فصل 36

36

“YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE GONE IN,” Cett said flatly.

Elend raised an eyebrow, riding his stallion through the center of his camp. Tindwyl had taught him that it was good to be seen by one’s people, especially in situations where he could control the way he was perceived. He happened to agree with this particular lesson, and so he rode, wearing a black cloak to mask the ash’s smudges, making certain his soldiers knew that he was among them. Cett rode with him, tied into his specially made saddle.

“You think I put myself in too much danger by entering the city?” Elend asked, nodding to a group of soldiers who had paused in their morning labors to salute him.

“No,” Cett said, “we both know that I don’t give a damn whether you live or die, boy. Besides, you’re Mistborn. You could have gotten out if things turned dangerous.” “Why, then?” Elend asked. “Why was it a mistake?”

“Because,” Cett said. “You met the people inside. You talked with them, danced among them. Hell, boy. Can’t you see why that’s such a problem? When the time comes to attack, you’ll worry about people you’re going to hurt.” Elend rode in silence for a moment. The morning mists were a normal thing to him now. They obscured the camp, masking its size. Even to his tin-enhanced eyes, distant tents became silhouetted lumps. It was as if he rode through some mythical world, a place of muffled shadows and distant noises.

Had it been a mistake for him to enter the city? Perhaps. Elend knew the theories Cett spoke of—he understood how important it was for a general to view his enemies not as individuals, but as numbers. Obstacles.

“I’m glad for my choice,” Elend said.

“I know,” Cett said, scratching at his thick beard. “That’s what frustrates me, to be honest. You’re a compassionate man. That’s a weakness, but it isn’t the real problem. The problem is your inability to deal with your own compassion.” Elend raised an eyebrow.

“You should know better than to let yourself grow attached to your enemy, Elend,” Cett said. “You should have known how you would react, and planned so that you could avoid this very situation! Hell, boy, every leader has weaknesses—the ones who win are the ones who learn how to smother those weaknesses, not give them fuel!” When Elend didn’t respond to that, Cett simply sighed. “All right, then, let’s talk about the siege. The engineers have blocked off several streams that lead into the city, but they don’t think those were the primary sources of water.” “They weren’t,” Elend said. “Vin has located six main wells within the city itself.” “We should poison them,” Cett said.

Elend fell silent. The two halves of him still warred inside. The man he had been just wanted to protect as many people as possible. The man he was becoming, however, was more realistic. It knew that sometimes he had to kill—or at least discomfort—in order to save.

“Very well,” Elend said. “I’ll have Vin do it tonight—and I’ll have her leave a message written on the wells saying what we’ve done.” “What good will that do?” Cett asked, frowning.

“I don’t want to kill the people, Cett,” Elend said, “I want to worry them. This way, they’ll go to Yomen for water. With the entire city making demands, he should go through the water supply in his storage cache pretty quickly.” Cett grunted. He seemed pleased, however, that Elend had taken his suggestion. “And the surrounding villages?” “Feel free to bully them,” Elend said. “Organize a force of ten thousand, and send them out to harass—but not kill. I want Yomen’s spies in the area to send him worried notes about his kingdom collapsing.” “You’re trying to play this halfway, lad,” Cett said. “Eventually, you’ll have to choose. If Yomen doesn’t surrender, you’ll have to attack.” Elend reined in his horse outside the command tent. “I know,” he said softly.

Cett snorted, but he fell silent as servants came out of the tent to unstrap him from the saddle. As they started, however, the earth began to tremble. Elend cursed, struggling to maintain control of his horse as it grew skittish. The shaking rattled tents, knocking poles free and collapsing a couple of them, and Elend heard the clang of metal as cups, swords, and other items were knocked to the ground. Eventually, the rumbling subsided, and he glanced to the side, checking on Cett. The man had managed to keep control of his mount, though one of his useless legs swung free from the saddle, and he looked as if he was about to fall off. His servants rushed to his side to help.

“Damn things are growing more and more frequent,” Cett said.

Elend calmed his horse, which stood puffing in the mists. Around the camp, men cursed and yelled, dealing with the aftermath of the earthquake. They were indeed growing more frequent; the last one had only been a few weeks before. Earthquakes weren’t supposed to be common in the Final Empire—during his youth, he’d never heard of one happening in the inner dominances.

