Mistborn Trilogy

by Sanderson, Brandon

  Clubs snorted. “And where did you get that uniform?”

  “Uh…Well…” Spook glanced to the side, displaying just a hint of the uncertain boy Elend had known.

  Clubs grumbled something about insolent boys, but Elend just laughed and clapped Spook on the shoulder. The boy looked up, smiling; though he’d been easy to ignore at first, he was proving as valuable as any of the other members of Vin’s former crew. As a Tineye—a Misting who could burn tin to enhance his senses—Spook could listen to conversations from far away, not to mention notice distant details.

  “Anyway, welcome back,” Elend said. “What’s the word from the west?”

  Spook shook his head. “I hate to sound too much like Uncle Crusty over there, but the news isn’t good. You know those rumors about the Lord Ruler’s atium being in Luthadel? Well, they’re back. Stronger this time.”

  “I thought we were past that!” Elend said. Breeze and his team had spent the better part of six months spreading rumors and manipulating the warlords into believing that the atium must have been hidden in another city, since Elend hadn’t found it in Luthadel.

  “Guess not,” Spook said. “And…I think someone’s spreading these rumors intentionally. I’ve been on the street long enough to sense a planted story, and this rumor smells wrong. Someone really wants the warlords to focus on you.”

  Great, Elend thought. “You don’t know where Breeze is, do you?”

  Spook shrugged, but he no longer seemed to be paying attention to Elend. He was watching the sparring. Elend glanced back toward Vin and Ham.

  As Clubs had predicted, the two had fallen into a more serious contest. There was no more instruction; there were no more quick, repetitive exchanges. They sparred in earnest, fighting in a swirling melee of staffs and dust. Ash flew around them, blown up by the wind of their attacks, and even more soldiers paused in the surrounding hallways to watch.

  Elend leaned forward. There was something intense about a duel between two Allomancers. Vin tried an attack. Ham, however, swung simultaneously, his staff blurringly quick. Somehow, Vin got her own weapon up in time, but the power of Ham’s blow threw her back in a tumble. She hit the ground on one shoulder. She gave barely a grunt of pain, however, and somehow got a hand beneath her, throwing herself up to land on her feet. She skidded for a moment, retaining her balance, holding her staff up.

  Pewter, Elend thought. It made even a clumsy man dexterous. And, for a person normally graceful like Vin…

  Vin’s eyes narrowed, her innate stubbornness showing in the set of her jaw, the displeasure in her face. She didn’t like being beaten—even when her opponent was obviously stronger than she was.

  Elend stood up straight, intending to suggest an end to the sparring. At that moment, Vin dashed forward.

  Ham brought his staff up expectantly, swinging as Vin came within reach. She ducked to the side, passing within inches of the attack, then brought her weapon around and slammed it into the back of Ham’s staff, throwing him off balance. Then she ducked in for the attack.

  Ham, however, recovered quickly. He let the force of Vin’s blow spin him around, and he used the momentum to bring his staff around in a powerful blow aimed directly at Vin’s chest.

  Elend cried out.

  Vin jumped.

  She didn’t have metal to Push against, but that didn’t seem to matter. She sprang a good seven feet in the air, easily cresting Ham’s staff. She flipped as the swing passed beneath her, her fingers brushing the air just above the weapon, her own staff spinning in a one-handed grip.

  Vin landed, her staff already howling in a low swing, its tip throwing up a line of ash as it ran along the ground. It slammed into the back of Ham’s legs. The blow swept Ham’s feet out from beneath him, and he cried out as he fell.

  Vin jumped into the air again.

  Ham slammed to the earth on his back, and Vin landed on his chest. Then, she calmly rapped him on the forehead with the end of her staff. “I win.”

  Ham lay, looking dazed, Vin crouching on his chest. Dust and ash settled quietly in the courtyard.

  “Damn…” Spook whispered, voicing a sentiment that seemed to be shared by the dozen or so watching soldiers.

  Finally, Ham chuckled. “Fine. You beat me—now, if you would, kindly get me something to drink while I try to massage some feeling back into my legs.”

