فصل 49

Part Five

Snow and Ash

He is accustomed to giving up his own will before the greater good, as he sees it.

49

“You are a fool, Elend Venture,” Tindwyl snapped, arms folded, eyes wide with displeasure.

Elend pulled a strap tight on his saddle. Part of the wardrobe Tindwyl had made for him included a black and silver riding uniform, and he wore this now, fingers snug within the leather gloves, and a dark cloak to keep off the ash.

“Are you listening to me?” Tindwyl demanded. “You can’t leave. Not now! Not when your people are in such danger!” “I’ll protect them in another way,” he said, checking on the packhorses.

They were in the keep’s covered way, used for arrivals and departures. Vin sat on her own horse, enveloped almost completely in her cloak, hands holding her reins tensely. She had very little experience riding, but Elend refused to let her run. Pewter or no pewter, the wounds from her fight at the Assembly still hadn’t healed completely, not to mention the damage she’d taken the night before.

“Another way?” Tindwyl asked. “You should be with them. You’re their king!” “No, I’m not,” Elend snapped, turning toward the Terriswoman. “They rejected me, Tindwyl. Now I have to worry about more important events on a larger stage. They wanted a traditional king? Well, let them have my father. When I return from Terris, perhaps they will have realized what they lost.” Tindwyl shook her head and stepped forward, speaking in a quiet voice. “Terris, Elend? You go north. For her. You know why she wants to go there, don’t you?” He paused.

“Ah, so you do know,” Tindwyl said. “What do you think of it, Elend? Don’t tell me you believe these delusions. She thinks she’s the Hero of Ages. She supposes that she’ll find something in the mountains up there—some power, or perhaps some revelation, that will transform her into a divinity.” Elend glanced at Vin. She looked down at the ground, hood down, still sitting quietly on her horse.

“She’s trying to follow her master, Elend,” Tindwyl whispered. “The Survivor became a god to these people, so she thinks she has to do the same.” Elend turned to Tindwyl. “If that is what she truly believes, then I support her.” “You support her madness?” Tindwyl demanded.

“Do not speak of my wife in that manner,” Elend said, his commanding tone causing Tindwyl to flinch. He swung up into his saddle. “I trust her, Tindwyl. Part of trust is belief.” Tindwyl snorted. “You can’t possibly believe that she is some prophesied messiah, Elend. I know you—you’re a scholar. You may have professed allegiance to the Church of the Survivor, but you don’t believe in the supernatural any more than I do.” “I believe,” he said firmly, “that Vin is my wife, and that I love her. Anything important to her is important to me—and anything she believes has at least that much weight of truth to me. We are going north. We will return once we’ve released the power there.” “Fine,” Tindwyl said. “Then you will be remembered as a coward who abandoned his people.” “Leave us!” Elend ordered, raising his finger and pointing toward the keep.

Tindwyl spun, stalking toward the doorway. As she passed it, she pointed at the supply table, where she had previously placed a book-sized package, wrapped in brown paper, tied with a thick string. “Sazed wishes you to deliver this to the Keeper Synod. You’ll find them in the city of Tathingdwen. Enjoy your exile, Elend Venture.” Then, she left.

Elend sighed, moving his horse over beside Vin’s.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

“For what you said.”

“I meant it, Vin,” Elend said, reaching over to lay a hand on her shoulder.

“Tindwyl might be right, you know,” she said. “Despite what Sazed said, I could be mad. Do you remember when I told you that I’d seen a spirit in the mists?” Elend nodded slowly.

“Well, I’ve seen it again,” Vin said. “It’s like a ghost, formed from the patterns in mist. I see it all the time, watching me, following me. And I hear those rhythms in my head—majestic, powerful thumpings, like Allomantic pulses. Only, I don’t need bronze anymore to hear them.” Elend squeezed her shoulder. “I believe you, Vin.”

