"Well what?"
"Where have you been?"
"Oh, I left," Elend said offhandedly.
Lord Venture sighed. "Fine. Endanger yourself if you wish, boy. In a way,
it's too bad that Mistborn didn't catch you—they could have saved me a great
deal of frustration."
"Mistborn?" Elend asked, frowning. "What Mistborn?"
"The one that was planning to assassinate you," Lord Venture snapped.
Elend blinked in startlement. "So . . . it wasn't just a spying team?"
"Oh, no," Venture said, smiling somewhat wickedly. "An entire
assassination team, sent here after you and your friends."
Lord Ruler! Elend thought, realizing how foolish he had been to go out
alone. I didn't expect the house war to get so dangerous so quickly! At least,
not for me . . .
"How do we know it was a Mistborn?" Elend asked, gathering his wits.
"Our guards managed to kill her," Straff said. "As she was fleeing."
Elend frowned. "A full Mistborn? Killed by common soldiers?"
"Archers," Lord Venture said. "Apparently, they took her by surprise."
"And the man who fell through my skylight?" Elend asked.
"Dead," Lord Venture said. "Broken neck."
Elend frowned. That man was still alive when we fled. What are you
hiding, Father? "The Mistborn. Anyone I know?"
"I'd say so," Lord Venture said, settling into his desk chair, not looking up.
"It was Shan Elariel."
Elend froze in shock. Shan? he thought, dumbfounded. They'd been
engaged, and she'd never even mentioned that she was an Allomancer. That
probably meant . . .
She'd been a plant all along. Perhaps House Elariel had planned to have
Elend killed once an Elariel grandson was born to the house title.
You're right, Jastes. I can't avoid politics by ignoring it. I've been a part
of it all for much longer than I assumed.
His father was obviously pleased with himself. A high-profile member of
House Elariel was dead on Venture grounds after trying to assassinate Elend.
. . . With such a triumph, Lord Venture would be insufferable for days.
Elend sighed. "Did we capture any of the assassins alive, then?"
Straff shook his head. "One fell to the courtyard as he was trying to flee.
He got away—he might have been Mistborn too. We found one man dead on
the roof, but we aren't sure if there were others in the team or not." He
paused.
"What?" Elend asked, reading the slight confusion in his father's eyes.
"Nothing," Straff said, waving a dismissive hand. "Some of the guards
claim there was a third Mistborn, fighting the other two, but I doubt the
reports—it wasn't one of ours."
Elend paused. A third Mistborn, fighting the other two . . . "Maybe
someone found out about the assassination and tried to stop it."
Lord Venture snorted. "Why would someone else's Mistborn try to protect
you?"
"Maybe they just wanted to stop an innocent man from being murdered."
Lord Venture shook his head, laughing. "You are an idiot, boy. You
understand that, right?"
Elend flushed, then turned away. It didn't appear that Lord Venture wanted
anything more, so Elend left. He couldn't go back to his rooms, not with the
broken window and the guards, so he made his way to a guest bedroom,
calling for a set of hazekillers to watch outside his door and balcony—just in
case.
He prepared for bed, thinking about the conversation. His father was
probably right about the third Mistborn. That just wasn't the way things
worked.
But . . . that's the way it should be. The way it could be, maybe.
There were so many things Elend wished he could do. But, his father was
healthy, and young for a lord of his power. It would be decades before Elend
assumed the house title, assuming he even survived that long. He wished he
could go to Valette, talk to her, explain his frustrations. She'd understand
what he was thinking; for some reason, she always seemed to understand him
better than others.
And, she's skaa! He couldn't get over the thought. He had so many
questions, so many things he wanted to find out from her.
Later, he thought as he climbed into bed. For now, focus on keeping the
house together. His words to Valette in that area hadn't been false—he
needed to make certain his family survived the house war.
After that . . . well, perhaps they could find a way to work around the lies
and the scams.
Though many Terrismen express a resentment of Khlennium, there is also envy. I have heard the
packmen speak in wonder of the Khlenni cathedrals, with their amazing stained-glass windows
and broad halls. They also seem very fond of our fashion—back in the cities, I saw that many
young Terrismen had traded in their furs and skins for well-tailored gentlemen's suits.
32
TWO STREETS OVER FROM CLUBS'S shop, there was a building of unusual
height compared with those surrounding it. It was some kind of tenement,
Vin thought—a place to pack skaa families. She'd never been inside of it,
however.
She dropped a coin, then shot herself up along the side of the six-story
building. She landed lightly on the rooftop, causing a figure crouching in the
darkness to jump in surprise.
"It's just me," Vin whispered, sneaking quietly across the sloped roof.
Spook smiled at her in the night. As the crew's best Tineye, he usually got
the most important watches. Recently, those were the ones during the early
evening. That was the time when conflict among the Great Houses was most
likely to turn to outright fighting.
"Are they still going at it?" Vin asked quietly, flaring her tin, scanning the
city. A bright haze shone in the distance, giving the mists a strange
luminescence.
Spook nodded, pointing toward the light. "Keep Hasting. Elariel soldiers
with the attacking tonight."
Vin nodded. Keep Hasting's destruction had been expected for some time
—it had suffered a half-dozen raids from different houses during the last
week. Allies withdrawing, finances wrecked, it was only a matter of time
before it fell.
Oddly, none of the houses attacked during the daytime. There was a
feigned air of secrecy about the war, as if the aristocracy acknowledged the
Lord Ruler's dominance, and didn't want to upset him by resorting to
daylight warfare. It was all handled at night, beneath a cloak of mists.
"Wasing the want of this," Spook said.
Vin paused. "Uh, Spook. Could you try to speak . . . normal?"
Spook nodded toward a distant, dark structure in the distance. "The Lord
Ruler. Liking he wants the fighting."
Vin nodded. Kelsier was right. There hasn't been much of an outcry from
the Ministry or the palace regarding the house war, and the Garrison is
taking its time getting back to Luthadel. The Lord Ruler expected the house
war—and intends to let it run its course. Like a wildfire, left to blaze and
renew a field.
Except this time, as one fire died, another would start—Kelsier's attack on
the city.
Assuming Marsh can find out how to stop the Steel Inquisitors. Assuming
we can take the palace. And, of course, assuming Kelsier can find a way to
deal with the Lord Ruler . . .
Vin shook her head. She didn't want to think poorly of Kelsier, but she just
didn't see how it was all going to happen. The Garrison wasn't back yet, but
reports said it was close, perhaps only a week or two out. Some noble houses
were falling, but there didn't seem to be the air of general chaos that Kelsier
had wanted. The Final Empire was strained, but she doubted that it would
crack.
However, maybe that wasn't the point. The crew had done an amazing job
of instigating a house war; three entire Great Houses were no more, and the
rest were seriously weakened. It would take decades for the aristocracy to
recover from their own squabbling.