  Vin smiled, hopping off his chest and scampering away to do as requested. Ham shook his head, climbing to his feet. Despite his words, he walked with barely a limp; he’d probably have a bruise, but it wouldn’t bother him for long. Pewter not only enhanced one’s strength, balance, and speed, it also made one’s body innately stronger. Ham could shrug off a blow that would have shattered Elend’s legs.

  Ham joined them, nodding to Clubs and punching Spook lightly on the arm. Then he leaned against the railing and rubbed his left calf, cringing slightly. “I swear, Elend—sometimes sparring with that girl is like trying to fight with a gust of wind. She’s never where I think she’ll be.”

  “How did she do that, Ham?” Elend asked. “The jump, I mean. That leap seemed inhuman, even for an Allomancer.”

  “Used steel, didn’t she?” Spook said.

  Ham shook his head. “No, I doubt it.”

  “Then how?” Elend asked.

  “Allomancers draw strength from their metals,” Ham said, sighing and putting his foot down. “Some can squeeze out more than others—but the real power comes from the metal itself, not the person’s body.”

  Elend paused. “So?”

  “So,” Ham said, “an Allomancer doesn’t have to be physically strong to be incredibly powerful. If Vin were a Feruchemist, it would be different—if you ever see Sazed increase his strength, his muscles will grow larger. But with Allomancy, all the strength comes directly from the metal.

  “Now, most Thugs—myself included—figure that making their bodies strong will only add to their power. After all, a muscular man burning pewter will be that much stronger than a regular man of the same Allomantic power.”

  Ham rubbed his chin, eyeing the passage Vin had left through. “But…well, I’m beginning to think that there might be another way. Vin’s a thin little thing, but when she burns pewter, she grows several times stronger than any normal warrior. She packs all that strength into a small body, and doesn’t have to bother with the weight of massive muscles. She’s like…an insect. Far stronger than her mass or her body would indicate. So, when she jumps, she can jump.”

  “But you’re still stronger than she is,” Spook said.

  Ham nodded. “And I can make use of that—assuming I can ever hit her. That’s getting harder and harder to do.”

  Vin finally returned, carrying a jug of chilled juice—apparently she’d decided to go all the way to the keep, rather than grabbing some of the warm ale kept on hand in the courtyard. She handed a flagon to Ham, and had thought to bring cups for Elend and Clubs.

  “Hey!” Spook said as she poured. “What about me?”

  “That beard looks silly on you,” Vin said as she poured.

  “So I don’t get anything to drink?”

  “No.”

  Spook paused. “Vin, you’re a strange girl.”

  Vin rolled her eyes; then she glanced toward the water barrel in the corner of the courtyard. One of the tin cups lying beside it lurched into the air, shooting across the courtyard. Vin stuck her hand out, catching it with a slapping sound, then set it on the railing before Spook. “Happy?”

  “I will be once you pour me something to drink,” Spook said as Clubs grunted, taking a slurp from his own cup. The old general then reached over, sliding two of the coins off the railing and pocketing them.

  “Hey, that’s right!” Spook said. “You owe me, El. Pay up.”

  Elend lowered his cup. “I never agreed to the bet.”

  “You paid Uncle Irritable. Why not me?”

  Elend paused, then sighed, pulling out a ten-boxing coin and setting it beside Spook’s.
The boy smiled, plucking both up in a smooth street-thief gesture. “Thanks for winning the bout, Vin,” he said with a wink.

  Vin frowned at Elend. “You bet against me?”

  Elend laughed, leaning across the railing to kiss her. “I didn’t mean it. Clubs bullied me.”

  Clubs snorted at that comment, downed the rest of his juice, then held out his cup for a refill. When Vin didn’t respond, he turned to Spook and gave the boy a telling scowl. Finally, Spook sighed, picking up the jug to refill the cup.

  Vin was still regarding Elend with dissatisfaction.

  “I’d be careful, Elend,” Ham said with a chuckle. “She can hit pretty hard….”

  Elend nodded. “I should know better than to antagonize her when there are weapons lying around, eh?”

