The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

Beldre shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I guess . . . men who lie don’t save children from burning buildings.”

  Sazed glanced at Spook, but couldn’t read anything in the young man’s hard expression. Finally, Spook spoke. “Breeze, Sazed, Allrianne, outside with me. Goradel, watch the woman.”

  Spook pushed his way out into the hallway, and Sazed followed with the others. Once the door was closed, Spook turned to regard the rest of them. “Well?”

  “I don’t like her,” Allrianne said, folding her arms.

  “Of course you don’t, dear,” Breeze said. “You never like competition.”

  “Competition?” Allrianne huffed. “From a timid little thing like that? Honestly.”

  “What do you think, Breeze?” Spook asked.

  “About the girl, or about you insulting me in there?”

  “The first,” Spook said. “Your pride isn’t important right now.”

  “My dear fellow,” Breeze said, “my pride is always important. As for the girl, I’ll tell you this—she’s terrified. Despite what she says, she’s very, very frightened—which means that she hasn’t done this sort of thing very often. My guess is that she’s noble.”

  Allrianne nodded. “Definitely. Just look at her hands—when they’re not shaking from fright, you can see that they’re clean and soft. She grew up being pampered.”

  “She’s obviously a bit naive,” Sazed said. “Otherwise she wouldn’t have come here, expecting that we’d just listen to her, then let her go.”

  Spook nodded. He cocked his head, as if listening to something. Then he walked forward, pushing open the door to the room.

  “Well?” Beldre asked, maintaining her false air of forcefulness. “Have you decided to listen to me?”

  “In a way,” Spook said. “I’m going to give you more time to explain your point. Plenty of time, actually.”

  “I . . . don’t have long,” Beldre said. “I need to get back to my brother. I didn’t tell him I was leaving, and . . .” She trailed off, apparently seeing something in Spook’s expression. “You’re going to take me captive, aren’t you?”

  “Breeze,” Spook said, turning. “How do you think the people would respond if I started spreading the rumor that the Citizen’s own sister has turned against him, fleeing to our embassy for protection?”

  Breeze smiled. “Well now. That’s clever! Almost makes up for how you treated me. Have I mentioned yet how rude that was?”

  “You can’t!” Beldre said, standing, facing Spook. “Nobody will believe that I’ve deserted!”

  “Oh?” Spook asked. “Did you speak to the soldiers outside before you came in here?”

  “Of course not,” Beldre said. “They’d have tried to stop me. I ran up the steps before they could.”

  “So, they can confirm that you entered the building of your own will,” Spook said. “Sneaking around a guard post.”

  “Doesn’t look good,” Breeze agreed.

  Beldre wilted slightly, sitting down in her chair. By the Forgotten Gods, Sazed thought. She really is naive. The Citizen must have expended a great deal of effort in sheltering her so.

  Of course, from what Sazed had heard, Quellion rarely let the girl out of his sight. She was always with him, being watched over. How will he react? Sazed thought with a chill. What will he do when he learns we have her? Attack?

  Perhaps that was the plan. If Spook could force an outright attack on the Citizen’s part, it would look bad. Especially bad when Quellion was turned back by a few soldiers—he couldn’t know how well fortified their position was.

  When did Spook get so clever?

  Beldre looked up from her seat, a few tears of frustration gleaming in her eyes. “You can’t do this. This is deceitful! What would the Survivor say if he knew what you were planning?”

  “The Survivor?” Spook asked, chuckling. “I have a feeling he’d approve. If he were here, actually, I think he’d suggest that we do this very thing . . .”

  One can see Ruin’s craftiness in the meticulousness of his planning. He managed to orchestrate the downfall of the Lord Ruler only a short time before Preservation’s power returned to the Well of Ascension. And then, within a few years of that event, he had freed himself.

  On the time scale of gods and their power, this very tricky timing was as precise as an expert cut performed by the most talented of surgeons.

  50

  THE DOOR TO THE CAVERN OPENED.

  Vin immediately downed her last vial of metals.

