But, what else could they do? The only option they had was to take Fadrex and hope the Lord Ruler had left them some clue to help. She still felt an inexplicable desire to find the atium. Why was she so certain it would help?
She closed her eyes, not wanting to face the mists, which—as always—pulled away from her, leaving a half-inch or so of empty air around her. She’d drawn upon them once, back when she’d fought the Lord Ruler. Why had she been able to fuel her Allomancy with their power that one time?
She reached out to them, trying again, as she had so many times. She called to them, pleaded with them in her mind, tried to access their power. And, she felt as if she should be able to. There was a strength to the mists. Trapped within them. But it wouldn’t yield to her. It was as if something kept them back, some blockage perhaps? Or, maybe, a simple whim on their part.
“Why?” she whispered, eyes still closed. “Why help me that once, but never again? Am I mad, or did you really give me power when I demanded it?”
The night gave her no answers. Finally, she sighed and turned away, seeking refuge inside of the tent.
Hemalurgic spikes change people physically, depending on which powers are granted, where the spike is placed, and how many spikes someone has. Inquisitors, for instance, are changed drastically from the humans they used to be. Their hearts are in different places from those of humans, and their brains rearrange to accommodate the lengths of metal jabbed through their eyes. Koloss are changed in even more drastic ways.
One might think that kandra are changed most of all. However, one must remember that new kandra are made from mistwraiths, and not humans. The spikes worn by the kandra cause only a small transformation in their hosts—leaving their bodies mostly like that of a mistwraith, but allowing their minds to begin working. Ironically, while the spikes dehumanize the koloss, they give a measure of humanity to the kandra.
41
“DON’T YOU SEE, BREEZE?” Sazed said eagerly. “This is an example of what we call ostention—a legend being emulated in real life. The people believed in the Survivor of Hathsin, and so they have made for themselves another survivor to help them in their time of need.”
Breeze raised an eyebrow. They stood near the back of a crowd gathering in the market district, waiting for the Citizen arrive.
“It is fascinating,” Sazed said. “This is an evolution of the Survivor legend that I never anticipated. I knew that they might deify him—in fact, that was almost inevitable. However, since Kelsier was once an ‘ordinary’ person, those who worship him can imagine other people achieving the same status.”
Breeze nodded distractedly. Allrianne stood beside him, looking quite petulant that she’d been required to wear drab skaa clothing.
Sazed ignored their lack of excitement. “I wonder what the future of this will be. Perhaps there will be a succession of Survivors for this people. This could be the foundation of a religion with true lasting potential, since it could reinvent itself to suit the needs of the populace. Of course, new Survivors mean new leaders—each one with different opinions. Rather than a line of priests who promote orthodoxy, each new Survivor would seek to establish himself as distinct from those he succeeded. It could make for numerous factions and divisions in the body of worshippers.”
“Sazed,” Breeze said. “What ever happened to not collecting religions?”
Sazed paused. “I’m not really collecting this religion. I’m just theorizing about its potential.”
Breeze raised an eyebrow.
“Besides,” Sazed said. “It might have to do with our current mission. If this new Survivor is indeed a real person, he may be able to help us overthrow Quellion.”
“Or,” Allrianne noted, “he might present a challenge to us for leadership of the city once Quellion does fall.”
“True,” Sazed admitted. “Either way, I do not see why you are complaining, Breeze. Did you not want me to become interested in religions again?”
“That was before I realized you’d spend the entire evening, then the next morning, chattering about it,” Breeze said. “Where is Quellion, anyway? If I miss lunch because of his executions, I’ll be rather annoyed.”
Executions. In his excitement, Sazed had nearly forgotten just what it was they had come to see. His eagerness deflated, and he remembered why Breeze was acting so solemnly. The man spoke lightly, but the concern in his eyes indicated that he was disturbed by the thought of the Citizen burning innocent people to death.
“There,” Allrianne said, pointing toward the other side of the market. Something was making a stir: the Citizen, wearing a bright blue costume. It was a new “approved” color—one only he was allowed to wear. His councillors surrounded him in red.
“Finally,” Breeze said, following the crowd as they bunched up around the Citizen.
Sazed followed, his steps growing reluctant. Now that he thought about it, he was tempted to use his troops to try to stop what was about to occur. Of course, he knew that would be foolish. Playing his hand now to save a few would ruin their chances of saving the entire city. With a sigh, he followed Breeze and Allrianne, moving with the crowd. He also suspected that watching the murders would remind him of the pressing nature of his duties in Urteau. Theological studies would wait for another time.
“You’re going to have to kill them,” Kelsier said.
Spook crouched quietly atop a building in the wealthier section of Urteau. Below, the Citizen’s procession was approaching; Spook watched it through cloth-wrapped eyes. It had taken many coins—nearly the last of what he’d brought with him from Luthadel—to bribe out the location of the executions sufficiently in advance so that he could get into position.
