"The Hero of Ages shall be not a man, but a force. No nation may claim him, no woman shall
keep him, and no king may slay him. He shall belong to none, not even himself."
21
KELSIER SAT QUIETLY, READING AS his boat moved slowly along the canal to
the north. Sometimes, I worry that I'm not the hero everyone thinks I am, the
text said.
What proof do we have? The words of men long dead, only now deemed divinatory? Even if we
accept the prophecies, only tenuous interpretation links them to me. Is my defense of the
Summer Hill really the "Burden by which the Hero shall be dubbed"? My several marriages
could give me a "Bloodless bond to the world's kings," if you look at it the right way. There are
dozens of similar phrases that could refer to events in my life. But, then again, they could all just
be coincidences.
The philosophers assure me that this is the time, that the signs have been met. But I still
wonder if they have the wrong man. So many people depend on me. They say I will hold the
future of the entire world on my arms. What would they think if they knew that their champion
—the Hero of Ages, their savior—doubted himself?
Perhaps they wouldn't be shocked at all. In a way, this is what worries me most. Maybe, in
their hearts, they wonder—just like I do. When they see me, do they see a liar?
Rashek seems to think so. I know that I shouldn't let a simple packman perturb me. However,
he is from Terris, where the prophecies originated. If anyone could spot a fraud, would it not be
he?
Nevertheless, I continue my trek, going where the scribbled auguries proclaim that I will
meet my destiny—walking, feeling Rashek's eyes on my back. Jealous. Mocking. Hating.
In the end, I worry that my arrogance shall destroy us all.
Kelsier lowered the booklet, his cabin shaking slightly from the efforts of
the pullers outside. He was glad that Sazed had provided him with a copy of
the translated portions of the Lord Ruler's logbook before the caravan boats'
departure. There was blessed little else to do during the trip.
Fortunately, the logbook was fascinating. Fascinating, and eerie. It was
disturbing to read words that had originally been written by the Lord Ruler
himself. To Kelsier the Lord Ruler was less a man, and more a . . . creature.
An evil force that needed to be destroyed.
Yet, the person presented in the logbook seemed all too mortal. He
questioned and pondered—he seemed a man of depth, and even of character.
Though, it would be best not to trust his narrative too closely, Kelsier
thought, running his fingers across the page. Men rarely see their own actions
as unjustified.
Still, the Lord Ruler's story reminded Kelsier of the legends he had heard
—stories whispered by skaa, discussed by noblemen, and memorized by
Keepers. They claimed that once, before the Ascension, the Lord Ruler had
been the greatest of men. A beloved leader, a man entrusted with the fate of
all mankind.
Unfortunately, Kelsier knew how the story ended. The Final Empire itself
was the logbook's legacy. The Lord Ruler hadn't saved mankind; he had
enslaved it instead. Reading a firsthand account, seeing the Lord Ruler's self-
doubt and internal struggles, only made the story that much more tragic.
Kelsier raised the booklet to continue; however, his boat began to slow. He
glanced out the window of his cabin, looking up the canal. Dozens of men
trudged along the towpath—a small road alongside the canal—pulling the
four barges and two narrowboats that made up their convoy. It was an
efficient, if labor-intensive, way to travel; men pulling a barge across a canal
could move hundreds more pounds of weight than they could if forced to
carry packs.
The men had pulled to a stop, however. Ahead, Kelsier could make out a
lock mechanism, beyond which the canal split into two sections. A kind of
crossroads of waterways. Finally, Kelsier thought. His weeks of travel were
over.
Kelsier didn't wait for a messenger. He simply stepped out onto the deck
of his narrowboat and slipped a few coins from his pouch into his hand. Time
to be a bit ostentatious, he thought, dropping a coin to the wood. He burned
steel and Pushed himself into the air.
He lurched upward at an angle, quickly gaining a height where he could
see the entire line of men—half pulling the boats, half walking and waiting
for their shifts. Kelsier flew in an arc, dropping another coin as he passed
over one of the supply-laden barges, then Pushing against it when he began to
descend. Would-be soldiers looked up, pointing in awe as Kelsier soared
above the canal.
Kelsier burned pewter, strengthening his body as he thumped to the deck
of the narrowboat leading the caravan.
Yeden stepped out of his cabin, surprised. "Lord Kelsier! We've, uh,
arrived at the crossroads."
"I can see that," Kelsier said, glancing back along the line of boats. The
men on the towpath spoke excitedly, pointing. It felt strange to use
Allomancy so obviously in the daylight, and before so many people.
There's no help for it, he thought. This visit is the last chance the men will
have to see me for months. I need to make an impression, give them
something they can hold on to, if this is all going to work. . . .
"Shall we go see if the group from the caves has arrived to meet us?"
Kelsier asked, turning back to Yeden.
"Of course," Yeden said, waving for a servant to pull his narrowboat up to
the side of the canal and throw out the plank. Yeden looked excited; he really
was an earnest man, and that much Kelsier could respect, even if he was a bit
lacking in presence.
Most of my life, I've had the opposite problem, Kelsier thought with
amusement, walking with Yeden off of the boat.
Too much presence, not enough earnestness.
The two of them walked up the line of canal workers. Near the front of the
men, one of Ham's Thugs—playing the part of Kelsier's guard captain—
saluted. "We've reached the crossroads, Lord Kelsier."
"I can see that," Kelsier repeated. A dense stand of birch trees grew ahead,
running up a slope into the hills. The canals ran away from the woods—there
were better sources of wood in other parts of the Final Empire. The forest
stood alone and ignored by most.
Kelsier burned tin, wincing slightly at the suddenly blinding sunlight. His
eyes adjusted, however, and he was able to pick out detail—and a slight bit of
motion—in the forest.
"There," he said, flipping a coin into the air, then Pushing it. The coin
zipped forward and thocked against a tree. The prearranged sign given, a
small group of camouflaged men left the tree line, crossing the ash-stained
earth toward the canal.
"Lord Kelsier," the foremost man said, saluting. "My name is Captain
Demoux. Please, gather the recruits and come with me—General Hammond
is eager to meet with you."
"Captain" Demoux was a young man to be so disciplined. Barely into his
twenties, he led his small squad of men with a level of solemnity that might
have seemed self-important had he been any less competent.
Younger men than he have led soldiers into battle, Kelsier thought. Just
because I was a fop when I was that age doesn't mean that everyone is. Look
at poor Vin—only sixteen, already a match for Marsh in seriousness.
They took a roundabout passage through the forest—by Ham's order, each
troop took a different path to avoid wearing a trail. Kelsier glanced back at
the two hundred or so men behind, frowning slightly. Their trail would
probably still be visible, but there was little he could do about that—the
movements of so many men would be nearly impossible to mask.
Demoux slowed, waving, and several members of his squad scrambled
forward; they didn't have half their leader's sense of military decorum. Still,
Kelsier was impressed. The last time he'd visited, the men had been typically
ragtag and uncoordinated, like most skaa outcasts. Ham and his officers had
done their work well.
The soldiers pulled away some false underbrush, revealing a crack in the
ground. It was dark within, the sides jutting with crystalline granite. It wasn't
a regular hillside cavern, but instead a simple rend in the ground leading
directly down.
Kelsier stood quietly, looking down at the black, stone-laced rift. He
shivered slightly.
"Kelsier?" Yeden asked, frowning. "What is it?"
"It reminds me of the Pits. They looked like this—cracks in the ground."
Yeden paled slightly. "Oh. I, uh . . ."
Kelsier waved dismissively. "I knew this was coming. I climbed down
inside those caves every day for a year, and I always came back out. I beat
them. They have no power over me."
To prove his words, he stepped forward and climbed down into the thin
crack. It was just wide enough for a large man to slip through. As Kelsier
descended, he saw the soldiers—both Demoux's squad and the new recruits
—watching quietly. He had intentionally spoken loud enough for them to
hear.
Let them see my weakness, and let them see me overcome it.
They were brave thoughts. However, once he passed beneath the surface, it
was as if he were back again. Smashed between two walls of stone, questing
downward with shaking fingers. Cold, damp, dark. Slaves had to be the ones
who recovered the atium. Allomancers might have been more effective, but
using Allomancy near atium crystals shattered them. So, the Lord Ruler used
condemned men. Forcing them into the pits. Forcing them to crawl
downward, ever downward . . .
Kelsier forced himself onward. This wasn't Hathsin. The crack wouldn't
go down for hours, and there would be no crystal-lined holes to reach through
with torn, bleeding arms—stretching, seeking the atium geode hidden within.
One geode; that bought one more week of life. Life beneath the taskmasters'
lashes. Life beneath the rule of a sadistic god. Life beneath the sun gone red.
I will change things for the others, Kelsier thought. I will make it better!
