فصل 37

37

Sazed glanced at the window shutters, noting the hesitant beams of light that were beginning to shine through the cracks. Morning already? he thought. We studied all night? It hardly seemed possible. He had tapped no wakefulness, yet he felt more alert—more alive—than he had in days.

Tindwyl sat in the chair beside him. Sazed’s desk was filled with loose papers, two sets of ink and pen waiting to be used. There were no books; Keepers had no need of such.

“Ah!” Tindwyl said, grabbing a pen and beginning to write. She didn’t look tired either, but she had likely dipped into her bronzemind, tapping the wakefulness stored within.

Sazed watched her write. She almost looked young again; he hadn’t seen such overt excitement in her since she had been abandoned by the Breeders some ten years before. On that day, her grand work finished, she had finally joined her fellow Keepers. Sazed had been the one to present her with the collected knowledge that had been discovered during her thirty years of cloistered childbirth.

It hadn’t taken her long to achieve a place in the Synod. By then, however, Sazed had been ousted from their ranks.

Tindwyl finished writing. “The passage is from a biography of King Wednegon,” she said. “He was one of the last leaders who resisted the Lord Ruler in any sort of meaningful combat.” “I know who he was,” Sazed said, smiling.

She paused. “Of course.” She obviously wasn’t accustomed to studying with someone who had access to as much information as she did. She pushed the written passage over to Sazed; even with his mental indexes and self-notes, it would be faster for her to write out the passage than it would be for him to try and find it within his own copperminds.

I spent a great deal of time with the king during his final weeks, the text read.

He seemed frustrated, as one might imagine. His soldiers could not stand against the Conqueror’s koloss, and his men had been beaten back repeatedly ever since FellSpire. However, the king didn’t blame his soldiers. He thought that his problems came from another source: food.

He mentioned this idea several times during those last days. He thought that if he’d had more food, he could have held out. In this, Wednegon blamed the Deepness. For, though the Deepness had been defeated—or at least weakened—its touch had depleted Darrelnai’s food stores.

His people could not both raise food and resist the Conqueror’s demon armies. In the end, that was why they fell.

Sazed nodded slowly. “How much of this text do we have?”

“Not much,” Tindwyl said. “Six or seven pages. This is the only section that mentions the Deepness.” Sazed sat quietly for a moment, rereading the passage. Finally, he looked up at Tindwyl. “You think Lady Vin is right, don’t you? You think the Deepness was mist.” Tindwyl nodded.

“I agree,” Sazed said. “At the very least, what we now call ‘the Deepness’ was some sort of change in the mist.” “And your arguments from before?”

“Proven wrong,” Sazed said, setting down the paper. “By your words and my own studies. I did not wish this to be true, Tindwyl.” Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. “You defied the Synod again to seek after something you didn’t even want to believe?” He looked into her eyes. “There is a difference between fearing something and desiring it. The return of the Deepness could destroy us. I did not want this information—but neither could I pass by the opportunity to discover it.” Tindwyl looked away. “I do not believe that this will destroy us, Sazed. You have made a grand discovery, that I will admit. The writings of the man Kwaan tell us much. Indeed, if the Deepness was the mists, then our understanding of the Lord Ruler’s Ascension has been enhanced greatly.” “And if the mists are growing stronger?” Sazed asked. “If, by killing the Lord Ruler, we also destroyed whatever force was keeping the mists chained?” “We have no proof that the mists are coming by day,” Tindwyl said. “And on the possibility of them killing people, we have only your hesitant theories.” Sazed glanced away. On the table, his fingers had smudged Tindwyl’s hurriedly written words. “That is true,” he said.

Tindwyl sighed softly in the dim room. “Why do you never defend yourself, Sazed?” “What defense is there?”

“There must be some. You apologize and ask forgiveness, but your apparent guilt never seems to change your behavior! Do you never think that, perhaps, if you had been more outspoken, you might be leading the Synod? They cast you out because you refused to offer arguments on your own behalf. You’re the most contrite rebel I’ve ever known.” Sazed didn’t respond. He glanced to the side, seeing her concerned eyes. Beautiful eyes. Foolish thoughts, he told himself, looking away. You’ve always known that. Some things were meant for others, but never for you.

“You were right about the Lord Ruler, Sazed,” Tindwyl said. “Perhaps the others would have followed you if you had been just a little more…insistent.” Sazed shook his head. “I am not a man from one of your biographies, Tindwyl. I am not even, really, a man.” “You are a better man than they, Sazed,” Tindwyl said quietly. “The frustrating part is, I’ve never been able to figure out why.” They fell silent. Sazed rose and walked to the window, opening the shutters, letting in the light. Then he extinguished the room’s lamp.

“I will leave today,” Tindwyl said.

“Leave?” Sazed asked. “The armies might not let you pass.”

“I wasn’t going to pass them, Sazed. I plan to visit them. I have given knowledge to young Lord Venture; I need to offer the same aid to his opponents.” “Ah,” Sazed said. “I see. I should have realized this.”

“I doubt they will listen as he has,” Tindwyl said, a hint of fondness slipping into her voice. “Venture is a fine man.” “A fine king,” Sazed said.

