The Mistborn Trilogy (200 page)

Thoughts like those had led Sazed to Mare, and finally to Kelsier. And now, they led him to the city of Urteau—a city that finally
had
rebelled against noble leadership. Unfortunately, it lumped Elend Venture in with all the other nobles.

“I don’t like this, Master Keeper,” Captain Goradel said, walking beside Sazed, who—for the sake of his image—now rode in the carriage with Breeze and Allrianne. After leaving the Terris people behind, Sazed had hurriedly caught up with Breeze and the others, and they were finally entering the city that was their destination.

“Things are supposed to be kind of brutal in there,” Goradel continued. “I don’t think you’ll be safe.”

“I doubt it’s as bad as you think,” Sazed said.

“What if they take you captive?” Goradel asked.

“My dear man,” Breeze said, leaning forward to look out at Goradel. “That’s
why kings
send
ambassadors. This way, if someone gets captured, the king is still safe. We, my friend, are something Elend can never be: expendable.”

Goradel frowned at that. “
I
don’t feel very expendable.”

Sazed peered out of the carriage, looking at the city through the falling ash. It was large, and was one of the oldest cities in the empire. He noted with interest that as they approached, the road sloped downward, entering an empty canal trough.

“What’s this?” Allrianne asked, sticking her blond head out of the other side of the carriage. “Why’d they build their roads in ditches?”

“Canals, my dear,” Breeze said. “The city used to be filled with them. Now they’re empty—an earthquake or something diverted a river.”

“It’s creepy,” she said, bringing her head back in. “It makes the buildings look twice as tall.”

As they entered the city proper—their two hundred soldiers marching around them in formation—they were met by a delegation of Urteau soldiers in brown uniforms. Sazed had sent word ahead of their coming, of course, and the king—the Citizen, they called him—had given Sazed leave to bring his small contingent of troops into the city.

“They say that their king wants to meet with you immediately, Master Terrisman,” Goradel said, walking back to the carriage.

“The man doesn’t waste time, does he?” Breeze asked.

“We’ll go, then,” Sazed said, nodding to Goradel.

“You aren’t wanted here.”

Quellion, the Citizen, was a short-haired man with rough skin and an almost military bearing. Sazed wondered where the man—apparently a simple farmer before the Collapse—had gained such leadership skills.

“I realize that you have no desire to see foreign soldiers in your city,” Sazed said carefully. “However, you must have realized that we do not come to conquer. Two hundred men is hardly an invading force.”

Quellion stood at his desk, arms clasped behind his back. He wore what appeared to be regular skaa trousers and shirt, though both had been dyed a deep red verging on maroon. His “audience chamber” was a large conference room in what had once been a nobleman’s house. The walls had been whitewashed and the chandelier removed. Stripped of its furniture and finery, the room felt like a box.

Sazed, Breeze, and Allrianne sat on hard wooden stools, the only comfort the Citizen had offered them. Goradel stood at the back with ten of his soldiers as a guard.

“It isn’t about the soldiers, Terrisman,” Quellion said. “It’s about the man who sent you.”

“Emperor Venture is a good and reasonable monarch,” Sazed said.

Quellion snorted, turning to one of his companions. He had many of these—perhaps twenty—and Sazed assumed they were members of his government. Most wore red, like Quellion, though their clothing hadn’t been dyed as deeply.

“Elend Venture,” Quellion said, raising a finger, turning back to Sazed, “is a liar and a tyrant.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Oh?” Quellion asked. “And how did he gain his throne? By defeating Straff Venture and Ashweather Cett in war?”

“War was—”

“War is often the excuse of tyrants, Terrisman,” Quellion said. “My reports said that his Mistborn wife forced the kings to kneel before him that day—forced them to swear their loyalty to him or be slaughtered by his koloss brutes. Does that sound like the actions of a ‘good and reasonable’ man?”

Sazed didn’t respond.

Quellion stepped forward, laying both hands palm-down on the top of his desk. “Do you know what we’ve done to the noblemen in this city, Terrisman?”