She looked up, reserved. “Do you, Elend? Do you really?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But I’m trying very hard to. Either way, I think going north is the right thing to do.” She nodded slowly. “That’s enough, I think.”

He smiled, turning back to the doorway. “Where is Spook?” Vin shrugged beneath her cloak. “I assume Tindwyl won’t be coming with us, then.” “Probably not,” Elend said, smiling.

“How will we find our way to Terris?”

“It won’t be hard,” Elend said. “We’ll just follow the imperial canal to Tathingdwen.” He paused, thinking of the map Sazed had given them. It led straight into the Terris Mountains. They’d have to get supplies in Tathingdwen, and the snows would be high, but…well, that was a problem for another time.

Vin smiled, and Elend walked over to pick up the package Tindwyl had left. It appeared to be a book of some sort. A few moments later, Spook arrived. He wore his soldier’s uniform, and had saddlebags slung over his shoulder. He nodded to Elend, handed Vin a large bag, then moved to his own horse.

He looks nervous, Elend thought as the boy slung his bags over his horse. “What’s in the bag?” he asked, turning to Vin.

“Pewter dust,” she said. “I think we might need it.”

“Are we ready?” Spook asked, looking over at them.

Elend glanced at Vin, who nodded. “I guess we—”

“Not quite yet,” a new voice said. “I’m not ready at all.” Elend turned as Allrianne swept into the passage. She wore a rich brown and red riding skirt, and had her hair tied up beneath a scarf. Where’d she get that outfit? Elend wondered. Two servants followed her, bearing bundles.

Allrianne paused, tapping her lip with a thoughtful expression. “I think I’m going to need a packhorse.” “What are you doing?” Vin demanded.

“Going with you,” Allrianne said. “Breezy says I have to leave the city. He’s a very silly man, sometimes, but he can be quite stubborn. He spent the entire conversation Soothing me—as if I couldn’t recognize his touch by now!” Allrianne waved to one of the servants, who ran to get a stablehand.

“We’re going to be riding very hard,” Elend said. “I’m not sure if you’ll be able to keep up.” Allrianne rolled her eyes. “I rode all the way out here from the Western Dominance! I think I can manage. Besides, Vin is hurt, so you probably won’t be going that fast.” “We don’t want you along,” Vin said. “We don’t trust you—and we don’t like you.” Elend closed his eyes. Dear, blunt Vin.

Allrianne just twittered a laugh as the servant returned with two horses, then began to load one. “Silly Vin,” she said. “How can you say that after all we’ve shared?” “Shared?” Vin asked. “Allrianne, we went shopping together one time.” “And I felt we bonded quite well,” Allrianne said. “Why, we’re practically sisters!” Vin gave the girl a flat stare.

“Yes,” Allrianne said, “and you’re definitely the older, boring sister.” She smiled sweetly, then swung easily up into her saddle, suggesting considerable horse manship. One of the servants led her packhorse over, then tied the reins into place behind Allrianne’s saddle.

“All right, Elend dear,” she said. “I’m ready. Let’s go.” Elend glanced at Vin, who shook her head with a dark look.

“You can leave me behind if you wish,” Allrianne said, “but I’ll just follow and get into trouble, and then you’ll have to come save me. And don’t even try and pretend that you wouldn’t!” Elend sighed. “Very well,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They made their way slowly through the city, Elend and Vin at the lead, Spook bringing their packhorses, Allrianne riding to the side. Elend kept his head up, but that only let him see the faces that poked out of windows and doorways as he passed. Soon, a small crowd was trailing them—and while he couldn’t hear their whispers, he could imagine what they were saying.

The king. The king is abandoning us….

He knew that many of them still couldn’t understand that Lord Penrod held the throne. Elend glanced away from an alleyway, where he saw many eyes watching him. There was a haunted fear in those eyes. He had expected to see accusations, but somehow their despondent acceptance was even more disheartening. They expected him to flee. They expected to be abandoned. He was one of the few rich enough, and powerful enough, to get away. Of course he’d run.

