فصل 50

50

“Are those the fellows you want, Lady Cett?”

Allrianne scanned the valley—and the army it contained—then looked down at the bandit, Hobart. He smiled eagerly—or, well, he kind of smiled. Hobart had fewer teeth than he had fingers, and he was missing a couple of those.

Allrianne smiled back from atop her horse. She sat sidesaddle, reins held lightly in her fingers. “Yes, I do believe that it is, Master Hobart.” Hobart looked back at his band of thugs, grinning. Allrianne Rioted them all a bit, reminding them how much they wanted her promised reward. Her father’s army spread out before them in the distance. She had wandered for an entire day, traveling west, looking for it. But, she’d been heading in the wrong direction. If she hadn’t run afoul of Hobart’s helpful little gang, she would have been forced to sleep outside.

And that would have been rather unpleasant.

“Come, Master Hobart,” she said, moving her horse forward. “Let’s go and meet with my father.” The group followed happily, one of them leading her packhorse. There was a certain charm to simple men, like Hobart’s crew. They really only wanted three things: money, food, and sex. And they could usually use the first to get the other two. When she’d first run across this group, she’d blessed her fortune—despite the fact that they had been running down a hillside in ambush, intent on robbing and raping her. Another charm about men like these was that they were rather inexperienced with Allomancy.

She kept a firm hold on their emotions as they rode down toward the camp. She didn’t want them reaching any disappointing conclusions—such as “Ransoms are usually bigger than rewards.” She couldn’t control them completely, of course—she could only influence them. However, with men so base, it was fairly easy to read what was going on in their heads. It was amusing how quickly a little promise of wealth could turn brutes into near gentlemen.

Of course, there wasn’t much of a challenge in dealing with men like Hobart, either. No…no challenge, as there had been with Breezy. Now, that had been fun. And rewarding, too. She doubted she’d ever find a man as aware of his emotions, and as aware of the emotions of others, as Breezy. Getting a man like him—a man so expert in Allomancy, so determined that his age made him inappropriate for her—to love her…well, that had been a true accomplishment.

Ah, Breezy, she thought as they passed out of the forest and onto the hillside before the army. Do any of your friends even understand what a noble man you are?

They really didn’t treat him well enough. Of course, that was to be expected. That was what Breezy wanted. People who underestimated you were easier to manipulate. Yes, Allrianne understood this concept quite well—for there were few things more quickly dismissed than a young, silly girl.

“Halt!” a soldier said, riding up with an honor guard. They had swords drawn. “Step away from her, you!” Oh, honestly, Allrianne thought, rolling her eyes. She Rioted the group of soldiers, enhancing their sense of calmness. She didn’t want any accidents.

“Please, Captain,” she said as Hobart and his crew drew weapons, huddling around her uncertainly. “These men have rescued me from the savage wilderness and brought me safely home, at much personal cost and danger.” Hobart nodded firmly, an action undermined just a bit as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. The soldier captain looked over the ash-stained, motley-clothed group of bandits, then frowned.

“See that these men have a good meal, Captain,” she said airily, kicking her horse forward. “And give them space for the night. Hobart, I’ll send your reward once I meet with my father.” Bandits and soldiers moved in behind her, and Allrianne made sure to Riot them both, enhancing their senses of trust. It was a tough sell for the soldiers, especially as the wind shifted, blowing the full stench of the bandit crew across them. Still, they all reached the camp without incident.

The groups parted, Allrianne giving her horses to an aide and calling for a page to warn her father that she’d returned. She dusted off her riding dress, then strode through camp, smiling pleasantly and looking forward to a bath and the other comforts—such as they were—that the army could provide. However, first there were things she needed to attend to.

Her father liked to spend evenings in his open-sided planning pavilion, and he sat there now, arguing with a messenger. He looked over as Allrianne swished into the pavilion, smiling sweetly at Lords Galivan and Detor, her father’s generals.

Cett sat on a high-legged chair so he could get a good view of his table and its maps. “Well, damn it,” he said. “You are back.” Allrianne smiled, wandering around his planning table, looking at the map. It detailed the supply lines back to the Western Dominance. What she saw was not good.

“Rebellions back home, Father?” she asked.

