The Hero of Ages m-3

by Brandon Sanderson

  That reward-the Lord Ruler's atium cache-had proven to be a myth. Breeze had found other rewards instead.

  Up ahead, Sazed noticed someone moving through the ash. The figure wore black, but against the field of ash, it was easy to pick out even a hint of flesh tone. It appeared to be one of their scouts. Captain Goradel called the line to a halt, then sent a man forward to meet the scout. Sazed and Breeze waited patiently.

  "Scout report, Lord Ambassador," Captain Goradel said, walking up to Sazed's horse a short time later. "The emperor's army is just a few hills away-less than an hour."

  "Good," Sazed said, relishing the thought of seeing something other than the dreary hills of black.

  "They've apparently seen us, Lord Ambassador," Goradel said. "Riders are approaching. In fact, they are-"

  "Here," Sazed said, nodding into the near distance, where he saw a rider crest the hill. This one was very easy to pick out against the black. Not only was it moving very quickly-actually galloping its poor horse along the road-but it was also pink.

  "Oh, dear," Breeze said with a sigh.

  The bobbing figure resolved into a young woman with golden hair, wearing a bright pink dress-one that made her look younger than her twenty-something years. Allrianne had a fondness for lace and frills, and she tended to wear colors that made her stand out. Sazed might have expected someone like her to be a poor equestrian. Allrianne, however, rode with easy mastery, something one would need in order to remain on the back of a galloping horse while wearing such a frivolous dress.

  The young woman reared her horse up in front of Sazed's soldiers, spinning the animal in a flurry of ruffled fabric and golden hair. About to dismount, she hesitated, eyeing the half-foot-deep layer of ash on the ground.

  "Allrianne?" Breeze asked after a moment of silence.

  "Hush," she said. "I'm trying to decide if it's worth getting my dress dirty to scamper over and hug you."

  "We could wait until we get back to the camp. ."

  "I couldn't embarrass you in front of your soldiers that way," she said.

  "Technically, my dear," Breeze said, "they're not my soldiers at all, but Sazed's."

  Reminded of Sazed's presence, Allrianne looked up. She smiled prettily toward Sazed, then bent herself in a horseback version of a curtsy. "Lord Ambassador," she said, and Sazed felt a sudden-and unnatural-fondness for the young lady. She was Rioting him. If there was anyone more brazen with their Allomantic powers than Breeze, it was Allrianne.

  "Princess," Sazed said, nodding his head to her.

  Finally, Allrianne made her decision and slipped off the horse. She didn't quite "scamper"-instead, she held up her dress in a rather unladylike fashion. It would have been immodest if she hadn't been wearing what appeared to be several layers of lace petticoats underneath.

  Eventually, Captain Goradel came over and helped her up onto Breeze's horse so that she was sitting in the saddle in front of him. The two had never been officially married-partially, perhaps, because Breeze felt embarrassed to be in a relationship with a woman so much younger than himself. When pressed on the issue, Breeze had explained that he didn't want to leave her as a widow when he died-something he seemed to assume would happen immediately, though he was only in his mid-forties.

  We'll all die soon, the way things are going, Sazed thought. Our ages do not matter.

  Perhaps that was part of why Breeze had finally accepted having a relationship with Allrianne. Either way, it was obvious from the way he looked at her-from the way he held her with a delicate, almost reverent touch-that he loved her very much.

  Our social structure is breaking down, Sazed thought as the column began to march again. Once, the official stamp of a marriage would have been essential, especially in a relationship involving a young woman of her rank.

  And yet, who was there to be "official" for now? The obligators were all but extinct. Elend and Vin's government was a thing of wartime necessity-a utilitarian, martially organized alliance of cities. And looming over it all was the growing awareness that something was seriously wrong with the world.

  Why bother to get married if you expected the world would end before the year was out?

  Sazed shook his head. This was a time when people needed structure-needed faith-to keep them going. He should have been the one to give it to them. The Church of the Survivor tried, but it was too new, and its adherents were too inexperienced with religion. Already there were arguments about doctrine and methodology, and each city of the New Empire was developing its own mutant variant of the religion.

