Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [488]
She found nothing. Finally satisfied, she returned to picking at her meal. How many times has this ability of mine—the ability to pierce copperclouds—proven useful? She’d forgotten what it was like to be blocked from sensing Allomantic pulses. This one little ability—simple though it seemed—provided an enormous advantage. And the Lord Ruler and his Inquisitors had probably been able to do it from the beginning. What other tricks was she missing, what other secrets had died with the Lord Ruler?
He knew the truth about the Deepness, Vin thought. He must have. He tried to warn us, at the end….
Elend and Cett were talking again. Why couldn’t she focus on the problems of the city?
“So you don’t have any atium at all?” Cett said.
“None that we’re willing to sell,” Elend said.
“You’ve searched the city?” Cett asked.
“A dozen times.”
“The statues,” Cett said. “Perhaps the Lord Ruler hid the metal by melting it down, then building things out of it.”
Elend shook his head. “We thought of that. The statues aren’t atium, and they aren’t hollow either—that would have been a good place to hide metal from Allomancer eyes. We thought maybe that it would be hidden in the palace somewhere, but even the spires are simple iron.”
“Caves, tunnels….”
“None that we can find,” Elend said. “We’ve had Allomancers patrol, searching for large sources of metals. We’ve done everything we can think of, Cett, short of tearing holes in the ground. Trust me. We’ve been working on this problem for a while.”
Cett nodded, sighing. “So, I suppose holding you for ransom would be pointless?”
Elend smiled. “I’m not even king, Cett. The only thing you’d do is make the Assembly less likely to vote for you.”
Cett laughed. “Suppose I’ll have to let you go, then.”
36
Alendi was never the Hero of Ages. At best, I have amplified his virtues, creating a Hero where there was none. At worst, I fear that all we believe may have been corrupted.
Once this warehouse had held swords and armor, scattered across its floor in heaps, like some mythical treasure. Sazed remembered walking through it, marveling at the preparations Kelsier had made without alerting any of his crewmembers. Those weapons had armed the rebellion on the eve of the Survivor’s own death, letting it take the city.
Those weapons were now stored in lockers and armories. In their place, a desperate, beaten people huddled in what blankets they could find. There were very few men, none of fighting quality; Straff had pressed those into his army. These others—the weak, the sickly, the wounded—he had allowed to Luthadel, knowing that Elend wouldn’t turn them away.
Sazed moved among them, offering what comfort he could. They had no furniture, and even changes of clothing were becoming scarce in the city. The merchants, realizing that warmth would be a premium for the upcoming winter, had begun raising prices on all their wares, not just foodstuffs.
Sazed knelt beside a crying woman. “Peace, Genedere,” he said, his coppermind reminding him of her name.
She shook her head. She had lost three children in the koloss attack, two more in the flight to Luthadel. Now the final one—the babe she had carried the entire way—was sick. Sazed took the child from her arms, carefully studying his symptoms. Little had changed from the day before.
“Is there hope, Master Terrisman?” Genedere asked.
Sazed glanced down at the thin, glassy-eyed baby. The chances were not good. How could he tell her such a thing?
“As long as he breathes, there is hope, dear woman,” Sazed said. “I will ask the king to increase your portion of food—you