The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

  “What truth?” Breeze asked, joining Sazed as they followed Spook through the cavern.

  “That Quellion is using Allomancers,” Spook said, his voice echoing in the cavern. “I’ve now confirmed what I suspected before—Quellion recruits Mistings from the people he arrests. He rescues them from his own fires, then holds their families hostage. He relies on the very thing he’s preaching against. The entire foundation for his rule, therefore, is a lie. Exposing that lie should cause the entire system to collapse.”

  “That’s capital, we can certainly do that . . .” Breeze said, glancing at Sazed again. Spook kept walking, and Sazed followed, trailing Spook as he moved through the cavern. Breeze moved away, probably to fetch Allrianne.

  Spook stopped beside the water’s edge. He stood there for a moment, then turned toward Sazed. “You said that you have been studying the construction that brought the water down here, diverting it from the canals.”

  “Yes,” Sazed said.

  “Is there a way to reverse the process?” Spook asked. “Make the water flood the streets again?”

  “Perhaps,” Sazed said. “I am not certain that I have the engineering expertise to accomplish the feat, however.”

  “Is there knowledge in your metalminds that would help you?” Spook asked.

  “Well . . . yes.”

  “Then use them,” Spook said.

  Sazed paused, looking uncomfortable.

  “Sazed,” Spook said. “We don’t have much time—we have to take this city before Quellion decides to attack and destroy us. Breeze is going to spread the rumors, then I am going to find a way to expose Quellion as a liar before his people. He’s an Allomancer himself.”

  “Will that be enough?”

  “It will if we give them someone else to follow,” Spook said, turning back to look across the waters. “Someone who can survive fires; someone who can restore water to the city streets. We’ll give them miracles and a hero, then expose their leader as a hypocrite and a tyrant. Confronted with that, what would you do?”

  Sazed didn’t respond immediately. Spook made good points, even about Sazed’s metalminds still being useful. Yet Sazed wasn’t certain what he thought of the changes in the young man. Spook seemed to have grown far more competent, but . . .

  “Spook,” Sazed said, stepping in closer, speaking quietly enough that the soldiers standing behind couldn’t hear. “What is it you aren’t sharing with us? How did you survive the leap from that building? Why do you cover your eyes with cloth?”

  “I . . .” Spook faltered, showing a hint of the insecure boy he had once been. For some reason, seeing that made Sazed more comfortable. “I don’t know if I can explain, Saze,” Spook said, some of his pretension evaporating. “I’m still trying to figure it out myself. I’ll explain eventually. For now, can you just trust me?”

  The lad had always been a sincere one. Sazed searched those eyes, so eager.

  And found something important. Spook cared. He cared about this city, about overthrowing the Citizen. He’d saved those people earlier, when Sazed and Breeze had just stood outside, watching.

  Spook cared, and Sazed did not. Sazed tried—he grew frustrated with himself because of his depression, which had been worse this evening than it usually was.

  His emotions had been so traitorous lately. He had trouble studying, had trouble leading, had trouble being of any use whatsoever. But, looking into Spook’s eager eyes, he was almost able to forget his troubles for a moment.

  If the lad wanted to take the lead, then who was Sazed to argue?

  He glanced toward his room, where the metalminds lay. He had gone so long without them. They tempted him with their knowledge.

  As long as I don’t preach the religions they contain, he thought, I’m not a hypocrite. Using this specific knowledge Spook requests will, at least, bring some small meaning to the suffering of those who worked to gather knowledge of engineering.

  It seemed a weak excuse. But, in the face of Spook taking the lead and offering a good reason to use the metalminds, it was enough.

  “Very well,” Sazed said. “I shall do as you request.”

  Ruin’s prison was not like those that hold men. He wasn’t bound by bars. In fact, he could move about freely.

  His prison, rather, was one of impotence. In the terms of forces and gods, this meant balance. If Ruin were to push, the prison would push back, essentially rendering Ruin powerless. And because much of his power was stripped away and hidden, he was unable to affect the world in any but the most subtle of ways.