  She jumped, tossing a coin behind herself, leaping up onto the top of one of the freestanding shelves. The cavern echoed with the sound of stone on stone as its door opened. Vin threw herself forward—Pushing off the coin—to shoot toward the front of the room. A crack of light outlined the door, and even this small amount of illumination hurt her eyes.

  She gritted her teeth against the light, blinking as she landed. She threw herself up against the wall just to the side of the door, clutching her knives, flaring pewter to help herself deal with the sudden pain of light. Tears crept down her cheeks.

  The door stopped moving. A solitary man stepped into the cavern, bearing a raised lantern. He wore a fine black suit and gentleman’s hat.

  Vin ignored him.

  She slipped around the man and ducked through the door, entering the small chamber beyond. A group of startled workers shied back, dropping ropes which were connected to the door’s opening mechanisms. Vin ignored these men as well, other than to shove her way through them. Dropping a coin, she Pushed herself upward. The wooden ladder’s rungs became a blur beside her as she soared up and slammed into the trapdoor in the ceiling.

  And bounced off it with a grunt of pain.

  She desperately caught rungs of the ladder as she began to fall, ignoring the sudden sting in her shoulder from hitting so hard. She flared pewter and pushed down on a rung with her legs, then slammed her back up against the trapdoor, trying to force it up and open.

  She strained. Then, the rung broke beneath her feet, sending her toppling down again. She cursed, Pushing off her coin to slow her fall, and hit the floor in a crouch.

  The workers had backed into a huddle—uncertain whether they wanted to venture into the dark cavern, but also uncertain whether they wanted to remain in the small room with a Mistborn. The suited nobleman had turned. He held his lantern high, illuminating Vin. A bit of broken ladder rung fell free and cracked to the stone floor beside her.

  “The trapdoor is well secured with a very large rock on top of it, Lady Venture,” the nobleman said. Vin vaguely recognized him. He was a bit overweight, but was kempt, with very short hair and a thoughtful face.

  “Tell the men up above to remove the stone,” Vin said quietly, raising a dagger.

  “That is not going to happen, I’m afraid.”

  “I can make it happen,” Vin said, stepping forward. The workers pulled back even further.

  The nobleman smiled. “Lady Venture, let me assure you of several things. The first is that you are the only Allomancer among us, and so I have no doubt that you could slaughter us with the barest of efforts. The second is that the stone above is not moving anytime soon, so we might as well sit down and have a pleasant chat, as opposed to brandishing weapons and threatening each other.”

  There was something . . . disarming about the man. Vin checked with bronze, but he wasn’t burning any metals. Just to be certain, she Pulled a bit on his emotions, making him more trusting and friendly, then tried to Soothe away any sense of guile he might have felt.

  “I see that you’re at least considering my offer,” the nobleman said, waving to one of the workers. The worker hastily opened his pack, pulling out two folding chairs, then arranging them on the ground before the open stone door. The nobleman placed the lantern to the side, then sat down.

  Vin crept a little closer. “Why do I recognize you?”

  “I’m a friend of your husband,” the nobleman said.

  “Telden,” Vin s
aid, placing him. “Telden Hasting.”

  Telden nodded. She had seen him at the ball a few weeks back, the first one they had attended. But, she’d known him from someplace earlier than that. He’d been one of Elend’s friends in Luthadel, before the Collapse.

  Warily, Vin took the offered seat, trying to figure out Yomen’s game. Did he think she wouldn’t kill Telden, just because he’d been Elend’s friend?

  Telden lounged in his chair, somewhat less proper than the average nobleman. He waved a worker forward, and the man presented two bottles. “Wine,” Telden said. “One is pure, the other contains an extremely powerful sedative.”

  Vin raised an eyebrow. “This is to be some sort of guessing game?”

  “Hardly,” Telden said, opening one of the bottles. “I’m far too thirsty—and from what I hear, you’re not the type who possesses an excessive amount of patience for games.”