  “Tell me about it,” Ham said.

  Vin sniffed at that comment, rounding the railing so that she could stand next to Elend. Elend put his arm around her, and as he did, he caught a bare flash of envy in Spook’s eyes. Elend suspected that the boy’d had a crush on Vin for some time—but, well, Elend couldn’t really blame him for that.

  Spook shook his head. “I’ve got to find myself a woman.”

  “Well, that beard isn’t going to help,” Vin said.

  “It’s just a disguise, Vin,” Spook said. “El, I don’t suppose you could give me a title or something?”

  Elend smiled. “I don’t think that will matter, Spook.”

  “It worked for you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Elend said. “Somehow, I think Vin fell in love with me despite my title, rather than because of it.”

  “But you had others before her,” Spook said. “Noble girls.”

  “A couple,” Elend admitted.

  “Though Vin has a habit of killing off her competition,” Ham quipped.

  Elend laughed. “Now, see, she only did that once. And I think Shan deserved it—she was, after all, trying to assassinate me at the time.” He looked down fondly, eyeing Vin. “Though, I do have to admit, Vin is a bit hard on other women. With her around, everybody else looks bland by comparison.”

  Spook rolled his eyes. “It’s more interesting when she kills them off.”

  Ham chuckled, letting Spook pour him some more juice. “Lord Ruler only knows what she’d do to you if you ever tried to leave her, Elend.”

  Vin stiffened immediately, pulling him a little tighter. She’d been abandoned far too many times. Even after what they’d been through, even after his proposal of marriage, Elend had to keep promising Vin that he wasn’t going to leave her.

  Time to change the topic, Elend thought, the joviality of the moment fading. “Well,” he said, “I think I’m going to go visit the kitchens and get something to eat. You coming, Vin?”

  Vin glanced at the sky—likely checking to see how soon it would grow dark. Finally, she nodded.

  “I’ll come,” Spook said.

  “No you won’t,” Clubs said, grabbing the boy by the back of the neck. “You’re going to stay right here and explain exactly where you got one of my soldiers’ uniforms.”

  Elend chuckled, leading Vin away. Truth be told, even with the slightly sour end of conversation, he felt better for having come to watch the sparring. It was strange how the members of Kelsier’s crew could laugh and make light, even during the most terrible of situations. They had a way of making him forget about his problems. Perhaps that was a holdover from the Survivor. Kelsier had, apparently, insisted on laughing, no matter how bad the situation. It had been a form of rebellion to him.

  None of that made the problems go away. They still faced an army several times larger than their own, in a city that they could barely defend. Yet, if anyone could survive such a situation, it would be Kelsier’s crew.

  Later that night, having filled her stomach at Elend’s insistence, Vin made her way with Elend to her rooms.

  There, sitting on the floor, was a perfect replica of the wolfhound she had bought earlier. It eyed her, then bowed its head. “Welcome back, Mistress,” the kandra said in a growling, muffled voice.

  Elend whistled appreciatively, and Vin walked in a circle around the creature. Each hair appeared to have been placed perfectly. If it hadn’t spoken, one would never have been able to tell it wasn’t the original dog.

  “How do you manage the voice?” Elend asked curiously.

  “A voice box is a construction of flesh, not bone, Your Majesty,” OreSeur said. “Older kandra learn to manipulate their bodies, not just replicate them. I still need to digest a person’s corpse to memorize and re-create their exact features. However, I can improvise some things.”

  Vin nodded. “Is that why making this body took you so much longer than you’d said?”

  “No, Mistress,” OreSeur said. “The hair. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you—placing fur like this takes a great deal of precision and effort.”

  “Actually, you did mention it,” Vin said, waving her hand.

  “What do you think of the body, OreSeur?” Elend asked.

  “Honestly, Your Majesty?”

  “Of course.”

  “It is offensive and degrading,” OreSeur said.

  Vin raised an eyebrow. That’s forward of you, Renoux, she thought. Feeling a little belligerent today, are we?

  He glanced at her, and she tried—unsuccessfully—to read his canine expression.

