Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [886]
“It will be a wonderful sight,” Spook said, smiling.
Beldre just shook her head. “It . . . amazes me that you can be such different people at the same time. How can the man who would do such a beautiful thing for my city also plan such destruction?”
“Beldre, I’m not planning to destroy your city.”
“Just its government.”
“I do what needs to be done.”
“Men say that so easily,” Beldre said. “Yet, everybody seems to have a different opinion of what ‘needs’ to be done.”
“Your brother had his chance,” Spook said.
Beldre looked down. She still carried with her the letter they’d received earlier in the day—a response from Quellion. Beldre’s plea had been heartfelt, but the Citizen had responded with insults, implying that she had been forced to write the words because she was being held prisoner.
I do not fear a usurper, the letter read. I am protected by the Survivor himself. You will not have this city, tyrant.
Beldre looked up. “Don’t do it,” she whispered. “Give him more time. Please.”
Spook hesitated.
“There is no more time,” Kelsier whispered. “Do what must be done.”
“I’m sorry,” Spook said, turning from her. “Stay with the soldiers—I’m leaving four men to guard you. Not to keep you from fleeing, though they will do that. I want you inside this cavern. I can’t promise that the streets will be safe.”
He heard her sniffle quietly behind him. He left her standing there, then walked toward the gathering group of soldiers. One man brought Spook his dueling canes and singed cloak. Goradel stood at the front of his soldiers, looking proud. “We’re ready, my lord.”
Breeze walked up beside him, shaking his head, dueling cane tapping the ground. He sighed. “Well, here we go again. . . .”
The evening’s occasion was a speech Quellion had been publicizing for some time. He had stopped executions recently, as if finally realizing that the deaths were contributing to the instability of his rule. He apparently intended to swing back toward benevolence, holding rallies, emphasizing the wonderful things he was doing for the city.
Spook walked alone, a little ahead of Breeze, Allrianne, and Sazed, who chatted behind. Some of Goradel’s soldiers followed as well, wearing common Urteau garb. Spook had split their force, sending it by different paths. It wasn’t dark yet—to Spook the falling sun was bright, forcing him to wear his blindfold and spectacles. Quellion liked to hold his speeches in the evening, so that the mists arrived during them. He liked the implied connection to the Survivor.
A figure hobbled out of a side streetslot next to Spook. Durn walked with a stooped posture, a cloak obscuring his figure. Spook respected the twisted man’s insistence on leaving the security of the Harrows, going out to run jobs himself. Perhaps that was why he’d ended up as leader of the city’s underground.
“People are gathering, as expected,” Durn said, coughing quietly. “Some of your soldiers are already there.”
Spook nodded.
“Things are . . . unsettled in the city,” Durn said. “It worries me. Segments I can’t control have already started looting some of the prohibited noble mansions. My men are all busy trying to get people out of the streetslots.”
“It will be all right,” Spook said. “Most of the populace will be at the speech.”
Durn was silent for a moment. “Word is that Quellion is going to use his speech to denounce you, then finally order an attack on the Ministry building where you’re staying.”
“It’s a good thing we won’t be there, then,” Spook said. “He shouldn’t have withdrawn his soldiers, even if he did need them to keep order in the city.”
Durn nodded.
“What?” Spook said.
“I just hope you can handle this, lad. Once this night is through, the city will be yours. Treat it better than Quellion did.”
“I will,” Spook said.
“My men will create a disturbance for you at the meeting. Farewell.” Durn took the next left, disappearing down another streetslot alleyway.
Ahead, the crowds were already gathering. Spook put up