We've done an amazing job, Vin decided. Even if we don't attack the
palace—or if that attack fails—we'll have accomplished something
wonderful.
With Marsh's intelligence about the Ministry and Sazed's translation of the
logbook, the rebellion would have new and useful information for future
resistance. It wasn't what Kelsier had hoped for; it wasn't a complete
toppling of the Final Empire. However, it was a major victory—one that the
skaa could look to for years as a source of courage.
And, with a start of surprise, Vin realized that she felt proud to have been
part of it. Perhaps, in the future, she could help start a real rebellion—one in a
place where the skaa weren't quite so beaten down.
If such a place exists . . . Vin was beginning to understand that it wasn't
just Luthadel and its Soothing stations that made skaa subservient. It was
everything—the obligators, the constant work in field and mill, the mind-set
encouraged by a thousand years of oppression. There was a reason why skaa
rebellions were always so small. The people knew—or thought they knew—
that there was no fighting against the Final Empire.
Even Vin—who'd assumed herself a "liberated" thief—had believed the
same. It had taken Kelsier's insane, over-the-top plan to convince her
otherwise. Perhaps that was why he'd set such lofty goals for the crew—he'd
known that only something this challenging would make them realize, in a
strange way, that they could resist.
Spook glanced at her. Her presence still made him uncomfortable.
"Spook," Vin said, "you know that Elend broke off his relationship with
me."
Spook nodded, perking up slightly.
"But," Vin said regretfully, "I still love him. I'm sorry, Spook. But it's
true."
He looked down, deflating.
"It's not you," Vin said. "Really, it isn't. It's just that . . . well, you can't
help who you love. Trust me, there are some people I really would rather not
have loved. They didn't deserve it."
Spook nodded. "I understand."
"Can I still keep the handkerchief?"
He shrugged.
"Thank you," she said. "It does mean a lot to me."
He looked up, staring out into the mists. "I'm notting a fool. I . . . knew it
wasing not to happen. I see things, Vin. I see lots of things."
She laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. I see things. . . . An
appropriate statement, for a Tineye like him.
"You've been an Allomancer for a long time?" she asked.
Spook nodded. "Wasing the Snap when I was five. Barely even remember
it."
"And since then you've been practicing with tin?"
"Mostly," he said. "Wasing a good thing for me. Letting me see, letting me
hear, letting me feel."
"Any tips you can pass on?" Vin asked hopefully.
He paused thoughtfully, sitting by the edge of the slanted rooftop, one foot
dangling over the side. "Tin burning . . . Notting about the seeing. Wasing
about the not seeing."
Vin frowned. "What do you mean?"
"When burning," he said, "everything comes. Lots of everything.
Distractions here, there. Iffing the power of wants, ignoring the distractions
of both."
If you want to be good at burning tin, she thought, translating as best she
could, learn to deal with distraction. It isn't about what you see—it's about
what you can ignore.
"Interesting," Vin said thoughtfully.
Spook nodded. "When looking, seeing the mist and seeing the houses and
feeling the wood and hearing the rats below. Choose one, and don't get
distracted."
"Good advice," Vin said.
Spook nodded as a sound thumped behind them. They both jumped and
ducked down, and Kelsier chuckled as he walked across the rooftop. "We
really have to find a better way of warning people that we're coming up.
Every time I visit a spynest, I worry that I'm going to startle someone off the
rooftop."
Vin stood, dusting off her clothing. She wore mistcloak, shirt, and trousers;
it had been days since she'd worn a dress. She only put in token appearances
at Mansion Renoux. Kelsier was too worried about assassins to let her stay
there for long.
At least we bought Kliss's silence, Vin thought, annoyed at the expense.
"It's time?" she asked.
Kelsier nodded. "Nearly so, at least. I want to stop somewhere on the
way."
Vin nodded. For their second meeting, Marsh had chosen a location that he
was supposedly scouting for the Ministry. It was a perfect opportunity to
meet, since Marsh had an excuse to be in the building all night, ostensibly
Seeking for any Allomantic activity nearby. He would have a Soother with
him for a good deal of the time, but there would be an opening near the
middle of the night when Marsh figured he would have a good hour alone.
Not much time if he had to sneak out and back, but plenty of time for a pair
of stealthy Mistborn to pay him a quick visit.
They bid farewell to Spook and Pushed off into the night. However, they
didn't travel the rooftops for long before Kelsier led them down onto the
street, landing and walking to conserve strength and metals.
It's kind of odd, Vin thought, remembering her first night practicing
Allomancy with Kelsier. I don't even think of the empty streets as creepy
anymore.
The cobblestones were slick from mistwater, and the deserted street
eventually disappeared into the distant haze. It was dark, silent, and lonely;
even the war hadn't changed very much. Soldier groups, when they attacked,
went in clumps, striking quickly and trying to overrun the defenses of an
enemy house.
Yet, despite the emptiness of the nighttime city, Vin felt comfortable in it.
The mists were with her.
"Vin," Kelsier said as they walked. "I want to thank you."
She turned to him, a tall, proud figure in a majestic mist-cloak. "Thank
me? Why?"
"For the things you said about Mare. I've been thinking a lot about that day
. . . about her. I don't know if your ability to see through copperclouds
explains everything, but . . . well, given the choice, I'd rather believe that
Mare didn't betray me."
Vin nodded, smiling.
He shook his head ruefully. "It sounds foolish, doesn't it? As if . . . all
these years, I've just been waiting for a reason to give in to self-delusion."
"I don't know," Vin said. "Once, maybe I would have thought you a fool,
but . . . well, that's kind of what trust is, isn't it? A willful self-delusion? You
have to shut out that voice that whispers about betrayal, and just hope that
your friends aren't going to hurt you."
Kelsier chuckled. "I don't think you're helping the argument any, Vin."
She shrugged. "Makes sense to me. Distrust is really the same thing—only
on the other side. I can see how a person, given the choice between two
assumptions, would choose to trust."
"But not you?" Kelsier asked.
Vin shrugged again. "I don't know anymore."
Kelsier hesitated. "This . . . Elend of yours. There's a chance that he was
just trying to scare you into leaving the city, right? Perhaps he said those
things for your own good."
"Maybe," Vin said. "But, there was something different about him . . .
about the way he looked at me. He knew I was lying to him, but I don't think
he realized that I was skaa. He probably thought I was a spy from one of the
other houses. Either way, he seemed honest in his desire to be rid of me."
"Maybe you thought that because you were already convinced that he was
going to leave you."
"I . . ." Vin trailed off, glancing down at the slick, ashen street as they
walked. "I don't know—and it's your fault, you know. I used to understand
everything. Now it's all confused."
"Yes, we've messed you up right properly," Kelsier said with a smile.
"You don't seem bothered by the fact."
"Nope," Kelsier said. "Not a bit. Ah, here we are."
