“They are an optimistic group,” he said with a smile. “Unaccustomed to being defeated.”
“This will be worse than the revolution,” Tindwyl said. “I have studied these things, Sazed. I know what happens when a conqueror takes a city. People will die. Many people.”
Sazed felt a chill at her words. There was a tension to Luthadel; war was coming to the city. Perhaps one army or another would enter by the blessing of the Assembly, but the other would still strike. The walls of Luthadel would run red when the siege finally ended.
And he feared that end was coming very, very soon.
“You are right,” he said, turning back to the notes on his desktop. “We must continue to study. We should collect more of what we can find about the land before the Ascension, so that you may have the context you seek.”
She nodded, showing a fatalistic resolve. This was not a task they could complete in the time they had. Deciphering the meaning of the rubbing, comparing it to the logbook, and relating it to the context of the period was a scholarly undertaking that would require the determined work of years.
Keepers had much knowledge—but in this case, it was almost too much. They had been gathering and transmitting records, stories, myths, and legends for so long that it took years for one Keeper to recite the collected works to a new initiate.
Fortunately, included with the mass of information were indexes and summaries created by the Keepers. On top of this came the notes and personal indexes each individual Keeper made. And yet, these only helped the Keeper understand just how much information he had. Sazed himself had spent his life reading, memorizing, and indexing religions. Each night, before he slept, he read some portion of a note or story. He was probably the world’s foremost scholar on pre-Ascension religions, and yet he felt as if he knew so little.
Compounding all of that was the inherent unreliability of their information. A great deal of it came from the mouths of simple people, doing their best to remember what their lives had once been like—or, more often, what the lives of their grandparents had once been like. The Keepers hadn’t been founded until late in the second century of the Lord Ruler’s reign. By then, many religions had already been wiped out in their pure forms.
Sazed closed his eyes, dumped another index from a coppermind into his head, then began to search it. There wasn’t much time, true, but Tindwyl and he were Keepers. They were accustomed to beginning tasks that others would have to finish.
Elend Venture, once king of the Central Dominance, stood on the balcony of his keep, overlooking the vast city of Luthadel. Though the first snows had yet to fall, the weather had grown cold. He wore an overcloak, tied at the front, but it didn’t protect his face. A chill tingled his cheeks as a wind blew across him, whipping at his cloak. Smoke rose from chimneys, gathering like an ominous shadow above the city before rising up to meld with the ashen red sky.
For every house that produced smoke, there were two that did not. Many of those were probably deserted; the city held nowhere near the population it once had. However, he knew that many of those smokeless houses were still inhabited. Inhabited, and freezing.
I should have been able to do more for them, Elend thought, eyes open to the piercing cold wind. I should have found a way to get more coal; I should have managed to provide for them all.
It was humbling, even depressing, to admit that the Lord Ruler had done better than Elend himself. Despite being a heartless tyrant, the Lord Ruler had at least kept a significant portion of the population from starving or freezing. He had kept armies in check, and had kept crime at a manageable level.
To the northeast, the koloss army waited. It had sent no emissaries to the city, but it was more frightening than either Cett’s or Straff’s armies. The cold wouldn’t scare away its occupants; despite their bare skin, they apparently took little notice of weather changes. This final army was the most disturbing of the three—more dangerous, more unpredictable, and impossible to deal with. Koloss did not bargain.
We haven’t been paying enough attention to that threat, he thought as he stood on the balcony. There’s just been so much to do, so much to worry about, that we couldn’t focus on an army that might be as dangerous to our enemies as it is to us.
It was looking less and less likely that the koloss would attack Cett or Straff. Apparently, Jastes was enough in control to keep them waiting to take a shot at Luthadel itself.
“My lord,” said a voice from behind. “Please, come back in. That’s a fell wind. No use killing yourself from a chill.”
Elend turned back. Captain Demoux stood dutifully in the room, along with another bodyguard. In the aftermath of the assassination attempt, Ham had insisted that Elend go about guarded. Elend hadn’t complained, though he knew there was little reason for caution anymore. Straff wouldn’t want to kill him now that he wasn’t king.
So earnest, Elend thought, studying Demoux’s face. Why do I find him youthful? We’re nearly the same age.
“Very well,” Elend said, turning and striding into the room. As Demoux closed the balcony doors, Elend removed his cloak. The suit below felt wrong on him. Sloppy, even though he had ordered it cleaned and pressed. The vest was too tight—his practice with the sword was slowly modifying his body—while the coat hung loosely.
“Demoux,” Elend said. “When is your next Survivor rally?”
“Tonight, my lord.”
Elend nodded. He’d feared that; it would be a cold night.
“My lord,” Demoux said, “do you still intend to come?”
“Of course,” Elend said. “I gave my word that I would join with your cause.”
“That was before you lost the vote, my lord.”
“That is immaterial,” Elend said. “I am joining your movement because it is important to the skaa, Demoux, and I want to understand the will of my…of the people. I promised you dedication—and you shall have it.”
Demoux seemed a bit confused, but spoke no further. Elend eyed his desk, considering some studying, but found it hard to motivate himself in the chill room. Instead, he pushed open the door and strode out into the hallway. His guards followed.
