FOR JORDAN SANDERSON,
Who can explain to any who ask
What it’s like to have a brother
Who spends most of his time dreaming.
(Thanks for putting up with me.)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I owe a whole lot of people a whole lot of thanks for helping make this book what it is today. First and foremost, my editor and my agent—Moshe Feder and Joshua Bilmes—are to be noted for their exceptional ability to help a project reach its fullest potential. Also, my wonderful wife, Emily, has been a great support and aid to the writing process.
As before, Isaac Stewart (Nethermore.com) did the fine map work, chapter symbols, and circle of Allomantic metals. I truly appreciate Jon Foster’s artwork as well; this time it’s resulted in my personal favorite of the three Mistborn covers. Thanks to Larry Yoder for being awesome, and Dot Lin for her publicity work for me at Tor. Denis Wong and Stacy Hague-Hill for their assistance to my editor, and the—as always—marvelous Irene Gallo for her art direction.
Alpha readers for this book include Paris Elliott, Emily Sanderson, Krista Olsen, Ethan Skarstedt, Eric J. Ehlers, Eric “More Snooty” James Stone, Jillena O’Brien, C. Lee Player, Bryce Cundick/Moore, Janci Patterson, Heather Kirby, Sally Taylor, Bradley Reneer, Steve “Not Bookstore Guy Anymore” Diamond, General Micah Demoux, Zachary “Spook” J. Kaveney, Alan Layton, Janette Layton, Kaylynn ZoBell, Nate Hatfield, Matthew Chambers, Kristina Kugler, Daniel A. Wells, The Indivisible Peter Ahlstrom, Marianne Pease, Nicole Westenskow, Nathan Wood, John David Payne, Tom Gregory, Rebecca Dorff, Michelle Crowley, Emily Nelson, Natalia Judd, Chelise Fox, Nathan Crenshaw, Madison Van-DenBerghe, Rachel Dunn, and Ben OleSoon.
In addition I’m thankful to Jordan Sanderson—to whom this book is dedicated—for his tireless work on the Web site. Jeff Creer, also, did a great job with the art for BrandonSanderson.com. Stop by and check it out!
PREFACE
This is the book where I had to prove I could do this—both to myself and to my readers.
During the years that I was trying to break into fantasy, I noticed something about newer writers. There were a lot of great world-builders selling books. There were also a lot of people who could write great chapters, compelling characters, and interesting situations.
I consistently found myself disappointed by the endings of these books, however. Granted, I’ll take a book with a weak ending but great characters over the reverse—but I felt that a lot of writers were neglecting this key point of their stories. If I read an epic book, or series, that fully immersed me and took weeks of my time to get through, I wanted an equally epic ending.
With The Hero of Ages, I needed to put my money where my mouth was. I’d invested in writing all three of these books nearly back to back, finishing this one before the first one had to go to press. I’d pushed myself this far, and this hard, because I wanted to make sure the last book was appropriately themed with the first two.
But I’d never done this before. I was exploring what was, for me, new territory. I’d written some fifteen or sixteen books at this point, but no series endings. So this book was stressful for me. I so badly wanted to get it right, that when some things went poorly (like Sazed’s arc in the rough draft) I felt a lot of pressure to find another path.
At the same time, there was a certain momentum to writing The Hero of Ages. Book two was the biggest overall struggle of the three, even if Sazed’s arc in this book was the biggest individual struggle of the series. I wrote this book in a fervor, energized by having stopped (briefly) to write the first Alcatraz book. I tried to channel every bit of apocalyptic fantastical idea I’d had over the years, holding nothing back.
I had to stick the landing with this book. For the most part, I think I did. Like all of the Mistborn books, it has a unique, individual focus. It’s somehow both a small book and a large one at the same time. One of my pitches to myself for the series was, “Do in three books what other series take ten to accomplish.” The way to do this without letting the book get overwhelmed by side stories was to keep the focus on a few main characters—show their world falling apart around them, but keep the attention on them and their struggles.
I’m very proud of the result. I like how intimate it is, despite the epic scope of the series. I like how lean it is. (Though large, it is still half the size of my average Stormlight book.) I like how the world-building ties together and, most of all, how well the three volumes work as a whole. Both as a journey for the characters, and as entries into a deconstruction of the fantasy genre.
Mistborn is my calling card to the world.
PROLOGUE
MARSH STRUGGLED TO KILL HIMSELF.
His hand trembled as he tried to summon the strength to make himself reach up and pull the spike free from his back and end his monstrous life. He had given up on trying to break free. Three years. Three years as an Inquisitor, three years imprisoned in his own thoughts. Those years had proven that there was no escape. Even now, his mind clouded.
And then It took control. The world seemed to vibrate around him; then suddenly he could see clearly. Why had he struggled? Why had he worried? All was as it should be.
He stepped forward. Though he could no longer see as normal men did—after all, he had large steel spikes driven point-first through his eyes—he could sense the room around him. The spikes protruded from the back of his skull; if he reached up to touch the back of his head, he could feel the sharp points. There was no blood.
The spikes gave him power. Everything was outlined in fine blue Allomantic lines, highlighting the world. The room was of modest size, and several companions—also outlined in blue, the Allomantic lines pointing at the metals contained in their very blood—stood with Marsh. Each one had spikes through his eyes.
Each one, that is, except for the man tied to the table in front of him. Marsh smiled, taking a spike off of the table beside him, then hefting it. His prisoner wore no gag. That would have stopped the screams.
“Please,” the prisoner whispered, trembling. Even a Terrisman steward would break down when confronted by his own violent death. The man struggled weakly. He was in a very awkward position, as he had been tied to the table on top of another person. The table had been designed that way, with depressions to allow for the body underneath.
“What is it you want?” the Terrisman asked. “I can tell you no more about the Synod!”
Marsh fingered the brass spike, feeling its tip. There was work to do, but he hesitated, relishing the pain and terror in the man’s voice. Hesitated so that he could…
Marsh grabbed control of his own mind. The room’s scents lost their sweetness, and instead reeked with the stench of blood and death. His joy turned to horror. His prisoner was a Keeper of Terris—a man who had worked his entire life for the good of others. Killing him would be not only a crime, but a tragedy. Marsh tried to take command, tried to force his arm up and around to grab the linchpin spike from his back—its removal would kill him.