Mistborn Trilogy

by Sanderson, Brandon

  Duralumin and steel. She Pushed. The world lurched.

  Vin shot out into the mists through a broken window as she Pushed against the line of corpses impaled by metal frames. The bodies were thrown away from her, smashing into the men who were still alive in the center.

  Dead, dying, and unharmed were swept from the room, Pushed out the window opposite Vin. Bodies twisted in the mists, fifty men thrown into the night, leaving the room empty save for trails of blood and discarded bits of glass.

  Vin downed a vial of metals as the mists rushed around her; then she Pulled herself back toward the keep, using a window on the fourth floor. As she approached, a corpse crashed through the window, falling out into the night. She caught a glimpse of Zane disappearing out another window on the opposite side. This level was clear.

  Lights burned on the fifth floor. They probably could have come here first, but that wasn’t the plan. Zane was right. They didn’t just need to kill Cett. They needed to terrify his entire army.

  Vin Pushed against the same corpse that Zane had thrown out the window, using its metal armor as an anchor. It shot down at an angle, passing just inside a broken window, and Vin soared upward in an angle away from the building. A quick Pull directed her back to the building once she reached the elevation she needed. She landed at a window on the fifth floor.

  Vin grasped the stone sill, heart thumping, breaths coming in deep gasps. Sweat made her face cold in the winter breeze, despite the heat burning within her. She gulped, eyes wide, and flared her pewter.

  Mistborn.

  She shattered the window with a slap. The soldiers that waited beyond jumped backward, spinning. One wore a metal belt buckle. He died first. The other twenty barely knew how to react as the buckle buzzed through their ranks, twisting between Vin’s Pushes and Pulls. They had been trained, instructed, and perhaps even tested against Allomancers.

  But they had never fought Vin.

  Men screamed and fell, Vin ripping through their ranks with only the buckle as a weapon. Before the force of her pewter, tin, steel, and iron, the possible use of atium seemed an incredible waste. Even without it, she was a terrible weapon—one that, until this moment, even she hadn’t understood.

  Mistborn.

  The last man fell. Vin stood among them, feeling a numbing sense of satisfaction. She let the belt buckle slip from her fingers. It hit carpet. She stood in a room that wasn’t unadorned as the rest of the building had been; there was furniture here, and there were some minor decorations. Perhaps Elend’s clearing crews hadn’t gotten this far before Cett’s arrival, or perhaps he’d simply brought some of his own comforts.

  Behind her was the stairwell. In front of her was a fine wooden wall set with a door—the inner apartments. Vin stepped forward quietly, mistcloak rustling as she Pulled four lamps off the brackets behind her. They whipped forward, and she sidestepped, letting them crash into the wall. Fire blossomed across splattered oil, billowing across the wall, the force of the lamps breaking the door on its hinges. She raised a hand, Pushing it fully open.

  Fire dripped around her as she stepped into the room beyond. The richly decorated chamber was quiet, and eerily empty save for two figures. Cett sat in a simple wooden chair, bearded, sloppily dressed, and looking very, very tired. Cett’s young son stepped in between Cett and Vin. The boy held a dueling cane.

  So, which one is Mistborn?

  The boy swung. Vin caught the weapon, then shoved the boy to the side. He crashed into the wooden wall, then slumped to the ground. Vin eyed him.

  “Leave Gneorndin alone, woman,” Cett said. “Do what you came to do.”

  Vin turned toward the nobleman. She remembered her frustration, her rage, her cool, icy anger. She stepped forward and grabbed Cett by the front of his suit. “Fight me,” she said, and tossed him backward.

  He slammed against the back wall, then slumped to the ground. Vin prepared her atium, but he did not rise. He simply rolled to the side, coughing.

  Vin walked over, pulling him up by one arm. He balled a fist, trying to strike her, but he was pathetically weak. She let the blows bounce off her side.

  “Fight me,” she commanded, tossing him to the side. He tumbled across the floor—head hitting hard—and came to rest against the burning wall, a trickle of blood running from his brow. He didn’t rise.

  Vin gritted her teeth, striding forward.

