Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [379]
But there, in the middle of his complaining, was a tidbit of information.
I believe that it would kill me, if it could, the text continued.
There is an evil feel to the thing of shadow and fog, and my skin recoils at its touch. Yet, it seems limited in what it can do, especially to me.
It can affect this world, however. The knife it placed in Fedik’s chest proves that much. I’m still not certain which was more traumatic for him—the wound itself, or seeing the thing that did it to him.
Rashek whispers that I stabbed Fedik myself, for only Fedik and I can give witness to that night’s events. However, I must make a decision. I must determine that I am not mad. The alternative is to admit that it was I who held that knife.
Somehow, knowing Rashek’s opinion on the matter makes it much easier for me to believe the opposite.
The next page continued on about Rashek, and the next several entries contained no mention of the mist spirit. However, Vin found even these few paragraphs exciting.
He made a decision, she thought. I have to make the same one. She’d never worried that she was mad, but she had sensed some logic in Elend’s words. Now she rejected them. The mist spirit was not some delusion brought on by a mixture of stress and memories of the logbook. It was real.
That didn’t mean the Deepness was returning, nor did it mean that Luthadel was in any sort of supernatural danger. Both, however, were possibilities.
She set this page with the two others that contained concrete information about the mist spirit, then turned back to her studies, determined to pay closer attention to her reading.
The armies were digging in.
Elend watched from atop the wall as his plan, vague though it was, began to take form. Straff was making a defensive perimeter to the north, holding the canal route back a relatively short distance to Urteau, his home city and capital. Cett was digging in to the west of the city, holding the Luth-Davn Canal, which ran back to his cannery in Haverfrex.
A cannery. That was something Elend wished he had in the city. The technology was newer—perhaps fifty years old—but he’d read of it. The scholars had considered its main use that of providing easily carried supplies for soldiers fighting at the fringes of the empire. They hadn’t considered stockpiles for sieges—particularly in Luthadel. But, then, who would have?
Even as Elend watched, patrols began to move out from the separate armies. Some moved to watch the boundaries between the two forces, but others moved to secure other canal routes, bridges across the River Channerel, and roads leading away from Luthadel. In a remarkably short time, the city felt completely surrounded. Cut off from the world, and the rest of Elend’s small kingdom. No more moving in or out. The armies were counting on disease, starvation, and other weakening factors to bring Elend to his knees.
The siege of Luthadel had begun.
That’s a good thing, he told himself. For this plan to work, they have to think me desperate. They have to be so sure that I’m willing to side with them, that they don’t consider that I might be working with their enemies, too.
As Elend watched, he noticed someone climbing up the steps to the wall. Clubs. The general hobbled over to Elend, who had been standing alone. “Congratulations,” Clubs said. “Looks like you now have a full-blown siege on your hands.”
“Good.”
“It’ll give us a little breathing room, I guess,” Clubs said. Then he eyed Elend with one of his gnarled looks. “You’d better be up to this, kid.”
“I know,” Elend whispered.
“You’ve made yourself the focal point,” Clubs said. “The Assembly can’t break this siege until you meet officially with Straff, and the kings aren’t likely to meet with anyone on the crew other than yourself. This is all about you. Useful place for a king to be, I suppose. If he’s a good one.”
Clubs fell silent. Elend stood, looking out over the separate armies. The words spoken to him by Tindwyl the Terriswoman still bothered him. You are a fool, Elend