The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

  Described by a person whom TenSoon had been killing at the time.

  The memory still brought him chills. Kandra served Contracts—and in Contracts, they usually were required to imitate specific individuals. A master would provide the proper body—kandra were forbidden to kill humans themselves—and the kandra would emulate it. However, before any of that happened, the kandra would usually study its quarry, learning as much about them as possible.

  TenSoon had killed OreSeur, his generation brother. OreSeur, who had helped overthrow the Father. At Kelsier’s command, OreSeur had pretended to be a nobleman named Lord Renoux so that Kelsier would have an apparent nobleman as a front to use in his plan to overthrow the empire. But, there had been a more important part for OreSeur to play in Kelsier’s plot. A secret part that not even the other members of the crew had known until after Kelsier’s death.

  TenSoon arrived at the old warehouse. It stood where OreSeur had said it would. TenSoon shuddered, remembering OreSeur’s screams. The kandra had died beneath TenSoon’s torture, torture which had been necessary, for TenSoon had needed to learn all that he could. Every secret. All that he would need in order to convincingly imitate his brother.

  That day, TenSoon’s hatred of humans—and at himself for serving them—had burned more deeply than ever before. How Vin had overcome that, he still didn’t know.

  The warehouse before TenSoon was now a holy place, ornamented and maintained by the Church of the Survivor. A plaque hung out front, displaying the sign of the spear—the weapon by which both Kelsier and the Lord Ruler had died—and giving a written explanation of why the warehouse was important.

  TenSoon knew the story already. This was the place where the crew had found a stockpile of weapons, left by the Survivor to arm the skaa people for their revolution. It had been discovered the same day that Kelsier had died, and rumors whispered that the spirit of the Survivor had appeared in this place, giving guidance to his followers. Those rumors were true, after a fashion. TenSoon rounded the building, following instructions OreSeur had given as he died. The Blessing of Presence let TenSoon recall the precise words, and despite the ash, he found the spot—a place where the cobbles were disturbed. Then, he began to dig.

  Kelsier, the Survivor of Hathsin, had indeed appeared to his followers that night years ago. Or, at least, his bones had. OreSeur had been commanded to take the Survivor’s own body and digest it, then appear to the faithful skaa and give them encouragement. The legends of the Survivor, the whole religion that had sprung up around him, had been started by a kandra.

  And TenSoon had eventually killed that kandra. But not before learning his secrets. Secrets such as where OreSeur had buried the bones of the Survivor, and how the man had looked.

  TenSoon smiled as he unearthed the first bone. They were years old now, and he hated using old bones. Plus, there would be no hair, so the one he created would be bald. Still, the opportunity was too valuable to pass up. He’d only seen the Survivor once, but with his expertise in imitation . . .

  Well, it was worth a try.

  Wellen leaned against his spear, watching those mists again. Rittle—his companion guard—said they weren’t dangerous. But, Rittle hadn’t seen what they could do. What they could reveal. Wellen figured that he had survived because he respected them. That, and because he didn’t think too hard about the things he had seen.

  “You think Skiff and Jaston will be late to relieve us again?” Wellen asked, trying again to start a conversation.

  Rittle just grunted. “Dunno, Wells.” Rittle never did care for small talk.

  “I think maybe one of us should go see,” Wellen said, eyeing the mist. “You know, ask if they’ve come in yet. . . .” He trailed off.

  Something was out there.

  Lord Ruler! he thought, cringing back. Not again!

  But, no attack came from the mists. Instead, a dark figure strode forward. Rittle perked up, lowering his spear. “Halt!”

  A man walked from the mists, wearing a deep black cloak, arms at his sides, hood up. His face, however, was visible. Wellen frowned. Something about this man looked familiar. . . .

  Rittle gasped, then fell to his knees, clutching something at his neck—the pendant of a silver spear that he always wore. Wellen frowned. Then he noticed the scars on this newcomer’s arms.

  Lord Ruler! Wellen thought in shock, realizing where he’d seen this man’s face. It had been in a painting, one of many available in the city, that depicted the Survivor of Hathsin.