Tindwyl didn’t respond. She looked at the table, with its scattered notations, each drawn from one or another of their copperminds, scribbled in haste, then shown and reread.

What was this night, then? This night of study, this night sharing thoughts and discoveries?

She was still beautiful. Auburn hair graying, but kept long and straight. Face marked by a lifetime of hardship that had not broken her. And eyes…keen eyes, with the knowledge and love of learning that only a Keeper could claim.

I should not consider these things, Sazed thought again. There is no purpose to them. There never was. “You must go, then,” he said, turning.

“Again, you refuse to argue,” she said.

“What would be the point of argument? You are a wise and determined person. You must be guided by your own conscience.” “Sometimes, people only seem determined upon one course because they have been offered no other options.” Sazed turned toward her. The room was quiet, the only sounds coming from the courtyard below. Tindwyl sat half in sunlight, her bright robes slowly growing more illuminated as the shadows fell away. She seemed to be implying something, something he had not expected to ever hear from her.

“I am confused,” he said, sitting back down in a slow motion. “What of your duty as a Keeper?” “It is important,” she admitted. “But…certain, occasional exceptions must be allowed. This rubbing you found…well, perhaps it merits further study before I depart.” Sazed watched her, trying to read her eyes. What is it I feel? he wondered. Confused? Dumbfounded?

Afraid?

“I cannot be what you wish, Tindwyl,” he said. “I am not a man.” She waved her hand indifferently. “I have had more than enough of ‘men’ and childbearing over the years, Sazed. I have done my duty to the Terris people. I should like to stay away from them for a time, I think. A part of me resents them, for what was done to me.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand. “I know, Sazed. I took that duty upon myself, and am glad for my service. But…during the years spent alone, meeting with the Keepers only on occasion, I found it frustrating that all their planning seemed to be directed at maintaining their status as a conquered people.

“I only ever saw one man pushing the Synod toward active measures. While they planned how to keep themselves hidden, one man wanted to attack. While they decided the best ways to foil the Breeders, one man wanted to plot the downfall of the Final Empire. When I rejoined my people, I found that man still fighting. Alone. Condemned for fraternizing with thieves and rebels, he quietly accepted his punishment.” She smiled. “That man went on to free us all.”

She took his hand. Sazed sat, astonished.

“The men I read about, Sazed,” Tindwyl said quietly, “these were not men who sat and planned the best ways to hide. They fought; they sought victory. Sometimes, they were reckless—and other men called them fools. Yet, when the dice were cast and the bodies counted, they were men who changed things.” Sunlight entered the room in full, and she sat, cupping his hand in hers. She seemed…anxious. Had he ever seen that emotion in her? She was strong, the strongest woman he knew. That couldn’t possibly be apprehension he saw in her eyes.

“Give me an excuse, Sazed,” she whispered.

“I should…very much like it if you stayed,” Sazed said, one hand in hers, the other resting on the tabletop, fingers trembling slightly.

Tindwyl raised an eyebrow.

“Stay,” Sazed said. “Please.”

Tindwyl smiled. “Very well—you have persuaded me. Let us return to our studies, then.” Elend walked the top of the city wall in the morning light, sword at his hip clicking against the side of the stonework with each step.

“You almost look like a king,” a voice noted.

Elend turned as Ham climbed the last few steps up to the wall walk. The air was brisk, frost still crystalline in shadows on the stone. Winter was approaching. Perhaps it had arrived. Yet, Ham wore no cloak—only his usual vest, trousers, and sandals.

I wonder if he even knows what it is like to be cold, Elend thought. Pewter. Such an amazing talent.

“You say I nearly look like a king,” Elend said, turning to continue walking along the wall as Ham joined him. “I guess Tindwyl’s clothing has done wonders for my image.” “I didn’t mean the clothing,” Ham said. “I was talking about that look on your face. How long have you been up here?” “Hours,” Elend said. “How did you find me?”

“The soldiers,” Ham said. “They’re starting to see you as a commander, Elend. They watch where you are; they stand a little straighter when you’re around, polish their weapons if they know you’ll be stopping by.” “I thought you didn’t spend much time with them,” Elend said.

“Oh, I never said that,” Ham said. “I spend lots of time with the soldiers—I just can’t be intimidating enough to be their commander. Kelsier always wanted me to be a general—I think, deep down, he thought that befriending people was inferior to leading them. Perhaps he was right; men need leaders. I just don’t want to be one of them.” “I do,” Elend said, surprised to hear himself say so.

Ham shrugged. “That’s probably a good thing. You are, after all, king.” “Kind of,” Elend said.

“You’re still wearing the crown.”

Elend nodded. “It felt wrong to go without it. It sounds silly, I know—I only wore it for a short time. But, people need to know that someone is still in charge. For a few more days at least.” They continued to walk. In the distance, Elend could see a shadow upon the land: the third army had finally arrived in the wake of the refugees it had sent. Their scouts weren’t certain why the koloss force had taken so long to get to Luthadel. The villagers’ sad tale, however, gave some clue.