He stopped beside a large, wide building—probably another skaa
tenement. It was dark inside; skaa couldn't afford lamp oil, and they would
have put out the building's central hearth after preparing the evening meal.
"This?" Vin asked uncertainly.
Kelsier nodded, walking up to tap lightly on the door. To Vin's surprise, it
opened hesitantly, a wiry skaa face peeking out into the mists.
"Lord Kelsier!" the man said quietly.
"I told you I'd visit," Kelsier said, smiling. "Tonight seemed like a good
time."
"Come in, come in," the man said, pulling the door open. He stepped back,
careful not to let any of the mist touch him as Kelsier and Vin entered.
Vin had been in skaa tenements before, but never before had they seemed
so . . . depressing. The smell of smoke and unwashed bodies was almost
overpowering, and she had to extinguish her tin to keep from gagging. The
wan light of a small coal stove showed a crowd of people packed together,
sleeping on the floor. They kept the room swept of ash, but there was only so
much they could do—black stains still covered clothing, walls, and faces.
There were few furnishings, not to mention far too few blankets to go around.
I used to live like this, Vin thought with horror. The crew lairs were just as
packed—sometimes more so. This . . . was my life.
People roused as they saw that they had a visitor. Kelsier had his sleeves
rolled up, Vin noticed, and the scars on his arms were visible even by
emberlight. They stood out starkly, running lengthwise up from his wrist past
his elbows, crisscrossing and overlapping.
The whispers began immediately.
"The Survivor . . ."
"He's here!"
"Kelsier, the Lord of the Mists . . ."
That's a new one, Vin thought with a raised eyebrow. She stayed back as
Kelsier smiled, stepping forward to meet the skaa. The people gathered
around him with quiet excitement, reaching out to touch his arms and cloak.
Others just stood and stared, watching him with reverence.
"I come to spread hope," Kelsier said to them quietly. "House Hasting fell
tonight."
There were murmurs of surprise and awe.
"I know many of you worked in the Hasting smithies and steel mills,"
Kelsier said. "And, honestly, I cannot say what this means for you. But it is a
victory for all of us. For a time, at least, your men won't die before the forges
or beneath the whips of Hasting taskmasters."
There were murmurs through the small crowd, and one voice finally spoke
the concern loud enough for Vin to hear. "House Hasting is gone? Who will
feed us?"
So frightened, Vin thought. I was never like that . . . was I?
"I'll send you another shipment of food," Kelsier promised. "Enough to
last you for a while, at least."
"You've done so much for us," another man said.
"Nonsense," Kelsier said. "If you wish to repay me, then stand up just a
little straighter. Be a little less afraid. They can be beaten."
"By men like you, Lord Kelsier," a woman whispered. "But not by us."
"You'd be surprised," Kelsier said as the crowd began to make way for
parents bringing their children forward. It seemed like everyone in the room
wanted their sons to meet Kelsier personally. Vin watched with mixed
feelings. The crew still had reservations regarding Kelsier's rising fame with
the skaa, though they kept their word and remained silent.
He really does seem to care for them, Vin thought, watching Kelsier pick
up a small child. I don't think it's just a show. This is how he is—he loves
people, loves the skaa. But . . . it's more like the love of a parent for a child
than it is like the love of a man for his equals.
Was that so wrong? He was, after all, a kind of father to the skaa. He was
the noble lord they always should have had. Still, Vin couldn't help feeling
uncomfortable as she watched the faintly illuminated, dirty faces of those
skaa families, their eyes worshipful and reverent.
Kelsier eventually bid the group farewell, telling them he had an
appointment. Vin and he left the cramped room, stepping out into blessedly
fresh air. Kelsier remained quiet as they traveled toward Marsh's new
Soothing station, though he did walk with a bit more of a spring in his step.
Eventually, Vin had to say something. "You visit them often?"
Kelsier nodded. "At least a couple of houses a night. It breaks up the
monotony of my other work."
Killing noblemen and spreading false rumors, Vin thought. Yes, visiting
the skaa would be a nice break.
The meeting place was only a few streets away. Kelsier paused in a
doorway as they approached, squinting in the dark night. Finally, he pointed
at a window, just faintly lit. "Marsh said he'd leave a light burning if the
other obligators were gone."
"Window or stairs?" Vin asked.
"Stairs," Kelsier said. "The door should be unlocked, and the Ministry
owns the entire building. It will be empty."
Kelsier was right on both counts. The building didn't smell musty enough
to be abandoned, but the bottom few floors were obviously unused. Vin and
he quickly climbed up the stairwell.
"Marsh should be able to tell us the Ministry reaction to the House War,"
Kelsier said as they reached the top floor. Lanternlight flickered through the
door at the top, and he pushed it open, still speaking. "Hopefully, that
Garrison won't get back too quickly. The damage is mostly done, but I'd like
the war to go on for—"
He froze in the doorway, blocking Vin's view.
She flared pewter and tin immediately, falling to a crouch, listening for
attackers. There was nothing. Just silence.
"No . . ." Kelsier whispered.
Then Vin saw the trickle of dark red liquid seeping around the side of
Kelsier's foot. It pooled slightly, then began to drip down the first step.
Oh, Lord Ruler . . .
Kelsier stumbled into the room. Vin followed, but she knew what she'd
see. The corpse lay near the center of the chamber, flayed and dismembered,
the head completely crushed. It was barely recognizable as human. The walls
were sprayed red.
Could one body really produce this much blood? It was just like before, in
the basement of Camon's lair—only with a single victim.
"Inquisitor," Vin whispered.
Kelsier, heedless of the gore, stumbled to his knees beside Marsh's corpse.
He raised a hand as if to touch the skinless body, but remained frozen there,
stunned.
"Kelsier," Vin said urgently. "This was recent—the Inquisitor could still
be near."
He didn't move.
"Kelsier!" Vin snapped.
Kelsier shook, looking around. His eyes met hers, and lucidity returned. He
stumbled to his feet.
"Window," Vin said, rushing across the room. She paused, however, when
she saw something sitting on a small desk beside the wall. A wooden table
leg, tucked half-hidden beneath a blank sheet of paper. Vin snatched it as
Kelsier reached the window.
He turned back, looking over the room one last time, then jumped out into
the night.
Farewell, Marsh, Vin thought regretfully, following.
" 'I think that the Inquisitors suspect me,' " Dockson read. The paper—a
single sheet recovered from inside the table leg—was clean and white, free
from the blood that stained Kelsier's knees and the bottom of Vin's cloak.
Dockson continued, reading as he sat at Clubs's kitchen table. " 'I've been
asking too many questions, and I know they sent at least one message to the
corrupt obligator who supposedly trained me as an acolyte. I thought to seek
out the secrets that the rebellion has always needed to know. How does the
Ministry recruit Mistborn to be Inquisitors? Why are Inquisitors more
powerful than regular Allomancers? What, if any, are their weaknesses?