  In the past, Sazed had taught religions without feeling a need to believe in each one. He'd accepted each as being special in its own way, and offered them up, as a waiter might serve an appetizer he himself didn't feel like eating.

  Doing so now seemed hypocritical to Sazed. If this people needed faith, then he should not be the one to give it to them. He would not teach lies, not anymore.

  Sazed splashed his face with the basin's cold water, enjoying the pleasurable shock. The water dribbled down his cheeks and chin, carrying with it stains of ash. He dried his face with a clean towel, then took out his razor and mirror so that he could shave his head properly.

  "Why do you keep doing that?" asked an unexpected voice.

  Sazed spun. His tent in the camp had been empty just moments before. Now, however, someone stood behind him. Sazed smiled. "Lady Vin."

  She folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. She had always moved stealthily, but she was getting so good that it amazed even him. She'd barely rustled the tent flap with her entrance. She wore her standard shirt and trousers, after male fashion, though during the last two years she had grown her raven hair to a feminine shoulder length. There had been a time when Vin had seemed to crouch wherever she went, always trying to hide, rarely looking others in the eye. That had changed. She was still easy to miss, with her quiet ways, thin figure, and small stature. She now always looked people in the eye, however.

  And that made a big difference.

  "General Demoux said that you were resting, Lady Vin," Sazed noted.

  "Demoux knows better than to let me sleep through your arrival."

  Sazed smiled to himself, then gestured toward a chair so that she could sit.

  "You can keep shaving," she said. "It's all right."

  "Please," he said, gesturing again.

  Vin sighed, taking the seat. "You never answered my question, Saze," she said. "Why do you keep wearing those steward's robes? Why do you keep your head shaved, after the fashion of a Terris servant? Why worry about showing disrespect by shaving while I'm here? You're not a servant anymore."

  He sighed, carefully seating himself in the chair across from Vin. "I'm not exactly sure what I am anymore, Lady Vin."

  The tent walls flapped in a gentle breeze, a bit of ash blowing in through the door, which Vin hadn't tied closed behind herself. She frowned at his comment. "You're Sazed."

  "Emperor Venture's chief ambassador."

  "No," Vin said. "That might be what you do, but that's not what you are."

  "And what am I, then?"

  "Sazed," she repeated. "Keeper of Terris."

  "A Keeper who no longer wears his copperminds?"

  Vin glanced toward the corner, toward the trunk where he kept them. His copperminds, the Feruchemical storages that contained the religions, histories, stories, and legends of peoples long dead. It all sat waiting to be taught, waiting to be added to. "I fear that I have become a very selfish man, Lady Vin," Sazed said quietly.

  "That's silly," Vin said. "You've spent your entire life serving others. I know of nobody more selfless than you."

  "I do appreciate that sentiment," he said. "But I fear that I must disagree. Lady Vin, we are not a people new to sorrow. You know better than anyone here, I think, the hardships of life in the Final Empire. We have all lost people dear to us. And yet, I seem to be the only one unable to get over my loss. I feel childish. Yes, Tindwyl is dead. In all honesty, I did not hav
e much time with her before she did pass. I have no reason to feel as I do.

  "Still, I cannot wake up in the morning and not see darkness ahead of me. When I place the metalminds upon my arms, my skin feels cold, and I remember time spent with her. Life lacks all hope. I should be able to move on, but I cannot. I am weak of will, I think."

  "That just isn't true, Sazed," Vin said.

  "I must disagree."

  "Oh?" Vin asked. "And if you really were weak of will, would you be able to disagree with me?"

  Sazed paused, then smiled. "When did you get so good at logic?"

  "Living with Elend," Vin said with a sigh. "If you prefer irrational arguments, don't marry a scholar."

  I almost did. The thought came to Sazed unbidden, but it quieted his smile nonetheless. Vin must have noticed, for she cringed slightly.

  "Sorry," she said, looking away.

