all it wanted.”

  Vin looked at him. He could read in her eyes that she didn’t believe that. Perhaps she saw that he didn’t really believe it either.

  “It’s out there, Elend,” she whispered. “It’s directing the Inquisitors; it knows what we’re doing. That’s why the koloss always move against the same cities we do. It has power over the world—it can change text that has been written, create miscommunications and confusion. It knows our plans.”

  Elend put a hand on her shoulder. “But today we beat it—and, it sent us this handy koloss army.”

  “And how many humans did we lose trying to capture this force?”

  Elend didn’t need to speak the answer. Too many. Their numbers were dwindling. The mists—the Deepness—were growing more powerful, choking the life from random people, killing the crops of the rest. The Outer Dominances were wastelands—only those closest to the capital, Luthadel, still got enough daylight to grow food. And even that area of livability was shrinking.

  Hope, Elend thought forcefully. She needs that from me; she’s always needed that from me. He tightened his grip on her shoulder, then pulled her into an embrace. “We’ll beat it, Vin. We’ll find a way.”

  She didn’t contradict him, but she obviously wasn’t convinced. Still, she let him hold her, closing her eyes and resting her head against his chest. They stood on the battlefield before their fallen foe, but even Elend had to admit that it didn’t feel like much of a victory. Not with the world collapsing around them.

  Hope! he thought again. I belong to the Church of the Survivor, now. It has only one prime commandment.

  Survive.

  “Give me one of the koloss,” Vin finally said, pulling out of the embrace.

  Elend released one of the medium-large creatures, letting Vin take control of it. He still didn’t quite understand how they controlled the creatures. Once he had control of a koloss, he could control it indefinitely—whether sleeping or awake, burning metals or not. There were many things he didn’t understand about Allomancy. He’d h
ad only a year to use his powers, and he had been distracted by ruling an empire and trying to feed his people, not to mention the wars. He’d had little time for practice.

  Of course, Vin had less time than that to practice before she killed the Lord Ruler himself. Vin, however, was a special case. She used Allomancy as easily as other people breathed; it was less a skill to her than an extension of who she was. Elend might be more powerful—as she always insisted—but she was the true master.

  Vin’s lone koloss wandered over and picked up the fallen Inquisitor and the spike. Then, Elend and Vin walked down the hill—Vin’s koloss servant following—toward the human army. The koloss troops split and made a passage at Elend’s command. He suppressed a shiver even as he controlled them.

  Fatren, the dirty man who ruled the city, had thought to set up a triage unit—though Elend wasn’t very confident in the abilities of a group of skaa surgeons.

  “Why’d they stop?” Fatren asked, standing in front of his men as Vin and Elend approached across the ash-stained ground

  “I promised you a second army, Lord Fatren,” Elend said. “Well, here it is.”

  “The koloss?” he asked.

  Elend nodded.

  “But they’re the army that came to destroy us.”

  “And now they’re ours,” Elend said. “Your men did very well. Make certain they understand that this victory was theirs. We had to force that Inquisitor out into the open, and the only way to do that was to turn his army against itself. Koloss become afraid when they see something small defeating something large. Your men fought bravely; because of them, these koloss are ours.”

  Fatren scratched his chin. “So,” he said slowly, “they got afraid of us, so they switched sides?”

  “Something like that,” Elend said, looking over the soldiers. He mentally commanded some koloss to step forward. “These creatures will obey orders from the men in this group. Have them carry your wounded back to the city. However, make certain not to let your men attack or punish the koloss. They are our servants now, understand?”