  “Leave him alone!” The boy, Gneorndin, stumbled in front of Cett, raising his dueling cane in a wavering hand.

  Vin paused, cocking her head. The boy’s brow was streaked with sweat, and he was unsteady on his feet. She looked into his eyes, and saw absolute terror therein. This boy was no Mistborn. Yet, he held his ground. Pathetically, hopelessly, he stood before the body of the fallen Cett.

  “Step aside, son,” Cett said in a tired voice. “There is nothing you can do here.”

  The boy started to shake, then began to weep.

  Tears, Vin thought, feeling an oddly surreal feeling cloud her mind. She reached up, surprised to find wet streaks on her own cheeks.

  “You have no Mistborn,” she whispered.

  Cett had struggled to a half-reclining position, and he looked into her eyes.

  “No Allomancers faced us this night,” she said. “You used them all on the assassination attempt in the Assembly Hall?”

  “The only Allomancers I had, I sent against you months ago,” Cett said with a sigh. “They were all I ever had, my only hope of killing you. Even they weren’t from my family. My whole line has been corrupted by skaa blood—Allrianne is the only Allomancer to be born to us for centuries.”

  “You came to Luthadel…”

  “Because Straff would have come for me eventually,” Cett said. “My best chance, lass, was to kill you early on. That’s why I sent them all against you. Failing that, I knew I had to try and take this damn city and its atium so I could buy myself some Allomancers. Didn’t work.”

  “You could have just offered us an alliance.”

  Cett chuckled, pulling himself up to a sitting position. “It doesn’t work that way in real politics. You take, or you get taken. Besides, I’ve always been a gambling man.” He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. “Do what you came to,” he repeated.

  Vin shivered. She couldn’t feel her tears. She could barely feel anything.

  Why? Why can’t I make sense of anything anymore?

  The room began to shake. Vin spun, looking toward the back wall. The wood there quivered and spasmed like a dying animal. Nails began to pop, ripping backward through the paneling; then the entire wall burst away from Vin. Burning boards, splinters, nails, and shingles sprayed in the air, flying around a man in black. Zane stood sideways in the room beyond, death strewn at his feet, hands at his sides.

  Red streamed from the tips of his fingers, running in a steady drip. He looked up through the burning remnants of the wall, smiling. Then he stepped toward Cett’s room.

  “No!” Vin said, dashing at him.

  Zane paused, surprised. He stepped to the side, easily dodging Vin, walking toward Cett and the boy.

  “Zane, leave them!” Vin said, turning toward him, Pushing herself in a skid across the room. She reached for his arm. The black fabric glistened wet with blood that was only his own.

  Zane dodged. He turned toward her, curious. She reached for him, but he moved out of the way with supernatural ease, outstepping her like a master swordsman facing a young boy.

  Atium, Vin thought. He probably burned it this entire time. But, he didn’t need it to fight those men…they didn’t have a chance against us anyway.

  “Please,” she asked. “Leave them.”

  Zane turned toward Cett, who sat expectant. The boy was at his side, trying to pull his father away.

  Zane looked back at her, head cocked.

  “Please,” Vin repeated.

  Zane frowned. “He still controls you, then,” he said, sounding disappointed. “I thought, maybe, if you could fight and see just ho
w powerful you were, you’d shake yourself free of Elend’s grip. I guess I was wrong.”

  Then he turned his back on Cett and walked out through the hole he had made. Vin followed quietly, feet crunching splinters of wood as she slowly withdrew, leaving a broken keep, shattered army, and humiliated lord behind.

  44

  But must not even a madman rely on his own mind, his own experience, rather than that of others?

  In the cold calm of morning, Breeze watched a very disheartening sight: Cett’s army withdrawing.

  Breeze shivered, breath puffing as he turned toward Clubs. Most people wouldn’t have been able to read beyond the sneer on the squat general’s face. But Breeze saw more: he saw the tension in the taut skin around Clubs’s eyes, he noticed the way that Clubs tapped his finger against the frosty stone wall. Clubs was not a nervous man. The motions meant something.

