Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [583]
I beat you, Straff realized. You’re gone, and I’m alive. That didn’t, of course, mean that Zane wouldn’t return—but, then again, he might not. Perhaps…just maybe…Straff was rid of him forever.
“Elend’s Mistborn,” Straff said suddenly.
“We followed her for a while, my lord,” Grent said. “But, they got too far from the army, and Lord Janarle ordered the scouts back. It appears she’s making for Terris.”
He frowned. “Who else was with her?”
“We think your son Elend escaped as well,” the soldier said. “But it could have been a decoy.”
Zane did it, Straff thought with shock. He actually got rid of her.
Unless it’s a trick of some sort. But, then…
“The koloss army?” Straff asked.
“There’s been a lot of fighting in its ranks lately, sir,” Grent said. “The beasts seem more restless.”
“Order our army to break camp,” Straff said. “Immediately. We’re retreating back toward the Northern Dominance.”
“My lord?” Grent said with shock. “I think Lord Janarle is planning an assault, waiting only for your word. The city is weak, and their Mistborn is gone.”
“We’re pulling back,” Straff said, smiling. “For a while, at least.” Let’s see if this plan of yours works, Zane.
Sazed sat in a small kitchen alcove, hands on the table before him, a metallic ring glittering on each finger. They were small, for metalminds, but storing up Feruchemical attributes took time. It would take weeks to fill even a ring’s worth of metal—and he barely had days. In fact, Sazed was surprised the koloss had waited so long.
Three days. Not much time at all, but he suspected he would need every available edge in the approaching conflict. So far he’d been able to store up a small amount of each attribute. Enough for a boost in an emergency, once his other metalminds ran out.
Clubs hobbled into the kitchen. He seemed a blur to Sazed. Even wearing his spectacles—to help compensate for the vision he was storing in a tinmind—it was difficult for him to see.
“That’s it,” Clubs said, his voice muffled—another tinmind was taking Sazed’s hearing. “They’re finally gone.”
Sazed paused for a moment, trying to decipher the comment. His thoughts moved as if through a thick, turgid soup, and it took him a moment to understand what Clubs had said.
They’re gone. Straff’s troops. They’ve withdrawn. He coughed quietly before replying. “Did he ever respond to any of Lord Penrod’s messages?”
“No,” Clubs said. “But he did execute the last messenger.”
Well, that isn’t a very good sign, Sazed thought slowly. Of course, there hadn’t been very many good signs over the last few days. The city was on the edge of starvation, and their brief respite of warmth was over. It would snow this evening, if Sazed guessed right. That made him feel even more guilty to be sitting in the kitchen nook, beside a warm hearth, sipping broth as his metalminds sapped his strength, health, senses, and power of thought. He had rarely tried to fill so many at once.
“You don’t look so good,” Clubs noted, sitting.
Sazed blinked, thinking through the comment. “My…goldmind,” he said slowly. “It draws my health, storing it up.” He glanced at his bowl of broth. “I must eat to maintain my strength,” he said, mentally preparing himself to take a sip.
It was an odd process. His thoughts moved so slowly that it took him a moment to decide to eat. Then his body reacted slowly, the arm taking a few seconds to move. Even then, the muscles quivered, their strength sapped away and stored in his pewtermind. Finally, he was able to get a spoonful to his lips and take a quiet sip. It tasted bland; he was filling scent as well, and without it, his sense of taste was severely hampered.
He should probably be lying down—but if he did that, he was liable to sleep. And, while sleeping, he couldn’t fill metalminds—or, at least, he could fill only one. A bronzemind, the metal that stored wakefulness, would force him to sleep longer in exchange for letting him go longer without sleep on another occasion.
Sazed sighed, carefully