He squeezed his own eyes shut, trying to force down his guilt. He wished that they could have left at night, sneaking out the passwall as Ham’s family had. However, it was important that Straff saw Elend and Vin leaving, so that he understood he could take the city without attacking.

I’ll be back, Elend promised the people. I’ll save you. For now, it’s better if I leave.

The broad doors of Tin Gate appeared ahead of them. Elend kicked his horse forward, speeding ahead of his silent wave of followers. The guards at the gate already had their orders. Elend gave them a nod, reining in his horse, and the men swung the doors open. Vin and the others joined him before the opening portal.

“Lady Heir,” one of the guards asked quietly. “Are you leaving, too?” Vin looked to the side. “Peace,” she said. “We’re not abandoning you. We’re going for help.” The soldier smiled.

How can he trust her so easily? Elend thought. Or, is hope all he has left?

Vin turned her horse around, facing the crowd of people, and she lowered her hood. “We will return,” she promised. She didn’t seem as nervous as she had before when dealing with people who revered her.

Ever since last night, something has changed in her, Elend thought.

As a group, the soldiers saluted them. Elend saluted back; then he nodded to Vin. He led the way as they galloped out the gates, angling toward the northern highway—a path that would allow them to skirt just west of Straff’s army.

They hadn’t gone far before a group of horse men moved to intercept them. Elend rode low on his horse, sparing a glance for Spook and the packhorses. What caught Elend’s attention, however, was Allrianne: she rode with amazing proficiency, a look of determination on her face. She didn’t seem the least bit nervous.

To the side, Vin whipped her cloak back, bringing out a handful of coins. She flung them into the air, and they shot forward with a speed Elend had never seen, even from other Allomancers. Lord Ruler! he thought with shock as the coins zipped away, disappearing faster than he could track.

Soldiers fell, and Elend barely heard the plinging of metal against metal over the sound of wind and hoofbeats. He rode directly through the center of the chaotic group of men, many of them down and dying.

Arrows began to fall, but Vin scattered these without even waving a hand. She had opened the bag of pewter, he noticed, and was releasing the dust in a shower behind her as she rode, Pushing some of it to the sides.

The next arrows won’t have metal heads, Elend thought nervously. Soldiers were forming up behind, shouting.

“I’ll catch up,” Vin said, then jumped off her horse.

“Vin!” Elend yelled, turning his beast. Allrianne and Spook shot past him, riding hard. Vin landed and, amazingly, didn’t even stumble as she began to run. She downed a vial of metal, then looked toward the archers.

Arrows flew. Elend cursed, but kicked his horse into motion. There was little he could do now. He rode low, galloping as the arrows fell around him. One passed within inches of his head, falling to stick into the road.

And then they stopped falling. He glanced backward, teeth gritted. Vin stood before a rising cloud of dust. The pewter dust, he thought. She’s Pushing on it—Pushing the flakes along the ground, stirring up the dust and ash.

A massive wave of dust, metal, and ash slammed into the archers, washing over them. It blew around the soldiers, making them curse and shield their eyes, and some fell to the ground, holding their faces.

Vin swung back onto her horse, then galloped away from the billowing mass of wind-borne particles. Elend slowed his horse, letting her catch up. The army was in chaos behind them, men giving orders, people scattering.

“Speed up!” Vin said as she approached. “We’re almost out of bowshot!” Soon they joined Allrianne and Spook. We aren’t out of danger—my father could still decide to send pursuit.

But, the soldiers couldn’t have mistaken Vin. If Elend’s instincts were right, Straff would let them run. His prime target was Luthadel. He could go after Elend later; for now, he would simply be happy to see Vin leaving.

“Thank you kindly for the help getting out,” Allrianne suddenly said, watching the army. “I’ll be going now.” With that, she veered her two horses away, angling toward a group of low hills to the west.

“What?” Elend asked with surprise, pulling up next to Spook.

“Leave her,” Vin said. “We don’t have time.”