" 'Unfortunately, I've learned next to nothing about the Inquisitors—
though the politicking within the regular Ministry ranks continues to amaze
me. It's like the regular obligators don't even care about the world outside,
except for the prestige they earn by being the most clever or successful in
applying the Lord Ruler's dictates.
" 'The Inquisitors, however, are different. They are far more loyal to the
Lord Ruler than the regular obligators—and this is, perhaps, part of the
dissension between the two groups.
" 'Regardless, I feel that I am close. They do have a secret, Kelsier. A
weakness. I'm sure of it. The other obligators whisper of it, though none of
them know it.
" 'I fear that I've prodded too much. The Inquisitors tail me, watch me, ask
after me. So, I prepare this note. Perhaps my caution is unnecessary.
" 'Perhaps not.' "
Dockson looked up. "That's . . . all it says."
Kelsier stood at the far side of the kitchen, back to the cupboard, reclining
in his usual position. But . . . there was no levity in his posture this time. He
stood with arms folded, head slightly bowed. His disbelieving grief appeared
to have vanished, replaced with another emotion—one Vin had sometimes
seen smoldering darkly behind his eyes. Usually when he spoke of the
nobility.
She shivered despite herself. Standing as he was, she was suddenly aware
of his clothing—dark gray mistcloak, long-sleeved black shirt, charcoal
trousers. In the night, the clothing was simply camouflage. In the lit room,
however, the black colors made him look menacing.
He stood up straight, and the room grew tense.
"Tell Renoux to pull out," Kelsier said softly, his voice like iron. "He can
use the planned exit story—that of a 'retreat' back to his family lands because
of the house war—but I want him gone by tomorrow. Send a Thug and a
Tineye with him as protection, but tell him to abandon his canal boats one
day out of the city, then return to us."
Dockson paused, then glanced at Vin and the others. "Okay . . ."
"Marsh knew everything, Dox," Kelsier said. "They broke him before they
killed him—that's how Inquisitors work."
He let the words hang. Vin felt a chill. The lair was compromised.
"To the backup lair, then?" Dockson asked. "Only you and I knew its
location."
Kelsier nodded firmly. "I want everyone out of this shop, apprentices
included, in fifteen minutes. I'll meet you at the backup lair in two days."
Dockson looked up at Kelsier, frowning. "Two days? Kell, what are you
planning?"
Kelsier strode over to the door. He threw it open, letting in the mist, then
glanced back at the crew with eyes as hard as any Inquisitor's spikes.
"They hit me where it couldn't have hurt worse. I'm going to do likewise."
Walin pushed himself in the darkness, feeling his way through the cramped
caverns, forcing his body through cracks nearly too small. He continued
downward, searching with his fingers, ignoring his numerous scrapes and
cuts.
Must keep going, must keep going . . . His remaining sanity told him that
this was his last day. It had been six days since his last success. If he failed a
seventh time, he would die.
Must keep going.
He couldn't see; he was too far beneath the surface to catch even a
reflected glimpse of sunlight. But, even without light, he could find his way.
There were only two directions: up and down. Movements to the side were
unimportant, easily disregarded. He couldn't get lost as long as he kept
moving down.
All the while, he quested with his fingers, seeking the telltale roughness of
budding crystal. He couldn't return this time, not until he'd been successful,
not until . . .
Must keep going.
His hands brushed something soft and cold as he moved. A corpse, stuck
rotting between two rocks. Walin moved on. Bodies weren't uncommon in
the tight caverns; some of the corpses were fresh, most were simply bones.
Often, Walin wondered if the dead ones weren't really the lucky ones.
Must keep going.
There wasn't really "time" in the caverns. Usually, he returned above to
sleep—though the surface held taskmasters with whips, they also had food. It
was meager, barely enough to keep him alive, but it was better than the
starvation that would come from staying below too long.
Must keep—
He froze. He lay with his torso pinched in a tight rift in the rock, and had
been in the process of wiggling his way through. However, his fingers—
always searching, even when he was barely conscious—had been feeling the
walls. And they'd found something.
His hand quivered with anticipation as he felt the crystal buds. Yes, yes,
that was them. They grew in a wide, circular pattern on the wall; they were
small at the edges, but got gradually bigger near the center. At the direct
middle of the circular pattern, the crystals curved inward, following a
pocketlike hollow in the wall. Here, the crystals grew long, each one having a
jagged, sharp edge. Like teeth lining the maw of a stone beast.
Taking a breath, praying to the Lord Ruler, Walin rammed his hand into
the fist-sized, circular opening. The crystals ripped his arm, tearing long,
shallow gashes in his skin. He ignored the pain, forcing his arm in further, up
to his elbow, searching with his fingers for . . .
There! His fingers found a small rock at the center of the pocket—a rock
formed by the mysterious drippings of the crystals. A Hathsin geode.
He grasped it eagerly, pulling it out, ripping his arm again as he withdrew
it from the crystal-lined hole. He cradled the small rock sphere, breathing
heavily with joy.
Another seven days. He would live another seven days.
Before hunger and fatigue could weaken him further, Walin began the
laborious climb back upward. He squeezed through crevasses, climbed up
juttings in walls. Sometimes he had to move to the right or left until the
ceiling opened up, but it always did. There were really only two directions:
up and down.
He kept a wary ear out for others. He had seen climbers killed before, slain
by younger, stronger men who hoped to steal a geode. Fortunately, he met
nobody. It was good. He was an older man—old enough to know that he
never should have tried to steal food from his plantation lord.
Perhaps he had earned his punishment. Perhaps he deserved to die in the
Pits of Hathsin.
But I won't die today, he thought, finally smelling sweet, fresh air. It was
night above. He didn't care. The mists didn't bother him anymore—even
beatings didn't bother him much anymore. He was just too tired to care.
Walin began to climb out of the crack—one of dozens in the small, flat
valley known as the Pits of Hathsin. Then he froze.
A man stood above him in the night. He was dressed in a large cloak that
appeared to have been shredded to strips. The man looked at Walin, quiet and
powerful in his black clothing. Then he reached down.
Walin cringed. The man, however, grabbed Walin's hand and pulled him
out of the crack.
"Go!" the man said quietly in the swirling mists. "Most of the guards are
dead. Gather as many prisoners as you can, and escape this place. You have a
geode?"
Walin cringed again, pulling his hand toward his chest.
"Good," the stranger said. "Break it open. You'll find a nugget of metal
inside—it is very valuable. Sell it to the underground in whatever city you
eventually find yourself; you should earn enough to live on for years. Go
quickly! I don't know how long you have until an alarm is raised."
Walin stumbled back, confused. "Who . . . who are you?"
"I am what you will soon be," the stranger said, stepping up to the rift. The
ribbons of his enveloping black cloak billowed around him, mixing with the
mists as he turned toward Walin. "I am a survivor."