He sighed, climbing from his horse and handing the beast off to an aide, then followed Cett into the command tent. The servants sat Cett in a chair, then retreated, leaving the two of them alone. Cett glanced up at Elend, looking troubled. “Did that fool Ham tell you about the news from Luthadel?” “Or the lack of it?” Elend asked, sighing. “Yes.” Not a peep had come from the capital city, let alone the supplies Elend had ordered brought down the canal.

“We don’t have that much time, Elend,” Cett said quietly. “A few months, at most. Time enough to weaken Yomen’s resolve, perhaps make his people get so thirsty that they begin to look forward to invasion. But, if we don’t get resupplied, there’s no way we’ll be able to maintain this siege.” Elend glanced at the older man. Cett sat in his chair with an arrogant expression, looking back at Elend, meeting his eyes. So much about what the crippled man did was about posturing—Cett had lost the use of his legs to disease long ago, and he couldn’t intimidate people physically. So, he had to find other ways to make himself threatening.

Cett knew how to hit where it hurt. He could pick at the very faults that bothered people and exploit their virtues in ways that Elend had rarely seen even accomplished Soothers manage. And he did all this while covering up a heart that Elend suspected was far softer than Cett would ever admit.

He seemed particularly on edge this day. As if worried about something. Something important to him—something he’d been forced to leave behind, perhaps?

“She’ll be all right, Cett,” Elend said. “Nothing will happen to Allrianne while she’s with Sazed and Breeze.” Cett snorted, waving an indifferent hand—though he did look away. “I’m better off without the damn fool of a girl around. Let that Soother have her, I say! Anyway, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you and this siege!” “Your points have been noted, Cett,” Elend said. “We will attack if I deem it necessary.” As he spoke, the tent flaps parted, and Ham sauntered in, accompanied by a figure Elend hadn’t seen in several weeks—at least not out of bed.

“Demoux!” Elend said, approaching the general. “You’re up and about!”

“Barely, Your Majesty,” Demoux said. He did still look pale. “However, I have recovered enough strength to move around a bit.” “The others?” Elend asked.

Ham nodded. “Mostly up and about as well. Demoux is among the last batch. A few more days, and the army will be back to full strength.” Minus those who died, Elend thought.

Cett eyed Demoux. “Most of the men recovered weeks ago. A bit weaker in the constitution than one might expect, eh, Demoux? That’s what I’ve been hearing, at least.” Demoux blushed.

Elend frowned at this. “What?”

“It is nothing, Your Majesty,” Demoux said.

“It’s never ‘nothing’ in my camp, Demoux,” Elend said. “What am I missing?” Ham sighed, pulling over a chair. He sat on it backward, resting his muscular arms across its back. “It’s just a rumor moving through the camp, El.” “Soldiers,” Cett said. “They’re all the same—superstitious as housewives.” Ham nodded. “Some of them have gotten it into their heads that the men who got sick from the mists were being punished.” “Punished?” Elend asked. “For what?”

“Lack of faith, Your Majesty,” Demoux said.

“Nonsense,” Elend said. “We all know that the mists struck randomly.”

The others shared looks, and Elend had to pause and reconsider. No. The strikes weren’t random—at least, the statistics surrounding them weren’t. “Regardless,” he said, deciding to change the subject, “what are your daily reports?” The three men took turns talking about their various duties in the bivouac. Ham saw to morale and training, Demoux to supplies and camp duties, Cett to tactics and patrols. Elend stood with hands clasped behind his back, listening to the reports, but only with half an ear. They weren’t much different from the previous day, though it was good to see Demoux back at his duties. He was far more efficient than his assistants.

As they talked, Elend’s mind wandered. The siege was going fairly well, but a part of him—the part trained by Cett and Tindwyl—chafed at the waiting game. He might just be able to take the city straight out. He had koloss, and all accounts said that his troops were far more experienced than those inside of Fadrex. The rock formations would provide cover for the defenders, but Elend wasn’t in so bad a position that he couldn’t win.

But doing so would cost many, many lives.

That was the step he balked at—the last step that would take him from defender to aggressor. From protector to conqueror. And he was frustrated at his own hesitation.

There was another reason going into the city had been bad for Elend. It had been better for Elend to think of Yomen as an evil tyrant, a corrupt obligator loyal to the Lord Ruler. Now, unfortunately, he knew Yomen to be a reasonable man. And one with very good arguments. In a way, his indictment of Elend was true. Elend was a hypocrite. He spoke of democracy, yet he had taken his throne by force.