He stopped himself from turning toward Vin’s rooms. She needed her rest, and it didn’t do her much good to have him peeking in every half hour to check on her. So instead he turned to wander down a different passageway.
The back hallways of Keep Venture were tight, dark, stone constructions of labyrinthine complexity. Perhaps it was because he’d grown up in these passages, but he felt at home in their dark, secluded confines. They had been the perfect place for a young man who didn’t really care to be found. Now he used them for another reason; the corridors provided a perfect place for extended walking. He didn’t point himself in any particular direction, he just moved, working out his frustration to the beating of his own footsteps.
I can’t fix the city’s problems, he told himself. I have to let Penrod handle that—he’s the one the people want.
That should have made things easier for Elend. It let him focus on his own survival, not to mention let him spend time revitalizing his relationship with Vin. She, however, seemed different lately. Elend tried to tell himself it was just her injury, but he sensed something deeper. Something in the way she looked at him, something in the way she reacted to his affection. And, despite himself, he could think of only one thing that had changed.
He was no longer king.
Vin was not shallow. She had shown him nothing but devotion and love during their two years together. And yet, how could she not react—even if unconsciously—to his colossal failure? During the assassination attempt, he had watched her fight. Really watched her fight, for the first time. Until that day, he hadn’t realized just how amazing she was. She wasn’t just a warrior, and she wasn’t just an Allomancer. She was a force, like thunder or wind. The way she had killed that last man, smashing his head with her own…
How could she love a man like me? he thought. I couldn’t even hold m
y throne. I wrote the very laws that deposed me.
He sighed, continuing to walk. He felt like he should be scrambling, trying to figure out a way to convince Vin that he was worthy of her. But that would just make him seem more incompetent. There was no correcting past mistakes, especially since he could see no real “mistakes” he had made. He had done the best he could, and that had proven insufficient.
He paused at an intersection. Once, a relaxing dip into a book would have been enough to calm him. Now he felt nervous. Tense. A little…like he assumed Vin usually felt.
Maybe I could learn from her, he thought. What would Vin do in my situation? She certainly wouldn’t just wander around, brooding and feeling sorry for herself. Elend frowned, looking down a hallway lighted by flickering oil lamps, only half of them lit. Then he took off, walking with a determined stride toward a particular set of rooms.
He knocked quietly, and got no response. Finally, he poked his head in. Sazed and Tindwyl sat quietly before a desk piled high with scraps of paper and ledgers. They both sat staring, as if at nothing, their eyes bearing the glazed-over look of someone who had been stunned. Sazed’s hand rested on the table. Tindwyl’s rested on top of it.
Sazed shook himself alert suddenly, turning to regard Elend. “Lord Venture! I am sorry. I did not hear you enter.”
“It’s all right, Saze,” Elend said, walking into the room. As he did, Tindwyl shook awake as well, and she removed her hand from Sazed’s. Elend nodded to Demoux and his companion—who were still following—indicating that they should remain outside, then closed the door.
“Elend,” Tindwyl said, her voice laced with its typical undercurrent of displeasure. “What is your purpose in bothering us? You have already proven your incompetence quite soundly—I see no need for further discussion.”
“This is still my home, Tindwyl,” Elend replied. “Insult me again, and you will find yourself ejected from the premises.”
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow.
Sazed paled. “Lord Venture,” he said quickly, “I don’t think that Tindwyl meant to—”
“It’s all right, Sazed,” Elend said, raising a hand. “She was just testing to see if I had reverted back to my previous state of insultability.”
Tindwyl shrugged. “I have heard reports of your moping through the palace hallways like a lost child.”
“Those reports are true,” Elend said. “But that doesn’t mean that my pride is completely gone.”
“Good,” Tindwyl said, nodding to a chair. “Seat yourself, if you wish.”
Elend nodded, pulling the chair over before the two and sitting. “I need advice.”
“I’ve given you what I can already,” Tindwyl said. “In fact, I’ve perhaps given you too much. My continued presence here makes it seem that I’m taking sides.”
“I’m not king anymore,” Elend said. “Therefore, I have no side. I’m just a man seeking truth.”
Tindwyl smiled. “Ask your questions, then.”
Sazed watched the exchange with obvious interest.
I know, Elend thought, I’m not sure I understand our relationship either. “Here is my problem,” he said. “I lost the throne, essentially, because I wasn’t willing to lie.”
“Explain,” Tindwyl said.
“I had a chance to obscure a piece of the law,” Elend said. “At the last moment, I could have made the Assembly take me as king. Instead, I gave them a bit of information that was true, but which ended up costing me the throne.”
“I’m not surprised,” Tindwyl said.
“I doubted that you would be,” Elend said. “Now, do you think I was foolish to do as I did?”
“Yes.”
Elend nodded.
“But,” Tindwyl said, “that moment isn’t what cost you the throne, Elend Venture. That moment was a small thing, far too simple to credit with your large-scale failure. You lost the throne because you wouldn’t command your armies to secure the city, because you insisted on giving the Assembly too much freedom, and because you don’t employ assassins or other forms of pressure. In short, Elend Venture, you lost the throne because you are a good man.”