Well, that solves one problem, Elend thought, turning his horse to the northern highway. Farewell, Luthadel. I’ll be back for you later.

“Well, that solves one problem,” Breeze noted, standing atop the city wall and watching Elend’s group disappear around a hillside. To the east, a large—and still unexplained—pillar of smoke rose from the koloss camp. To the west, Straff’s army was buzzing about, stirred by the escape.

At first, Breeze had worried about Allrianne’s safety—but then he’d realized that, enemy army notwithstanding, there was no safer place for her than beside Vin. As long as Allrianne didn’t get too far away from the others, she would be safe.

It was a quiet group that stood atop the wall with him, and for once, Breeze barely touched their emotions. Their solemnity seemed appropriate. The young Captain Demoux stood beside the aging Clubs, and the peaceful Sazed stood with Ham the warrior. Together, they watched the seed of hope they’d cast to the winds.

“Wait,” Breeze said, frowning as he noticed something. “Wasn’t Tindwyl supposed to be with them?” Sazed shook his head. “She decided to stay.”

“Why would she do that?” Breeze asked. “Didn’t I hear her babbling something about not interfering in local disputes?” Sazed shook his head. “I do not know, Lord Breeze. She is a difficult woman to read.” “They all are,” Clubs muttered.

Sazed smiled. “Either way, it appears our friends have escaped.” “May the Survivor protect them,” Demoux said quietly.

“Yes,” Sazed said. “May he indeed.”

Clubs snorted. Resting one arm on the battlements, he turned to eye Sazed with a gnarled face. “Don’t encourage him.” Demoux flushed, then turned and walked away.

“What was that about?” Breeze asked curiously.

“The boy has been preaching to my soldiers,” Clubs said. “Told him I didn’t want his nonsense cluttering their minds.” “It is not nonsense, Lord Cladent,” Sazed said, “it’s faith.” “Do you honestly think,” Clubs said, “that Kelsier is going to protect these people?” Sazed wavered. “They believe it, and that is—”

“No,” Clubs interrupted, scowling. “That isn’t enough, Terrisman. These people fool themselves by believing in the Survivor.” “You believed in him,” Sazed said. Breeze was tempted to Soothe him, make the argument less tense, but Sazed already seemed completely calm. “You followed him. You believed in the Survivor enough to overthrow the Final Empire.” Clubs scowled. “I don’t like your ethics, Terrisman—I never have. Our crew—Kelsier’s crew—fought to free this people because it was right.” “Because you believed it to be right,” Sazed said.

“And what do you believe to be right, Terrisman?”

“That depends,” Sazed said. “There are many different systems with many different worthy values.” Clubs nodded, then turned, as if the argument were over.

“Wait, Clubs,” Ham said. “Aren’t you going to respond to that?” “He said enough,” Clubs said. “His belief is situational. To him, even the Lord Ruler was a deity because people worshipped him—or were forced to worship him. Aren’t I right, Terrisman?” “In a way, Lord Cladent,” Sazed said. “Though, the Lord Ruler might have been something of an exception.” “But you still keep records and memories of the Steel Ministry’s practices, don’t you?” Ham asked.

“Yes,” Sazed admitted.

“Situational,” Clubs spat. “At least that fool Demoux had the sense to choose one thing to believe in.” “Do not deride someone’s faith simply because you do not share it, Lord Cladent,” Sazed said quietly.

Clubs snorted again. “It’s all very easy for you, isn’t it?” he asked. “Believing everything, never having to choose?” “I would say,” Sazed replied, “that it is more difficult to believe as I do, for one must learn to be inclusionary and accepting.” Clubs waved a dismissive hand, turning to hobble toward the stairs. “Suit yourself. I have to go prepare my boys to die.” Sazed watched him go, frowning. Breeze gave him a Soothing—taking away his self-consciousness—for good measure.