The climb was difficult for him, more difficult than he ever would have
admitted. Fortunately, the crack soon opened up to a larger cavern beneath,
and Kelsier caught a glimpse of light from below. He let himself drop the rest
of the way, landing on the uneven stone floor, and smiled at the man who
stood waiting.
"Hell of an entryway you've got there, Ham," Kelsier said, dusting off his
hands.
Ham smiled. "You should see the bathroom."
Kelsier laughed, moving to make way for the others. Several natural
tunnels led off of the chamber, and a small rope ladder hung from the bottom
of the rift to facilitate going back up. Yeden and Demoux soon climbed down
the ladder into the cavern, their clothing scraped and dirtied from the descent.
It wasn't an easy entrance to get through. That, however, was the idea.
"It's good to see you, Kell," Ham said. It was odd to see him in clothing
that wasn't missing the sleeves. In fact, his militaristic outfit looked rather
formal, with square-cut lines and buttons down the front. "How many have
you brought me?"
"Just over two hundred and forty."
Ham raised his eyebrows. "Recruitment has picked up, then?"
"Finally," Kelsier said with a nod. Soldiers began to drop into the cavern,
and several of Ham's aides moved forward, helping the newcomers and
directing them down a side tunnel.
Yeden moved over to join Kelsier and Ham. "This cavern is amazing, Lord
Kelsier! I've never actually been to the caves myself. No wonder the Lord
Ruler hasn't found the men down here!"
"The complex is completely secure," Ham said proudly. "There are only
three entrances, all of them cracks like this one. With proper supplies, we
could hold this place indefinitely against an invading force."
"Plus," Kelsier said,"this isn't the only cave complex beneath these hills.
Even if the Lord Ruler were determined to destroy us, his army could spend
weeks searching and still not find us."
"Amazing," Yeden said. He turned, eyeing Kelsier. "I was wrong about
you, Lord Kelsier. This operation . . . this army . . . well, you've done
something impressive here."
Kelsier smiled. "Actually, you were right about me. You believed in me
when this started—we're only here because of you."
"I . . . guess I did, didn't I?" Yeden said, smiling.
"Either way," Kelsier said, "I appreciate the vote of confidence. It's
probably going to take some time to get all these men down the crack—
would you mind directing things here? I'd like to talk to Hammond for a bit."
"Of course, Lord Kelsier." There was respect—even a growing bit of
adulation—in his voice.
Kelsier nodded to the side. Ham frowned slightly, picking up a lantern,
then followed Kelsier from the first chamber. They entered a side tunnel, and
once they were out of earshot, Ham paused, glancing backward.
Kelsier stopped, raising an eyebrow.
Ham nodded back toward the entry chamber. "Yeden certainly has
changed."
"I have that effect on people."
"Must be your awe-inspiring humility," Ham said. "I'm serious, Kell. How
do you do it? That man practically hated you; now he looks at you like a kid
idolizing his big brother."
Kelsier shrugged. "Yeden's never been part of an effective team before—I
think he's started to realize that we might actually have a chance. In little
over half a year, we've gathered a rebellion larger than he's ever seen. Those
kind of results can convert even the stubborn."
Ham didn't look convinced. Finally, he just shrugged, beginning to walk
again. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"
"Actually, I'd like to visit the other two entrances, if we could," Kelsier
said.
Ham nodded, pointing to a side tunnel and leading the way. The tunnel,
like most of the others, hadn't been hollowed by human hands; it was a
natural growth of the cave complex. There were hundreds of similar cave
systems in the Central Dominance, though most weren't as extensive. And
only one—the Pits of Hathsin—grew atium geodes.
"Anyway, Yeden's right," Ham said, twisting his way through a narrow
place in the tunnel. "You picked a great place to hide these people."
Kelsier nodded. "Various rebel groups have been using the cavern
complexes in these hills for centuries. They're frighteningly close to
Luthadel, but the Lord Ruler has never led a successful raid against anyone
here. He just ignores the place now—one too many failures, probably."
"I don't doubt it," Ham said. "With all the nooks and bottlenecks down
here, this would be a nasty place to have a battle." He stepped out of the
passageway, entering another small cavern. This one also had a rift in the
ceiling, and faint sunlight trickled down. A squad of ten soldiers stood guard
in the room, and they snapped to attention as soon as Ham entered.
Kelsier nodded approvingly. "Ten men at all times?"
"At each of the three entrances," Ham said.
"Good," Kelsier said. He walked forward, inspecting the soldiers. He wore
his sleeves up, his scars showing, and he could see the men eyeing them. He
didn't really know what to inspect, but he tried to look discriminating. He
examined their weapons—staves for eight of the men, swords for two—and
dusted off a few shoulders, though none of the men wore uniforms.
Finally, he turned to a soldier who bore an insignia on his shoulder. "Who
do you let out of the caverns, soldier?"
"Only men bearing a letter sealed by General Hammond himself, sir!"
"No exceptions?" Kelsier asked.
"No, sir!"
"And if I wanted to leave right now?"
The man paused. "Uh . . ."
"You'd stop me!" Kelsier said. "No one is exempt, soldier. Not me, not
your bunkmate, not an officer—no one. If they don't have that seal, they
don't leave!"
"Yes, sir!" the soldier said.
"Good man," Kelsier said. "If all of your soldiers are this fine, General,
then the Lord Ruler has good reason to be afraid."
The soldiers puffed up slightly at the words.
"Carry on, men," Kelsier said, waving for Ham to follow as he left the
room.
"That was kind of you," Ham said softly. "They've been anticipating your
visit for weeks."
Kelsier shrugged. "I just wanted to see that they were guarding the crack
properly. Now that you have more men, I want you to post guards at any
tunnels leading to these exit caverns."
Ham nodded. "Seems a bit extreme, though."
"Humor me," Kelsier said. "A single runaway or malcontent could betray
us all to the Lord Ruler. It's nice that you feel that you could defend this
place, but if there's an army camped outside trapping you in, this army will
effectively become useless to us."
"All right," Ham said. "You want to see the third entrance?"
"Please," Kelsier said.
Ham nodded, leading him down another tunnel.
"Oh, one other thing," Kelsier said after a bit of walking. "Get together
groups of a hundred men—all ones you trust—to go tromp around up in the
forest. If someone comes looking for us, we won't be able to hide the fact
that lots of people have passed through the area. However, we might be able
to muddle the tracks so much that the trails all lead nowhere."
"Good idea."
"I'm full of 'em," Kelsier said as they stepped into another cave chamber,
this one far larger than the previous two. It wasn't an entrance rift, but instead
a practice room. Groups of men stood with swords or staves, sparring beneath
the eye of uniformed instructors. Uniforms for the officers had been
Dockson's idea. They couldn't afford to outfit all the men—it would be too
expensive, and obtaining that many uniforms would look suspicious.
However, maybe seeing their leaders in uniform would help give the men a
sense of cohesion.
Ham paused at the edge of the room rather than continuing onward. He
eyed the soldiers, speaking softly. "We need to talk about this sometime,
Kell. The men are starting to feel like soldiers, but . . . Well, they're skaa.
They've spent their lives working in mills or fields. I don't know how well
they'll do when we actually get them onto a battlefield."
"If we do everything right, they won't have to do much fighting," Kelsier
said. "The Pits are only guarded by a couple hundred soldiers—the Lord
Ruler can't have too many men there, lest he hint at the location's
importance. Our thousand men can take the Pits with ease, then retreat as
soon as the Garrison arrives. The other nine thousand might have to face a
few Great House guard squads and the palace soldiers, but our men should
have the upper hand in numbers."
Ham nodded, though his eyes still seemed uncertain.
"What?" Kelsier asked, leaning against the smooth, crystalline mouth of
the cavern juncture.
"And when we're done with them, Kell?" Ham asked. "Once we have our
atium, we give the city—and the army—over to Yeden. Then what?"
"That's up to Yeden," Kelsier said.
"They'll be slaughtered," Ham said very softly. "Ten thousand men can't
hold Luthadel against the entire Final Empire."
"I intend to give them a better chance than you think, Ham," Kelsier said.
"If we can turn the nobility against each other and destabilize the government
. . ."
"Maybe," Ham said, still not convinced.
"You agreed to the plan, Ham," Kelsier said. "This was what we were
intending all along. Raise an army, deliver it to Yeden."
"I know," Ham said, sighing and leaning back against the cavern wall. "I
guess . . . Well, it's different, now that I've been leading them. Maybe I'm
just not meant to be in charge like this. I'm a bodyguard, not a general."
I know how you feel, my friend, Kelsier thought. I'm a thief, not a prophet.
Sometimes, we just have to be what the job requires.
Kelsier laid a hand on Ham's shoulder. "You did a fine job here."
Ham paused. " 'Did' fine?"