  “This is it, then?” Breeze asked quietly.

  Clubs nodded.

  Breeze couldn’t see it. There were still two armies out there; it was still a standoff. Yet, he trusted Clubs’s assessment. Or, rather, he trusted his own knowledge of people enough to trust his assessment of Clubs.

  The general knew something he didn’t.

  “Kindly explain,” Breeze said.

  “This’ll end when Straff figures it out,” Clubs said.

  “Figures what out?”

  “That those koloss will do his job for him, if he lets them.”

  Breeze paused. Straff doesn’t really care about the people in the city—he just wants to take it for the atium. And for the symbolic victory.

  “If Straff pulls back…” Breeze said.

  “Those koloss will attack,” Clubs said with a nod. “They’ll slaughter everyone they find and generally make rubble out of the city. Then Straff can come back and find his atium once the koloss are done.”

  “Assuming they leave, my dear man.”

  Clubs shrugged. “Either way, he’s better off. Straff will face one weakened enemy instead of two strong ones.”

  Breeze felt a chill, and pulled his cloak closer. “You say that all so…straightforwardly.”

  “We were dead the moment that first army got here, Breeze,” Clubs said. “We’re just good at stalling.”

  Why in the name of the Lord Ruler do I spend my time with this man? Breeze thought. He’s nothing more than a pessimistic doomsayer. And yet, Breeze knew people. This time, Clubs wasn’t exaggerating.

  “Bloody hell,” Breeze muttered.

  Clubs just nodded, leaning against the wall and looking out at the disappearing army.

  “Three hundred men,” Ham said, standing in Elend’s study. “Or, at least, that’s what our scouts say.”

  “That’s not as bad as I’d feared,” Elend said. They stood in Elend’s study, the only other occupant being Spook, who sat lounging beside the table.

  “El,” Ham said, “Cett only had a thousand men with him here in Luthadel. That means that during Vin’s attack, Cett took thirty percent casualties in less than ten minutes. Even on a battlefield, most armies will break if they take thirty or forty percent casualties in the course of an entire day’s fighting.”

  “Oh,” Elend said, frowning.

  Ham shook his head, sitting down, pouring himself something to drink. “I don’t get it, El. Why’d she attack him?”

  “She’s loony,” Spook said.

  Elend opened his mouth to counter that comment, but found it difficult to explain his feelings. “I’m not sure why she did it,” he finally admitted. “She did mention that she didn’t believe those assassins at the Assembly came from my father.”

  Ham shrugged. He looked…haggard. This wasn’t his element, dealing with armies and worrying about the fate of kingdoms. He preferred to concern himself with smaller spheres.

  Of course, Elend thought, I’d just prefer to be in my chair, reading quietly. We do what we must.

  “Any news of her yet?” Elend asked.

  Spook shook his head. “Uncle Grumpy has the scouts searching the city, but so far nothing.”

  “If Vin doesn’t want to be found…” Ham said.

  Elend began to pace. He couldn’t keep still; he was beginning to think he must look like Jastes, wandering in circles, running his hand through his hair.

  Be firm, he told himself. You can afford to seem worried, but you mustn’t ever seem uncertain.

  He continued to pace, though he slowed his step, and he didn’t voice his concerns to Ham or Spook. What if Vin was wounded? What if Cett had killed her? Their scouts had seen very little of the attack the night before. Vin had definitely been involved, and there were conflicting reports that said she’d been fighting another Mistborn. She had left the keep with one of the top floors in flames—and, for some reason, she had left Cett alive.

  Since then, nobody had seen her.

  Elend closed his eyes, pausing as he leaned a hand against the stone wall. I’ve been ignoring her lately. I’ve helped the city…but what good will it do to save Luthadel if I lose her? It’s almost like I don’t know her anymore.

  Or did I ever know her in the first place?

  It felt wrong to not have her with him. He had come to rely on her simple bluntness. He needed her genuine realism—her sheer sense of concreteness—to keep him grounded. He needed to hold her, so that he could know that there was something more important than theories and concepts.

  He loved her.