Elend shook his head. “Can you not be both a man who follows his conscience and a good king, then?”
Tindwyl frowned in thought.
“You ask an age-old question, Lord Venture,” Sazed said quietly. “A question that monarchs, priests, and humble men of destiny have always asked. I do not know that there is an answer.”
“Should I have told the lie, Sazed?” Elend asked.
“No,” Sazed said, smiling. “Perhaps another man should have, in your same position. But, a man must be cohesive with himself. You have made your decisions in life, and changing yourself at the last moment—telling this lie—would have been against who you are. It is better for you to have done as you did and lost the throne, I think.”
Tindwyl frowned. “His ideals are nice, Sazed. But what of the people? What if they die because Elend wasn’t capable of controlling his own conscience?”
“I do not wish to argue with you, Tindwyl,” Sazed said. “It is simply my opinion that he chose well. It is his right to follow his conscience, then trust in providence to fill in the holes caused by the conflict between morality and logic.”
Providence. “You mean God,” Elend said.
“I do.”
Elend shook his head. “What is God, Sazed, but a device used by obligators?”
“Why do you make the choices that you do, Elend Venture?”
“Because they’re right,” Elend said.
“And why are these things right?”
“I don’t know,” Elend said with a sigh, leaning back. He caught a disapproving glance from Tindwyl at his posture, but he ignored her. He wasn’t king; he could slouch if he wanted to. “You talk of God, Sazed, but don’t you preach of a hundred different religions?”
“Three hundred, actually,” Sazed said.
“Well, which one do you believe?” Elend asked.
“I believe them all.”
Elend shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. You’ve only pitched a half-dozen to me, but I can already see that they’re incompatible.”
“It is not my position to judge truth, Lord Venture,” Sazed said, smiling. “I simply carry it.”
Elend sighed. Priests… he thought. Sometimes, talking to Sazed is like talking to an obligator.
“Elend,” Tindwyl said, her tone softening. “I think you handled this situation in the wrong way. However, Sazed does have a point. You were true to your own convictions, and that is a regal attribute, I think.”
“And what should I do now?” he asked.
“Whatever you wish,” Tindwyl said. “It was never my place to tell you what to do. I simply gave you knowledge of what men in your place did in the past.”
“And what would they have done?” Elend asked. “These great leaders of yours, how would they have reacted to my situation?”
“It is a meaningless question,” she said. “They would not have found themselves in this situation, for they would not have lost their titles in the first place.”
“Is that what it’s about, then?” Elend asked. “The title?”
“Isn’t that what we were discussing?” Tindwyl asked.
Elend didn’t answer. What do you think makes a man a good king? he had once asked of Tindwyl. Trust, she had replied. A good king is one who is trusted by his people—and one who deserves that trust.
Elend stood up. “Thank you, Tindwyl,” he said.
Tindwyl frowned in confusion, then turned to Sazed. He looked up and met Elend’s eyes, cocking his head slightly. Then he smiled. “Come, Tindwyl,” he said. “We should return to our studies. His Majesty has work to do, I think.”
Tindwyl continued to frown as Elend left the room. His guards followed behind as he quickly strode down the hallway.
I won’t go back to the way I was, Elend thought. I won’t continue to fret and worry. Tindwyl taught me be
tter than that, even if she never really understood me.
Elend arrived at his rooms a few moments later. He stalked directly in, then opened his closet. The clothing Tindwyl had chosen for him—the clothing of a king—waited inside.
42
Some of you may know of my fabled memory. It is true; I need not a Feruchemist’s metalmind to memorize a sheet of words in an instant.
“Good,” Elend said, using a charcoal stick to circle another section on the city map before him. “What about here?”
Demoux scratched his chin. “Grainfield? That’s a nobleman’s neighborhood, my lord.”
“It used to be,” Elend said. “Grainfield was filled with cousin houses to the Ventures. When my father pulled out of the city, so did most of them.”
“Then we’ll probably find the homes filled with skaa transients, I’d guess.”
Elend nodded. “Move them out.”
“Excuse me, my lord?” Demoux said. The two stood in Keep Venture’s large carriage landing. Soldiers moved in a bustle through the spacious room. Many of them didn’t wear uniforms; they weren’t on official city business. Elend was no longer king, but they had still come at his request.
That said something, at least.
“We need to move the skaa out of those homes,” Elend continued. “Noblemen’s houses are mostly stone mansions with a lot of small rooms. They’re extremely hard to heat, requiring a separate hearth or a stove for every room. The skaa tenements are depressing, but they have massive hearths and open rooms.”
Demoux nodded slowly.
“The Lord Ruler couldn’t have his workers freezing,” Elend said. “Those tenements are the best way to efficiently look after a large population of people with limited resources.”
“I understand, my lord,” Demoux said.
“Don’t force them, Demoux,” Elend said. “My personal guard—even augmented with army volunteers—has no official authority in the city. If a family wants to stay in their pilfered aristocratic house, let them. Just make certain that they know there’s an alternative to freezing.”
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