“And ruffians attacking my supply carts,” Cett said. “That boy Venture bribed them, I’m sure of it.” “Yes, he did,” Allrianne said. “But, that’s all pointless now. Did you miss me?” She made sure to Tug strongly on his sense of devotion.

Cett snorted, pulling at his beard. “Fool of a girl,” he said. “I should have left you home.” “So I could have fallen to your enemies when they raised a rebellion?” she asked. “We both know that Lord Yomen was going to move the moment you pulled your armies out of the dominance.” “And I should have let that damn obligator have you!”

Allrianne gasped. “Father! Yomen would have held me for ransom. You know how terribly I wilt when I’m locked up.” Cett glanced at her, and then—apparently despite himself—he started to chuckle. “You’d’ve had him feeding you gourmet foods before the day was through. Maybe I should have left you behind. Then, at least, I’d have known where you were—rather than worrying where you’d run off to next. You didn’t bring that idiot Breeze back with you, did you?” “Father!” Allrianne said. “Breezy is a good man.”

“Good men die quickly in this world, Allrianne,” Cett said. “I know—I’ve killed enough of them.” “Oh, yes,” Allrianne said, “you’re very wise. And taking an aggressive stance against Luthadel had such a positive outcome, didn’t it? Chased away with your tail between your legs? You’d be dead now, if dear Vin had as little conscience as you.” “That ‘conscience’ didn’t stop her from killing some three hundred of my men,” Cett said.

“She’s a very confused young lady,” Allrianne said. “Either way, I do feel obliged to remind you that I was right. You should have made an alliance with the Venture boy, instead of threatening him. That means you owe me five new dresses!” Cett rubbed his forehead. “This isn’t a damn game, girl.”

“Fashion, Father, is no game,” Allrianne said firmly. “I can’t very well enchant bandit troops into leading me safely home if I look like a street rat, now can I?” “More bandits, Allrianne?” Cett asked with a sigh. “You know how long it took us to get rid of the last group?” “Hobart’s a wonderful man,” Allrianne said testily. “Not to mention well-connected with the local thieving community. Give him some gold and some prostitutes, and you might just be able to talk him into helping you with those brigands that are attacking your supply lines.” Cett paused, glancing at the map. Then he began to pull at his beard thoughtfully. “Well, you’re back,” he finally said. “Guess we’ll have to take care of you. I suppose you want someone to carry a litter for you as we head home….” “Actually,” Allrianne said, “we’re not going back to the dominance. We’re returning to Luthadel.” Cett didn’t immediately dismiss the comment; he could usually tell when she was being serious. Instead, he simply shook his head. “Luthadel holds nothing for us, Allrianne.” “We can’t go back to the dominance, either,” Allrianne said. “Our enemies are too strong, and some of them have Allomancers. That’s why we had to come here in the first place. We can’t leave the area until we have either money or allies.” “There’s no money in Luthadel,” Cett said. “I believe Venture when he says the atium isn’t there.” “I agree,” Allrianne said. “I searched that palace well, never found a bit of the stuff. That means we need to leave here with friends, instead of money. Go back, wait for a battle to start, then help whichever side looks like it’s going to win. They’ll feel indebted to us—they might even decide to let us live.” Cett stood quietly for a moment. “That’s not going to help save your friend Breeze, Allrianne. His faction is by far the weakest—even teaming with the Venture boy, I doubt we could beat Straff or those koloss. Not without access to the city walls and plenty of time to prepare. If we go back, it will be to help your Breeze’s enemies.” Allrianne shrugged. You can’t help him if you’re not there, Father, she thought. They’re going to lose anyway—if you are in the area, then there’s a chance you’ll end up helping Luthadel.

A very small chance, Breeze. That’s the best I can give you. I’m sorry.

Elend Venture awoke on their third day out of Luthadel, surprised at how rested he could feel after a night spent in a tent out in the wilderness. Of course, part of that might have been the company.

Vin lay curled up beside him in their bedroll, her head resting against his chest. He would have expected her to be a light sleeper, considering how jumpy she was, but she seemed to feel comfortable sleeping beside him. She even seemed to become just a little less anxious when he put his arms around her.