"I brought Yeden to replace you. Dox and I decided it would be better to
rotate him in as the army's commander—that way, the troops get used to him
as their leader. Besides, we need you back in Luthadel. Someone has to visit
the Garrison and gather intelligence, and you're the only one with any
military contacts."
"So, I'm going back with you?" Ham asked.
Kelsier nodded.
Ham looked crestfallen for just a moment, then he relaxed, smiling. "I'll
finally be able get out of this uniform! But, do you think Yeden can handle
it?"
"You said yourself, he's changed a lot during the last few months. And, he
really is an excellent administrator—he's done a fine job with the rebellion
since my brother left."
"I suppose. . . ."
Kelsier shook his head ruefully. "We're spread thin, Ham. You and Breeze
are two of the only men I know I can trust, and I need you back in Luthadel.
Yeden's not perfect for the job here, but the army is going to be his,
eventually. Might as well let him lead it for a time. Besides, it will give him
something to do; he's growing a bit touchy about his place in the crew."
Kelsier paused, then smiled in amusement. "I think he's jealous of the
attention I pay the others."
Ham smiled. "That is a change."
They began to walk again, leaving the practice chamber behind. They
entered another twisting stone tunnel, this one leading slightly downward,
Ham's lantern providing their only light.
"You know," Ham said after a few minutes of walking, "there's something
else nice about this place. You've probably noticed this before, but it
certainly is beautiful down here sometimes."
Kelsier hadn't noticed. He glanced to the side as they walked. One edge of
the chamber had been formed of dripping minerals from the ceiling, thin
stalactites and stalagmites—like dirty icicles—melding together to form a
kind of banister. Minerals twinkled in Ham's light, and the path in front of
them seemed to be frozen in the form of a tumbling molten river.
No, Kelsier thought. No, I don't see its beauty, Ham. Other men might see
art in the layers of color and melted rock. Kelsier only saw the Pits. Endless
caves, most of them going straight down. He'd been forced to wiggle through
cracks, plunging downward in the darkness, not even given a light to brighten
his way.
Often, he'd considered not climbing back up. But, then he would find a
corpse in the caves—the body of another prisoner, a man who had gotten lost,
or who had perhaps just given up. Kelsier would feel their bones and promise
himself more. Each week, he'd found an atium geode. Each week he'd
avoided execution by brutal beating.
Except that last time. He didn't deserve to be alive—he should have been
killed. But, Mare had given him an atium geode, promising him that she'd
found two that week. It wasn't until after he'd turned it in that he'd
discovered her lie. She'd been beaten to death the next day. Beaten to death
right in front of him.
That night, Kelsier had Snapped, coming into his powers as a Mistborn.
The next night, men had died.
Many men.
Survivor of Hathsin. A man who shouldn't live. Even after watching her
die, I couldn't decide if she'd betrayed me or not. Did she give me that geode
out of love? Or did she do it out of guilt?
No, he couldn't see beauty in the caverns. Other men had been driven mad
by the Pits, becoming terrified of small, enclosed spaces. That hadn't
happened to Kelsier. However, he knew that no matter what wonders the
labyrinths held—no matter how amazing the views or delicate the beauties—
he would never acknowledge them. Not with Mare dead.
I can't think about this anymore, Kelsier decided, the cavern seeming to
grow darker around him. He glanced to the side. "All right, Ham. Go ahead.
Tell me what you're thinking about."
"Really?" Ham said eagerly.
"Yes," Kelsier said with a sense of resignation.
"All right," Ham said. "So, here's what I've been worried about lately: Are
skaa different from noblemen?"
"Of course they are," Kelsier said. "The aristocracy has the money and the
land; the skaa don't have anything."
"I don't mean economics—I'm talking about physical differences. You
know what the obligators say, right?"
Kelsier nodded.
"Well, is it true? I mean, skaa really do have a lot of children, and I've
heard that aristocrats have trouble reproducing."
The Balance, it was called. It was supposedly the way that the Lord Ruler
ensured that there weren't too many noblemen for the skaa to support, and
the way he made certain that—despite beatings and random killings—there
were always enough skaa to grow food and work in mills.
"I've always just assumed it to be Ministry rhetoric," Kelsier said honestly.
"I've known skaa women to have as many as a dozen children," Ham said.
"But I can't name a single major noble family with more than three."
"It's just cultural."
"And the height difference? They say you used to be able to tell skaa and
noblemen apart by sight alone. That's changed, probably through
interbreeding, but most skaa are still kind of short."
"That's nutritional. Skaa don't get enough to eat."
"What about Allomancy?"
Kelsier frowned.
"You have to admit that there's a physical difference there," Ham said.
"Skaa never become Mistings unless they have aristocratic blood somewhere
in their last five generations."
That much, at least, was true.
"Skaa think differently from noblemen, Kell," Ham said. "Even these
soldiers are kind of timid, and they're the brave ones! Yeden's right about the
general skaa population—it will never rebel. What if . . . what if there really
is something physically different about us? What if the noblemen are right to
rule over us?"
Kelsier froze in the hallway. "You don't really mean that."
Ham stopped as well. "I guess . . . no, I don't. But I do wonder sometimes.
The noblemen have Allomancy, right? Maybe they're meant to be in charge."
"Meant by who? The Lord Ruler?"
Ham shrugged.
"No, Ham," Kelsier said. "It isn't right. This isn't right. I know it's hard to
see—things have been this way for so long—but something very serious is
wrong with the way skaa live. You have to believe that."
Ham paused, then nodded. "Let's go," Kelsier said. "I want to visit that
other entrance."
The week passed slowly. Kelsier inspected the troops, the training, the food,
the weapons, the supplies, the scouts, the guards, and just about everything
else he could think of. More important, he visited the men. He complimented
and encouraged them—and he made certain to use Allomancy frequently in
front of them.
While many skaa had heard of "Allomancy," very few knew specifically
what it could do. Nobleman Mistings rarely used their powers in front of
other people, and half-breeds had to be even more careful. Ordinary skaa,
even city skaa, didn't know of things like Steelpushing or Pewter-burning.
When they saw Kelsier flying through the air or sparring with supernatural
strength, they would just attribute it to formless "Allomancy Magics." Kelsier
didn't mind the misunderstanding at all.
Despite all of the week's activities, however, he never forgot his
conversation with Ham.
How could he even wonder if skaa are inferior? Kelsier thought, poking at
his meal as he sat at the high table in the central meeting cavern. The massive
"room" was large enough to hold the entire army of seven thousand men,
though many sat in side chambers or halfway out into tunnels. The high table
sat on a raised rock formation at the far end of the chamber.
I'm probably worrying too much. Ham was prone to think about things that
no sane man would consider; this was just another of his philosophical
dilemmas. In fact, he already seemed to have forgotten his earlier concerns.
He laughed with Yeden, enjoying his meal.
As for Yeden, the gangly rebel leader looked quite satisfied with his
general's uniform, and had spent the week taking very serious notes from
Ham regarding the army's operation. He seemed to be falling quite naturally
into his duties.
In fact, Kelsier seemed to be the only one who wasn't enjoying the feast.
The evening's foods—brought on the barges especially for the occasion—
were humble by aristocratic standards, but were much finer than what the
soldiers were used to. The men relished the meal with a joyful
boisterousness, drinking their small allotment of ale and celebrating the
moment.
And still, Kelsier worried. What did these men think they were fighting
for? They seemed enthusiastic about their training, but that might have just
been due to the regular meals. Did they actually believe that they deserved to
overthrow the Final Empire? Did they think that skaa were inferior to
noblemen?
Kelsier could sense their reservations. Many of the men realized the
impending danger, and only the strict exit rules kept them from fleeing.
While they were eager to speak of their training, they avoided talking about
their final task—that of seizing the palace and city walls, then holding off the
Luthadel Garrison.
They don't think they can succeed, Kelsier guessed. They need confidence.
The rumors about me are a start, but . . .
He nudged Ham, getting the man's attention.
"Are there any men who have given you discipline problems?" Kelsier
asked quietly.
Ham frowned at the odd question. "There are a couple, of course. I'd think
there are always dissidents in a group this large."
"Anyone in particular?" Kelsier asked. "Men who have wanted to leave? I
need someone outspoken in their opposition to what we're doing."
"There are a couple in the brig right now," Ham said.
"Anyone here?" Kelsier asked. "Preferably someone sitting at a table we
can see?"
Ham thought for a moment, scanning the crowd. "The man sitting at the
second table with the red cloak. He was caught trying to escape a couple
weeks ago."
The man in question was scrawny and twitchy; he sat at his table with a
hunched, solitary posture.
Kelsier shook his head. "I need someone a bit more charismatic."
Ham rubbed his chin in thought. Then he paused, and nodded toward
another table. "Bilg. The big guy sitting at the fourth table over on the right."
"I see him," Kelsier said. Bilg was a brawny man wearing a vest and a full
beard.