It was what the people had needed from him, he believed. But it did make him a hypocrite. Still, by that same logic, he knew he should send Vin to assassinate Yomen. But, could Elend order the death of a man who had done nothing wrong besides getting in his way?

Assassinating the obligator seemed as twisted an action as sending his koloss to attack the city. Cett is right, Elend thought. I’m trying to play both sides on this one. For a moment, while talking to Telden during the ball, he had felt so sure of himself. And, in truth, he still believed what he’d claimed. Elend wasn’t the Lord Ruler. He did give his people more freedom and more justice.

However, he realized that this siege could tip the balance between who he was and who he feared he would become. Could he really justify invading Fadrex, slaughtering its armies and pillaging its resources, all ostensibly in the name of protecting the people of the empire? Could he dare do the opposite: back away from Fadrex, and leave the secrets in that cavern—the secrets that could potentially save the entire empire—to a man who still thought the Lord Ruler would return to save his people?

He wasn’t ready to decide. For now, he was determined to exhaust every other option. Anything that would keep him from needing to invade the city. That included besieging the city to make Yomen more pliant. That also included sneaking Vin into the storage cavern. Her reports indicated that the building was very heavily guarded. She wasn’t certain if she could get into it on an ordinary night. However, during a ball, defenses might be more porous. It would be the perfect time to try to get a glimpse at what was hidden in that cavern.

Assuming Yomen hasn’t simply removed the Lord Ruler’s last inscription, Elend thought. Or that there was even something there in the first place.

Yet, there was a chance. The Lord Ruler’s final message, the last bit of help he had left for his people. If Elend could find a way to get that help without breaking his way into the city, killing thousands, he would take it.

Eventually, the men finished with their reports, and Elend dismissed them. Ham went quickly, wanting to get in on a morning sparring session. Cett was gone a few moments later, carried back to his own tent. Demoux, however, lingered. It was sometimes hard to remember just how young Demoux was—barely older than Elend himself. The balding scalp and numerous scars made the man look much older than he was, as did the still-visible effects of his extended illness.

Demoux was hesitant about something. Elend waited, and finally the man dropped his eyes, looking embarrassed. “Your Majesty,” he said, “I feel that I must ask to be released from my post as general.” “And why do you say that?” Elend asked carefully.

“I don’t think I’m worthy of the position anymore.”

Elend frowned.

“Only a man trusted by the Survivor should command in this army, my lord,” Demoux said.

“I’m sure that he does trust you, Demoux.”

Demoux shook his head. “Then why did he give me the sickness? Why pick me, of all the men in the army?” “I’ve told you, it was random luck, Demoux.”

“My lord,” Demoux said, “I hate to disagree, but we both know that isn’t true. After all, you were the one who pointed out that those who fell sick did so at Kelsier’s will.” Elend paused. “I did?”

Demoux nodded. “On that morning when we exposed our army to the mists, you shouted out for them to remember that Kelsier is the Lord of the Mists, and that the sickness must—therefore—be his will. I think you were right. The Survivor is Lord of the Mists. He proclaimed it so himself, during the nights before he died. He’s behind the sickness, my lord. I know he is. He saw those who lacked faith, and he cursed them.” “That isn’t what I meant, Demoux,” Elend said. “I was implying that Kelsier wanted us to suffer this setback, but not that he was targeting specific individuals.” “Either way, my lord, you said the words.”

Elend waved his hand dismissively.

“Then how do you explain the strange numbers, my lord?” Demoux asked.

“I’m not sure,” Elend said. “I’ll admit that the number of people who fell sick does produce an odd statistic, but that doesn’t say anything about you specifically, Demoux.” “I don’t mean that number, my lord,” Demoux said, still looking down. “I mean the number who remained sick while the others recovered.” Elend paused. “Wait. What is this?”

“Haven’t you heard, my lord?” Demoux asked in the quiet tent. “The scribes have been talking about it, and it’s gotten around to the army. I don’t think that most of them understand the numbers and such, but they understand that something strange is happening.” “What numbers?” Elend asked.

“Five thousand people got taken by the sickness, my lord,” Demoux said.

Exactly sixteen percent of the army, Elend thought.

“Of those, some five hundred died,” Demoux said. “Of those remaining, almost everyone recovered in one day.” “But some didn’t,” Elend said. “Like you.”

“Like me,” Demoux said softly. “Three hundred and twenty-seven of us remained sick when the others got better.” “So?” Elend asked.