He looked down at her fondly, admiring the form of her face, the slight curl of her black hair. The cut on her cheek was almost invisible now, and she’d already pulled out the stitches. A constant, low burn of pewter gave the body remarkable strength for recovery. She didn’t even favor her right arm anymore—despite the cut shoulder—and her weakness from the fight seemed completely gone.

She still hadn’t given him much of an explanation regarding that night. She had fought Zane—who had apparently been Elend’s half brother—and TenSoon the kandra had left. Yet, neither of those things seemed like they could have caused the distress in her he’d sensed when she’d come to him in his rooms.

He didn’t know if he’d ever get the answers he wanted. Yet, he was coming to realize that he could love her even if he didn’t completely understand her. He bent down and kissed the top of her head.

She immediately tensed, eyes opening. She sat up, exposing a bare torso, then glanced around their small tent. It was dimly lit with the light of dawn. Finally, she shook her head, looking over at him. “You’re a bad influence on me.” “Oh?” he asked, smiling as he rested on one arm.

Vin nodded, running a hand through her hair. “You’re making me get used to sleeping at night,” she said. “Plus, I don’t sleep in my clothing anymore.” “If you did, it would make things a little awkward.”

“Yes,” she said, “but what if we get attacked during the night? I’d have to fight them naked.” “I wouldn’t mind watching that.”

She gave him a flat stare, then reached for a shirt.

“You’re having a bad influence on me, too, you know,” he said as he watched her dress.

She raised an eyebrow.

“You’re making me relax,” he said. “And letting me stop worrying. I’ve been so tied up with things in the city lately that I’d forgotten what it was like to be an impolite recluse. Unfortunately, during our trip, I’ve had time to read not only one, but all three volumes of Troubeld’s Arts of Scholarship.” Vin snorted, kneeling in the low tent as she pulled her belt tight; then she crawled over to him. “I don’t know how you read while riding,” she said.

“Oh, it’s quite easy—if you aren’t afraid of horses.”

“I’m not afraid of them,” Vin said. “They just don’t like me. They know I can outrun them, and that makes them surly.” “Oh, is that it?” Elend asked, smiling, pulling her over to straddle him.

She nodded, then leaned down to kiss him. She ended it after a moment, however, moving to stand. She swatted his hand away as he tried to pull her back down.

“After all the trouble I took to get dressed?” she asked. “Besides, I’m hungry.” He sighed, reclining back as she scampered out of the tent, into the red morning sunlight. He lay for a moment, quietly remarking to himself on his fortune. He still wasn’t sure how their relationship had worked out, or even why it made him so happy, but he was more than willing to enjoy the experience.

Eventually, he looked over at his clothing. He had brought only one of his nice uniforms—along with the riding uniform—and he didn’t want to wear either too often. He didn’t have servants anymore to wash the ash out of his clothing; in fact, despite the tent’s double flap, some ash had managed to work its way inside during the night. Now that they were out of the city, there were no workers to sweep the ash away, and it was getting everywhere.

So, he dressed in an outfit far more simple: a pair of riding trousers, not unlike the pants that Vin often wore, with a buttoning gray shirt and a dark jacket. He’d never been forced to ride long distances before—carriages were generally preferred—but Vin and he were taking the trip relatively slowly. They had no real urgency. Straff’s scouts hadn’t followed them for long, and nobody was expecting them at their destination. They had time to ride leisurely, taking breaks, occasionally walking so that they wouldn’t get too sore from riding.

Outside, he found Vin stirring up the morning fire and Spook caring for the horses. The young man had done some extensive traveling, and he knew how to tend horses—something that Elend was embarrassed to have never learned.

Elend joined Vin at the firepit. They sat for a few moments, Vin poking at the coals. She looked pensive.

“What?” Elend asked.

She glanced southward. “I…” Then she shook her head. “It’s nothing. We’re going to need more wood.” She glanced to the side, toward where their axe lay beside the tent. The weapon flipped up into the air, shooting toward her blade-first. She stepped to the side, snatching the handle as it passed between her and Elend. Then she stalked over to a fallen tree. She took two swings at it, then easily kicked it down and broke it in two.

“She has a way of making the rest of us feel a little redundant, doesn’t she?” Spook asked, stepping up beside Elend.

“At times,” Elend said with a smile.

