Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [725]
The men stood their ground. Elend was proud of them. He had given those who wished it the opportunity to return to Luthadel instead of facing the mists. He still needed troops in the capital, and he’d rather not march with men unwilling to go into the mists. Almost none had gone. The vast majority had instead lined up in full ranks without having to be ordered, wearing full battle gear, armor polished and oiled, uniforms looking as clean as possible in the ash-stained wilderness. It seemed right to Elend for them to be in their armor. It made them seem as if they were going to battle—and, in a way, they were.
They trusted him. They knew that the mists were advancing toward Luthadel, and understood the importance of capturing the cities with storage caverns. They believed in Elend’s ability to do something to save their families.
Their trust made him even more determined. He reined in his horse, turning the massive beast beside a rank of soldiers. He flared pewter, making his body stronger, giving more power to his lungs, then Rioted the emotions of the men to make them braver.
“Be strong!” he shouted.
Heads turned toward him, and the clanking of armor hushed. His own voice was so loud in his ears that he had to dampen his tin. “These mists will strike down some of us. However, most of us will be untouched—and most who fall will recover! Then, none of us need fear the mists again. We cannot arrive at Fadrex City without having inoculated ourselves! If we did so, we would risk being attacked in the morning, when we are hiding in our tents. Our enemies would force us out into the mists anyway, and we would have to fight with a sixth of our men shaking on the ground from sickness!”
He turned his horse, Demoux following behind, and moved along the ranks. “I do not know why the mists kill. But I trust in the Survivor! He named himself Lord of the Mists. If some of us die, then it is his will. Stay strong!”
His reminders seemed to have some effect. The soldiers stood a little straighter, facing west, toward where the sun would soon set. Elend reined in again, sitting tall and letting himself be seen.
“They look strong, my lord,” Demoux said quietly, moving his horse up beside Elend’s. “It was a good speech.”
Elend nodded.
“My lord . . .” Demoux said, “did you mean what you said about the Survivor?”
“Of course I did.”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Demoux said. “I didn’t mean to question your faith, it’s just that . . . well, you don’t have to keep up the charade of belief, if you don’t want to.”
“I gave my word, Demoux,” Elend said, frowning and glancing at the scarred general. “I do what I say.”
“I believe you, my lord,” Demoux said. “You are an honorable man.”
“But?”
Demoux paused. “But . . . if you don’t really believe in the Survivor, I don’t think he would want you speaking in his name.”
Elend opened his mouth to reprimand Demoux for his lack of respect, but stopped himself. The man spoke with honesty, from his heart. That wasn’t the kind of thing to punish.
Besides, he might have had a point. “I don’t know what I believe, Demoux,” Elend said, looking back at the field of soldiers. “Certainly not in the Lord Ruler. Sazed’s religions have been dead for centuries, and even he has stopped talking about them. It seems to me that leaves the Church of the Survivor as the only real option.”
“With all due respect, my lord,” Demoux said. “That’s not a very strong profession of faith.”
“I’m having trouble with faith lately, Demoux,” Elend said, looking up, watching flakes of ash drift through the air. “My last god was killed by the woman I eventually married—a woman you claim as a religious figure, but who spurns your devotion.”
Demoux nodded quietly.
“I don’t reject your god, Demoux,