“Don’t mind him, Saze,” Ham said. “We’re all a little on edge, lately.” Sazed nodded. “Still, he makes good points—ones I have never before had to face. Until this year, my duty was to collect, study, and remember. It is still very hard for me to consider setting one belief beneath another, even if that belief is based on a man that I know to have been quite mortal.” Ham shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe Kell is out there somewhere, watching over us.” No, Breeze thought. If he were, we wouldn’t have ended up here—waiting to die, locked in a city we were supposed to save.

“Anyway,” Ham said, “I still want to know where that smoke is coming from.” Breeze glanced at the koloss camp. The dark pillar was too centralized to be coming from cooking fires. “The tents?” Ham shook his head. “El said there were only a couple of tents—far too few to make that much smoke. That fire has been burning for some time.” Breeze shook his head. Doesn’t really matter now, I guess.

Straff Venture coughed again, curling over in his chair. His arms were slick with sweat, his hands trembling.

He wasn’t getting better.

At first, he’d assumed that the chills were a side effect of his nervousness. He’d had a hard evening, sending assassins after Zane, then somehow escaping death at the insane Mistborn’s hands. Yet, during the night, Straff’s shakes hadn’t gotten better. They’d grown worse. They weren’t just from nervousness; he must have a disease of some sort.

“Your Majesty!” a voice called from outside.

Straff straightened himself, trying to look as presentable as possible. Even so, the messenger paused as he entered the tent, apparently noting Straff’s wan skin and tired eyes.

“My…lord,” the messenger said.

“Speak, man,” Straff said curtly, trying to project a regality he didn’t feel. “Out with it.” “Riders, my lord,” the man said. “They left the city!”

“What!” Straff said, throwing off his blanket and standing. He managed to stand upright despite a bout of dizziness. “Why wasn’t I informed?” “They passed quickly, my lord,” the messenger said. “We barely had time to send the interception crew.” “You caught them, I assume,” Straff said, steadying himself on his chair.

“Actually, they escaped, my lord,” the messenger said slowly.

“What?” Straff said, spinning in rage. The motion was too much. The dizziness returned, blackness creeping across his field of vision. He stumbled, catching himself on the chair, managing to collapse into it rather than onto the floor.

“Send for the healer!” he heard the messenger shout. “The king is sick!” No, Straff thought groggily. No, this came too quickly. It can’t be a disease.

Zane’s last words. What had they been? A man shouldn’t kill his father….

Liar.

“Amaranta,” Straff croaked.

“My lord?” a voice asked. Good. Someone was with him.

“Amaranta,” he said again. “Send for her.”

“Your mistress, my lord?”

Straff forced himself to remain conscious. As he sat, his vision and balance returned somewhat. One of his door guards was at his side. What was the man’s name? Grent.

“Grent,” Straff said, trying to sound commanding. “You must bring Amaranta to me. Now!” The soldier hesitated, then rushed from the room. Straff focused on his breathing. In and out. In and out. Zane was a snake. In and out. In and out. Zane hadn’t wanted to use the knife—no, that was expected. In and out. But when had the poison come? Straff had been feeling ill the entire day before.

“My lord?”

Amaranta stood at the doorway. She had been beautiful once, before age had gotten to her—as it got to all of them. Childbirth destroyed a woman. So succulent she had been, with her firm breasts and smooth, unblemished skin….

Your mind is wandering, Straff told himself. Focus.

“I need…antidote,” Straff forced out, focusing on the Amaranta of the now: the woman in her late twenties, the old—yet still useful—thing that kept him alive in the face of Zane’s poisons.

“Of course, my lord,” Amaranta said, walking over to his poison cabinet, getting out the necessary ingredients.

Straff settled back, focusing on his breathing. Amaranta must have sensed his urgency, for she hadn’t even tried to get him to bed her. He watched her work, getting out her burner and ingredients. He needed…to find…Zane….

She wasn’t doing it the right way.