Spook shook his head. “Whatever I see or hear, she can sense better—and she can fight whatever it is that she finds. Every time I come back to Luthadel, I just feel…useless.” “Imagine being a regular person,” Elend said. “At least you’re an Allomancer.” “Maybe,” Spook said, the sound of Vin chopping coming from the side. “But people respect you, El. They just dismiss me.” “I don’t dismiss you, Spook.”

“Oh?” the young man asked. “When’s the last time I did anything important for the crew?” “Three days ago,” Elend said. “When you agreed to come with Vin and me. You’re not just here to tend horses, Spook—you’re here because of your skills as a scout and a Tineye. Do you still think we’re being followed?” Spook paused, then shrugged. “I can’t be sure. I think Straff’s scouts turned back, but I keep catching sight of someone back there. I never get a good glimpse of them, though.” “It’s the mist spirit,” Vin said, walking by and dumping an armload of wood beside the firepit. “It’s chasing us.” Spook and Elend shared a look. Then Elend nodded, refusing to act on Spook’s uncomfortable stare. “Well, as long as it stays out of our way, it’s not a problem, right?” Vin shrugged. “I hope not. If you see it, though, call for me. The records say it can be dangerous.” “All right,” Elend said. “We’ll do that. Now, let’s decide what to have for breakfast.” Straff woke up. That was his first surprise.

He lay in bed, inside his tent, feeling like someone had picked him up and slammed him against the wall a few times. He groaned, sitting up. His body was free from bruises, but he ached, and his head was pounding. One of the army healers, a young man with a full beard and bulging eyes, sat beside his bed. The man studied Straff for a moment.

“You, my lord, should be dead,” the young man said.

“I’m not,” Straff said, sitting up. “Give me some tin.”

A soldier approached with a metal vial. Straff downed it, then scowled at how dry and sore his throat was. He burned the tin only lightly; it made his wounds feel worse, but he had come to depend on the slight edge the enhanced senses gave him.

“How long?” he asked.

“Better part of three days, my lord,” the healer said. “We…weren’t sure what you’d eaten, or why. We thought about trying to get you to vomit, but it appeared that you’d taken the draught of your own choice, so…” “You did well,” Straff said, holding his arm up in front of him. It still shook a bit, and he couldn’t make it stop. “Who is in charge of the army?” “General Janarle,” the healer said.

Straff nodded. “Why hasn’t he had me killed?”

The healer blinked in surprise, glancing at the soldiers.

“My lord,” said Grent the soldier, “who would dare betray you? Any man who tried would end up dead in his tent. General Janarle was most worried about your safety.” Of course, Straff realized with shock. They don’t know that Zane is gone. Why…if I did die, then everyone assumes that Zane would either take control himself, or get revenge on those he thought responsible. Straff laughed out loud, shocking those watching over him. Zane had tried to kill him, but had accidentally saved his life by sheer force of reputation.

I beat you, Straff realized. You’re gone, and I’m alive. That didn’t, of course, mean that Zane wouldn’t return—but, then again, he might not. Perhaps…just maybe…Straff was rid of him forever.

“Elend’s Mistborn,” Straff said suddenly.

“We followed her for a while, my lord,” Grent said. “But, they got too far from the army, and Lord Janarle ordered the scouts back. It appears she’s making for Terris.” He frowned. “Who else was with her?”

“We think your son Elend escaped as well,” the soldier said. “But it could have been a decoy.” Zane did it, Straff thought with shock. He actually got rid of her.

Unless it’s a trick of some sort. But, then…

“The koloss army?” Straff asked.

“There’s been a lot of fighting in its ranks lately, sir,” Grent said. “The beasts seem more restless.” “Order our army to break camp,” Straff said. “Immediately. We’re retreating back toward the Northern Dominance.” “My lord?” Grent said with shock. “I think Lord Janarle is planning an assault, waiting only for your word. The city is weak, and their Mistborn is gone.” “We’re pulling back,” Straff said, smiling. “For a while, at least.” Let’s see if this plan of yours works, Zane.

Sazed sat in a small kitchen alcove, hands on the table before him, a metallic ring glittering on each finger. They were small, for metalminds, but storing up Feruchemical attributes took time. It would take weeks to fill even a ring’s worth of metal—and he barely had days. In fact, Sazed was surprised the koloss had waited so long.

