Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [576]
Demoux flushed, then turned and walked away.
“What was that about?” Breeze asked curiously.
“The boy has been preaching to my soldiers,” Clubs said. “Told him I didn’t want his nonsense cluttering their minds.”
“It is not nonsense, Lord Cladent,” Sazed said, “it’s faith.”
“Do you honestly think,” Clubs said, “that Kelsier is going to protect these people?”
Sazed wavered. “They believe it, and that is—”
“No,” Clubs interrupted, scowling. “That isn’t enough, Terrisman. These people fool themselves by believing in the Survivor.”
“You believed in him,” Sazed said. Breeze was tempted to Soothe him, make the argument less tense, but Sazed already seemed completely calm. “You followed him. You believed in the Survivor enough to overthrow the Final Empire.”
Clubs scowled. “I don’t like your ethics, Terrisman—I never have. Our crew—Kelsier’s crew—fought to free this people because it was right.”
“Because you believed it to be right,” Sazed said.
“And what do you believe to be right, Terrisman?”
“That depends,” Sazed said. “There are many different systems with many different worthy values.”
Clubs nodded, then turned, as if the argument were over.
“Wait, Clubs,” Ham said. “Aren’t you going to respond to that?”
“He said enough,” Clubs said. “His belief is situational. To him, even the Lord Ruler was a deity because people worshipped him—or were forced to worship him. Aren’t I right, Terrisman?”
“In a way, Lord Cladent,” Sazed said. “Though, the Lord Ruler might have been something of an exception.”
“But you still keep records and memories of the Steel Ministry’s practices, don’t you?” Ham asked.
“Yes,” Sazed admitted.
“Situational,” Clubs spat. “At least that fool Demoux had the sense to choose one thing to believe in.”
“Do not deride someone’s faith simply because you do not share it, Lord Cladent,” Sazed said quietly.
Clubs snorted again. “It’s all very easy for you, isn’t it?” he asked. “Believing everything, never having to choose?”
“I would say,” Sazed replied, “that it is more difficult to believe as I do, for one must learn to be inclusionary and accepting.”
Clubs waved a dismissive hand, turning to hobble toward the stairs. “Suit yourself. I have to go prepare my boys to die.”
Sazed watched him go, frowning. Breeze gave him a Soothing—taking away his self-consciousness—for good measure.
“Don’t mind him, Saze,” Ham said. “We’re all a little on edge, lately.”
Sazed nodded. “Still, he makes good points—ones I have never before had to face. Until this year, my duty was to collect, study, and remember. It is still very hard for me to consider setting one belief beneath another, even if that belief is based on a man that I know to have been quite mortal.”
Ham shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe Kell is out there somewhere, watching over us.”
No, Breeze thought. If he were, we wouldn’t have ended up here—waiting to die, locked in a city we were supposed to save.
“Anyway,” Ham said, “I still want to know where that smoke is coming from.”
Breeze glanced at the koloss camp. The dark pillar was too centralized to be coming from cooking fires. “The tents?”
Ham shook his head. “El said there were only a couple of tents—far too few to make that much smoke. That fire has been burning for some time.”
Breeze shook his head. Doesn’t really matter now, I guess.
Straff Venture coughed again, curling over in his chair. His arms were slick with sweat, his hands trembling.
He wasn’t getting better.
At first, he’d assumed that the chills were a side effect of his nervousness. He’d had a hard evening, sending assassins after Zane, then somehow escaping death at the insane Mistborn’s hands. Yet, during the night, Straff’s shakes hadn’t gotten better. They’d grown worse. They weren’t just from nervousness; he must have a disease of some sort.
“Your Majesty!” a voice called from outside.
Straff straightened himself, trying to look as presentable as possible. Even so, the messenger paused as he entered the tent, apparently noting Straff’s wan skin and tired eyes.
“My…lord,” the messenger said.
“Speak, man,” Straff