Kelsier looked down, studying the dark scar in the rock, listening as the
prisoner scrambled away in the distance.
"And so I return," Kelsier whispered. His scars burned, and memories
returned. Memories of months spent squeezing through cracks, of ripping his
arms on crystalline knives, of seeking each day to find a geode . . . just one,
so that he could live on.
Could he really go back down into those cramped, quiet depths? Could he
enter the darkness again? Kelsier held up his arms, looking at the scars, still
white and stark on his arms.
Yes. For her dreams, he could.
He stepped over to the rift and forced himself to climb down inside of it.
Then he burned tin. Immediately, he heard a cracking sound from below.
Tin illuminated the rift beneath him. Though the crack widened, it also
branched, sending out twisting rifts in all directions. Part cavern, part crack,
part tunnel. He could already see his first crystalline atium-hole—or what
was left of it. The long, silvery crystals were fractured and broken.
Using Allomancy near atium crystals caused them to shatter. That was why
the Lord Ruler had to use slaves, and not Allomancers, to collect his atium
for him.
Now the real test, Kelsier thought, squeezing down further into the crack.
He burned iron, and immediately he saw several blue lines pointing
downward, toward atium-holes. Though the holes themselves probably didn't
have an atium geode in them, the crystals themselves gave off faint blue
lines. They contained residual amounts of atium.
Kelsier focused on one of the blue lines and Pulled lightly. His tin
enhanced ears heard something shatter in the crack beneath him.
Kelsier smiled.
Nearly three years before, standing over the bloody corpses of the
taskmasters who had beaten Mare to death, he had first noticed that he could
use iron to sense where crystal pockets were. He'd barely understood his
Allomantic powers at the time, but even then, a plan had begun to form in his
mind. A plan for vengeance.
That plan had evolved, growing to encompass so much more than he'd
originally intended. However, one of its key parts had remained sequestered
away in a corner of his mind. He could find the crystal pockets. He could
shatter them, using Allomancy.
And they were the only means of producing atium in the entire Final
Empire.
You tried to destroy me, Pits of Hathsin, he thought, climbing down further
into the rift. It's time to return the favor.
We are close now. Oddly, this high in the mountains, we seem to finally be free from the
oppressive touch of the Deepness. It has been quite a while since I knew what that was like.
The lake that Fedik discovered is below us now—I can see it from the ledge. It looks even
more eerie from up here, with its glassy—almost metallic—sheen. I almost wish I had let him
take a sample of its waters.
Perhaps his interest was what angered the mist creature that follows us. Perhaps . . . that was
why it decided to attack him, stabbing him with its invisible knife.
Strangely, the attack comforted me. At least I know that since another has seen it. That means
I'm not mad.
33
"SO . . . THAT'S IT?" VIN ASKED. "For the plan, I mean."
Ham shrugged. "If the Inquisitors broke Marsh, that means they know
everything. Or, at least, they know enough. They'll know that we plan to
strike the palace, and that we're going to use the house war as a cover. We'll
never get the Lord Ruler out of the city now, and we'll certainly never get
him to send the palace guard into the city. It doesn't look good, Vin."
Vin sat quietly, digesting the information. Ham sat cross-legged on the
dirty floor, leaning against the bricks of the far wall. The backup lair was a
dank cellar with only three rooms, and the air smelled of dirt and ash. Clubs's
apprentices took up one room to themselves, though Dockson had sent away
all of the other servants before coming to the safe house.
Breeze stood by the far wall. He occasionally shot uncomfortable looks at
the dirty floor and dusty stools, but then decided to remain standing. Vin
didn't see why he bothered—it was going to be impossible to keep his suits
clean while living in what was, essentially, a pit in the ground.
Breeze wasn't the only one taking their self-imposed captivity resentfully;
Vin had heard several of the apprentices grumble that they'd almost rather
have been taken by the Ministry. Yet, during their two days in the cellar,
everyone had stayed in the safe house except when absolutely necessary.
They understood the danger: Marsh could have given the Inquisitors
descriptions and aliases for each crewmember.
Breeze shook his head. "Perhaps, gentlemen, it is time to pack up this
operation. We tried hard, and considering the fact that our original plan—
gathering the army—ended up so dreadfully, I'd say that we've done quite a
marvelous job."
Dockson sighed. "Well, we certainly can't live off of saved funds for much
longer—especially if Kell keeps giving our money away to the skaa." He sat
beside the table that was the room's only piece of furniture, his most
important ledgers, notes, and contracts organized into neat piles before him.
He had been remarkably efficient at gathering every bit of paper that could
have incriminated the crew or given further information about their plan.
Breeze nodded. "I, for one, am looking forward to a change. This has all
been fun, delightful, and all of those other fulfilling emotions, but working
with Kelsier can be a bit draining."
Vin frowned. "You're not going to stay on his crew?"
"It depends on his next job," Breeze said. "We aren't like other crews
you've known—we work as we please, not because we are told to. It pays for
us to be very discerning in the jobs we take. The rewards are great, but so are
the risks."
Ham smiled, resting with his arms behind his head, completely
unconcerned about the dirt. "It kind of makes you wonder how we ended up
on this particular job, eh? Very high risk, very little reward."
"None, actually," Breeze noted. "We'll never get that atium now. Kelsier's
words about altruism and working to help the skaa were all well and good,
but I was always hoping that we'd still get to take a swipe at that treasury."
"True," Dockson said, looking up from his notes. "But, was it worth it
anyway? The work we did—the things we accomplished?"
Breeze and Ham paused, then they both nodded.
"And that's why we stayed," Dockson said. "Kell said it himself—he
picked us because he knew we would try something a little different to
accomplish a worthwhile goal. You're good men—even you, Breeze. Stop
scowling at me."
Vin smiled at the familiar banter. There was a sense of mourning regarding
Marsh, but these were men who knew how to move on despite their losses. In
that way, they really were like skaa, after all.
"A house war," Ham said idly, smiling to himself. "How many noblemen
dead, do you think?"
"Hundreds, at least," Dockson said without looking up. "All killed by their
own greedy noble hands."
"I'll admit that I had my doubts about this entire fiasco," Breeze said. "But
the interruption in trade this will cause, not to mention the disorder in the
government . . . well, you're right, Dockson. It was worth it."
"Indeed!" Ham said, mimicking Breeze's stuffy voice.
I'm going to miss them, Vin thought regretfully. Maybe Kelsier will take
me with him on his next job.
The stairs rattled, and Vin moved reflexively back into the shadows. The
splintery door opened, and a familiar, black-clothed form strode in. He
carried his mistcloak over his arm, and his face looked incredibly wearied.
"Kelsier!" Vin said, stepping forward.
"Hello, all," he said in a tired voice.
I know that tiredness, Vin thought. Pewter drag. Where has he been?