"He's too clever to be insubordinate," Ham said, "but he's been making
trouble quietly. He doesn't think we have a chance against the Final Empire.
I'd lock him up, but I can't really punish a man for expressing fear—or, at
least, if I did, I'd have to do the same for half the army. Besides, he's too
good a warrior to discard idly."
"He's perfect," Kelsier said. He burned zinc, then looked toward Bilg.
While zinc wouldn't let him read the man's emotions, it was possible—when
burning the metal—to isolate just a single individual for Soothing or Rioting,
much as one was able to isolate a single bit of metal from hundreds to Pull
on.
Even still, it was difficult to single Bilg out from such a large crowd, so
Kelsier just focused on the entire tableful of men, keeping their emotions "in
hand" for later use. Then he stood. Slowly, the cavern quieted.
"Men, before I leave, I wish to express one last time how much I was
impressed by this visit." His words rang through the room, amplified by the
cavern's natural acoustics.
"You are becoming a fine army," Kelsier said. "I apologize for stealing
General Hammond, but I leave a very competent man in his place. Many of
you know General Yeden—you know of his many years serving as rebellion
leader. I have confidence in his ability to train you even further in the ways of
soldiers."
He began to Riot Bilg and his companions, enflaming their emotions,
counting on the fact that they'd be feeling disagreeable.
"It is a great task I ask of you," Kelsier said, not looking at Bilg. "Those
skaa outside of Luthadel—indeed, most skaa everywhere—have no idea what
you are about to do for them. They aren't aware of the training you endure or
the battles you prepare to fight. However, they will reap the rewards.
Someday, they will call you heroes."
He Rioted Bilg's emotions even harder.
"The Garrison of Luthadel is strong," Kelsier said, "but we can defeat it—
especially if we take the city walls quickly. Do not forget why you came
here. This isn't simply about learning to swing a sword or wear a helm. This
is about a revolution such as the world has never seen—it is about taking the
government for ourselves, about ousting the Lord Ruler. Do not lose sight of
your goal."
Kelsier paused. From the corner of his eye, he could see dark expressions
from the men at Bilg's table. Finally, in the silence, Kelsier heard a muttered
comment from the table—carried by cavern acoustics to many ears.
Kelsier frowned, turning toward Bilg. The entire cavern seemed to grow
even more still. "Did you say something?" Kelsier asked. Now, the moment of
decision. Will he resist, or will he be cowed?
Bilg looked back. Kelsier hit the man with a flared Riot. His reward came
as Bilg stood from his table, face red.
"Yes, sir," the brawny man snapped. "I did say something. I said that some
of us haven't lost sight of our 'goal.' We think about it every day."
"And why is that?" Kelsier asked. Rumbling whispers began to sound at
the back of the cavern as soldiers passed the news to those too far away to
hear.
Bilg took a deep breath. "Because, sir, we think that this is suicide you're
sending us to. The Final Empire's armies are bigger than just one garrison. It
won't matter if we take the walls—we'll get slaughtered eventually anyway.
You don't overthrow an empire with a couple thousand soldiers."
Perfect, Kelsier thought. I'm sorry, Bilg. But someone needed to say it, and
it certainly couldn't be me.
"I see we have a disagreement," Kelsier said loudly. "I believe in these
men, and in their purpose."
"I believe that you are a deluded fool," Bilg bellowed. "And I was a bigger
fool for coming to these bloody caves. If you're so certain about our chances,
then why can't anyone leave? We're trapped here until you send us to die!"
"You insult me," Kelsier snapped. "You know very well why men aren't
allowed to leave. Why do you want to go, soldier? Are you that eager to sell
out your companions to the Lord Ruler? A few quick boxings in exchange for
four thousand lives?"
Bilg's face grew redder. "I would never do such a thing, but I'm certainly
not going to let you send me to my death, either! This army is a waste."
"You speak treason," Kelsier said. He turned, scanning the crowd. "It is
not fitting for a general to fight a man beneath his command. Is there a
soldier here who is willing to defend the honor of this rebellion?"
Immediately, a couple dozen men stood up. Kelsier noticed one in
particular. He was smaller than the rest, but he had the simple earnestness
that Kelsier had noticed earlier. "Captain Demoux."
Immediately, the young captain jumped forward.
Kelsier reached over, grabbing his own sword and tossing it down to the
man. "You can use a sword, lad?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Someone fetch a weapon for Bilg and a pair of studded vests." Kelsier
turned toward Bilg. "Noblemen have a tradition. When two men have a
dispute, they settle it with a duel. Defeat my champion, and you are free to
leave."
"And if he defeats me?" Bilg asked.
"Then you'll be dead," Kelsier said.
"I'm dead if I stay," Bilg said, accepting a sword from a nearby soldier. "I
accept the terms."
Kelsier nodded, waving for some men to pull aside tables and make an
open space before the high table. Men began to stand, crowding around to
watch the contest.
"Kell, what are you doing!" Ham hissed at his side.
"Something that needs to be done."
"Needs to be . . . Kelsier, that boy is no match for Bilg! I trust Demoux—
that's why I promoted him—but he's not that great a warrior. Bilg's one of
the finest swordsmen in the army!"
"The men know this?" Kelsier asked.
"Of course," Ham said. "Call this off. Demoux is nearly half Bilg's size—
he's at a disadvantage in reach, strength, and skill. He'll get slaughtered!"
Kelsier ignored the request. He sat quietly as Bilg and Demoux hefted their
weapons, a pair of soldiers tying on their leather cuirasses. When they were
done, Kelsier waved a hand, motioning for the battle to begin.
Ham groaned.
It would be a short fight. Both men had longswords and little armor. Bilg
stepped forward with confidence, making a few testing swings toward
Demoux. The boy was at least competent—he blocked the blows, but he
revealed a great deal about his abilities as he did so.
Taking a deep breath, Kelsier burned steel and iron.
Bilg swung, and Kelsier nudged the blade to the side, giving Demoux
room to escape. The boy tried a thrust, but Bilg easily knocked it away. The
larger warrior then attacked with a barrage, sending Demoux stumbling
backward. Demoux tried to jump out of the way of the last swing, but he was
too slow. The blade fell with awful inevitability.
Kelsier flared iron—stabilizing himself by Pulling against a lantern bracket
behind—then grabbed the iron studs on Demoux's vest. Kelsier Pulled as
Demoux jumped, yanking the boy backward in a small arc away from Bilg.
Demoux landed with a maladroit stumble as Bilg's sword smashed into the
stone ground. Bilg looked up with surprise, and a low rumble of amazement
moved through the crowd.
Bilg growled, running forward with weapon held high. Demoux blocked
the powerful swing, but Bilg knocked the boy's weapon aside with a careless
sweep. Bilg struck again, and Demoux raised a hand in reflexive defense.
Kelsier Pushed, freezing Bilg's sword in midswing. Demoux stood, hand
forward, as if he had stopped the attacking weapon with a thought. The two
stood like that for a moment, Bilg trying to force the sword forward, Demoux
staring in awe at his hand. Standing up a bit straighter, Demoux tentatively
forced his hand forward.
Kelsier Pushed, throwing Bilg backward. The large warrior tumbled to the
ground with a cry of surprise. When he rose a moment later, Kelsier didn't
have to Riot his emotions to make him angry. He bellowed in rage, grabbing
his sword in two hands and rushing toward Demoux.
Some men don't know when to quit, Kelsier thought as Bilg swung.
Demoux began to dodge. Kelsier shoved the boy to the side, getting him
out of the way. Then Demoux turned, gripping his own weapon in two hands
and swinging at Bilg. Kelsier grabbed Demoux's weapon in mid-arc and
Pulled against it forcefully, ripping the steel forward with a mighty flare of
iron.
The swords smashed together, and Demoux's Kelsier enhanced blow
knocked Bilg's weapon out of his hands. There was a loud snap, and the large
miscreant fell to the floor—thrown completely off balance by the force of
Demoux's blow. Bilg's weapon bounced to the stone floor a distance away.
Demoux stepped forward, raising his weapon over the stunned Bilg. And
then, he stopped. Kelsier burned iron, reaching out to grab the weapon and
Pull it down, to force the killing blow, but Demoux resisted.
Kelsier paused. This man should die, he thought angrily. On the ground,
Bilg groaned quietly. Kelsier could just barely see his twisted arm, its bone
shattered by the powerful strike. It was bleeding.
No, Kelsier thought. This is enough.
He released Demoux's weapon. Demoux lowered his sword, staring down
at Bilg. Then, Demoux raised his hands, regarding them with wonder, his
arms quivering slightly.
Kelsier stood, and the crowd fell to a hush once again.
"Do you think I would send you against the Lord Ruler unprepared?"