  I should stop here and clarify something. We speak of Ruin being “freed” from his prison. But that is misleading. Releasing the power at the Well tipped the aforementioned balance back toward Ruin, but he was still too weak to destroy the world in the blink of an eye as he yearned to do. This weakness was caused by part of Ruin’s power—his very body—having been taken and hidden from him.

  Which was why Ruin became so obsessed with finding the hidden part of his self.

  47

  ELEND STOOD IN THE MISTS.

  Once, he had found them disconcerting. They had been the unknown—something mysterious and uninviting, something that belonged to Allomancers and not to ordinary men.

  Yet, now he was an Allomancer himself. He stared up at the shifting, swirling, spinning banks of vapor. Rivers in the sky. He almost felt as if he should get pulled along in some phantom current. When he’d first displayed Allomantic powers, Vin had explained Kelsier’s now-infamous motto. The mists are our friend. They hide us. Protect us. Give us power.

  Elend continued to stare upward. It had been three days since Vin’s capture.

  I shouldn’t have let her go, he thought again, heart twisting within him. I shouldn’t have agreed to such a risky plan.

  Vin had always been the one to protect him. What did they do now, when she was in danger? Elend felt so inadequate. Had their situations been reversed, Vin would have found a way to get into the city and rescue him. She’d have assassinated Yomen, would have done something.

  And yet, Elend didn’t have her flair of brash determination. He was too much of a planner and was too well acquainted with politics. He couldn’t risk himself to save her. He’d already put himself into danger once, and in so doing, had risked the fate of his entire army. He couldn’t leave them behind again and put himself in danger, particularly not by going into Fadrex, where Yomen had already proven himself a skilled manipulator.

  No further word had come from Yomen. Elend expected ransom demands, and was terrified of what he might have to do if they came. Could he trade the fate of the world for Vin’s life? No. Vin had faced a similar decision at the Well of Ascension, and had chosen the right option. Elend had to follow her example, had to be strong.

  Yet the thought of her captured came close to paralyzing him with dread. Only the spinning mists seemed to somehow comfort him.

  She’ll be all right, he told himself, not for the first time. She’s Vin. She’ll figure a way out of it. She’ll be all right. . . .

  It felt odd, to Elend, that after a lifetime of finding the mists unsettling he would now find them so comforting. Vin didn’t see them that way, not anymore. Elend could sense it in the way she acted, in the words she spoke. She distrusted the mists. Hated them, even. And Elend couldn’t really blame her. They had, after all, changed somehow—bringing destruction and death.

  Yet, Elend found it hard to distrust the mists. They just felt right. How could they be his enemy? They spun, swirling around him just slightly as he burned metals, like leaves spinning in a playful wind. As he stood there, they seemed to soothe away his concerns about Vin’s captivity, giving him confidence that she would find a way out.

  He sighed, shaking his head. Who was he to trust his own instincts about the mists over Vin’s? She had the instincts born of a lifetime of struggling to survive. What did Elend have? Instincts born of a lifetime of partygoing and dancing?

  Sound came from behind him. Peo
ple walking. Elend turned, eyeing a pair of servants carrying Cett in his chair.

  “That damn Thug isn’t around here, is he?” Cett asked as the servants set him down.

  Elend shook his head as Cett waved the servants away. “No,” Elend said. “He’s investigating some kind of disturbance in the ranks.”

  “What happened this time?” Cett asked.

  “Fistfight,” Elend said, turning away, looking back toward Fadrex City’s watch fires.

  “The men are restless,” Cett said. “They’re a little like koloss, you know. Leave them too long, and they’ll get themselves into trouble.”

  Koloss are like them, actually, Elend thought. We should have seen it earlier. They are men—just men reduced to their most base emotions.

  Cett sat quietly in the mists for a time, and Elend continued his contemplations.

  Eventually, Cett spoke, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “She’s as good as dead, son. You know that.”

  “No, I don’t,” Elend said.

  “She’s not invincible,” Cett said. “She’s a damn good Allomancer, true. But, take her metals away . . .”

