Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [584]
Their doom approached like the inevitable sunrise. Penrod had allowed three separate groups of townspeople—one of them composed of nobility—to try to flee Luthadel. Straff’s soldiers, more wary after Elend’s escape, had caught and slaughtered each group. Penrod had even sent a messenger to Lord Jastes Lekal, hoping to strike some deal with the Southern leader, but the messenger had not returned from the koloss camp.
“Well,” Clubs said, “at least we kept them off for a few days.”
Sazed thought for a moment. “It was simply a delay of the inevitable, I fear.”
“Of course it was,” Clubs said. “But it was an important delay. Elend and Vin will be almost four days away by now. If the fighting had started too soon, you can bet that little Miss Mistborn would have come back and gotten herself killed trying to save us.”
“Ah,” Sazed said slowly, forcing himself to reach for another spoonful of broth. The spoon was a dull weight in his numb fingers; his sense of touch, of course, was being siphoned into a tinmind. “How are the city defenses coming?” he asked as he struggled with the spoon.
“Terribly,” Clubs said. “Twenty thousand troops may sound like a lot—but try stringing them out through a city this big.”
“But the koloss won’t have any siege equipment,” Sazed said, focused on his spoon. “Or archers.”
“Yes,” Clubs said. “But we have eight city gates to protect—and any of five are within quick reach of the koloss. None of those gates was built to withstand an attack. And, as it stands, I can barely post a couple thousand guards at each gate, since I really don’t know which way the koloss will come first.”
“Oh,” Sazed said quietly.
“What did you expect, Terrisman?” Clubs asked. “Good news? The koloss are bigger, stronger, and far crazier than we are. And they have an advantage in numbers.”
Sazed closed his eyes, quivering spoon held halfway to his lips. He suddenly felt a weakness unrelated to his metalminds. Why didn’t she go with them? Why didn’t she escape?
As Sazed opened his eyes, he saw Clubs waving for a servant to bring him something to eat. The young girl returned with a bowl of soup. Clubs eyed it with dissatisfaction for a moment, but then lifted a knotted hand and began to slurp. He shot a glance at Sazed. “You expecting an apology out of me, Terrisman?” he asked between spoonfuls.
Sazed sat shocked for a moment. “Not at all, Lord Cladent,” he finally said.
“Good,” Clubs said. “You’re a decent enough person. You’re just confused.”
Sazed sipped his soup, smiling. “That is comforting to hear. I think.” He thought for a moment. “Lord Cladent. I have a religion for you.”
Clubs frowned. “You don’t give up, do you?”
Sazed looked down. It took him a moment to gather together what he’d been thinking about before. “What you said earlier, Lord Cladent. About situational morality. It made me think of a faith, known as Dadradah. Its practitioners spanned many countries and peoples; they believed that there was only one God, and that there was only one right way to worship.”
Clubs snorted. “I’m really not interested in one of your dead religions, Terrisman. I think that—”
“They were artists,” Sazed said quietly.
Clubs hesitated.
“They thought art drew one closer to God,” Sazed said. “They were most interested in color and hue, and they were fond of writing poetry describing the colors they saw in the world around them.”
Clubs was silent. “Why preach this religion to me?” he demanded. “Why not pick one that is blunt, like I am? Or one that worshipped warfare and soldiers?”
“Because, Lord Cladent,” Sazed said. He blinked, recalling memories with effort through his muddled mind. “That is not you. It is what you must do, but it is not you. The others forget, I think,