Kelsier demanded in a loud voice. "Do you think I would just send you off to
die? You fight for what is just, men! You fight for me. I will not leave you
unaided when you go against the soldiers of the Final Empire."
Kelsier thrust his hand into the air, holding aloft a tiny bar of metal.
"You've heard of this, haven't you? You know the rumors of the Eleventh
Metal? Well, I have it—and I will use it. The Lord Ruler will die!"
The men began to cheer.
"This is not our only tool!" Kelsier bellowed. "You soldiers have power
untold inside of you! You have heard of the arcane magics that the Lord
Ruler uses? Well, we have some of our own! Feast, my soldiers, and don't
fear the battle to come. Look forward to it!"
The room erupted in a riot of cheers, and Kelsier waved for more ale to be
delivered. A couple of servants rushed forward to help Bilg from the room.
When Kelsier sat, Ham was frowning deeply. "I don't like this, Kell," he
said.
"I know," Kelsier said quietly.
Ham was about to speak further, but Yeden leaned across him. "That was
amazing! I . . . Kelsier, I didn't know! You should have told me you could
pass your powers to others. Why, with these abilities, how can we possibly
lose?"
Ham laid a hand on Yeden's shoulder, pushing the man back into his seat.
"Eat," he ordered. Then, he turned to Kelsier, pulling his chair closer and
speaking in a low voice. "You just lied to my entire army, Kell."
"No, Ham," Kelsier said quietly. "I lied to my army."
Ham paused. Then his face darkened.
Kelsier sighed. "It was only a partial lie. They don't need to be warriors,
they just have to look threatening long enough for us to grab the atium. With
it, we can bribe the Garrison, and our men won't even have to fight. That's
virtually the same thing as what I promised them."
Ham didn't respond.
"Before we leave," Kelsier said, "I want you to select a few dozen of our
most trustworthy and devoted soldiers. We'll send them back to Luthadel—
with vows that they can't reveal where the army is—so that word of this
evening can spread amongst the skaa."
"So this is about your ego?" Ham snapped.
Kelsier shook his head. "Sometimes we need to do things that we find
distasteful, Ham. My ego may be considerable, but this is about something
else entirely."
Ham sat for a moment, then turned back to his meal. He didn't eat,
however—he just sat staring at the blood on the ground before the high table.
Ah, Ham, Kelsier thought. I wish I could explain everything to you.
Plots behind plots, plans beyond plans.
There was always another secret.
At first, there were those who didn't think the Deepness was a serious danger, at least not to
them. However, it brought with it a blight that I have seen infect nearly every part of the land.
Armies are useless before it. Great cities are laid low by its power. Crops fail, and the land dies.
This is the thing I fight. This is the monster I must defeat. I fear that I have taken too long.
Already, so much destruction has occurred that I fear for mankind's survival.
Is this truly the end of the world, as many of the philosophers predict?
22
We arrived in Terris earlier this week, Vin read, and, I have to say, I find the countryside
beautiful. The great mountains to the north—with their bald snowcaps and forested mantles—
stand like watchful gods over this land of green fertility. My own lands to the south are mostly
flat; I think that they might look less dreary if there were a few mountains to vary the terrain.
The people here are mostly herdsmen—though timber harvesters and farmers are not
uncommon. It is a pastoral land, certainly. It seems odd that a place so remarkably agrarian could
have produced the prophecies and theologies upon which the entire world now relies.
We picked up a group of Terris packmen to guide us through the difficult mountain passages.
Yet, these are no ordinary men. The stories are apparently true—some Terrismen have a
remarkable ability that is most intriguing.
Somehow, they can store up their strength for use on the next day. Before they sleep at night,
they spend an hour lying in their bedrolls, during which time they suddenly grow very frail in
appearance—almost as if they had aged by half a century. Yet, when they wake the next
morning, they become quite muscular. Apparently, their powers have something to do with the
metal bracelets and earrings that they always wear.
The leader of the packmen is named Rashek, and he is rather taciturn. Nevertheless, Braches
—inquisitive, as always—has promised to interrogate him in the hopes of discovering exactly
how this wondrous strength-storing is achieved.
Tomorrow, we begin the final stage of our pilgrimage—the Far Mountains of Terris. There,
hopefully, I will find peace—both for myself, and for our poor land.
AS SHE READ HER COPY of the logbook, Vin was quickly coming to several
decisions. First was the firm belief that she did not like reading. Sazed didn't
listen to her complaints; he just claimed that she hadn't practiced enough.
Couldn't he see that reading was hardly as practical a skill as being able to
handle a dagger or use Allomancy?
Still, she continued to read as per his orders—if only to stubbornly prove
that she could. Many of the logbook's words were difficult to her, and she
had to read in a secluded part of Renoux's mansion where she could sound
out the words to herself, trying to decipher the Lord Ruler's odd style of
writing.
The continued reading led to her second conclusion: The Lord Ruler was
far more whiny than any god had a right to be. When pages of the logbook
weren't filled with boring notes about the Lord Ruler's travels, they were
instead packed with internal contemplations and lengthy moralistic
ramblings. Vin was beginning to wish that she'd never found the book in the
first place.
She sighed, settling back into her wicker chair. A cool early-spring breeze
blew through the lower gardens, passing over the petite fountain brook to her
left. The air was comfortably moist, and the trees overhead shaded her from
the afternoon sun. Being nobility—even fake nobility—certainly did have its
perks.
A quiet footfall sounded behind her. It was distant, but Vin had grown into
the habit of burning a little bit of tin at all times. She turned, shooting a
covert glance over her shoulder.
"Spook?" she said with surprise as young Lestibournes walked down the
garden path. "What are you doing here?"
Spook froze, blushing. "Wasing with the Dox to come and be without the
stay."
"Dockson?" Vin said. "He's here too?" Maybe he has news of Kelsier!
Spook nodded, approaching. "Weapons for the getting, giving for the time
to be."
Vin paused. "You lost me on that one."
"We needed the drop off some more weapons," Spook said, struggling to
speak without his dialect. "Storing them here for a while."
"Ah," Vin said, rising and brushing off her dress. "I should go see him."
Spook looked suddenly apprehensive, flushing again, and Vin cocked her
head. "Was there something else?"
With a sudden movement, Spook reached into his vest and pulled
something out. Vin flared pewter in response, but the item was simply a pink-
and-white handkerchief. Spook thrust it toward her.
Vin took it hesitantly. "What's this for?"
Spook flushed again, then turned and dashed away.
Vin watched him go, dumbfounded. She looked down at the handkerchief.
It was made of soft lace, but there didn't seem to be anything unusual about
it.
That is one strange boy, she thought, tucking the handkerchief inside her
sleeve. She picked up her copy of the logbook, then began to work her way
up the garden path. She was growing so accustomed to wearing a dress that
she barely had to pay attention to keep the gown's lower layers from brushing
against underbrush or stones.
I guess that in itself is a valuable skill, Vin thought as she reached the
mansion's garden entrance without having snagged her dress on a single
branch. She pushed open the many-paned glass door and stopped the first
servant she saw.
"Master Delton has arrived?" she asked, using Dockson's fake name. He
played the part of one of Renoux's merchant contacts inside Luthadel.
"Yes, my lady," the servant said. "He's in conference with Lord Renoux."
Vin let the servant go. She could probably force her way into the
conference, but it would look bad. Lady Valette had no reason to attend a
mercantile meeting between Renoux and Delton.
Vin chewed her lower lip in thought. Sazed was always telling her she had
to keep up appearances. Fine, she thought. I'll wait. Maybe Sazed can tell me
what that crazy boy expects me to do with this handkerchief.
She sought out the upper library, maintaining a pleasant ladylike smile,
inwardly trying to guess what Renoux and Dockson were talking about.
Dropping off the weapons was an excuse; Dockson wouldn't have come
personally to do something so mundane. Perhaps Kelsier had been delayed.
Or, maybe Dockson had finally gotten a communication from Marsh—
Kelsier's brother, along with the other new obligator initiates, should be
arriving back in Luthadel soon.
Dockson and Renoux could have sent for me, she thought with annoyance.
Valette often entertained guests with her uncle.
She shook her head. Even though Kelsier had named her a full member of
the crew, the others obviously still regarded her as something of a child. They
were friendly and accepting, but they didn't think to include her. It was
probably unintentional, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.
Light shone from the library ahead. Sure enough, Sazed sat inside,
translating the last group of pages from the logbook. He looked up as Vin
entered, smiling and nodding respectfully.
No spectacles this time either, Vin noted. Why did he wear them for that
short time before?
"Mistress Vin," he said, rising and fetching her a chair. "How are your
studies of the logbook going?"
Vin looked down at the loosely bound pages in her hand. "All right, I
suppose. I don't see why I have to bother reading them—you gave copies to
Kell and Breeze too, didn't you?"