  “I don’t know, El,” Ham finally said. “I never thought that Vin would be a liability, but she had a hard youth. I remember once she exploded at the crew for little reason, yelling and screaming about her childhood. I…don’t know that she’s completely stable.”

  Elend opened his eyes. “She’s stable, Ham,” he said firmly. “And she’s more capable than any of us.”

  Ham frowned. “But—”

  “She had a good reason for attacking Cett,” Elend said. “I trust her.”

  Ham and Spook exchanged glances, and Spook just shrugged.

  “It’s more than last night, El,” Ham said. “Something’s not right with that girl—not just mentally, either….”

  “What do you mean?” Elend asked.

  “Remember the attack on the Assembly?” Ham said. “You told me you saw her get hit square-on by a Thug’s staff.”

  “And?” Elend asked. “It laid her out for three full days.”

  Ham shook his head. “Her complete collection of wounds—getting hit in the side, the shoulder wound, nearly being choked to death—those all together laid her out for a couple of days. But, if she’d really gotten hit that hard by a Thug, she shouldn’t have been out for days, Elend. She should have been out for weeks. Maybe longer. She certainly shouldn’t have escaped without broken ribs.”

  “She was burning pewter,” Elend said.

  “Presumably, so was the Thug.”

  Elend paused.

  “You see?” Ham said. “If both were flaring pewter, then they should have balanced each other out. That leaves Vin—a girl who can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds—getting clobbered full-on by a trained soldier with three times her weight. She shrugged it off with barely a few days’ rest.”

  “Vin’s special,” Elend finally said.

  “I won’t argue with that,” Ham said. “But she’s also hiding things from us. Who was that other Mistborn? Some of the reports make it sound like they were working together.”

  She said there was another Mistborn in the city, Elend thought. Zane—Straff’s messenger. She hasn’t mentioned him in a very long while.

  Ham rubbed his forehead. “This is all falling apart around us, El.”

  “Kelsier could have kept it together,” Spook mumbled. “When he was here, even our failures were part of his plan.”

  “The Survivor is dead,” Elend said. “I never knew him, but I’ve listened to enough about him to learn one thing. He didn’t give in to despair.”

  Ham smiled. “That much is true. He was laughing and jokin
g the day after we lost our entire army to a miscalculation. Arrogant bastard.”

  “Callous,” Spook said.

  “No,” Ham said, reaching for his cup. “I used to think that. Now…I just think he was determined. Kell always looked toward tomorrow, no matter what the consequences.”

  “Well, we have to do the same,” Elend said. “Cett is gone—Penrod let him leave. We can’t change that fact. But, we do have information on the koloss army.”

  “Oh, about that,” Spook said, reaching into his pouch. He tossed something to the table. “You’re right—they’re the same.”

  The coin rolled to a stop, and Elend picked it up. He could see where Spook had scraped it with a knife, peeling off the gold paint to reveal the dense hardwood beneath. It was a poor representation of a boxing; it was little wonder that the fakes had been so easy to pick out. Only a fool would try to pass them off as real. A fool, or a koloss.

  Nobody was certain how some of Jastes’s fake boxings had worked their way up to Luthadel; perhaps he had tried giving them to peasants or beggars in his home dominance. Either way, it was fairly apparent what he was doing. He’d needed an army, and had needed cash. He’d fabricated the one to get the other. Only koloss would have fallen for such a ploy.

  “I don’t get it,” Ham said as Elend passed him the coin. “How come the koloss have suddenly decided to take money? The Lord Ruler never paid them.”

  Elend paused, thinking back to his experience with the camp. We are humans. We will live in your city….

  “The koloss are changing, Ham,” Elend said. “Or maybe we never really understood them in the first place. Either way, we need to be strong. This isn’t over yet.”

  “It would be easier to be strong if I knew our Mistborn wasn’t insane. She didn’t even discuss this with us!”

  “I know,” Elend said.

  Ham rose, shaking his head. “There’s a reason the Great Houses were always so reluctant to use their Mistborn against each other. Things just got a whole lot more dangerous. If Cett does have a Mistborn, and he decides to retaliate…”