  Vin cocked her head as Telden accepted two cups from a servant, then poured some of the ruby wine into each. As she watched, she realized why he was so disarming. He reminded her of Elend—the old, carefree Elend. From what she could tell, this Telden was genuinely still like that.

  I have to grant Yomen that much, she thought. His city may not be perfect, but he has created a place where men like Telden can retain some of their innocence.

  Telden took a drink of his wine, proffering the other cup to Vin. She slid one of her knives into her sheath, then took the cup. She didn’t drink—and had no intention of doing so.

  “This is the wine without the sedative,” Telden said. “Good vintage, too. Yomen is a true gentleman—if he’s going to send one of his friends down into a pit to die, he’ll at least provide them with expensive wine to soften the blow.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that you’re here to be imprisoned too?” Vin asked flatly.

  “Of course not,” Telden said. “Though many consider my mission to be hopeless.”

  “And that mission is?”

  “To get you to drink some of the drugged wine, so that you can be safely transported up above.”

  Vin snorted.

  “I see that you agree with my detractors,” Telden said.

  “You just gave yourself away,” Vin said. “You just said that I’m supposed to drink the wine and fall unconscious. That means you have a way to signal to those above that I’ve been dealt with, so they can remove the stone and let you out. You have the power to free us. And I have the power to make you do as I wish.”

  “Emotional Allomancy cannot control me to that extent,” Telden said. “I’m no Allomancer, but I do know something of it. I suspect that you’re manipulating my emotions right now, actually—which really isn’t necessary, since I’m being completely frank with you.”

  “I don’t need Allomancy to make you talk,” Vin said, glancing down at the knife she still had in her other hand.

  Telden laughed. “You think that King Yomen—yes, he’s up above—won’t be able to tell if I’m speaking under duress? I have no doubt that you’d be able to break me, but I’m not going to betray my word simply on threats, so you’d have to cut off a few fingers or something before I’d do as you ask. I’m pretty certain that Yomen and the others would hear me screaming.”

  “I could kill the servants,” Vin said. “One at a time, until you agree to tell Yomen that I’m unconscious and have him open the door.”

  Telden smiled. “You think that I’d care if you kill them?”

  “You’re one of Elend’s friends,” Vin said. “You were one of those who talked philosophy with him.”

  “Philosophy,” Telden said, “and politics. Elend, however, was the only one of us interested in the skaa. I assure you, the rest of us really didn’t understand where he got such a fascination with them.” He shrugged. “However, I’m not a heartless man. If you kill enough of them, perhaps I would break down and do as you ask. Might as well get started, then.”

  Vin glanced at the servants. They seemed terrified of her, and Telden’s words didn’t help. After a few moments of silence, Telden chuckled.

  “You are Elend’s wife,” he noted. “Yomen is aware of this, you see. He was mostly convinced that you wouldn’t kill any of us, despite your rather fearsome reputation. From what we hear, you have a habit of killing kings and gods, perhaps the occasional soldier. Skaa servants, however . . .”

  Vin looked away from the servants, but didn’t meet Telden’s eyes, fearing that he’d see confirmation in them. He was wrong about her—she would kill those servants if she thought it would get her out. However, she was uncertain. If Yomen heard screams, he wouldn’t be likely to open the trapdoor, and Vin would have slaughtered innocents for no reason.

  “So,” Telden said, finishing off his wine. “We are at a stalemate. We assume that you’re running low on food down here, unless you’ve found a way to open those cans. Even if you have, there’s nothing you can do down here to help up above. My guess is that unless you take the wine, we’ll all end up starving to death in this cavern.”

  Vin sat back in her chair. There has to be a way out—a chance to exploit this.

  However, it was incredibly unlikely that she’d be able to break through that door above. She could maybe use duralumin and steel to Push her way through. However, her steel and pewter would be gone, and she was out of metal vials.

  Telden’s words, unfortunately, held a great deal of truth. Even if Vin could survive in the cavern, she’d be stagnant and useless. The siege would continue up above—she didn’t even know how that was going—and the world would continue to die by Ruin’s machinations.

