Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [941]
“What do you make of it?” Ham asked, wiping his brow. Blood immediately oozed from the cut again, running down the side of his face.
Elend shook his head, breathing deeply—almost in gasps—as he leaned back against the side of a jagged rock outcropping. He closed his eyes, fatigue making his body shake despite his pewter. “I don’t really care about mists right now, Ham,” he whispered. “I can barely think straight.”
Ham grunted in agreement. Around them, men screamed and died, fighting the endless waves of koloss. They had some of the creatures bottled up in the natural stone corridor leading into Fadrex, but the real fights were happening on the rugged rock formations that enclosed the city. Too many koloss, tired of waiting outside, had begun crawling up to attack from the sides.
It was a precarious battlefield, one that often demanded Elend’s attention. They had a large number of Allomancers, but most of them were inexperienced—they hadn’t even known about their powers until this very day. Elend was a one-man reserve force, bounding across the defensive lines, plugging holes while Cett directed tactics below.
More screams. More death. More metal hitting metal, rock, and flesh. Why? Elend thought with frustration. Why can’t I protect them? He flared pewter, taking a deep breath and standing up in the night.
The mists flowed overhead, as if pulled by some invisible force. For a moment, even exhausted as he was, he froze.
“Lord Venture!” someone shouted. Elend spun, looking toward the sound. A youthful messenger scrambled up the side of the rock outcropping, wide-eyed.
Oh, no . . . Elend thought, tensing.
“My lord, they’re retreating!” the lad said, stumbling to a halt before Elend.
“What?” Ham asked, standing.
“It’s true, my lord. They pulled back from the city gates! They’re leaving.”
Elend immediately dropped a coin, shooting himself into the sky. Mist flowed around him, its tendrils a million tiny strings being yanked eastward. Below, he saw the hulking, dark forms of the koloss running away in the night.
So many of them, he thought, landing on a rock formation. We’d never have beaten them. Even with Allomancers.
But, they were leaving. Running away at an inhuman speed. Moving . . .
Toward Luthadel.
Vin fought like a tempest, spraying rainwater through the dark night as she threw back Inquisitor after Inquisitor.
She shouldn’t have been alive. She’d run out of pewter, yet she felt it flaring inside, burning brighter than it ever had before. She felt as if the bleeding sun itself blazed within her, running molten through her veins.
Her every Steelpush or Ironpull slammed against her as if it were made with the power of duralumin. Yet, the metal reserves within her did not vanish. Instead, they grew stronger. Vaster. She wasn’t certain what was happening to her. However, she did know one thing.
Suddenly, fighting twelve Inquisitors at once did not seem like an impossible task.
She cried out, slapping an Inquisitor to the side, then ducking a pair of axes. She crouched, then jumped, leaping in an arc through the rain, coming down beside Marsh, who still lay stunned from where she had thrown him after her rebirth.
He looked up, finally seeming to focus on her, then cursed and rolled away as Vin punched downward. Her fist shattered a cobblestone, throwing back a ripple of dark rainwater, splashing her arms and face, leaving specks of black ash behind.
She looked up toward Marsh. He stood erect, bare-chested, his spikes glistening in the darkness.
Vin smiled, then spun on the Inquisitors rushing her from behind. She yelled, dodging a swinging axe. Had these creatures ever seemed quick to her? Within the embrace of limitless pewter, she seemed to move as the mist itself did. Light. Quick.
Unchained.
The sky spun in a tempest of its own as she attacked, moving in a swirling frenzy. The mists whirled around her arm in a vortex as she punched one Inquisitor in the face, throwing him backward. The mists danced before her as she caught the fallen Inquisitor’s axe, then sheared the arm