Three days. Not much time at all, but he suspected he would need every available edge in the approaching conflict. So far he’d been able to store up a small amount of each attribute. Enough for a boost in an emergency, once his other metalminds ran out.

Clubs hobbled into the kitchen. He seemed a blur to Sazed. Even wearing his spectacles—to help compensate for the vision he was storing in a tinmind—it was difficult for him to see.

“That’s it,” Clubs said, his voice muffled—another tinmind was taking Sazed’s hearing. “They’re finally gone.” Sazed paused for a moment, trying to decipher the comment. His thoughts moved as if through a thick, turgid soup, and it took him a moment to understand what Clubs had said.

They’re gone. Straff’s troops. They’ve withdrawn. He coughed quietly before replying. “Did he ever respond to any of Lord Penrod’s messages?” “No,” Clubs said. “But he did execute the last messenger.”

Well, that isn’t a very good sign, Sazed thought slowly. Of course, there hadn’t been very many good signs over the last few days. The city was on the edge of starvation, and their brief respite of warmth was over. It would snow this evening, if Sazed guessed right. That made him feel even more guilty to be sitting in the kitchen nook, beside a warm hearth, sipping broth as his metalminds sapped his strength, health, senses, and power of thought. He had rarely tried to fill so many at once.

“You don’t look so good,” Clubs noted, sitting.

Sazed blinked, thinking through the comment. “My…goldmind,” he said slowly. “It draws my health, storing it up.” He glanced at his bowl of broth. “I must eat to maintain my strength,” he said, mentally preparing himself to take a sip.

It was an odd process. His thoughts moved so slowly that it took him a moment to decide to eat. Then his body reacted slowly, the arm taking a few seconds to move. Even then, the muscles quivered, their strength sapped away and stored in his pewtermind. Finally, he was able to get a spoonful to his lips and take a quiet sip. It tasted bland; he was filling scent as well, and without it, his sense of taste was severely hampered.

He should probably be lying down—but if he did that, he was liable to sleep. And, while sleeping, he couldn’t fill metalminds—or, at least, he could fill only one. A bronzemind, the metal that stored wakefulness, would force him to sleep longer in exchange for letting him go longer without sleep on another occasion.

Sazed sighed, carefully setting down his spoon, then coughing. He’d done his best to help avert the conflict. His best plan had been to send a letter to Lord Penrod, urging him to inform Straff Venture that Vin was gone from the city. He had hoped that Straff would then be willing to make a deal. Apparently, that tactic had been unsuccessful. Nobody had heard from Straff in days.

Their doom approached like the inevitable sunrise. Penrod had allowed three separate groups of townspeople—one of them composed of nobility—to try to flee Luthadel. Straff’s soldiers, more wary after Elend’s escape, had caught and slaughtered each group. Penrod had even sent a messenger to Lord Jastes Lekal, hoping to strike some deal with the Southern leader, but the messenger had not returned from the koloss camp.

“Well,” Clubs said, “at least we kept them off for a few days.”

Sazed thought for a moment. “It was simply a delay of the inevitable, I fear.” “Of course it was,” Clubs said. “But it was an important delay. Elend and Vin will be almost four days away by now. If the fighting had started too soon, you can bet that little Miss Mistborn would have come back and gotten herself killed trying to save us.” “Ah,” Sazed said slowly, forcing himself to reach for another spoonful of broth. The spoon was a dull weight in his numb fingers; his sense of touch, of course, was being siphoned into a tinmind. “How are the city defenses coming?” he asked as he struggled with the spoon.

“Terribly,” Clubs said. “Twenty thousand troops may sound like a lot—but try stringing them out through a city this big.” “But the koloss won’t have any siege equipment,” Sazed said, focused on his spoon. “Or archers.” “Yes,” Clubs said. “But we have eight city gates to protect—and any of five are within quick reach of the koloss. None of those gates was built to withstand an attack. And, as it stands, I can barely post a couple thousand guards at each gate, since I really don’t know which way the koloss will come first.” “Oh,” Sazed said quietly.