Straff burned tin. The sudden flash of sensitivity nearly blinded him, even in the shade of his tent, and his aches and shivers became sharp and excruciating. But his mind cleared, as if he’d suddenly bathed in frigid water.

Amaranta was preparing the wrong ingredients. Straff didn’t know a great deal about the making of antidotes. He’d been forced to delegate this duty, instead focusing his efforts on learning to recognize the details—the scents, the tastes, the discolorations—of poisons. Yet, he had watched Amaranta prepare her catch-all antidote on numerous occasions. And she was doing it differently this time.

He forced himself out of his chair, keeping tin flared, though it caused his eyes to water. “What are you doing?” he said, walking on unsteady feet toward her.

Amaranta looked up, shocked. The guilt that flashed in her eyes was enough confirmation.

“What are you doing!” Straff bellowed, fear giving him strength as he grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. He was weakened, but he was still much stronger than she.

The woman looked down. “Your antidote, my lord…”

“You’re making it the wrong way!” Straff said.

“I thought, you looked fatigued, so I might add something to help you stay awake.” Straff paused. The words seemed logical, though he was having trouble thinking. Then, looking down at the chagrined woman, he noticed something. His eyes enhanced beyond natural detail, he caught a slight glimpse of a bit of uncovered flesh beneath her bodice.

He reached down and ripped off the side of her dress, exposing her skin. Her left breast—disgusting to him, for it sagged a slight bit—was scarred and cut, as if by a knife. None of the scars were fresh, but even in his addled state, Straff recognized Zane’s handiwork.

“You’re his lover?” Straff said.

“It’s your fault,” Amaranta hissed. “You abandoned me, once I aged and bore you a few children. Everyone told me you would, but yet, I hoped…” Straff felt himself growing weak. Dizzy, he rested a hand on the wooden poisons cabinet.

“Yet,” Amaranta said, tears on her cheeks. “Why did you have to take Zane from me, too? What did you do, to draw him off? To make him stop coming to me?” “You let him poison me,” Straff said, falling to one knee.

“Fool,” Amaranta spat. “He never poisoned you—not a single time. Though, at my request, he often made you think that he had. And then, each time, you ran to me. You suspected everything Zane did—and yet, you never once paused to think what was in the ‘antidote’ I gave you.” “It made me better,” Straff mumbled.

“That’s what happens when you’re addicted to a drug, Straff,” Amaranta whispered. “When you get it, you feel better. When you don’t get it…you die.” Straff closed his eyes.

“You’re mine now, Straff,” she said. “I can make you—”

Straff bellowed, gathering what strength he had and throwing himself at the woman. She cried in surprise as he tackled her, pushing her to the ground.

Then she said nothing, for Straff’s hands choked her windpipe. She struggled for a bit, but Straff weighed far more than she did. He’d intended to demand the antidote, to force her to save him, but he wasn’t thinking clearly. His vision began to fuzz, his mind dim.

By the time he regained his wits, Amaranta was blue and dead on the ground before him. He wasn’t certain how long he’d been strangling her corpse. He rolled off her, toward the open cabinet. On his knees, he reached up for the burner, but his shaking hands toppled it to the side, spilling hot liquid across the floor.

Cursing to himself, he grabbed a flagon of unheated water and began to throw handfuls of herbs into it. He stayed away from the drawers that held the poisons, sticking to those that held antidotes. Yet, there were many crossovers. Some things were poisonous in large doses, but could cure in smaller amounts. Most were addictive. He didn’t have time to worry about that; he could feel the weakness in his limbs, and he could barely grab the handfuls of herbs. Bits of brown and red shook from his fingers as he dumped handful after handful into the mixture.

One of these was the herb that she’d gotten him addicted to. Any one of the others might kill him. He wasn’t even sure what the odds were.

He drank the concoction anyway, gulping it down between choking gasps for air, then let himself slip into unconsciousness.

I have no doubt that if Alendi reaches the Well of Ascension, he will take the power and then—in the name of the presumed greater good—give it up.