Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [688]
Vin soared through the air, completing her arc, heading toward a large mass of tents stationed beside the canal. Thousands of fires spit smoke into the afternoon air, and men milled about, training, working, or preparing. Nearly fifty thousand soldiers bivouacked here, using the canal route as a supply line back to Luthadel.
Vin dropped another coin, bounding through the air again. She quickly caught up to the small group of horses that had broken off from Elend’s line of tired, marching skaa. She landed—dropping a coin and Pushing against it slightly to slow her descent, throwing up a spray of ash as she hit.
Elend reined in his horse, smiling as he surveyed the camp. The expression was rare enough on his lips these days that Vin found herself smiling as well. Ahead, a group of men waited for them—their scouts would have long since noticed the townspeople’s approach.
“Lord Elend!” said a man sitting at the head of the army contingent. “You’re ahead of schedule!”
“I assume you’re ready anyway, General,” Elend said, dismounting.
“Well, you know me,” Demoux said, smiling as he approached. The general wore well-used armor of leather and steel, his face bearing a scar on one cheek, the left side of his scalp missing a large patch of hair where a koloss blade had nearly taken his head. Ever formal, the grizzled man bowed to Elend, who just slapped him on the shoulder affectionately.
Vin’s smile lingered. I remember when that man was little more than a fresh recruit standing frightened in a tunnel. Demoux wasn’t actually that much older than she was, even though his tanned face and callused hands gave that impression.
“We’ve held position, my lord,” Demoux said as Fatren and his brother dismounted and joined the group. “Not that there was much to hold it against. Still, it was good for my men to practice fortifying a camp.”
Indeed, the army’s camp beside the canal was surrounded by heaped earth and spikes—a considerable feat, considering the army’s size.
“You did well, Demoux,” Elend said, turning back to look over the townspeople. “Our mission was a success.”
“I can see that, my lord,” Demoux said, smiling. “That’s a fair pack of koloss you picked up. I hope the Inquisitor leading them wasn’t too sad to see them go.”
“Couldn’t have bothered him too much,” Elend said. “Since he was dead at the time. We found the storage cavern as well.”
“Praise the Survivor!” Demoux said.
Vin frowned. At his neck, hanging outside his clothing, Demoux wore a necklace that bore a small silver spear: the increasingly popular symbol of the Church of the Survivor. It seemed odd to her that the weapon that had killed Kelsier would become the symbol of his followers.
Of course, she didn’t like to think about the other possibility—that the spear might not represent the one that had killed Kelsier. It might very well represent the one that she herself had used to kill the Lord Ruler. She’d never asked Demoux which it was. Despite three years of growing Church power, Vin had never become comfortable with her own part in its doctrine.
“Praise the Survivor indeed,” Elend said, looking over the army’s supply barges. “How did your project go?”
“Dredging the southern bend?” Demoux asked. “It went well—there was blessed little else to do while we waited. You should be able to get barges through there now.”
“Good,” Elend said. “Form two task forces of five hundred men. Send one with barges back to Vetitan for the supplies we had to leave down in that cavern. They will transfer the supplies to the barges and send them up to Luthadel.”
“Yes, my lord,” Demoux said.
“Send the second group of soldiers north to Luthadel with these refugees,” Elend said, nodding to Fatren. “This is Lord Fatren. He’s in command of the townspeople. Have your men respect his wishes, as long as they are reasonable, and introduce him to Lord Penrod.”
Once—not long ago—Fatren would probably have complained about being handed off. However, his time with Elend had transformed him surprisingly quickly. The dirty