“You’ve killed them,” Sazed said quietly.

“Just as the Survivor ordered,” Quellion said. “You claim to have been his companion, before the fall. Yet, you serve one of the very noble houses he sought to overthrow. Doesn’t that strike you as inconsistent, Terrisman?”

“Lord Kelsier accomplished his purpose in the death of the Lord Ruler,” Sazed said. “Once that was achieved, peace—”

“Peace?” Quellion asked. “Tell me, Terrisman. Did you ever hear the Survivor speak of peace?”

Sazed hesitated. “No,” he admitted.

Quellion snorted. “At least you’re honest. The only reason I’m talking to you is because Venture was clever enough to send a Terrisman. If he’d sent a nobleman, I would have killed the cur and sent his blackened skull back as an answer.”

The room fell silent. Tense. After a few moments of waiting, Quellion turned his back on Sazed, facing his companions. “You sense that?” he asked his men. “Can you feel yourselves begin to feel ashamed? Look at your emotions—do you suddenly feel a fellowship with these servants of a liar?”

He turned back, glancing at Breeze. “I’ve warned you all of Allomancy, the black tool of the nobility. Well, now you get to feel it. That man—sitting beside our
distinguished
Terrisman—is known as Breeze. He’s one of the world’s most vile men. A Soother of no small skill.”

Quellion turned to address Breeze. “Tell me, Soother. How many friends have your magics made for you? How many enemies have you forced to kill themselves? That pretty girl beside you—did you use your arts to hex her into your bed?”

Breeze smiled, raising his cup of wine. “My dear man, you have, of course, found me out. However, instead of congratulating yourself for noticing my touch, perhaps you should ask yourself why I manipulated you into saying what you just did.”

Quellion paused—though, of course, Breeze was bluffing. Sazed sighed. An indignant reaction would have been far more appropriate—but, then, that wasn’t Breeze’s way. Now the Citizen would spend the rest of the meeting wondering if his words were being guided by Breeze.

“Master Quellion,” Sazed said, “these are dangerous times. Surely you have noticed that.”

“We can protect ourselves well enough,” Quellion said.

“I’m not speaking of armies or bandits, Citizen. I’m speaking of mists and ash. Have you noticed that the mists are lingering longer and longer during the daylight hours? Have you noticed them doing strange things to your people, causing the deaths of some who go out?”

Quellion did not contradict him or call his words foolish. That told Sazed enough. People had died in this city.

“The ash falls perpetually, Citizen,” Sazed said. “The mists are deadly, and the koloss run free. This would be a very good time to have powerful alliances. In the Central Dominance, we can grow better crops, for we get more sunlight. Emperor Venture has discovered a method of controlling the koloss. Whatever is to come in the next few years, it would be very advantageous to be Emperor Venture’s friend.”

Quellion shook his head, as if in resignation. He turned to his companions again. “You see—just as I told you. First, he tells us he comes in peace, then he moves on to threats. Venture controls the koloss. Venture controls the food. Next he’ll be saying that Venture controls the mists!” Quellion turned back to Sazed. “We don’t have any use for threats here, Terrisman. We aren’t worried about our future.”

Sazed raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Because
we
follow the Survivor,” Quellion said. “Be gone from my sight.”

Sazed stood. “I would like to stay in the city and perhaps meet with you again.”

“That meeting will not happen.”

“Regardless,” Sazed said. “I would prefer to stay. You have my promise that my men will not cause trouble. Might I have your leave?” He bowed his head in deference.

Quellion muttered something under his breath before waving a hand at him. “If I forbid you, then you’ll just sneak in. Stay if you must, Terrisman, but I warn you—follow our laws and do not make trouble.”

Sazed bowed further, then retreated with his people.

“Well,” Breeze said, settling back into the carriage, “murderous revolutionaries, everybody wearing the same gray clothing, ditch-like streets where every tenth building has been burned to the ground. This is a lovely place Elend chose for us to visit—remind me to thank him upon our return.”

