Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [353]
It would be someone that we haven’t seen during the last few hours, Vin thought, dropping the bone. She, Elend, and OreSeur had been on the wall for most of the afternoon and evening—ever since the end of the Assembly meeting—but the city and palace had been in chaos since the second army had arrived. The messengers had had trouble finding Ham, and she still wasn’t certain where Dockson was. In fact, she hadn’t seen Clubs until he’d joined her and Elend on the wall just a bit before. And Spook had been the last to arrive.
Vin looked down at the pile of bones, feeling a sickening sense of unease. There was a very good chance that someone in their core team—a member of Kelsier’s former band—was now an impostor.
THE END OF PART ONE
Part Two
Ghosts in the Mist
12
It wasn’t until years later that I became convinced that Alendi was the Hero of Ages. Hero of Ages: the one called Rabzeen in Khlennium, the Anamnesor.
Savior.
A fortress sat in the misty murk of evening.
It rested at the bottom of a large depression in the land. The steep-sided, craterlike valley was so wide that even in daylight Sazed would barely have been able to see the other side. In the oncoming darkness, obscured by mist, the far edge of the massive hole was only a deep shadow.
Sazed knew very little about tactics and strategy; though his metalminds held dozens of books on the subjects, he had forgotten their contents in order to create the stored records. The little he did know told him that this fortress—the Conventical of Seran—was not very defensible. It relinquished the high ground, and the crater sides would provide an excellent location for siege engines to pelt rocks down at the walls.
This fortress, however, had not been built to defend against enemy soldiers. It had been built to provide solitude. The crater made it difficult to find, for a slight rise in the land around the crater’s lip made it practically invisible until one drew near. No roads or paths marked the way, and travelers would have great trouble getting down the sheer sides.
The Inquisitors did not want visitors.
“Well?” Marsh asked.
He and Sazed stood on the crater’s northern lip, before a drop of several hundred feet. Sazed tapped his vision tinmind, drawing forth some of the eyesight he had stored within it. The edges of his vision fuzzed, but things directly in front of him seemed to grow much closer. He tapped a little more sight, ignoring the nausea that came from compounding so much vision.
The increased eyesight let him study the Conventical as if he stood before it. He could see each notch in the dark stone walls—flat, broad, imposing. He could discern each bit of rust on the large steel plates that hung bolted into outside stones of the wall. He could see each lichen-encrusted corner and ash-stained ledge. There were no windows.
“I do not know,” Sazed said slowly, releasing his vision tinmind. “It is not easy to say whether or not the fortress is inhabited. There is no motion, nor is there light. But, perhaps the Inquisitors are just hiding inside.”
“No,” Marsh said, his stiff voice uncomfortably loud in the evening air. “They are gone.”
“Why would they leave? This is a place of great strength, I think. Poor defense against an army, but a great defense against the chaos of the times.”
Marsh shook his head. “They are gone.”
“How are you so certain?”
“I do not know.”
“Where did they go, then?”
Marsh looked at him, then turned and glanced over his shoulder. “North.”
“Toward Luthadel?” Sazed asked, frowning.
“Among other things,” Marsh said. “Come. I do not know if they will return, but we should exploit this opportunity.”
Sazed nodded. This was why they had come, after all. Still, a part of him hesitated. He was a man of books and genteel service. Traveling the