  “Rise,” the stranger said, speaking in a benevolent voice.

  Rittle stood on shaking feet. Wellen backed away, uncertain whether to be awed or terrified, and feeling a little of both.

  “I have come to commend your faith,” the Survivor said.

  “My lord . . .” Rittle said, his head still bowed.

  “Also,” Kelsier said, raising a finger. “I have come to tell you I do not approve of how this city is being run. My people are sick, they starve, and they die.”

  “My lord,” Rittle said, “there is not enough food, and there have been riots seizing that which was stockpiled. My lord, and the mists kill! Please, why have you sent them to kill us!”

  “I did no such thing,” Kelsier said. “I know that food is scarce, but you must share what you have and have hope. Tell me of the man who rules this city.”

  “King Penrod?” Rittle asked. “He rules for Emperor Elend Venture, who is away at war.”

  “Lord Elend Venture? And he approves of how this city is being treated?” Kelsier looked angry. Wellen cringed.

  “No, my lord!” Rittle said, shaking. “I . . .”

  “Lord Penrod is mad,” Wellen found himself saying.

  The Survivor turned toward him.

  “Wells, you shouldn’t . . .” Rittle said, but then trailed off, the Survivor shooting him a stern look.

  “Speak,” the Survivor said to Wellen.

  “He speaks to the air, my lord,” Wellen said, averting his eyes. “Talks to himself—claims that he can see the Lord Ruler standing beside him. Penrod . . . he’s given lots of strange orders, lately. Forcing the skaa to fight each other for food, claiming that only the strong should survive. He kills those who disagree with him. That kind of thing.”

  “I see,” the Survivor said.

  Surely he knows this already, Wellen thought. Why bother asking?

  “Where is my Heir?” the Survivor asked. “The Hero of Ages, Vin.”

  “The Lady Empress?” Wellen asked. “She’s with the emperor.”

  “Where?”

  “Nobody knows for certain, my lord,” Rittle said, still shaking. “She hasn’t returned in a long time. My sergeant says that she and the emperor are fighting in the South, fighting koloss. But I’ve heard other men say the army went to the west.”

  “That’s not very helpful,” Kelsier said.

  Wellen perked up, remembering something.

  “What?” the Survivor asked, apparently noticing Wellen’s change in posture.

  “An army troop stopped by the city a few months ago,” Wellen said, feeling proud. “They kept it quiet, but I was in the group that helped them resupply. Lord Breeze was with them, and he spoke of meeting up with others of your crew.”

  “Where?” Kelsier asked. “Where were they going?”

  “North,” Wellen said. “To Urteau. That must be where the emperor is, my lord. The Northern Dominance is in rebellion. He must have taken his armies to quell it.”

  The Survivor nodded. “Very well,” he said. He turned as if to go, then paused, looking back. “Pass what news you can,” he said. “There isn’t much time left. Tell the people that when the mists leave, they should immediately find shelter. A place underground, if possible.”

  Wellen paused, then nodded. “The caverns,” he said. “Where you trained your army?”

  “That will do,” Kelsier said. “Farewell.”

  The Survivor disappeared into the mists.

  TenSoon left
the gates of Keep Venture behind, running off into the mists. He could, perhaps, have gotten himself into the building. However, he wasn’t certain how well his imitation of the Survivor would hold up under closer scrutiny.

  He didn’t know how reliable the two guards’ information was. However, he had no better leads. Other people he had talked to in the night hadn’t been able to provide any information about the army’s movements. Evidently, Vin and Elend had been gone from Luthadel for quite some time.

  He rushed back to the patch of earth behind the warehouse where he’d found Kelsier’s body. He knelt in the darkness, uncovering the sack he’d stuffed with bones. He needed to get the dog’s body back and head north. Hopefully he would—

  “You there!” a voice said.

  TenSoon looked up reflexively. A man stood in the doorway of the warehouse, looking through the mists at TenSoon. A lantern flared to life behind him, revealing a group of people who had apparently taken up residence inside of the holy place.