“What did you expect, Terrisman?” Clubs asked. “Good news? The koloss are bigger, stronger, and far crazier than we are. And they have an advantage in numbers.” Sazed closed his eyes, quivering spoon held halfway to his lips. He suddenly felt a weakness unrelated to his metalminds. Why didn’t she go with them? Why didn’t she escape?

As Sazed opened his eyes, he saw Clubs waving for a servant to bring him something to eat. The young girl returned with a bowl of soup. Clubs eyed it with dissatisfaction for a moment, but then lifted a knotted hand and began to slurp. He shot a glance at Sazed. “You expecting an apology out of me, Terrisman?” he asked between spoonfuls.

Sazed sat shocked for a moment. “Not at all, Lord Cladent,” he finally said.

“Good,” Clubs said. “You’re a decent enough person. You’re just confused.”

Sazed sipped his soup, smiling. “That is comforting to hear. I think.” He thought for a moment. “Lord Cladent. I have a religion for you.” Clubs frowned. “You don’t give up, do you?”

Sazed looked down. It took him a moment to gather together what he’d been thinking about before. “What you said earlier, Lord Cladent. About situational morality. It made me think of a faith, known as Dadradah. Its practitioners spanned many countries and peoples; they believed that there was only one God, and that there was only one right way to worship.” Clubs snorted. “I’m really not interested in one of your dead religions, Terrisman. I think that—” “They were artists,” Sazed said quietly.

Clubs hesitated.

“They thought art drew one closer to God,” Sazed said. “They were most interested in color and hue, and they were fond of writing poetry describing the colors they saw in the world around them.” Clubs was silent. “Why preach this religion to me?” he demanded. “Why not pick one that is blunt, like I am? Or one that worshipped warfare and soldiers?” “Because, Lord Cladent,” Sazed said. He blinked, recalling memories with effort through his muddled mind. “That is not you. It is what you must do, but it is not you. The others forget, I think, that you were a woodworker. An artist. When we lived in your shop, I often saw you, putting the finishing touches on pieces your apprentices had carved. I saw the care you used. That shop was no simple front for you. You miss it, I know.” Clubs didn’t respond.

“You must live as a soldier,” Sazed said, pulling something from his sash with a weak hand. “But you can still dream like an artist. Here. I had this made for you. It is a symbol of the Dadradah faith. To its people, being an artist was a higher calling, even, than being a priest.” He set the wooden disk on the table. Then, with effort, he smiled at Clubs. It had been a long time since he had preached a religion, and he wasn’t certain what had made him decide to offer this one to Clubs. Perhaps it was to prove to himself that there was value in them. Perhaps it was stubbornness, reacting against the things Clubs had said earlier. Either way, he found satisfaction in the way that Clubs stared at the simple wooden disk with the carved picture of a brush on it.

The last time I preached a religion, he thought, I was in that village to the south, the one where Marsh found me.

Whatever happened to him, anyway? Why didn’t he return to the city?

“Your woman has been looking for you,” Clubs finally said, looking up, leaving the disk on the table.

“My woman?” Sazed said. “Why, we are not…” He trailed off as Clubs eyed him. The surly general was quite proficient at meaningful looks.

“Very well,” Sazed said, sighing. He glanced down at his fingers and the ten glittering rings they bore. Four were tin: sight, hearing, scent, and touch. He continued to fill these; they wouldn’t handicap him much. He released his pewtermind, however, as well as his steelmind and his zincmind.

Immediately, strength refilled his body. His muscles stopped sagging, reverting from emaciated to healthy. The fuzz lifted from his mind, allowing him to think clearly, and the thick, swollen slowness evaporated. He stood, invigorated.

“That’s fascinating,” Clubs mumbled.

Sazed looked down.

“I could see the change,” Clubs said. “Your body grew stronger, and your eyes focused. Your arms stopped shaking. I guess you don’t want to face that woman without all of your faculties, eh? I don’t blame you.” Clubs grunted to himself, then continued to eat.

Sazed bid farewell to the man, then strode out of the kitchen. His feet and hands still seemed like nearly unfeeling lumps. Yet, he felt an energy. There was nothing like simple contrast to awaken a man’s sense of indomitability.