“That’s exactly one-sixteenth of those who fell to the sickness, my lord,” Demoux said. “And we stayed sick exactly sixteen days. To the hour.” The tent flap rustled quietly in the breeze. Elend fell quiet, and couldn’t completely suppress a shiver. “Coincidence,” he finally said. “Statisticians looking for connections can always find odd coincidences and statistical anomalies, if they try hard enough.” “This doesn’t seem like a simple anomaly, my lord,” Demoux said. “It’s precise. The same number keeps showing up, over and over. Sixteen.” Elend shook his head. “Even if it does, Demoux, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a number.” “It’s the number of months the Survivor spent in the Pits of Hathsin,” Demoux said.

“Coincidence.”

“It’s how old Lady Vin was when she became Mistborn.”

“Again, coincidence,” Elend said.

“There seem to be an awful lot of coincidences related to this, my lord,” Demoux said.

Elend frowned, folding his arms. Demoux was right on that point. My denials are getting us nowhere. I need to know what people are thinking, not just contradict them.

“All right, Demoux,” Elend said. “Let’s say that none of these things are coincidences. You seem to have a theory of what they mean.” “It’s what I said earlier, my lord,” Demoux said. “The mists are of the Survivor. They take certain people and kill them, others of us they make sick—leaving the number sixteen as a proof that he really was behind the event. So, therefore, the people who grow the most sick are the ones who have displeased him the most.” “Well, except for the ones who died from the sickness,” Elend noted.

“True,” Demoux said, looking up. “So . . . maybe there’s hope for me.” “That wasn’t supposed to be a comforting comment, Demoux. I still don’t accept all of this. Perhaps there are oddities, but your interpretation is based on speculation. Why would the Survivor be displeased with you? You’re one of his most faithful priests.” “I took the position for myself, my lord,” Demoux said. “He didn’t choose me. I just . . . started teaching what I’d seen, and people listened to me. That must be what I did to offend him. If he’d wanted that from me, he’d have chosen me when he was alive, don’t you think?” I don’t think the Survivor cared much about this when he was alive, Elend thought. He just wanted to stir up enough anger in the skaa that they would rebel.

“Demoux,” Elend said, “you know that the Survivor didn’t organize this religion when he was alive. Only men and women like you—those who looked toward his teachings after he died—have been able to build up a community of the faithful.” “True,” Demoux. “But he did appear to some people after his death. I wasn’t one of those people.” “He didn’t appear to anyone,” Elend said. “That was OreSeur the kandra wearing his body. You know that, Demoux.” “Yes,” Demoux said. “But, that kandra acted at the Survivor’s request. And, I wasn’t on the list to get visited.” Elend laid a hand on Demoux’s shoulder, looking in the man’s eyes. He had seen the general, worn and grizzled beyond his age, determinedly stare down a savage koloss a full five feet taller than he was. Demoux was not a weak man, either in body or in faith.

“Demoux,” Elend said, “I mean this in the kindest way, but your self-pity is getting in the way. If these mists took you, then we need to use that as proof that their effects have nothing to do with Kelsier’s displeasure. We don’t have time for you to question yourself right now—we both know you’re twice as devoted as any other man in this army.” Demoux flushed.

“Think about it,” Elend said, giving Demoux a little extra Allomantic shove in the emotions, “in you, we have obvious proof that a person’s faithfulness has nothing to do with whether or not they’re taken by the mists. So, rather than letting you mope, we need to move on and find the real reason the mists are behaving as they are.” Demoux stood for a moment, then finally nodded. “Perhaps you’re right, my lord. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions.” Elend smiled. Then, he paused, thinking about his own words. Obvious proof that a person’s faithfulness has nothing to do with whether they’re taken by the mists. . . .

It wasn’t exactly true. Demoux was one of the strongest believers in the camp. What of the others who had been sick as long as he? Had they been, perhaps, men of extreme faith as well? Elend opened his mouth to ask the question of Demoux. That was when the shouting started.

Hemalurgic decay was less obvious in Inquisitors that had been created from Mistborn. Since they already had Allomantic powers, the addition of other abilities made them awesomely strong.

In most cases, however, Inquisitors were created from Mistings. It appears that Seekers, like Marsh, were the favored recruits. For, when a Mistborn wasn’t available, an Inquisitor with enhanced bronze abilities was a powerful tool for searching out skaa Mistings.