Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [373]
“I’ve spoken to Ham and Demoux,” Elend said. “As members of the palace guard, they know about the bones—and Ham was able to guess what they were. Hopefully, they can sort through the staff with minimal disturbance and locate the impostor.”
Vin’s senses itched at how trusting Elend was. No, she thought. Let him assume the best. He has enough to worry about. Besides, perhaps the kandra is imitating someone outside our core team. Elend can search that avenue.
And, if the impostor is a member of the crew…Well, that’s the sort of situation where my paranoia comes in handy.
“Anyway,” Elend said, standing. “I have a few things to check on before it gets too late.”
Vin nodded. He gave her a long kiss, then left. She sat on the table for a few moments longer, not looking at the massive rose window, but at the smaller window to the side, which she’d left slightly open. It stood, a doorway into the night. Mist churned in the blackness, tentatively sending tendrils into the room, evaporating quietly in the warmth.
“I will not fear you,” Vin whispered. “And I will find your secret.” She climbed off the table and slipped out the window, back out to meet with OreSeur and do another check of the palace grounds.
15
I had determined that Alendi was the Hero of Ages, and I intended to prove it. I should have bowed before the will of the others; I shouldn’t have insisted on traveling with Alendi to witness his journeys.
It was inevitable that Alendi himself would find out what I believed him to be.
On the eighth day out of the Conventical, Sazed awoke to find himself alone.
He stood, pushing off his blanket and the light film of ash that had fallen during the night. Marsh’s place beneath the tree’s canopy was empty, though a patch of bare earth indicated where the Inquisitor had slept.
Sazed stood, following Marsh’s footsteps out into the harsh red sunlight. The ash was deeper here, without the cover of trees, and there was also more wind blowing it into drifts. Sazed regarded the windswept landscape. There was no further sign of Marsh.
Sazed returned to camp. The trees here—in the middle of the Eastern Dominance—rose twisted and knotted, but they had shelflike, overlapping branches, thick with brown needles. These provided decent shelter, though the ash seemed capable of infiltrating any sanctuary.
Sazed made a simple soup for breakfast. Marsh did not return. Sazed washed his brown travel robes in a nearby stream. Marsh did not return. Sazed sewed a rent in his sleeve, oiled his walking boots, and shaved his head. Marsh did not return. Sazed got out the rubbing he’d made in the Conventical, transcribed a few words, then forced himself to put the sheet away—he worried about blurring the words by opening it too often or by getting ash on it. Better to wait until he could have a proper desk and clean room.
Marsh did not return.
Finally, Sazed left. He couldn’t define the sense of urgency that he felt—part excitement to share what he had learned, part desire to see how Vin and the young king Elend Venture were handling events in Luthadel.
Marsh knew the way. He would catch up.
Sazed raised his hand, shading his eyes against the red sunlight, looking down from his hilltop vantage. There was a slight darkness on the horizon, to the east of the main road. He tapped his geography coppermind, seeking out descriptions of the Eastern Dominance.
The knowledge swelled his mind, blessing him with recollection. The darkness was a village named Urbene. He searched through one of his indexes, looking for the right gazetteer. The index was growing fuzzy, its information difficult to remember—which meant that he’d switched it from coppermind to memory and back too many times. Knowledge inside a coppermind would remain pristine, but anything inside his head—even for only a few moments—would decay. He’d have to re-memorize the index later.
He found what he was looking for, and dumped the right memories into his head. The gazetteer listed Urbene as “picturesque,” which probably meant that some important