  “But,” Elend said, “you’ll wear the body anyway, right?”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” OreSeur said. “I would die before breaking the Contract. It is life.”

  Elend nodded to Vin, as if he’d just made a major point.

  Anyone can claim loyalty, Vin thought. If someone has a “Contract” to ensure their honor, then all the better. That makes the surprise more poignant when they do turn on you.

  Elend was obviously waiting for something. Vin sighed. “OreSeur, we’ll be spending more time together in the future.”

  “If that is what you wish, Mistress.”

  “I’m not sure if it is or not,” Vin said. “But it’s going to happen anyway. How well can you move about in that body?”

  “Well enough, Mistress.”

  “Come on,” she said, “let’s see if you can keep up.”

  7

  I am also afraid, however, that all I have known—that my story—will be forgotten. I am afraid for the world that is to come. Afraid that my plans will fail.

  Afraid of a doom worse, even, than the Deepness.

  Sazed never thought he’d have reason to appreciate dirt floors. However, they proved remarkably useful in writing instruction. He drew several words in the dirt with a long stick, giving his half-dozen students a model. They proceeded to scribble their own copies, rewriting the words several times.

  Even after living among various groups of rural skaa for a year, Sazed was still surprised by their meager resources. There wasn’t a single piece of chalk in the entire village, let alone ink or paper. Half the children ran around naked, and the only shelters were the hovels—long, one-room structures with patchy roofs. The skaa had farming tools, fortunately, but no manner of bows or slings for hunting.

  Sazed had led a scavenging mission up to the plantation’s abandoned manor. The leavings had been meager. He’d suggested that the village elders relocate their people to the manor itself for the winter, but he doubted they would do so. They had visited the manor with apprehension, and many hadn’t been willing to leave Sazed’s side. The place reminded them of lords—and lords reminded them of pain.

  His students continued to scribble. He had spent quite a bit of effort explaining to the elders why writing was so important. Finally, they had chosen him some students—partially, Sazed was sure, just to appease him. He shook his head slowly as he watched them write. There was no passion in their learning. They came because they were ordered, and because “Master Terrisman” willed it, not because of any real desire for education.

  During the days before the Collapse, Sazed had often imagined what
the world would be like once the Lord Ruler was gone. He had pictured the Keepers emerging, bringing forgotten knowledge and truths to an excited, thankful populace. He’d imagined teaching before a warm hearth at night, telling stories to an eager audience. He’d never paused to consider a village, stripped of its working men, whose people were too exhausted at night to bother with tales from the past. He’d never imagined a people who seemed more annoyed by his presence than thankful.

  You must be patient with them, Sazed told himself sternly. His dreams now seemed like hubris. The Keepers who had come before him, the hundreds who had died keeping their knowledge safe and quiet, had never expected praise or accolades. They had performed their great task with solemn anonymity.

  Sazed stood up and inspected his students’ writings. They were getting better—they could recognize all of the letters. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. He nodded to the group, dismissing them to help prepare the evening meal.

  They bowed, then scattered. Sazed followed them out, then realized how dim the sky was; he had probably kept his students too late. He shook his head as he strolled between the hill-like hovels. He again wore his steward’s robes, with their colorful V-shaped patterns, and he had put in several of his earrings. He kept to the old ways because they were familiar, even though they were also a symbol of oppression. How would future Terris generations dress? Would a lifestyle forced upon them by the Lord Ruler become an innate part of their culture?

  He paused at the edge of the village, glancing down the corridor of the southern valley. It was filled with blackened soil occasionally split by brown vines or shrubs. No mist, of course; mist came only during the night. The stories had to be mistakes. The thing he’d seen had to have been a fluke.

  And what did it matter if it wasn’t? It wasn’t his duty to investigate such things. Now that the Collapse had come, he had to disperse his knowledge, not waste his time chasing after foolish stories. Keepers were no longer investigators, but instructors. He carried with him thousands of books—information about farming, about sanitation, about government, and about medicine. He needed to give these things to the skaa. That was what the Synod had decided.