  She’ll surprise you, Cett.

  “You don’t even look worried,” Cett said.

  “Of course I’m worried,” Elend said, growing more certain. “I just . . . well, I trust her. If anyone can get out, Vin will.”

  “You’re in denial,” Cett said.

  “Perhaps,” Elend admitted.

  “Are we going to attack?” Cett asked. “Try and get her back?”

  “This is a siege, Cett,” Elend said. “The point is to not attack.”

  “And our supplies?” Cett asked. “Demoux had to put the soldiers on half rations today. We’ll be lucky not to starve ourselves before we can get Yomen to surrender.”

  “We have time yet,” Elend said.

  “Not much. Not with Luthadel in revolt.” Cett was silent for a moment, then continued. “Another of my raiding parties returned today. They had the same things to report.”

  The same news as all the others. Elend had authorized Cett to send soldiers into nearby villages, to scare the people, perhaps pillage some supplies. Yet, each of the raiding groups had come back empty-handed, bearing the same story.

  The people in Yomen’s kingdom were starving. Villages barely survived. The soldiers hadn’t the heart to hurt them any further, and there wasn’t anything to take, anyway.

  Elend turned toward Cett. “You think me a bad leader, don’t you?”

  Cett looked up, then scratched at his beard. “Yes,” he admitted. “But, well . . . Elend, you’ve got one thing going for you as a king that I never did.”

  “And that is?”

  Cett shrugged. “The people like you. Your soldiers trust you, and they know you have too good a heart for your own good. You have a strange effect on them. Lads like those, they should have been eager to rob villages, even poor ones. Especially considering how on-edge our men are and how many fights there have been in camp. And yet, they didn’t. Hell, one of the groups felt so sorry for the villagers that they stayed for a few days and helped water the fields and do repairs to some of the homes!”

  Cett sighed, shaking his head. “A few years ago, I would have laughed at anyone who chose loyalty as a basis for rule. But, well . . . with the world falling apart as it is, I think even I would rather have someone to trust, as opposed to someone to fear. I guess that’s why the soldiers act as they do.”

  Elend nodded.

  “I thought a siege was a good idea,” Cett said. “But, I don’t think it will work anymore, son. The ash is falling too hard now, and we don’t have supplies. This whole thing is becoming a damn mess. We need to strike and take what we can from Fadrex, then retreat to Luthadel and try to hold it through the summer while our people grow crops.”

  Elend fell silent, then turned, looking to the side as he heard something else in the mists. Shouting and cursing. It was faint—Cett probably couldn’t hear it. Elend left, hurrying toward the sound, leaving Cett behind.

  Another fight, Elend realized as he approached one of the cooking fires. He heard yells, blustering, and the sounds of men brawling. Cett’s right. Goodhearted or not, our men are getting too restless. I need—

  “Stop this immediately!” a new voice called. Just ahead, through the dark mists, Elend could see figures moving about the firelight. He recognized the voice; General Demoux had arrived on the scene.

  Elend slowed. Better to let the general deal with the disturbance. There was a big difference between being disciplined by one’s military commander and one’s emperor. The men would be better off if Demoux were the one to punish them.

  The fighting, however, did not stop.

  “Stop this!” Demoux yelled again, moving into the conflict. A few of the brawlers listened to him, pulling back. The rest, however, just continued to fight. Demoux pushed himself into the melee, reaching to pull apart two of the combatants.

  And one of them punched him. Square in the face, throwing Demoux to the ground.

  Elend cursed, dropping a coin and Pushing himself forward. He fell directly into the middle of the firelight, Pushing out with a Soothing to dampen the emotions of those fighting.

  “Stop!” he bellowed.

  They did, freezing, one of the soldiers standing over the fallen General Demoux.

  “What is going on here?” Elend demanded, furious. The soldiers looked down. “Well?” Elend said, turning toward the man who had punched Demoux.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” the man grumbled. “We just . . .”

  “Speak, soldier,” Elend said, pointing, Soothing the man’s emotions, leaving him compliant and docile.