"You're late, Kell," Dockson said, still not looking up from his ledgers.
"I strive for nothing if not consistency," Kelsier said, dropping his
mistcloak on the floor, stretching, then sitting down. "Where are Clubs and
Spook?"
"Clubs is sleeping in the back room," Dockson said. "Spook went with
Renoux. We figured you'd want him to have our best Tineye to keep a
watch."
"Good idea," Kelsier said, letting out a deep sigh and closing his eyes as he
leaned against the wall.
"My dear man," Breeze said, "you look terrible."
"It's not as bad as it looks—I took it easy coming back, even stopped to
sleep for a few hours on the way."
"Yes, but where were you?" Ham asked pointedly. "We've been worried
sick that you were out doing something . . . well, stupid."
"Actually," Breeze noted, "we took it for granted that you were doing
something stupid. We've just been wondering how stupid this particular event
would turn out to be. So, what is it? Did you assassinate the lord prelan?
Slaughter dozens of noblemen? Steal the cloak off the Lord Ruler's own
back?"
"I destroyed the Pits of Hathsin," Kelsier said quietly.
The room fell into a stunned silence.
"You know," Breeze finally said, "you'd think that by now we'd have
learned not to underestimate him."
"Destroyed them?" Ham asked. "How do you destroy the Pits of Hathsin?
They're just a bunch of cracks in the ground!"
"Well, I didn't actually destroy the pits themselves," Kelsier explained. "I
just shattered the crystals that produce atium geodes."
"All of them?" Dockson asked, dumbstruck.
"All of them that I could find," Kelsier said. "And that was several
hundred pockets' worth. It was actually a lot easier to get around down there,
now that I have Allomancy."
"Crystals?" Vin asked, confused.
"Atium crystals, Vin," Dockson said. "They produce the geodes—I don't
think anyone actually knows how—that have atium beads at the center."
Kelsier nodded. "The crystals are why the Lord Ruler can't just send down
Allomancers to Pull out the atium geodes. Using Allomancy near the crystals
makes them shatter—and it takes centuries for them to grow back."
"Centuries during which they won't produce atium," Dockson added.
"And so you . . ." Vin trailed off.
"I pretty much ended atium production in the Final Empire for the next
three hundred years or so."
Elend. House Venture. They're in charge of the Pits. How will the Lord
Ruler react when he finds out about this?
"You madman," Breeze said quietly, eyes open wide. "Atium is the
foundation of the imperial economy—controlling it is one of the main ways
that the Lord Ruler maintains his hold over the nobility. We may not get to
his reserves, but this will eventually have the same effect. You blessed
lunatic . . . you blessed genius!"
Kelsier smiled wryly. "I appreciate both compliments. Have the Inquisitors
moved against Clubs's shop yet?"
"Not that our watchmen have seen," Dockson said.
"Good," Kelsier said. "Maybe they didn't get Marsh to break. At the very
least, maybe they don't realize that their Soothing stations were
compromised. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to sleep. We have a lot of
planning to do tomorrow."
The group paused.
"Planning?" Dox finally asked. "Kell . . . we were kind of thinking that we
should pull out. We caused a house war, and you just took out the imperial
economy. With our cover—and our plan—compromised . . . Well, you can't
honestly expect us to do anything more, right?"
Kelsier smiled, staggering to his feet and moving into the back room.
"We'll talk tomorrow."
"What do you think he's planning, Sazed?" Vin asked, sitting on a stool
beside the cellar's hearth as the Terrisman prepared the afternoon meal.
Kelsier had slept through the night, and had yet to rise this afternoon.
"I really have no idea, Mistress," Sazed replied, sipping the stew. "Though,
this moment—with the city so unbalanced—does seem like the perfect
opportunity to move against the Final Empire."
Vin sat thoughtfully. "I suppose we could still seize the palace—that's
what Kell always wanted to do. But, if the Lord Ruler has been warned, the
others don't see that happening. Plus, it doesn't seem like we have enough
soldiers to do much in the city. Ham and Breeze never finished their
recruiting."
Sazed shrugged.
"Maybe Kelsier plans to do something about the Lord Ruler," Vin mused.
"Perhaps."
"Sazed?" Vin said slowly. "You collect legends, right?"
"As a Keeper I collect many things," Sazed said. "Stories, legends,
religions. When I was young, another Keeper recited all of his knowledge to
me so that I could store it, and then add to it."
"Have you ever heard about this 'Eleventh Metal' legend that Kelsier talks
about?"
Sazed paused. "No, Mistress. That legend was new to me when I heard of
it from Master Kelsier."
"But he swears that it's true," Vin said. "And I . . . believe him, for some
reason."
"It is very possible that there are legends I haven't heard of," Sazed said.
"If the Keepers knew everything, then why would we need to keep
searching?"
Vin nodded, still a bit uncertain.
Sazed continued to stir the soup. He seemed so . . . dignified, even while
performing such a menial task. He stood in his steward's robes, unconcerned
with how simple a service he was performing, easily taking over for the
servants the crew had dismissed.
Quick footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Vin perked up, sliding off her
stool.
"Mistress?" Sazed asked.
"Someone on the stairs," Vin said, moving to the doorway.
One of the apprentices—Vin thought his name was Tase—burst into the
main room. Now that Lestibournes was gone, Tase had become the crew's
main lookout.
"People are gathering in the square," Tase said, gesturing toward the stairs.
"What's this?" Dockson said, entering from the other room.
"People in the fountain square, Master Dockson," the boy said. "Word on
the street is that the obligators are planning more executions."
Retribution for the Pits, Vin thought. That didn't take long.
Dockson's expression darkened. "Go wake Kell."
"I intend to watch them," Kelsier said, walking through the room, dressed in
simple skaa clothing and cloak.
Vin's stomach twisted. Again?
"You all may do as you wish," Kelsier said. He looked much better after
his extended rest—his exhaustion was gone, replaced with the characteristic
strength Vin had come to expect from him.
"The executions are probably a reaction to what I did at the Pits," Kelsier
continued. "I'm going to watch those people's deaths—because indirectly, I
caused them."
"It's not your fault, Kell," Dockson said.
"It's all of our faults," Kelsier said bluntly. "That doesn't make what we do
wrong—however, if it weren't for us, these people wouldn't have to die. I,
for one, think that the least we can do for these people is bear witness to their
passing."
He pulled open the door, climbing the steps. Slowly, the rest of the crew
followed him—though Clubs, Sazed, and the apprentices remained with the
safe house.
Vin climbed the musty-aired steps, eventually joining the others on a
grimy street in the middle of a skaa slum. Ash fell from the sky, floating in
lazily flakes. Kelsier was already walking down the street, and the rest of
them—Breeze, Ham, Dockson, and Vin—quickly moved to catch up with
him.