Sazed smiled, though he felt little humor.

“Oh, don’t look so grim, old man,” Breeze said, waving with his cane as the carriage began to roll, their soldiers surrounding it. “Something tells me that Quellion there isn’t half as threatening as his bearing implies. We’ll convince him eventually.”

“I’m not certain, Lord Breeze. This place . . . it’s different from the other cities we’ve visited. The leaders aren’t as desperate, and the people are more subservient. We won’t have an easy time of it here, I think.”

Allrianne poked Breeze’s arm. “Breezy, do you see that, over there?”

Breeze squinted against the light, and Sazed leaned forward, glancing out the side of the carriage. A group of people had created a bonfire in the courtyard. The massive blaze sent a twisting line of smoke into the air. Sazed reflexively looked for a tinmind to draw upon and enhance his vision. He shoved the impulse aside, instead squinting against the afternoon light.

“It looks like . . .”

“Tapestries,” said one of their soldiers, marching at the side of the carriage. “And furniture—rich things that are signs of the nobility, according to the Citizen. The burning was staged for your benefit, of course. Quellion probably keeps storehouses of the stuff so that he can order them burned at dramatically appropriate times.”

Sazed froze. The soldier was remarkably well informed. Sazed looked closely, suspicious. Like all of their men, this one wore his cloak hood up against the falling ash. As the man turned his head, Sazed could see that—oddly—he wore a thick bandage tied across his eyes, as if he were blind. Despite that, Sazed recognized the face.

“Spook, my dear boy!” Breeze exclaimed. “I knew you’d turn up eventually. Why the blindfold?”

Spook didn’t answer the question. Instead, he turned, glancing back at the burning flames of the bonfire. There seemed a . . . tension to his posture.

The cloth must be thin enough to see through
, Sazed thought. That was the only explanation for the way Spook moved with ease and grace, despite the cloth. Though, it certainly seemed thick enough to be obscuring. . . .

Spook turned back to Sazed. “You’re going to need a base of operations in the city. Have you chosen one yet?”

Breeze shook his head. “We were thinking of using an inn.”

“There aren’t any true inns in the city,” Spook said. “Quellion says that citizens should care for one another, letting visitors stay in each other’s homes.”

“Hmm,” Breeze said. “Perhaps we’ll need to camp outside.”

Spook shook his head. “No. Follow me.”

“The Ministry Canton of Inquisition?” Sazed asked, frowning as he climbed out of the carriage.

Spook stood ahead of them, on the steps leading into the grand building. He turned, nodding his strange, cloth-wrapped head. “Quellion hasn’t touched any of the Ministry buildings. He ordered them boarded up, but he didn’t ransack or burn them. I think he’s afraid of Inquisitors.”

“A healthy and rational fear, my boy,” Breeze said, still sitting inside the carriage.

Spook snorted. “The Inquisitors aren’t going to bother us, Breeze. They’re far too busy trying to kill Vin. Come on.”

He walked up the steps, and Sazed followed. Behind, he could hear Breeze sigh with an exaggerated sound, then call for one of the soldiers to bring a parasol against the ash.

The building was broad and imposing, like most Ministry offices. During the days of the Lord Ruler, these buildings had stood as reminders of imperial might in every city across the Final Empire. The priests who had filled them had mostly been bureaucrats and clerks—but, then, that had been the real power of the Final Empire. Its control of resources and management of people.

Spook stood beside the building’s broad, boarded-up doors. Like most structures in Urteau, it was built of wood, rather than stone. He stared up, as if watching the falling ash, as he waited for Sazed and Breeze. He had always been a quiet one, even more so since his uncle’s death during the assault on Luthadel. As Sazed arrived, Spook began to rip boards free from the front of the building. “I’m glad you’re here, Sazed,” he said.

Sazed moved to help pull off boards. He heaved, trying to get the nails undone—yet, he must have chosen one of the more stubborn boards, for though the ones Spook grabbed came free with ease, Sazed’s refused to even budge. “And why is it you’re glad I am here, Lord Spook?”