  “Well, my lord,” the man said. “They’re cursed, you know. They’re the reason Lady Vin got taken. They were speaking of the Survivor and his blessings, and that just smacked me as hypocrisy, you know? Then, of course their leader would show, demanding that we stop. I just . . . well, I’m tired of listening to them, is all.”

  Elend frowned in anger. As he did so, a group of the army’s Mistings—Ham at their head—shoved through the crowd. Ham met Elend’s eyes, and Elend nodded toward the men who had been fighting. Ham made quick work of them, gathering them up for reprimand. Elend walked over, pulling Demoux to his feet. The grizzled general looked more shocked than anything.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” Demoux said quietly. “I should have seen that coming . . . I should have been ready for it.”

  Elend just shook his head. The two of them watched quietly until Ham joined them, his police pushing the troublemakers away. The rest of the crowd dispersed, returning to their duties. The solitary bonfire burned alone in the night, as if shunned as a new symbol of bad luck.

  “I recognized a number of those men,” Ham said, joining Elend and Demoux as the troublemakers were led away. “Mistfallen.”

  Mistfallen. The men who, like Demoux, had lain sick from the mists for weeks, instead of a single day. “This is ridiculous,” Elend said. “So they remained sick awhile longer. That doesn’t make them cursed!”

  “You don’t understand superstition, my lord,” Demoux said, shaking his head and rubbing his chin. “The men look for someone to blame for their ill luck. And . . . well, it’s easy to see why they’d be feeling their luck was bad lately. They’ve been hard on anyone who was sickened by the mists; they’re just most hard on we who were out the longest.”

  “I refuse to accept such idiocy in my army,” Elend said. “Ham, did you see one of those men strike Demoux?”

  “They hit him?” Ham asked with surprise. “Their general?”

  Elend nodded. “The big man I was talking to. Brill is his name, I think. You know what will have to be done.”

  Ham cursed, looking away.

  Demoux looked uncomfortable. “Maybe we could just . . . throw him in solitary or something.”

  “No,” Elend said through his teeth. “No, we hold to the law. If he’d struck his captain, maybe we could le
t him off. But deliberately striking one of my generals? The man will have to be executed. Discipline is falling apart as it is.”

  Ham wouldn’t look at him. “The other fight I had to break up was also between a group of regular soldiers and a group of mistfallen.”

  Elend ground his teeth in frustration. Demoux, however, met his eyes. You know what needs to be done, he seemed to say.

  Being a king isn’t always about doing what you want, Tindwyl had often said. It’s about doing what needs to be done.

  “Demoux,” Elend said. “I think the problems in Luthadel are even more serious than our difficulties with discipline. Penrod looked toward us for support. I want you to gather a group of men and take them back along the canal with the messenger, Conrad. Lend aid to Penrod and bring the city back under control.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Demoux said. “How many soldiers should I take?”

  Elend met his eyes. “About three hundred should suffice.” It was the number who were mistfallen. Demoux nodded, then withdrew into the night.

  “It’s the right thing to do, El,” Ham said softly.

  “No, it’s not,” Elend said. “Just like it’s not right to have to execute a soldier because of a single lapse in judgment. But, we need to keep this army together.”

  “I guess,” Ham said.

  Elend turned, glancing up through the mists. Toward Fadrex City. “Cett’s right,” he finally said. “We can’t just continue to sit out here, not while the world is dying.”

  “So, what do we do about it?” Ham asked.

  Elend wavered. What to do about it indeed? Retreat and leave Vin—and probably the entire empire—to its doom? Attack, causing the deaths of thousands, becoming the conqueror he feared? Was there no other way to take the city?

  Elend turned and struck out into the night. He found his way to Noorden’s tent, Ham following curiously. The former obligator was awake, of course. Noorden kept odd hours. He stood hurriedly as Elend entered his tent, bowing in respect.

  There, on the table, Elend found what he wanted. The thing he had ordered Noorden to work on. Maps. Troop movements.