And there was nothing that could sap that sensation more quickly than the prospect of meeting with the woman he loved. Why had Tindwyl stayed? And, if she was determined not to go back to Terris, why had she avoided him these last few days? Was she mad that he had sent Elend away? Was she disappointed that he insisted on staying to help?

He found her inside Keep Venture’s grand ballroom. He paused for a moment, impressed—as always—by the room’s unquestionable majesty. He released his sight tinmind for just a moment, removing his spectacles as he looked around the awesome space.

Enormous, rectangular stained-glass windows reached to the ceiling along both walls of the huge room. Standing at the side, Sazed was dwarfed by massive pillars that supported a small gallery that ran beneath the windows on either side of the chamber. Every bit of stone in the room seemed carved—every tile a part of one mosaic or another, every bit of glass colored to sparkle in the early-evening sunlight.

It’s been so long… he thought. The first time he’d seen this chamber, he had been escorting Vin to her first ball. It was then, while playing the part of Valette Renoux, she had met Elend. Sazed had chastised her for carelessly attracting the attention of so powerful a man.

And now he himself had performed their marriage. He smiled, replacing his spectacles and filling his eyesight tinmind again. May the Forgotten Gods watch over you, children. Make something of our sacrifice, if you can.

Tindwyl stood speaking with Dockson and a small group of functionaries at the center of the room. They were crowded around a large table, and as Sazed approached, he could see what was spread atop it.

Marsh’s map, he thought. It was an extensive and detailed representation of Luthadel, complete with notations about Ministry activity. Sazed had a visual image of the map, as well as a detailed description of it, in one of his copperminds—and he had sent a physical copy to the Synod.

Tindwyl and the others had covered the large map with their own notations. Sazed approached slowly, and as soon as Tindwyl saw him, she waved for him to approach.

“Ah, Sazed,” Dockson said in a businesslike tone, voice muddled to Sazed’s weak ears. “Good. Please, come here.” Sazed stepped up onto the low dance floor, joining them at the table. “Troop placements?” he asked.

“Penrod has taken command of our armies,” Dockson said. “And he’s put noblemen in charge of all twenty battalions. We’re not certain we like that situation.” Sazed looked over the men at the table. They were a group of scribes that Dockson himself had trained—all skaa. Gods! Sazed thought. He can’t be planning a rebellion now of all times, can he?

“Don’t look so frightened, Sazed,” Dockson said. “We’re not going to do anything too drastic—Penrod is still letting Clubs organize the city defenses, and he seems to be taking advice from his military commanders. Besides, it’s far too late to try something too ambitious.” Dockson almost seemed disappointed.

“However,” Dockson said, pointing at the map, “I don’t trust these commanders he’s put in charge. They don’t know anything about warfare—or even about survival. They’ve spent their lives ordering drinks and throwing parties.” Why do you hate them so? Sazed thought. Ironically, Dockson was the one in the crew who looked most like a nobleman. He was more natural in a suit than Breeze, more articulate than Clubs or Spook. Only his insistence on wearing a very unaristocratic half beard made him stand out.

“The nobility may not know warfare,” Sazed said, “but they are experienced with command, I think.” “True,” Dockson said. “But so are we. That’s why I want one of our people near each gate, just in case things go poorly and someone really competent needs to take command.” Dockson pointed at the table, toward one of the gates—Steel Gate. It bore a notation of a thousand men in a defensive formation. “This is your battalion, Sazed. Steel Gate is the farthest the koloss are likely to reach, and so you might not even see any fighting. However, when the battle begins, I want you there with a group of messengers to bring word back to Keep Venture in case your gate gets attacked. We’ll set up a command post here in the main ballroom—it’s easily accessible with those broad doors, and can accommodate a lot of motion.” And it was a not-so-subtle smack in the face of Elend Venture, and nobility in general, to use such a beautiful chamber as a setting from which to run a war. No wonder he supported me in sending Elend and Vin away. With them gone, he’s gained undisputed control of Kelsier’s crew.

It wasn’t a bad thing. Dockson was an organizational genius and a master of quick planning. He did have certain prejudices, however.