  Uh, oh . . . TenSoon thought as those at the front adopted shocked expressions.

  “My lord!” the man in front said, quickly kneeling in his sleeping robe. “You’ve returned!”

  TenSoon stood, stepping carefully to hide the sack of bones behind him. “I have,” he said.

  “We knew that you would,” the man said as others began to whisper and cry out behind him. Many fell to their knees. “We stayed in this place, praying for you to come give us counsel. The king is mad, my lord! What do we do?”

  TenSoon was tempted to expose himself as a kandra, but looking into their hopeful eyes, he found that he could not. Besides, perhaps he could do some good. “Penrod has been corrupted by Ruin,” he said. “The thing that seeks to destroy the world. You must gather the faithful and escape this city before Penrod kills you all.”

  “My lord, where should we go?”

  TenSoon hesitated. Where? “There are a pair of guards at the front of Keep Venture. They know of a place. Listen to them. You must get to a place underground. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, lord,” the man said. Behind, more and more people were edging forward, straining to catch a glimpse of TenSoon. He bore their scrutiny with some nervousness. Finally, he bid them be careful, then fled into the night.

  He found an empty building and quickly changed back to the dog’s bones before anyone else could see him. When he was done, he eyed the Survivor’s bones, feeling a strange . . . reverence.

  Don’t be silly, he told himself. They’re just bones, like hundreds of other sets you’ve used. Still, it seemed foolish to leave such a potentially powerful tool behind. He carefully packed them into the sack he’d pilfered, then—using paws he’d created to have more dexterity than those of a real wolfhound—he tied the sack on his back.

  After that, TenSoon left the city by the northern gate, running at full wolfhound speed. He would go to Urteau and hope that he was on the right path.

  The pact between Preservation and Ruin is a thing of gods, and difficult to explain in human terms. Indeed, initially, there was a stalemate between them. On one hand, each knew that only by working together could they create. On the other hand, both knew that they would never have complete satisfaction in what they created. Preservation would not be able to keep things perfect and unchanging, and Ruin would not be able to destroy completely.

  Ruin, of course, eventually acquired the ability to end the world and gain the satisfaction he wanted. But, then, that wasn’t originally part of the bargain.

  53

  SPOOK FOUND HER SITTING on the rocky lakeshore, looking out across the deep black waters, so still in the cavern’s windless air. In the near distance, Spook could hear Sazed—with a large contingent of Goradel’s men—working on their project to stanch the flow of water into the cavern.

  Spook approached Beldre quietly, carrying a mug of warmed tea. It almost seemed to burn his flesh, which meant that it would be just right for normal people. He let his own food and drinks sit out until they cooled to room temperature.

  He didn’t wear his eye bandage. With pewter, he’d found that he could withstand a little lantern-light. She didn’t turn as he approached, so he cleared his throat. She jumped slightly. It was no wonder that Quellion worked so hard to shelter the girl—one could not fake Beldre’s level of innocence. She wouldn’t survive three heartbeats in the underground. Even Allrianne, who did her best to look like a puff, had an edge to her that bespoke an ability to be as hard as necessary in order to survive. Beldre, though . . .

  She’s normal, Spook thought. This is how people would be, if they didn’t have to deal with Inquisitors, armies, and assassins. For that, he actually envied her. It was a strange feeling, after so many years spent wishing that he were someone more important.

  She turned back toward the waters, and he approached and sat beside her. “Here,” he said, handing her the mug. “I know it gets a bit chilly down here, with the lake and the water.”

  She paused, then took the mug. “Thank you,” she whispered. Spook let her roam free in the cavern—there was very little she could sabotage, though he had warned Goradel’s men to keep an eye on her. Either way, there was no way she was going to get out. Spook kept two dozen men guarding the exit, and had ordered the ladder up to the trapdoor above removed, to be replaced only with proper authorization.

  “Hard to believe this place was beneath your city all along, isn’t it?” Spook said, trying to work into a conversation. Oddly, it had seemed easier to speak to her when he was confronting her in her gardens, surrounded by danger.