The koloss had not attacked Straff or Cett. They lay waiting. Apparently, Jastes had enough control over them to keep them in check. And so they joined the siege, another beast waiting for the opportunity to spring on Luthadel.

When you can’t have both freedom and safety, which do you choose…?

“You seem surprised to realize that you want to be in charge,” Ham said.

“I just haven’t ever voiced the desire before,” Elend said. “It sounds so arrogant, when I actually say it. I want to be king. I don’t want another man to take my place. Not Penrod, not Cett…not anyone. The position is mine. This city is mine.” “I don’t know if ‘arrogant’ is the right word, El,” Ham said. “Why do you want to be king?” “To protect this people,” Elend said. “To guard their safety—and their rights. But, also to make certain that the noblemen don’t end up on the wrong end of another rebellion.” “That’s not arrogance.”

“It is, Ham,” Elend said. “But it’s an understandable arrogance. I don’t think a man could lead without it. Actually, I think it’s what I’ve been missing through most of my reign. Arrogance.” “Self-confidence.”

“A nicer word for the same concept,” Elend said. “I can do a better job for this people than another man could. I just have to find a way to prove that fact to them.” “You will.”

“You’re an optimist, Ham,” Elend said.

“So are you,” Ham noted.

Elend smiled. “True. But this job is changing me.”

“Well, if you want to keep the job, we should probably get back to studying. We only have one day left.” Elend shook his head. “I’ve read all I can, Ham. I will not take advantage of the law, so there’s no reason to search for loopholes, and studying other books looking for inspiration just isn’t working. I need time to think. Time to walk….” They continued to do so. As they did, Elend noticed something out in the distance. A group of enemy soldiers doing something he couldn’t distinguish. He waved over one of his men.

“What is that?” he asked.

The soldier shaded his eyes, looking. “Looks like another skirmish between Cett’s men and Straff’s, Your Majesty.” Elend raised an eyebrow. “That happens often?”

The soldier shrugged. “More and more often, lately. Usually the scouting patrols run afoul of each other and get into a conflict. Leave a few bodies behind when they retreat. Nothing big, Your Majesty.” Elend nodded, dismissing the man. Big enough, he thought to himself. Those armies must be as tense as we are. The soldiers can’t enjoy remaining so long in a siege, particularly with the winter weather.

They were close. The arrival of the koloss would only cause more chaos. If he shoved right, Straff and Cett would be pushed into a head-on battle. I just need a little more time! he thought, continuing to walk, Ham at his side.

Yet, first he needed to get his throne back. Without that authority, he was nothing—and could do nothing.

The problem gnawed at his mind. As the walk continued, however, something distracted him—this time, something inside the walls rather than outside of them. Ham was right—the soldiers did stand a little taller when Elend approached their posts. They saluted him, and he nodded to them, walking with hand on pommel, as Tindwyl had instructed.

If I do keep my throne, I owe it to that woman, he thought. Of course, she’d chastise him for that thought. She would tell him that he kept his throne because he deserved to—because he was king. In changing himself, he had simply used the resources at hand to overcome his challenges.

He wasn’t certain if he’d ever be able to see things that way. But, her final lesson to him the day before—he somehow knew that it was her last—had taught him only one new concept: that there was no one mold for kingship. He would not be like the kings of the past, any more than he would be like Kelsier.

He would be Elend Venture. His roots were in philosophy, so he would be remembered as a scholar. He’d best use that to his advantage, or he wouldn’t be remembered at all. No kings could admit their weaknesses, but they were certainly wise to admit their strengths.

And what are my strengths? he thought. Why should I be the one who rules this city, and those around it?

Yes, he was a scholar—and an optimist, as Ham had noted. He was no master duelist, though he was improving. He wasn’t an excellent diplomat, though his meetings with Straff and Cett proved that he could hold his own.

What was he?

A nobleman who loved the skaa. They’d always fascinated him, even before the Collapse—before he’d met Vin and the others. It had been one of his pet philosophical puzzles to try and prove them no different from men of noble birth. It sounded idealistic, even a little prim, when he thought about it—and, if he was truthful, much of his interest in the skaa before the Collapse had been academic. They had been unknown, and so they had seemed exotic and interesting.

He smiled. I wonder what the plantation workers would have thought, had anyone told them they were “exotic.” But then the Collapse had come—the rebellion predicted in his books and theories coming to life. His beliefs hadn’t been able to continue as mere academic abstractions. And he’d come to know the skaa—not just Vin and the crew, but the workers and the servants. He’d seen the hope beginning to grow within them. He’d seen the awakening of self-respect, and of self-worth, in the people of the city, and it excited him.

He would not abandon them.

That’s what I am, Elend thought, pausing as he walked the wall. An idealist. A melodramatic idealist who, despite his books and learning, never did make a very good nobleman.

“What?” Ham asked, stopping next to him.

Elend turned toward him. “I’ve got an idea,” he said.

This is the problem. Though I believed in Alendi at first, I later became suspicious. It seemed that he fit the signs, true. But, well, how can I explain this?

Could it be that he fit them too well?