The safe house wasn't far from the fountain square. Kelsier, however,
paused a few streets away from their destination. Dull-eyed skaa continued
walking around them, jostling the crew. Bells rang in the distance.
"Kell?" Dockson asked.
Kelsier cocked his head. "Vin, you hear that?"
She closed her eyes, then flared her tin. Focus, she thought. Like Spook
said. Cut through the shuffling feet and murmuring voices. Hear over the
doors shutting and the people breathing. Listen. . . .
"Horses," she said, dampening her tin and opening her eyes. "And
carriages."
"Carts," Kelsier said, turning toward the side of the street. "The prisoner
carts. They're coming this way."
He looked up at the buildings around him, then grabbed hold of a
raingutter and began to shimmy up a wall. Breeze rolled his eyes, nudging
Dockson and nodding toward the front of the building, but Vin and Ham—
with pewter—easily followed Kelsier up to the roof.
"There," Kell said, pointing at a street a short ways away. Vin could just
barely make out a row of barred prison carts rolling toward the square.
Dockson and Breeze entered the slanted rooftop through a window. Kelsier
remained where he was, standing by the roof's lip, staring out at the prison
carts.
"Kell," Ham said warily. "What are you thinking?"
"We're still a short distance from the square," he said slowly. "And the
Inquisitors aren't riding with the prisoners—they'll come down from the
palace, like last time. There can't be more than a hundred soldiers guarding
those people."
"A hundred men are plenty, Kell," Ham said.
Kelsier didn't seem to hear the words. He took another step forward,
approaching up onto the roof's edge. "I can stop this. . . . I can save them."
Vin stepped up beside him. "Kell, there might not be many guards with the
prisoners, but the fountain square is only a few blocks away. It's packed with
soldiers, not to mention the Inquisitors!"
Ham, unexpectedly, didn't back her up. He turned, glancing at Dockson
and Breeze. Dox paused, then shrugged.
"Are you all crazy?" Vin demanded.
"Wait a moment," Breeze said, squinting. "I'm no Tineye, but don't some
of those prisoners look a bit too well dressed?"
Kelsier froze, then he cursed. Without warning, he jumped off the rooftop,
dropping to the street below.
"Kell!" Vin said. "What—" Then she paused, looking up in the red
sunlight, watching the slowly approaching procession of carts. Through tin-
enhanced eyes, she thought that she recognized someone sitting near the front
of one of the carts.
Spook.
"Kelsier, what's going on!" Vin demanded, dashing down the street behind
him.
He slowed just a bit. "I saw Renoux and Spook in that first cart. The
Ministry must have hit Renoux's canal procession—the people in those cages
are the servants, staff, and guards we hired to work at the mansion."
The canal procession . . . Vin thought. The Ministry must know that
Renoux was a fake. Marsh broke after all.
Behind them, Ham appeared out of the building and onto the street. Breeze
and Dockson were slower in coming.
"We have to work quickly!" Kelsier said, picking up his pace again.
"Kell!" Vin said, grabbing his arm. "Kelsier, you can't save them. They're
too well guarded, and it's daylight in the middle of the city. You'll just get
yourself killed!"
He paused, halting in the street, turning in Vin's grasp. He looked into her
eyes, disappointed. "You don't understand what this is all about, do you,
Vin? You never did. I let you stop me once before, on the hillside by the
battlefield. Not this time. This time I can do something."
"But . . ."
He shook his arm free. "You still have some things to learn about
friendship, Vin. I hope someday you realize what they are."
Then he took off, charging in the direction of the carts. Ham barreled past
Vin, heading in a different direction, pushing his way through skaa on their
way to the square.
Vin stood stupidly for a few moments, standing in the falling ash as
Dockson caught up to her.
"It's insanity," she mumbled. "We can't do this, Dox. We're not
invincible."
Dockson snorted. "We're not helpless either."
Breeze puffed up behind them, pointing toward a side street. "There. We
need to get me to a place where I can see the soldiers."
Vin let them tow her along, suddenly feeling shame mix with her worry.
Kelsier . . .
Kelsier tossed away a pair of empty vials, their contents ingested. The vials
sparkled in the air beside him, falling to shatter against the cobblestones. He
ducked through one final alleyway, bursting out onto an eerily empty
thoroughfare.
The prisoner carts rolled toward him, entering a small courtyard square
formed by the intersection of two streets. Each rectangular vehicle was lined
with bars; each one was packed with people who were now distinctly
familiar. Servants, soldiers, housekeepers—some were rebels, many were just
regular people. None of them deserved death.
Too many skaa have died already, he thought, flaring his metals.
Hundreds. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands.
Not today. No more.
He dropped a coin and jumped, Pushing himself through the air in a wide
arc. Soldiers looked up, pointing. Kelsier landed directly in their center.
There was a quiet moment as the soldiers turned in surprise. Kelsier
crouched amid them, bits of ash falling from the sky.
Then he Pushed.
He flared steel with a yell, standing and Pushing outward. The burst of
Allomantic power hurled soldiers away by their breastplates, tossing a dozen
men into the air, sending them crashing into companions and walls.
Men screamed. Kelsier spun, Pushing against a group of soldiers and
sending himself flying toward a prison cart. He smashed into it, flaring his
steel and grabbing the metal door with his hands.
Prisoners huddled back in surprise. Kelsier ripped the door free with a
burst of pewter-enhanced power, then tossed it toward a group of
approaching soldiers.
"Go!" he told the prisoners, jumping down and landing lightly in the street.
He spun.
And came face-to-face with a tall figure wearing a brown robe. Kelsier
paused, stepping back as the tall form reached up, lowering his hood,
revealing a pair of eyes impaled by spikes.
The Inquisitor smiled, and Kelsier heard footsteps approaching down side
alleyways. Dozens. Hundreds.
"Damnation!" Breeze swore as soldiers flooded the square. Dockson pulled
Breeze into an alley. Vin followed them in, crouching in the shadows,
listening to soldiers yelling in the crossroads outside.
"What?" she demanded.
"Inquisitor!" Breeze said, pointing toward a robed figure standing before
Kelsier.
"What?" Dockson said, standing.
It's a trap, Vin realized with horror. Soldiers began to pile into the square,
appearing from hidden side streets. Kelsier, get out of there!
Kelsier Pushed off a fallen guard, throwing himself backward in a flip over
one of the prison carts. He landed in a crouch, eyeing the new squads of
soldiers. Many of them carried staves and wore no armor. Hazekillers.
The Inquisitor Pushed himself through the ash-filled air, landing with a
thump in front of Kelsier. The creature smiled.
It's the same man. The Inquisitor from before.
"Where's the girl?" the creature said quietly.
Kelsier ignored the question. "Why only one of you?" he demanded.
The creature's smile deepened. "I won the draw."
Kelsier flared pewter, dashing to the side as the Inquisitor pulled out a pair
of obsidian axes. The square was quickly becoming clogged with soldiers.