  Beldre nodded. “My brother would have loved to find this place. He worries about food supplies. Fewer and fewer fish are being caught in the northern lakes. And crops . . . well, they’re not doing so well, I hear.”

  “The mists,” Spook said. “They don’t let enough sunlight through for most plants.”

  Beldre nodded, looking down at her mug. She hadn’t taken a sip yet.

  “Beldre,” Spook said, “I’m sorry. I actually considered kidnapping you from those gardens, but decided against it. However, with you showing up here, alone . . .”

  “It was just too good an opportunity,” she said bitterly. “I understand. It’s my own fault. My brother always says I’m too trusting.”

  “There are times that would be an advantage.”

  Beldre sniffed quietly. “I’ve never known such times as that. It seems my entire life, I’ve just trusted and been hurt. This is no different.”

  Spook sat, feeling frustrated with himself. Kelsier, tell me what to say! he thought. Yet, God remained silent. The Survivor didn’t seem to have much advice about things that didn’t relate to securing the city.

  It had all seemed so simple when Spook had given the order to capture her. Why, now, was he sitting here with this empty pit in his stomach?

  “I believed in him, you know,” Beldre said.

  “Your brother?”

  “No,” she said with a slight shake of her head. “The Lord Ruler. I was a good little noblewoman. I always gave my payments to the obligators—paying extra, even, and calling them in to witness the smallest things. I also paid them to come tutor me in the history of the empire. I thought everything was perfect. So neat; so peaceful. And then, they tried to kill me. Turns out I’m half skaa. My father wanted a child so desperately, and my mother was barren. He had two children with one of the maidservants—my mother even approved.”

  She shook her head. “Why would someone do that?” she continued. “I mean, why not pick a noblewoman? No. My father chose the servant woman. I guess he fancied her or something. . . .” She looked down.

  “For me, it was my grandfather,” Spook said. “I never knew him. Grew up on the streets.”

  “Sometimes I wish I had,” Beldre said. “Then maybe this would all make sense. What do you do when the priests you’ve been paying to tutor you since you were a child—men you trusted more than your own parents—come to take you away for execution? I would have
died, too. I just went with them. Then . . .”

  “Then what?” Spook asked.

  “You saved me,” she whispered. “The Survivor’s crew. You overthrew the Lord Ruler, and in the chaos, everybody forgot about people like me. The obligators were too busy trying to please Straff.”

  “And then, your brother took over.”

  She nodded quietly. “I thought he’d be a good ruler. He really is a good man! He just wants everything to be stable and secure. Peace for everyone. Yet, sometimes, the things he does to people . . . the things he asks of people . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” Spook said.

  She shook her head. “And then you came. You rescued that child, right in front of Quellion and me. You came to my gardens, and you didn’t even threaten me. I thought . . . maybe he really is as the stories say. Maybe he’ll help. And, like the idiot I always am, I just came.”

  “I wish things were simple, Beldre,” Spook said. “I wish I could let you go. But, this is for the greater good.”

  “That’s just what Quellion always says, you know,” she said.

  Spook paused.

  “You’re a lot alike, you two,” she said. “Forceful. Commanding.”

  Spook chuckled. “You really don’t know me very well, do you?”

  She flushed. “You’re the Survivor of the Flames. Don’t think I haven’t heard the rumors—my brother can’t keep me out of all of his conferences.”

  “Rumors,” Spook said, “are rarely reliable.”

  “You’re a member of the Survivor’s crew.”

  Spook shrugged. “That’s true. Though, I became a member by accident.”

  She frowned, glancing at him.

  “Kelsier handpicked the others,” Spook said. “Ham, Breeze, Sazed—even Vin. He chose my uncle too. And, by doing so, he got me as a bonus. I . . . I was never really part of it all, Beldre. I was kind of like an observer. They posted me on watch and things like that. I sat in on the planning sessions, and everyone just treated me like an errand boy. I must have refilled Breeze’s cup a hundred times during that first year!”