  "It is all right, Lady Vin," Sazed said. "I just. . I feel so weak. I cannot be the man my people wish me to be. I am, perhaps, the very last of the Keepers. It has been a year since the Inquisitors attacked my homeland, killing even the child Feruchemists, and we have seen no evidence that others of my sect survived. Others were out of the city, certainly and inevitably, but either Inquisitors found them or other tragedy did. There has certainly been enough of that lately, I think."

  Vin sat with her hands in her lap, looking uncharacteristically weak in the dim light. Sazed frowned at the pained expression on her face. "Lady Vin?"

  "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that. . you've always been the one who gives advice, Sazed. But, now what I need advice about is you."

  "There is no advice to give, I fear."

  They sat in silence for a few moments.

  "We found the stockpile," Vin said. "The next-to-last cavern. I made a copy for you of the words we found, etched in a thin sheet of steel so they'll be safe."

  "Thank you."

  Vin sat, looking uncertain. "You're not going to look at it, are you?"

  Sazed paused, then shook his head. "I do not know."

  "I can't do this alone, Sazed," Vin whispered. "I can't fight it by myself. I need you."

  The tent grew quiet. "I. . am doing what I can, Lady Vin," Sazed finally said. "In my own way. I must find answers for myself before I can provide them to anyone else. Still, have the etching delivered to my tent. I promise that I will at least look at it."

  She nodded, then stood. "Elend's having a meeting tonight. To plan our next moves. He wants you there." She trailed a faint perfume as she moved to leave. She paused beside his chair. "There was a time," she said, "after I'd taken the power at the Well of Ascension, when I thought Elend would die."

  "But he did not," Sazed said. "He lives still."

  "It doesn't matter," Vin said. "I thought him dead. I knew he was dying-I held that power, Sazed, power you can't imagine. Power you'll never be able to imagine. The power to destroy worlds and remake them anew. The power to see and to understand. I saw him, and I knew he would die. And knew I held the power in my hands to save him."

  Sazed looked up.

  "But I didn't," Vin said. "I let him bleed, and released the power instead. I consigned him to death."

  "How?" Sazed asked. "How could you do such a thing?"

  "Because I looked into his eyes," Vin said, "and knew it was what he wanted me to do. You gave me that, Sazed. You taught me to love him enough to let him die."

  She left him alone in the tent. A few moments later, he returned to his shaving, and found something sitting beside his basin. A small, folded piece of paper.

  It contained an aged, fading drawing of a strange plant. A flower. The picture had once belonged to Mare. It had gone from her to Kelsier, and from him to Vin.

  Sazed picked it up, wondering what Vin intended to say by leaving him the picture. Finally, he folded it up and slipped it into his sleeve, then returned to his shaving.

  The First Contract, oft spoken of by the kandra, was originally just a series of promises made by the First Generation to the Lord Ruler. They wrote these promises down, and in doing so codified the first kandra laws. They were worried about governing themselves, independently of the Lord Ruler and his empire. So, they took what they had written to him, asking for his approval.

  He commanded it cast into steel, then personally scratched a signature into the bottom. This code was the first thing that a kandra learned upon awakening from his or her life as a mistwraith. It contained commands to revere earlier generations, simple legal rights granted to each kandra, provisions for creating new kandra, and a demand for ultimate dedication to the Lord Ruler.

  Most disturbingly, the First Contract contained a provision which, if invoked, would require the mass suicide of the entire kandra people.

  11

  Kanpaar leaned forward on his lectern, red crystalline bones sparkling in the lamplight. "All right, then, TenSoon, traitor to the kandra people. You have demanded this judgment. Make your plea."

  TenSoon took a deep breath-it felt so good to be able to do that again-and opened his mouth to speak.

  "Tell them," KanPaar continued, sneering, "explain, if you can, why you killed one of our own. A fellow kandra."

  TenSoon froze. The Trustwarren was quiet-the generations of kandra were far too well behaved to rustle and make noise like a crowd of humans. They sat with their bones of rock, wood, or even metal, waiting for TenSoon's answer.

  KanPaar's question wasn't the one TenSoon had expected.