“I know you don’t like to fight, Saze,” Dockson said, leaning down on the table with both hands. “But we need you.” “I think he is preparing for battle, Lord Dockson,” Tindwyl said, eyeing Sazed. “Those rings on his fingers give good indication of his intentions.” Sazed glanced across the table at her. “And what is your place in this, Tindwyl?” “Lord Dockson came to me for advice,” Tindwyl said. “He has little experience with warfare himself, and wished to know the things I have studied about the generals of the past.” “Ah,” Sazed said. He turned to Dockson, frowning in thought. Eventually, he nodded. “Very well. I will take part in your project—but, I must warn you against divisiveness. Please, tell your men not to break the chain of command unless they absolutely must.” Dockson nodded.

“Now, Lady Tindwyl,” Sazed said. “Might we speak for a moment in private?”

She nodded, and they excused themselves, walking under the nearest over hanging gallery. In the shadows, behind one of the pillars, Sazed turned toward Tindwyl. She looked so pristine—so poised, so calm—despite the dire situation. How did she do that?

“You’re storing quite a large number of attributes, Sazed,” Tindwyl noted, glancing at his fingers again. “Surely you have other metalminds prepared from before?” “I used all of my wakefulness and speed making my way to Luthadel,” Sazed said. “And I have no health stored at all—I used up the last of it overcoming a sickness when I was teaching in the South. I always intended to fill another one, but we’ve been too busy. I do have some large amount of strength and weight stored, as well as a good selection of tinminds. Still, one can never be too well prepared, I think.” “Perhaps,” Tindwyl said. She glanced back at the group around the table. “If it gives us something to do other than think about the inevitable, then preparation has not been wasted, I think.” Sazed felt a chill. “Tindwyl,” he said quietly. “Why did you stay? There is no place for you here.” “There is no place for you either, Sazed.”

“These are my friends,” he said. “I will not leave them.”

“Then why did you convince their leaders to leave?”

“To flee and live,” Sazed said.

“Survival is not a luxury often afforded to leaders,” Tindwyl said. “When they accept the devotion of others, they must accept the responsibility that comes with it. This people will die—but they need not die feeling betrayed.” “They were not—”

“They expect to be saved, Sazed,” Tindwyl hissed quietly. “Even those men over there—even Dockson, the most practical one in this bunch—think that they’ll survive. And do you know why? Because, deep down, they believe that something will save them. Something that saved them before, the only piece of the Survivor they have left. She represents hope to them now. And you sent her away.” “To live, Tindwyl,” Sazed repeated. “It would have been a waste to lose Vin and Elend here.” “Hope is never wasted,” Tindwyl said, eyes flashing. “I thought you of all people would understand that. You think it was stubbornness that kept me alive all those years in the hands of the Breeders?” “And is it stubbornness or hope that kept you here, in the city?” he asked.

She looked up at him. “Neither.”

Sazed looked at her for a long moment in the shadowed alcove. Planners talked in the ballroom, their voices echoing. Shards of light from the windows reflected off the marble floors, throwing slivers of illumination across the walls. Slowly, awkwardly, Sazed put his arms around Tindwyl. She sighed, letting him hold her.

He released his tinminds and let his senses return in a flood.

Softness from her skin and warmth from her body washed across him as she moved farther into the embrace, resting her head against his chest. The scent of her hair—unperfumed, but clean and crisp—filled his nose, the first thing he’d smelled in three days. With a clumsy hand, Sazed pulled free his spectacles so he could see her clearly. As sounds returned fully to his ears, he could hear Tindwyl breathing beside him.

“Do you know why I love you, Sazed?” she asked quietly.

“I cannot fathom,” he answered honestly.

“Because you never give in,” she said. “Other men are strong like bricks—firm, unyielding, but if you pound on them long enough, they crack. You…you’re strong like the wind. Always there, so willing to bend, but never apologetic for the times when you must be firm. I don’t think any of your friends understand what a power they had in you.” Had, he thought. She already thinks of all this in the past tense. And…it feels right for her to do so. “I fear that whatever I have won’t be enough to save them,” Sazed whispered.

“It was enough to save three of them, though,” Tindwyl said. “You were wrong to send them away…but maybe you were right, too.” Sazed just closed his eyes and held her, cursing her for staying, yet loving her for it all the same.

At that moment, the wall-top warning drums began to beat.

And so, I have made one final gamble.