"Of course," Sazed said, setting the chair down beside his desk. "However,
Master Kelsier asked every member of the crew to read the pages. He is
correct to do so, I think. The more eyes that read those words, the more likely
we will be to discover the secrets hidden within them."
Vin sighed slightly, smoothing her dress and seating herself. The white and
blue dress was beautiful—though intended for daily use, it was only slightly
less luxurious than one of her ball gowns.
"You must admit, Mistress," Sazed said as he sat, "the text is amazing.
This work is a Keeper's dream. Why, I'm discovering things about my
culture that even I did not know!"
Vin nodded. "I just got to the part where they reach Terris." Hopefully, the
next part will contain fewer supply lists. Honestly, for an evil god of
darkness, he certainly can be dull.
"Yes, yes," Sazed said, speaking with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. "Did
you see what he said, how he described Terris as a place of 'green fertility'?
Keeper legends speak of this. Terris is now a tundra of frozen dirt—why,
almost no plants can survive there. But, once it was green and beautiful, like
the text says."
Green and beautiful, Vin thought. Why would green be beautiful? That
would be like having blue or purple plants—it would just be weird.
However, there was something about the logbook that made her curious—
something that both Sazed and Kelsier had been strangely closemouthed
about. "I just read the part where the Lord Ruler gets some Terris packmen,"
Vin said carefully. "He talked about how they grow stronger during the day
because they let themselves be weak at night."
Sazed suddenly grew more subdued. "Yes, indeed."
"You know something about this? Does it have to do with being a
Keeper?"
"It does," Sazed said. "But, this should remain a secret, I think. Not that
you aren't worthy of trust, Mistress Vin. However, if fewer people know
about Keepers, then fewer rumors will be told of us. It would be best if the
Lord Ruler began to believe that he had destroyed us completely, as has been
his goal for the last thousand years."
Vin shrugged. "Fine. Hopefully, none of the secrets Kelsier wants us to
discover in this text are related to the Terrisman powers—if they are, I'll miss
them completely."
Sazed paused.
"Ah, well," Vin said nonchalantly, flipping through the pages she hadn't
read. "Looks like he spends a lot of time talking about the Terrismen. Guess I
won't be able to give much input when Kelsier gets back."
"You make a good point," Sazed said slowly. "Even if you make it a bit
melodramatically."
Vin smiled pertly.
"Very well," Sazed said with a sigh. "We should not have let you spend so
much time with Master Breeze, I think."
"The men in the logbook," Vin said. "They're Keepers?"
Sazed nodded. "What we now call Keepers were far more common back
then—perhaps even more common than Mistings are among modern nobility.
Our art is called 'Feruchemy,' and it grants the ability to store certain
physical attributes inside bits of metal."
Vin frowned. "You burn metals too?"
"No, Mistress," Sazed said with a shake of his head. "Feruchemists aren't
like Allomancers—we don't 'burn' away our metals. We use them as storage.
Each piece of metal, dependent upon size and alloy, can store a certain
physical quality. The Feruchemist saves up an attribute, then draws upon that
reserve at a later time."
"Attribute?" Vin asked. "Like strength?"
Sazed nodded. "In the text, the Terris packmen make themselves weaker
during the evening, storing up strength in their bracelets for use on the next
day."
Vin studied Sazed's face. "That's why you wear so many earrings!"
"Yes, Mistress," he said, reaching over to pull up his sleeves. Underneath
his robe, he wore thick iron bracers around his upper arms. "I keep some of
my reserves hidden—but wearing many rings, earrings, and other items of
jewelry has always been a part of Terris culture. The Lord Ruler once tried to
enforce a ban upon Terrismen touching or owning any metal—in fact, he
tried to make wearing metal a noble privilege, rather than a skaa one."
Vin frowned. "That's odd," she said. "One would think that the nobility
wouldn't want to wear metal, because that would make them vulnerable to
Allomancy."
"Indeed," Sazed said. "However, it has long been imperial fashion to
accent one's wardrobe with metal. It began, I suspect, with the Lord Ruler's
desire to deny the Terrismen the right to touch metal. He himself began
wearing metal rings and bracelets, and the nobility always follows him in
fashion. Nowadays, the most wealthy often wear metal as a symbol of power
and pride."
"Sounds foolish," Vin said.
"Fashion often is, Mistress," Sazed said. "Regardless, the ploy failed—
many of the nobility only wear wood painted to look like metal, and the
Terris managed to weather the Lord Ruler's discontent in this area. It was
simply too impractical to never let stewards handle metal. That hasn't
stopped the Lord Ruler from trying to exterminate the Keepers, however."
"He fears you."
"And hates us. Not just Feruchemists, but all Terrismen." Sazed laid a
hand on the still untranslated portion of the text. "I hope to find that secret in
here as well. No one remembers why the Lord Ruler persecutes the Terris
people, but I suspect that it has something to do with those packmen—their
leader, Rashek, appears to be a very contrary man. The Lord Ruler often
speaks of him in the narrative."
"He mentioned religion," Vin said. "The Terris religion. Something about
prophecies?"
Sazed shook his head. "I cannot answer that question, Mistress, for I don't
know any more of the Terris religion than you do."
"But, you collect religions," Vin said. "You don't know about your own?"
"I do not," Sazed said solemnly. "You see, Mistress, this was why the
Keepers were formed. Centuries ago, my people hid away the last few Terris
Feruchemists. The Lord Ruler's purges of the Terris people were growing
quite violent—this was before he began the breeding program. Back then, we
weren't stewards or servants—we weren't even skaa. We were something to
be destroyed.
"Yet, something kept the Lord Ruler from wiping us out completely. I
don't know why—perhaps he thought genocide too kind a punishment.
Anyway, he successfully destroyed our religion during the first two centuries
of his rule. The organization of Keepers was formed during the next century,
its members intent upon discovering that which had been lost, then
remembering for the future."
"With Feruchemy?"
Sazed nodded, rubbing his fingers across the bracer on his right arm. "This
one is made of copper; it allows for the storage of memories and thoughts.
Each Keeper carries several bracers like this, filled with knowledge—songs,
stories, prayers, histories, and languages. Many Keepers have a particular
area of interest—mine is religion—but we all remember the entire collection.
If just one of us survives until the death of the Lord Ruler, then the world's
people will be able to recover all that they have lost."
He paused, then pulled down his sleeve. "Well, not all that was lost. There
are still things we are missing."
"Your own religion," Vin said quietly. "You never found it, did you?"
Sazed shook his head. "The Lord Ruler implies in this logbook that it was
our prophets that led him to the Well of Ascension, but even this is new
information for us. What did we believe? What, or whom, did we worship?
Where did these Terris prophets come from, and how did they predict the
future?"
"I'm . . . sorry."
"We continue to look, Mistress. We will find our answers eventually, I
think. Even if we do not, we will still have provided an invaluable service for
mankind. Other people call us docile and servile, but we have fought him, in
our own way."
Vin nodded. "So, what other things can you store? Strength and memories.
Anything else?"
Sazed eyed her. "I have said too much already, I think. You understand the
mechanics of what we do—if the Lord Ruler mentions these things in his
text, you will not be confused."
"Sight," Vin said, perking up. "That's why you wore glasses for a few
weeks after you rescued me. You needed to be able to see better that night
when you saved me, so you used up your storage. Then you spent a few
weeks with weak vision so that you could refill it."
Sazed didn't respond to the comment. He picked up his pen, obviously
intending to turn back to his translation. "Was there anything else, Mistress?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact," Vin said, pulling the handkerchief from her
sleeve. "Do you have any idea what this is?"
"It appears to be a handkerchief, Mistress."
Vin raised a droll eyebrow. "Very funny. You've spent far too long around
Kelsier, Sazed."
"I know," he said with a quiet sigh. "He has corrupted me, I think.
Regardless, I do not understand your question. What is distinctive about that
particular handkerchief?"
"That's what I want to know," Vin said. "Spook gave it to me just a little
bit ago."
"Ah. That makes sense, then."
"What?" Vin demanded.
"In noble society, Mistress, a handkerchief is the traditional gift a young
man gives a lady that he wishes to seriously court."
Vin paused, regarding the handkerchief with shock. "What? Is that boy
crazy?"
"Most young men his age are somewhat crazy, I think," Sazed said with a
smile. "However, this is hardly unexpected. Haven't you noticed how he
stares at you when you enter the room?"
"I just thought he was creepy. What is he thinking? He's so much younger
than me."
"The boy is fifteen, Mistress. That only makes him one year your junior."
"Two," Vin said. "I turned seventeen last week."
"Still, he isn't really that much younger than you."
Vin rolled her eyes. "I don't have time for his attentions."
"One would think, Mistress, that you would appreciate the opportunities
you have. Not everyone is so fortunate."