  She needed to get out of the cavern. Even if that meant being put into Yomen’s hands. She eyed the bottle of drugged wine.

  Damn, She thought. That obligator is far cleverer than we expected. The wine would certainly have been prepared with enough strength to knock out an Allomancer.

  However . . .

  Pewter made the body resistant to all kinds of drugs. If she flared pewter with duralumin after drinking the wine, would it perhaps burn away the poison and leave her awake? She could pretend to be unconscious, then escape above.

  It seemed like a stretch. And yet, what was she to do? Her food was almost gone, and her chances for escaping were slim. She didn’t know what Yomen wanted of her—and Telden would be very unlikely to tell her—but he must not want her dead. If that had been the case, he’d simply have left her to starve.

  She had a choice. Either wait longer in the cavern, or gamble on a better chance to escape up above. She thought for just a moment, then made up her mind. She reached for the bottle. Even if her trick with pewter didn’t work, she’d rather gamble on getting into a better situation up above.

  Telden chuckled. “They did say that you were a decisive one. That’s rather refreshing—I’ve spent far too long with stuffy noblemen who take years to come to any firm decisions.”

  Vin ignored him. She easily popped the cork off of the bottle, then raised it and took a swig. The drugs began to take effect almost immediately. She settled back in her chair, letting her eyes droop, trying to give the impression that she was falling asleep. Indeed, it was very difficult to remain awake. Her mind was clouding despite flared pewter.

  She slumped, feeling herself drift away. Here goes, she thought, then burned duralumin. Her body flared with hyperenhanced pewter. Immediately, the feeling of tiredness went away. She almost bolted upright from the sudden burst of energy. Telden was chuckling. “I’ll be,” he said to one of the servants. “She actually went for it.”

  “You’d be dead if she hadn’t, my lord,” the servant said. “We’d all be dead.”

  And then the duralumin ran out. Her pewter disappeared with a puff, and with it went her immunity to the drug, which hadn’t burned away. It had been a long shot anyway.

  She barely heard her weapon click as it slipped from her fingers and hit the floor. Then, she fell unconscious.

  Once Ruin was free from his prison, he was able to influence
people more strongly—but impaling someone with a Hemalurgic spike was difficult no matter what the circumstances.

  To achieve such things, he apparently began with people who already had a tenuous grip on reality. Their insanity made them more open to his touch, and he could use them to spike more stable people. Either way, it’s impressive how many important people Ruin managed to spike. King Penrod, ruling Luthadel at the time, is a very good example of this.

  51

  ELEND FLEW THROUGH THE MISTS. He’d never quite been able to manage Vin’s horseshoe trick. Somehow, she could keep herself in the air, bounding from Push to Push, then Pulling each horseshoe back up behind her after she used it. To Elend, the process looked like a cyclone of potentially lethal chunks of metal with Vin at the center.

  He dropped a coin, then Pushed himself in a powerful leap. He’d given up on the horseshoe method after four or five failed attempts. Vin had seemed puzzled that he couldn’t get it down—she’d apparently figured it out on her own, needing only about a half hour’s practice to perfect it.

  But, well, that was Vin.

  Elend made do with coins, of which he carried a rather large bag. Copper clips, the smallest of the old imperial coins, worked perfectly for his purposes—particularly since he was apparently much more powerful than other Mistborn. Each of his Pushes carried him farther than they should have, and he really didn’t use that many coins, even when traveling a long distance.

  It felt good to be away. He felt free as he plunged down from his leap, dropping through the shifting darkness, then flared pewter and landed with a muffled thump. The ground in this particular valley was relatively free of ash—it had drifted, leaving a small corridor where it only came up to his mid-calf. So, he ran for a few minutes, for the change.

  A mistcloak fluttered behind him. He wore dark clothing, rather than one of his white uniforms. It seemed appropriate; besides, he’d never really had a chance to be a true Mistborn. Since discovering his powers, he’d spent his life at war. There wasn’t all that much need for him to go scuttling about in the darkness, particularly not with Vin around to do it better.