The Well of Ascension (Mistborn #2)

The Well of Ascension (Mistborn #2) Page 102

They hadn't gone far before a group of horsemen 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.