  "Yes, I killed a kandra," TenSoon said, standing cold and naked on the platform. "That is not forbidden."

  "Need it be forbidden?" KanPaar accused, pointing. "Humans kill each other. Koloss kill each other. But they are both of Ruin. We are of Preservation, the chosen of the Father himself. We don't kill one another!"

  TenSoon frowned. This was a strange line of questioning. Why ask this? he thought. My betrayal of all our people is surely a greater sin than the murder of one.

  "I was compelled by my Contract," TenSoon said frankly. "You must know, KanPaar. You are the one who assigned me to the man Straff Venture. We all know what kind of person he was."

  "No different from any other man," spat one of the Seconds.

  Once, TenSoon would have agreed. Yet, he knew that there were some humans, at least, who were different. He had betrayed Vin, and yet she hadn't hated him for it. She had understood, and had felt mercy. Even if they hadn't already become friends, even if he hadn't grown to respect her greatly, that one moment would have earned her his devoted loyalty.

  She was counting on him, even if she didn't know it. He stood a little straighter, looking KanPaar in the eyes. "I was assigned to the man Straff Venture by paid Contract," TenSoon said. "He gave me over to the whims of his twisted son, Zane. It was Zane who commanded that I kill the kandra OreSeur and take his place, so that I could spy on the woman Vin."

  There were a few hushed whispers at her name. Yes, you've heard of her. The one who slew the Father.

  "And so you did what this Zane commanded?" KanPaar asked loudly. "You killed another kandra. You murdered a member of your own generation!"

  "You think I enjoyed it?" TenSoon demanded. "OreSeur was my generation brother-a kandra I had known for seven hundred years! But. . the Contract. ."

  "Forbids killing," KanPaar said.

  "It forbids the killing of men."

  "And is not a kandra life worth more than that of a man?"

  "The words are specific, KanPaar," TenSoon snapped. "I know them well-I helped write them! We were both there when these service Contracts were created using the First Contract itself as a model! They forbid us from killing humans, but not each other."

  KanPaar leaned forward again. "Did you argue with this Zane? Suggest perhaps that he should perform the murder himself? Did you even try to get out of killing one of our people?"

  "I do not argue with my masters," TenSoon said. "And I certainly didn't want to tell the man Zane how to kill a kandra. His instability was well known."
/>
  "So, you didn't argue," KanPaar said. "You simply killed OreSeur. And then you took his place, pretending to be him."

  "That is what we do," TenSoon said with frustration. "We take the place of others, acting as spies. That is the entire point of the Contract!"

  "We do these things to humans," snapped another Second. "This is the first case where a kandra has been used to imitate another kandra. It is a disturbing precedent you set."

  It was brilliant, TenSoon thought. I hate Zane for making me do it, but I can still see the genius in it. Vin never even suspected me. Who would?

  "You should have refused to do this act," KanPaar said. "You should have pled the need for clarification of your Contract. If others were to begin using us in this way, to kill one another, then we could be wiped out in a matter of years!"

  "You betrayed us all with your rashness," said another.

  Ah, TenSoon thought. So that is their plan. They establish me as a traitor first, so that what I say later lacks credibility. He smiled. He was of the Third Generation; it was time he started acting like it.

  "I betrayed us with my rashness?" TenSoon asked. "What of you, glorious Seconds? Who was it who allowed a Contract to be assigned to Kelsier himself? You gave a kandra servant to the very man who was planning to kill the Father!"

  KanPaar stiffened, as if he'd been slapped, translucent face angry in the blue lamplight. "It is not your place to make accusations, Third!"

  "I have no place anymore, it seems," TenSoon said. "None of us do, now that the Father is dead. We have no right to complain, for we helped it happen."

  "How were we to know this man would succeed when others hadn't," a Second sputtered. "He paid so well that-"

  KanPaar cut the other off with a sharp wave of the hand. It wasn't good for those of the Second Generation to defend themselves. However, HunFoor-the kandra who had spoken-hadn't ever really fit in with the others of his generation. He was a little more. . dense.