Vin paused. He's a eunuch, you fool. "Sazed, I'm sorry. I . . ."
Sazed waved a hand. "It is something I have never known enough of to
miss, Mistress. Perhaps I am fortunate—a life in the underground does not
make it easy to raise a family. Why, poor Master Hammond has been away
from his wife for months."
"Ham's married?"
"Of course," Sazed said. "So is Master Yeden, I believe. They protect their
families by separating them from underground activities, but this necessitates
spending large periods of time apart."
"Who else?" Vin asked. "Breeze? Dockson?"
"Master Breeze is a bit too . . . self-motivated for a family, I think. Master
Dockson hasn't spoken of his romantic life, but I suspect that there is
something painful in his past. That is not uncommon for plantation skaa, as
you might expect."
"Dockson is from a plantation?" Vin asked with surprise.
"Of course. Don't you ever spend time talking with your friends,
Mistress?"
Friends. I have friends. It was an odd realization.
"Anyway," Sazed said, "I should continue my work. I am sorry to be so
dismissive, but I am nearly finished with the translation. . . ."
"Of course," Vin said, standing and smoothing her dress. "Thank you."
She found Dockson sitting in the guest study, writing quietly on a piece of
paper, a pile of documents organized neatly on the desktop. He wore a
standard nobleman's suit, and always looked more comfortable in the
clothing than the others did. Kelsier was dashing, Breeze immaculate and
lavish, but Dockson . . . he simply looked natural in the outfit.
He looked up as she entered. "Vin? I'm sorry—I should have sent for you.
For some reason I assumed you were out."
"I often am, these days," she said, closing the door behind her. "I stayed
home today; listening to noblewomen prattle over their lunches can get a bit
annoying."
"I can imagine," Dockson said, smiling. "Have a seat."
Vin nodded, strolling into the room. It was a quiet place, decorated in
warm colors and deep woods. It was still somewhat light outside, but
Dockson already had the evening drapes drawn and was working by
candlelight.
"Any news from Kelsier?" Vin asked as she sat.
"No," Dockson said, setting aside his document. "But that's not
unexpected. He wasn't going to stay at the caves for long, so sending a
messenger back would have been a bit silly—as an Allomancer, he might
even be able to get back before a man on horseback. Either way, I suspect
he'll be a few days late. This is Kell we're talking about, after all."
Vin nodded, then sat quietly for a moment. She hadn't spent as much time
with Dockson as she had with Kelsier and Sazed—or even Ham and Breeze.
He seemed like a kind man, however. Very stable, and very clever. While
most of the others contributed some kind of Allomantic power to the crew,
Dockson was valuable because of his simple ability to organize.
When something needed to be purchased—such as Vin's dresses—
Dockson saw that it got done. When a building needed to be rented, supplies
procured, or a permit secured, Dockson made it happen. He wasn't out front,
scamming noblemen, fighting in the mists, or recruiting soldiers. Without
him, however, Vin suspected that the entire crew would fall apart.
He's a nice man, she told herself. He won't mind if I ask him. "Dox, what
was it like living on a plantation?"
"Hmm? The plantation?"
Vin nodded. "You grew up on one, right? You're a plantation skaa?"
"Yes," Dockson said. "Or, at least, I was. What was it like? I'm not sure
how to answer, Vin. It was a hard life, but most skaa live hard lives. I wasn't
allowed to leave the plantation—or even go outside of the hovel community
—without permission. We ate more regularly than a lot of the street skaa, but
we were worked as hard as any millworker. Perhaps more.
"The plantations are different from the cities. Out there, every lord is his
own master. Technically, the Lord Ruler owns the skaa, but the noblemen
rent them, and are allowed to kill as many as they want. Each lord just has to
make certain that his crops come in."
"You seem so . . . unemotional about it," Vin said.
Dockson shrugged. "It's been a while since I lived there, Vin. I don't know
that the plantation was overly traumatic. It was just life—we didn't know
anything better. In fact, I now know that amongst plantation lords, mine was
actually rather lenient."
"Why did you leave, then?"
Dockson paused. "An event," he said his voice growing almost wistful.
"You know that the law says that a lord can bed any skaa woman that he
wishes?"
Vin nodded. "He just has to kill her when he's done."
"Or soon thereafter," Dockson said. "Quickly enough that she can't birth
any half-breed children."
"The lord took a woman you loved, then?"
Dockson nodded. "I don't talk about it much. Not because I can't, but
because I think it would be pointless. I'm not the only skaa to lose a loved
one to a lord's passion, or even to a lord's indifference. In fact, I'll bet you'd
have trouble finding a skaa who hasn't had someone they love murdered by
the aristocracy. That's just . . . the way it is."
"Who was she?" Vin asked.
"A girl from the plantation. Like I said, my story isn't that original. I
remember . . . sneaking between the hovels at night to spend time with her.
The entire community played along, hiding us from the taskmasters—I
wasn't supposed to be out after dark, you see. I braved the mists for the first
time for her, and while many thought me foolish to go out at night, others got
over their superstition and encouraged me. I think the romance inspired them;
Kareien and I reminded everyone that there was something to live for.
"When Kareien was taken by Lord Devinshae—her corpse returned the
next morning for burial—something just . . . died in the skaa hovels. I left
that next evening. I didn't know there was a better life, but I just couldn't
stay, not with Kareien's family there, not with Lord Devinshae watching us
work. . . ."
Dockson sighed, shaking his head. Vin could finally see some emotion in
his face. "You know," he said, "it amazes me sometimes that we even try.
With everything they've done to us—the deaths, the tortures, the agonies—
you'd think that we would just give up on things like hope and love. But we
don't. Skaa still fall in love. They still try to have families, and they still
struggle. I mean, here we are . . . fighting Kell's insane little war, resisting a
god we know is just going to slaughter us all."
Vin sat quietly, trying to comprehend the horror of what he described. "I . .
. thought you said that your lord was a kind one."
"Oh, he was," Dockson said. "Lord Devinshae rarely beat his skaa to
death, and he only purged the elderly when the population got completely out
of control. He has an impeccable reputation among the nobility. You've
probably seen him at some of the balls—he's been in Luthadel lately, over
the winter, between planting seasons."
Vin felt cold. "Dockson, that's horrible! How could they let a monster like
that among them?"
Dockson frowned, then he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the
desktop. "Vin, they're all like that."
"I know that's what some of the skaa say, Dox," Vin said. "But, the people
at the balls, they aren't like that. I've met them, danced with them. Dox, a lot
of them are good people. I don't think they realize how terrible things are for
the skaa."
Dockson looked at her with a strange expression. "Am I really hearing this
from you, Vin? Why do you think we're fighting against them? Don't you
realize the things those people—all of those people—are capable of?"
"Cruelty, perhaps," Vin said. "And indifference. But they aren't monsters,
not all of them—not like your former plantation lord."
Dockson shook his head. "You just aren't seeing well enough, Vin. A
nobleman can rape and murder a skaa woman one night, then be praised for
his morality and virtue the next day. Skaa just aren't people to them.
Noblewomen don't even consider it cheating when their lord sleeps with a
skaa woman."
"I . . ." Vin trailed off, growing uncertain. This was the one area of noble
culture she hadn't wanted to confront. Beatings, she could perhaps forgive,
but this . . .
Dockson shook his head. "You're letting them dupe you, Vin. Things like
this are less visible in the cities because of whorehouses, but the murders still
happen. Some brothels use women of very poor—but noble—birth. Most,
however, just kill off their skaa whores periodically to keep the Inquisitors
placated."
Vin felt a little weak. "I . . . know about the brothels, Dox. My brother
always threatened to sell me to one. But, just because brothels exist doesn't
mean that all the men go to them. There are lots of workers who don't visit
the skaa whorehouses."
"Noblemen are different, Vin," Dockson said sternly. "They're horrible
creatures. Why do you think I don't complain when Kelsier kills them? Why
do you think I'm working with him to overthrow their government? You
should ask some of those pretty boys you dance with how often they've slept
with a skaa woman they knew would be killed a short time later. They've all
done it, at one point or another."
Vin looked down.
"They can't be redeemed, Vin," Dockson said. He didn't seem as
passionate about the topic as Kelsier, he just seemed . . . resigned. "I don't
think that Kell will be happy until they're all dead. I doubt we have to go that
far—or even that we can—but I, for one, would be more than happy to see
their society collapse."
Vin sat quietly. They can't all be like that, she thought. They're so
beautiful, so distinguished. Elend has never taken and murdered a skaa
woman . . . has he?
I sleep but a few hours each night. We must press forward, traveling as much as we can each
day—but when I finally lie down, I find sleep elusive. The same thoughts that trouble me during
the day are only compounded by the stillness of night.
And, above it all, I hear the thumping sounds from above, the pulsings from the mountains.
Drawing me closer with each beat.