From inside the carts he could hear people crying out.
"Kelsier! Lord Kelsier! Please!"
Kelsier cursed quietly as the Inquisitor bore down on him. He reached out,
Pulling against one of the still full carts and yanking himself into the air over
a group of soldiers. He landed, then dashed to the cart, intending to free its
occupants. As he arrived, however, the cart shook. Kelsier glanced up just in
time to see a steel-eyed monster grinning down at him from atop the vehicle.
Kelsier Pushed himself backward, feeling the wind of an axehead swing
beside his head. He landed smoothly, but immediately had to jump to the side
as a group of soldiers attacked. As he landed, he reached out—Pulling against
one of the carts to anchor himself—and Pulled against the fallen iron door he
had thrown before. The barred door lurched into the air and crashed through
the squad of soldiers.
The Inquisitor attacked from behind, but Kelsier jumped away. The still
tumbling door careened across the cobblestones in front of him, and as he
passed over it, Kelsier Pushed, sending himself streaking into the air.
Vin was right, Kelsier thought with frustration. Below, the Inquisitor
watched him, trailing him with unnatural eyes. I shouldn't have done this.
Below, a group of soldiers rounded up the skaa that he had freed.
I should run—try to lose the Inquisitor. I've done it before.
But . . . he couldn't. He wouldn't, not this time. He had compromised too
many times before. Even if it cost him everything else, he had to free those
prisoners.
And then, as he began to fall, he saw a group of men charging the
crossroads. They bore weapons, but no uniforms. At their head ran a familiar
form.
Ham! So that's where you went.
"What is it?" Vin asked anxiously, craning to see into the square. Above,
Kelsier's form plunged back toward the fight, dark cloak trailing behind him.
"It's one of our soldier units!" Dockson said. "Ham must have fetched
them."
"How many?"
"We kept them in patches of a couple hundred."
"So they'll be outnumbered."
Dockson nodded.
Vin stood. "I'm going out."
"No, you're not," Dockson said firmly, grabbing her cloak and pulling her
back. "I don't want a repeat of what happened to you last time you faced one
of those monsters."
"But . . ."
"Kell will be just fine," Dockson said. "He'll just try to stall long enough
for Ham to free the prisoners, then he'll run. Watch."
Vin stepped back.
To her side, Breeze was mumbling to himself. "Yes, you're afraid. Let's
focus on that. Soothe everything else away. Leave you terrified. That's an
Inquisitor and a Mistborn fighting—you don't want to interfere with that. . .
."
Vin glanced back toward the square, where she saw a soldier drop his staff
and flee. There are other ways to fight, she realized, kneeling beside Breeze.
"How can I help?"
Kelsier ducked back from the Inquisitor again as Ham's unit crashed into the
imperial soldiers and began cutting its way toward the prisoner carts. The
attack diverted the attention of the regular soldiers, who appeared all too
happy to leave Kelsier and the Inquisitor to their solitary battle.
To the side, Kelsier could see skaa beginning to clog the streets around the
small courtyard, the fighting drawing the attention of those waiting up above
at the fountain square. Kelsier could see other squads of imperial soldiers
trying to push their way toward the fight, but the thousands of skaa crowding
the streets seriously slowed their progress.
The Inquisitor swung, and Kelsier dodged. The creature was obviously
growing frustrated. To the side, a small group of Ham's men reached one of
the prisoner carts and broke open its lock, freeing the prisoners. The rest of
Ham's men kept the imperial soldiers busy as the prisoners fled.
Kelsier smiled, eyeing the annoyed Inquisitor. The creature growled
quietly.
"Valette!" a voice screamed.
Kelsier turned in shock. A well-dressed nobleman was pushing his way
through the soldiers toward the center of the fighting. He carried a dueling
cane and was protected by two beleaguered bodyguards, but he mostly
avoided harm by virtue of neither side being certain of wanting to strike
down a man of obvious noble blood.
"Valette!" Elend Venture yelled again. He turned to one of the soldiers.
"Who told you to raid House Renoux's convoy! Who authorized this!"
Great, Kelsier thought, keeping a wary eye on the Inquisitor. The creature
regarded Kelsier with a twisted, hateful expression.
You just go right on hating me, Kelsier thought. I only have to hang on
long enough for Ham to free the prisoners. Then, I can lead you away.
The Inquisitor reached out and casually beheaded a fleeing servant as she
ran by.
"No!" Kelsier yelled as the corpse fell at the Inquisitor's feet. The creature
grabbed another victim and raised its axe.
"All right!" Kelsier said, striding forward, pulling a pair of vials from his
sash. "All right. You want to fight me? Come on!"
The creature smiled, pushing the captured woman aside and striding
toward Kelsier.
Kelsier flicked the corks off and downed both vials at once, then tossed
them aside. Metals flared in his chest, burning alongside his rage. His
brother, dead. His wife, dead. Family, friends, and heroes. All dead.
You push me to seek revenge? he thought. Well, you shall have it!
Kelsier paused a few feet in front of the Inquisitor. Fists clinched, he flared
his steel in a massive Push. Around him, people were thrown back by their
metal as they were hit by the awesome, invisible wave of power. The square
—packed with imperial soldiers, prisoners, and rebels—opened up in a small
pocket around Kelsier and the Inquisitor.
"Let's do it, then," Kelsier said.
I never wanted to be feared.
If I regret one thing, it is the fear I have caused. Fear is the tool of tyrants. Unfortunately,
when the fate of the world is in question, you use whatever tools are available.
34
DEAD AND DYING MEN COLLAPSED to the cobblestones. Skaa crowded the
roads. Prisoners cried out, calling his name. Heat from a smoky sun burned
the streets.
And ash fell from the sky.
Kelsier dashed forward, flaring pewter and whipping out his daggers. He
burned atium, as did the Inquisitor—and they both probably had enough to
last for an extended fight.
Kelsier slashed twice in the hot air, striking at the Inquisitor, his arms a
blur. The creature dodged amid an insane vortex of atium-shadows, then
swung an axe.
Kelsier jumped, pewter lending his leap inhuman height, and passed just
over the swinging weapon. He reached out and Pushed against a group of
fighting soldiers behind him, throwing himself forward. He planted both feet
in the Inquisitor's face and kicked off, flipping backward in the air.
The Inquisitor stumbled. As Kelsier fell, he Pulled on a soldier, yanking
himself backward. The soldier was pulled off his feet by the force of the
Ironpull, and he began to streak toward Kelsier. Both men flew in the air.
Kelsier flared iron, Pulling against a patch of soldiers to his right while still
Pulling against the single soldier. The result was a pivot. Kelsier flew to the
side, and the soldier—held as if by tether to Kelsier's body—swung in a wide
arc like a ball on a chain.
The unfortunate soldier crashed into the stumbling Inquisitor, smashing
them both into the bars of an empty prison cart.