He could see the sorry individuals that Quellion had decided to murder. Many of them were like Franson’s sister—people who had been discovered to have noble parentage. Several others, however, were only spouses of those with noble blood. Spook also knew of one man in this group who had spoken out too loudly against Quellion. The man’s connection to the nobility was tenuous. He had once been a craftsman catering specifically to a noble clientele.
“I know you don’t want to do it,” Kelsier said. “But you can’t lose your nerve now.”
Spook felt powerful—pewter lent him an air of invincibility that he’d never before imagined. He had slept barely a few hours in the last six days, but he didn’t feel tired. He had a sense of balance that any cat would have envied, and he had strength his muscles shouldn’t have been able to produce.
And yet, power wasn’t everything. His palms were sweating beneath his cloak, and he felt beads of perspiration creeping down his brow. He was no Mistborn. He wasn’t Kelsier or Vin. He was just Spook. What was he thinking?
“I can’t do it,” he whispered.
“You can,” Kelsier said. “You’ve practiced with the cane—I’ve watched. Plus, you stood against those soldiers in the market. They nearly killed you, but you were fighting two Thugs. You did very well, considering.”
“I . . .”
“You need to save those people, Spook. Ask yourself: What would I do if I were there?”
“I’m not you.”
“Not yet,” Kelsier whispered.
Not yet.
Below, Quellion preached against the people about to be executed. Spook could see Beldre, the Citizen’s sister, at his side. Spook leaned forward. Was that really a look of sympathy, even pain, in her eyes as she watched the unfortunate prisoners herded toward the building? Or, was that just what Spook wanted to see in her? He followed her gaze, watching the prisoners. One of them was a child, holding fearfully to a woman as the group was prodded into the building that would become their pyre.
Kelsier’s right, Spook thought. I can’t let this happen. I may not succeed, but at least I have to try. His hands continued to shake as he moved through the hatch atop his building and dashed down the steps, cloak whipping behind him. He rounded a corner, heading for the wine cellar.
Noblemen were
strange creatures. During the days of the Lord Ruler, they had often feared for their lives as much as skaa thieves did, for court intrigue often led to imprisonment or assassination. Spook should have realized what he was missing from the beginning. No thieving crew would build a lair without a bolt-hole for emergency escapes.
Why would the nobility be any different?
He leaped, cloak flapping as he dropped the last few steps. He hit the dusty floor, and his enhanced ears heard Quellion begin to rant up above. The skaa crowds were murmuring. The flames had started. There, in the darkened basement of the building, Spook found a section of the wall already open, a secret passageway leading from the building next door. A group of soldiers stood in the passageway.
“Quickly,” Spook heard one of them say, “before the fire gets here.”
“Please!” another voice cried, her words echoing through the passageway. “At least take the child!”
People grunted. The soldiers moved on the opposite side of the passage from Spook, keeping the people in the other basement from escaping. They had been sent by Quellion to save one of the prisoners. On the outside, the Citizen made a show of denouncing anyone with noble blood. Allomancers, however, were too valuable to kill. And so, he chose his buildings carefully—only burning those with hidden exits through which he could carefully extract the Allomancers.
It was the perfect way to show orthodoxy, yet maintain a grip on the city’s most powerful resource. But it wasn’t this hypocrisy that made Spook’s hands stop shaking as he charged the soldiers.
It was the crying child.
“Kill them!” Kelsier screamed.
Spook whipped out his dueling cane. One of the soldiers finally noticed him, spinning in shock.
He fell first.
Spook hadn’t realized how hard he could swing. The soldier’s helmet flew through the hidden passageway, its metal crumpled. The other soldiers cried out as Spook leaped over their fallen companion in the close confines. They carried swords, but had trouble drawing them.
Spook, however, had brought daggers.
He pulled one free, wielding it with a swing powered by both pewter and fury, enhanced senses guiding his steps. He cut through two soldiers, elbowing their dying bodies aside, pressing his advantage. At the end of the passageway, four soldiers stood with a short skaa man.
Fear shone in their eyes.
Spook threw himself forward, and the shocked soldiers finally overcame their surprise. They pushed backward, throwing open the secret door and stumbling over themselves as they entered the building basement on the other side.
The structure was already well on its way to burning down. Spook could smell the smoke. The rest of the condemned people were in the room—they had probably been trying to get through the doorway to follow their friend who had escaped. Now they were forced backward as the soldiers shoved their way into the room, finally drawing their swords.
Spook gutted the slowest of the four soldiers, then left his dagger in the body, pulling out a second dueling cane. The firm length of wood felt good in his hand as he spun between shocked civilians, attacking the soldiers.
“The soldiers can’t be allowed to escape,” Kelsier whispered. “Otherwise, Quellion will know that the people were rescued. You have to leave him confused.”
Light flickered in a hallway beyond the well-furnished basement room. Firelight. Spook could feel the heat already. Grimly, the three backlit soldiers raised their swords. Smoke began to creep in along the ceiling, spreading like a dark black mist. Prisoners cringed, confused.
Spook dashed forward, spinning as he swung both of his canes at one of the soldiers. The man took the bait, sidestepping Spook’s attack, then lunging forward. In an ordinary fight, Spook would have been skewered.
