Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [610]
“Lord Dockson?”
The man shook his head. “We found a few wounded scribes hiding outside the keep. They saw him die. The koloss are still in the building, breaking windows, rooting about….”
Sazed turned back, looking over the city. So much smoke billowed in the sky that it seemed the mists had come already. He’d begun filling his scent tinmind to keep the stench away.
The battle for the city might be over, but now the true tragedy would begin. The koloss in the city had finished killing soldiers. Now they would slaughter the people. There were hundreds of thousands of them, and Sazed knew the creatures would gleefully extend the devastation. No looting. Not when there was killing to be done.
More screams sounded in the night. They’d lost. Failed. And now, the city would truly fall.
The mists can’t be far away, he thought, trying to give himself some hope. Perhaps that will give us some cover.
Still, one image stood out to him. Clubs, dead in the snow. The wooden disk Sazed had given him earlier that same day tied to a loop around his neck.
It hadn’t helped.
Sazed turned back to Keep Hasting. “Lord Penrod,” he said loudly. “We are going to try and slip out of the city. I would welcome your troops and your leadership. If you stay here, the koloss will attack this keep and kill you.”
Silence.
Sazed turned, sighing as Ham—arm still in a sling—joined him. “We have to go, Saze,” Ham said quietly.
“You’re bloody, Terrisman.”
Sazed turned. Ferson Penrod stood on the top of his wall, looking down. He still looked immaculate in his nobleman’s suit. He even wore a hat against the snow and ash. Sazed looked down at himself. He still wore only his loincloth. He hadn’t had time to worry about clothing, particularly with his brassmind to keep him warm.
“I’ve never seen a Terrisman fight,” Penrod said.
“It is not a common occurrence, my lord,” Sazed replied.
Penrod looked up, staring out over the city. “It’s falling, Terrisman.”
“That is why we must go, my lord,” Sazed said.
Penrod shook his head. He still wore Elend’s thin crown. “This is my city, Terrisman. I will not abandon it.”
“A noble gesture, my lord,” Sazed said. “But these with me are your people. Will you abandon them in their flight northward?”
Penrod paused. Then he just shook his head again. “There will be no flight northward, Terrisman. Keep Hasting is among the tallest structures in the city—from it, we can see what the koloss are doing. They will not let you escape.”
“They may turn to pillaging,” Sazed said. “Perhaps we can get by them and escape.”
“No,” Penrod said, his voice echoing hauntingly across the snowy streets. “My Tineye claims the creatures have already attacked the people you sent to escape through the northern gate. Now the koloss have turned this way. They’re coming for us.”
As cries began to echo through the distant streets, coming closer, Sazed knew that Penrod’s words must be true. “Open your gates, Penrod!” Sazed yelled. “Let the refugees in!” Save their lives for a few more pitiful moments.
“There is no room,” Penrod said. “And there is no time. We are doomed.”
“You must let us in!” Sazed screamed.
“It is odd,” Penrod said, voice growing softer. “By taking this throne from the Venture boy, I saved his life—and I ended my own. I could not save the city, Terrisman. My only consolation is that I doubt Elend could have done so either.”
He turned to go, walking down somewhere beyond the wall.
“Penrod!” Sazed yelled.
He did not reappear. The sun was setting, the mists were appearing, and the koloss were coming.
Vin cut down another koloss, then jumped back, Pushing herself off of a fallen sword. She shot away from the pack, breathing heavily, bleeding from a couple of minor cuts. Her arm was growing numb; one of the creatures had punched her there. She could kill—kill better than anyone she knew. However, she couldn’t fight forever.
She landed on a rooftop, then stumbled, falling to kneel in a pile of snow. The koloss called and howled behind her,