23
"THEY SAY THAT THE DEATHS of the Geffenry brothers were a retaliation for
the murder of Lord Entrone," Lady Kliss said quietly. Behind Vin's group,
the musicians played upon their stage, but the evening was growing late, and
few people danced.
Lady Kliss's circle of partygoers frowned at the news. There were about
six of them, including Vin and her companion—one Milen Davenpleu, a
young heir to a minor house title.
"Kliss, really," Milen said. "Houses Geffenry and Tekiel are allies. Why
would Tekiel assassinate two Geffenry noblemen?"
"Why indeed?" Kliss said, leaning forward conspiratorially, her massive
blond bun wobbling slightly. Kliss had never displayed much fashion sense.
She was an excellent source of gossip, however.
"You remember when Lord Entrone was found dead in the Tekiel
gardens?" Kliss asked. "Well, it seemed obvious that one of House Tekiel's
enemies had killed him. But, House Geffenry has been petitioning Tekiel for
an alliance—apparently, a faction within the house thought that if something
happened to enflame the Tekiels, they would be more willing to seek allies."
"You're saying that Geffenry purposely killed a Tekiel ally?" asked Rene,
Kliss's date. He scrunched up his ample brow in thought.
Kliss patted Rene's arm. "Don't worry about it too much, dear," she
advised, then turned eagerly back to the conversation. "Don't you see? By
secretly killing Lord Entrone, Geffenry hoped to get the allegiance it needs.
That would give it access to those Tekiel canal routes through the eastern
plains."
"But it backfired," Milen said thoughtfully. "Tekiel discovered the ruse,
and killed Ardous and Callins."
"I danced with Ardous a couple of times at the last ball," Vin said. Now
he's dead, his corpse left on the streets outside a skaa slum.
"Oh?" Milen asked. "Was he any good?"
Vin shrugged. "Not very." That's all you can ask, Milen? A man is dead,
and you just want to know if I liked him more than you?
"Well, now he's dancing with the worms," said Tyden, the final man in the
group.
Milen gave the quip a pity laugh, which was more than it deserved.
Tyden's attempts at humor generally left something to be desired. He seemed
like the type who would have been more at home with the ruffians of
Camon's crew than the noblemen of the dance hall.
Of course, Dox says they're all like that, underneath.
Vin's conversation with Dockson still dominated her thoughts. When she'd
started coming to the noblemen's balls back on that first night—the night
she'd nearly been killed—she'd thought about how fake everything seemed.
How had she forgotten that original impression? How had she let herself get
taken in, to begin admiring their poise and their splendor?
Now, every nobleman's arm around her waist made her cringe—as if she
could feel the rot within their hearts. How many skaa had Milen killed? What
about Tyden? He seemed like the type who would enjoy a night with the
whores.
But, still she played along. She had finally worn her black gown this
evening, somehow feeling the need to set herself apart from the other women
with their bright colors and often brighter smiles. However, she couldn't
avoid the others' company; Vin had finally begun to gain the confidences her
crew needed. Kelsier would be delighted to know that his plan for House
Tekiel was working, and that wasn't the only thing she had been able to
discover. She had dozens of little tidbits that would be of vital use to the
crew's efforts.
One such tidbit was about House Venture. The family was bunkering up
for what it expected to be an extended house war; one evidence of this was
the fact that Elend attended far fewer balls than he once had. Not that Vin
minded. When he did come, he generally avoided her, and she didn't really
want to talk to him anyway. Memories of what Dockson had said made her
think that she might have trouble remaining civil toward Elend.
"Milen?" Lord Rene asked. "Are you still planning on joining us for a
game of shelldry tomorrow?"
"Of course, Rene," Milen said.
"Didn't you promise that last time?" Tyden asked.
"I'll be there," Milen said. "Something came up last time."
"And it won't come up again?" Tyden asked. "You know we can't play
unless we have a fourth man. If you're not going to be there, we could ask
someone else. . . ."
Milen sighed, then held up a hand, sharply gesturing to the side. The
motion caught Vin's attention—she had only been half listening to the
conversation. She looked to the side, and nearly jumped in shock as she saw
an obligator approaching the group.
So far she'd managed to avoid obligators at the balls. After her first run-in
with a high prelan, some months ago—and the subsequent alerting of an
Inquisitor—she'd been apprehensive to even go near one.
The obligator approached, smiling in a creepy sort of way. Perhaps it was
the arms clasped before him, hands hidden inside the gray sleeves. Perhaps it
was the tattoos around the eyes, wrinkled with the aging skin. Perhaps it was
the way his eyes regarded her; it seemed like they could see through her
guise. This wasn't just a nobleman, this was an obligator—eyes of the Lord
Ruler, enforcer of His law.
The obligator stopped at the group. His tattoos marked him as a member of
the Canton of Orthodoxy, the primary bureaucratic arm of the Ministry. He
eyed the group, speaking in a smooth voice. "Yes?"
Milen pulled out a few coins. "I promise to meet these two for shelldry
tomorrow," he said, handing the coins to the aging obligator.
It seemed like such a silly reason to call over an obligator—or, at least, so
Vin thought. The obligator, however, didn't laugh or point out the frivolity of
the demand. He simply smiled, palming the coins as deftly as any thief. "I
witness this, Lord Milen," he said.
"Satisfied?" Milen asked of the other two.
They nodded.
The obligator turned, not giving Vin a second glance, and strolled away.
She released a quiet breath, watching his shuffing form.
They must know everything that happens in court, she realized. If nobility
call them over to witness things this simple . . . The more she knew about the
Ministry, the more she realized how clever the Lord Ruler had been in
organizing them. They witnessed every mercantile contract; Dockson and
Renoux had to deal with obligators nearly every day. Only they could
authorize weddings, divorces, land purchases, or ratify inheritance of titles. If
an obligator hadn't witnessed an event, it hadn't happened, and if one hadn't
sealed a document, then it might as well not have been written.
Vin shook her head as the conversation turned to other topics. It had been a
long night, and her mind was full of information to scribble down on her way
back to Fellise.
"Excuse me, Lord Milen," she said, laying a hand on his arm—though
touching him made her shiver slightly. "I think perhaps it is time for me to
retire."
"I'll walk you to your carriage," he said.
"That won't be necessary," she said sweetly. "I want to refresh myself, and
then I have to wait for my Terrisman anyway. I'll just go sit down at our
table."
"Very well," he said, nodding respectfully.
"Go if you must, Valette," Kliss said. "But you'll never know the news I
have about the Ministry. . . ."
Vin paused. "What news?"
Kliss's eyes twinkled, and she glanced at the disappearing obligator. "The
Inquisitors are buzzing like insects. They've hit twice as many skaa thieving
bands these last few months as usual. They don't even take prisoners for
executions—they just leave them all dead."
"How do you know this?" Milen asked skeptically. He seemed so straight-
backed and noble. You would never know what he really was.
"I have my sources," Kliss said with a smile. "Why, the Inquisitors found
another band just this afternoon. One headquartered not far from here."
Vin felt a chill. They weren't that far from Clubs's shop. . . . No, it
couldn't be them. Dockson and the rest are too clever. Even without Kelsier
in town, they'll be safe.
"Cursed thieves," Tyden spat. "Damn skaa don't know their place. Isn't
the food and clothing we give enough of a theft from our pockets?"
"It's amazing the creatures can even survive as thieves," said Carlee,
Tyden's young wife, in her normal purring voice. "I can't imagine what kind
of incompetent would let himself get robbed by skaa."
Tyden flushed, and Vin eyed him with curiosity. Carlee rarely spoke
except to make some jab against her husband.
He must have been robbed himself. A scam, perhaps?
Filing away the information for later investigation, Vin turned to go—a
motion that put her face-to-face with a newcomer to the group: Shan Elariel.
Elend's former betrothed was immaculate, as always. Her long auburn hair
had an almost luminous sheen, and her beautiful figure only reminded Vin
how scrawny she herself was. Self-important in a way that could make even a
confident person uncertain, Shan was—as Vin was beginning to realize—
exactly what most of the aristocracy thought was the perfect woman.
The men in Vin's group nodded their heads in respect, and the women
curtsied, honored to have their conversation joined by one so important. Vin
glanced to the side, trying to escape, but Shan was standing right before her.
Shan smiled. "Ah, Lord Milen," she said to Vin's companion, "it's a pity
that your original date this evening took sick. It appears you were left with
few other options."
Milen flushed, Shan's comment expertly placing him in a difficult
position. Did he defend Vin, possibly earning the ire of a very powerful
woman? Or, did he instead agree with Shan, thereby insulting his date?
He took the coward's way out: He ignored the comment. "Lady Shan, it is
a pleasure to have you join us."
"Indeed," Shan said smoothly, eyes glittering with pleasure as she regarded
Vin's discomfort.