Pewter and tin saved him. Spook moved on feet made light, feeling the wind of the oncoming sword, knowing where it would pass. His heart thudded inside his chest as the sword sliced through the fabric at his side, but missed the flesh. He brought a cane down, cracking the man’s sword arm, then smacked another into his skull.
The soldier fell, surprise visible in his dying eyes as Spook pushed past him.
The next soldier was already swinging. Spook brought up both of his canes, crossing them to block. The sword bit through one, spinning half of the cane into the air, but got caught in the second. Spook snapped his weapon to the side, pushing the blade away, then spun inside the man’s reach and took him down with an elbow to the stomach.
Spook punched the man’s head as he fell. The sound of bone on bone cracked in the burning room. The soldier slumped at Spook’s feet.
I can actually do this! Spook thought. I am like them. Vin and Kelsier. No more hiding in basements or fleeing from danger. I can fight!
He spun, smiling.
And found the final soldier standing with Spook’s own knife held to the neck of a young girl. The soldier stood with his back to the burning hallway, eyeing escape through the hidden passage. Behind the man, flames were curling around the wooden doorframe, licking the room.
“The rest of you, get out!” Spook said, not turning from the soldier. “Go out the back door of the building you find at the end of this tunnel. You’ll find men there. They’ll hide you in the underground, then get you out of the city. Go!”
Some had already fled, and those who remained moved at his command. The soldier stood, watching, obviously trying to decide his course. He must have known he was facing an Allomancer—no ordinary man could have taken down so many soldiers so quickly. Fortunately, it appeared that Quellion hadn’t sent his own Allomancers into the building. He likely kept them above, protecting him.
Spook stood still. He dropped the broken dueling cane, but held the other tightly to keep his hand from shaking. The girl whimpered quietly.
What would Kelsier have done?
Behind him, the last of the prisoners was fleeing into the passage. “You!” Spook said without turning. “Bar that door from the outside. Quickly!”
“But—”
“Do it!” Spook yelled.
“No!” the soldier said, pressing the knife against the girl’s neck. “I’ll kill her!”
“Do and you die,” Spook said. “You know that. Look at me. You’re not getting past me. You’re—”
The door thunked closed.
The soldier cried out, dropping the girl, rushing toward the door, obviously trying to get to it before the bar fell on the other side. “That’s the only way out! You’ll get us—”
Spook broke the man’s knees with a single crack of the dueling cane. The soldier screamed, falling to the ground. Flames burned on three of the walls, now. The heat was already intense.
The bar clicked into place on the other side of the door. Spook looked down at the soldier. Still alive.
“Leave him,” Kelsier said. “Let him burn in the building.”
Spook hesitated.
“He would have let all of those people die,” Kelsier said. “Let him feel what he would have done to these—what he has already done several times, at Quellion’s command.”
Spook left the groaning man on the ground, moving over to the secret door. He threw his weight against it.
It held.
Spook cursed quietly, raising a boot and kicking the door. It, however, remained solid.
“That door was built by noblemen who feared they would be pursued by assassins,” Kelsier said. “They were familiar with Allomancy, and would make certain the door was strong enough to resist a Thug’s kick.”
The fire was growing hotter. The girl huddled on the floor, whimpering. Spook whirled, staring down the flames, feeling their heat. He stepped forward, but his amplified senses were so keen that the heat seemed amazingly powerful to him.
He gritted his teeth, picking up the girl.
I have pewter now, he thought. It can balance the power of my senses.
That will have to be enough.
Smoke billowed out the windows of the condemned build
ing. Sazed waited with Breeze and Allrianne, standing at the back of a solemn crowd. The people were oddly silent as they watched the flames claim their prize. Perhaps they sensed the truth.
That they could be taken and killed as easily as the poor wretches who died inside.
“How quickly we come around,” Sazed whispered. “It wasn’t long ago that men were forced to watch the Lord Ruler cut the heads from innocent people. Now we do it to ourselves.”
Silence. What sounded like yells came from inside the building. The screams of dying men.
“Kelsier was wrong,” Breeze said.
Sazed frowned, turning.
“He blamed the noblemen,” Breeze said. “He thought that if we got rid of them, things like this wouldn’t happen.”
Sazed nodded. Then, oddly, the crowd began to grow restless, shuffling about, murmuring. And, Sazed felt himself agreeing with them. Something needed to be done about this atrocity. Why did nobody fight? Quellion stood there, surrounded by his proud men in red. Sazed gritted his teeth, growing angry.
“Allrianne, dear,” Breeze said, “this isn’t the time.”
Sazed started. He turned, glancing at the young woman. She was crying.
By the Forgotten Gods, Sazed thought, finally recognizing her touch on his emotions, Rioting them to make him angry at Quellion. She’s as good as Breeze is.
“Why not?” she said. “He deserves it. I could make this crowd rip him apart.”
“And his second-in-command would take control,” Breeze said, “then execute these people. We haven’t prepared enough.”
“It seems that you’re never done preparing, Breeze,” she snapped.
The Mistborn Trilogy Page 190
