“We don’t work that way,” Ham said, face growing dark.
“Oh?” Cett asked. “That didn’t stop Vin from tearing a hole through my army and attacking me back before we teamed up.”
“That was different,” Ham said.
“No,” Elend said, interrupting. “It wasn’t. The reason we’re not going to assassinate Yomen, Cett, is because I want to try diplomacy first.”
“Diplomacy?” Cett asked. “Didn’t we just march an army of forty thousand soldiers on his city? That’s not a diplomatic move.”
“True,” Elend said, nodding. “But we haven’t attacked, not yet. Now that I’m here in person, I might as well try talking before sending out knives in the night. We might be able to persuade Lord Yomen that an alliance will benefit him more than a war.”
“If we make an alliance,” Cett said, leaning forward in his chair, “I don’t get my city back.”
“I know,” Elend said.
Cett frowned.
“You seem to be forgetting yourself, Cett,” Elend said. “You did not ‘team up’ with me. You knelt before me, offering up oaths of service in exchange for not getting executed. Now, I appreciate your allegiance, and I will see you rewarded with a kingdom to rule under me. However, you don’t get to choose where that kingdom is, nor when I will grant it.”
Cett paused, sitting in his chair, one arm resting on his useless, paralyzed legs. Finally, he smiled. “Damn, boy. You’ve changed a lot in the year I’ve known you.”
“So everyone is fond of telling me,” Elend said. “Vin. You think you can get into the city?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I hope that was meant to be rhetorical.”
“It was meant to be polite,” Elend said. “I need you to do some scouting. We know next to nothing about what’s been going on in this dominance lately—we’ve focused all of our efforts on Urteau and the South.”
Vin shrugged. “I can go poke around a bit. I don’t know what you expect me to find.”
“Cett,” Elend said, turning, “I need names. Informants, or perhaps some noblemen that might still be loyal to you.”
“Noblemen?” Cett asked, amused. “Loyal?”
Elend rolled his eyes. “How about some that could be bribed to pass on a little information.”
“Sure,” Cett said. “I’ll write up some names and locations. Assuming they still live in the city. Hell, assuming they’re even still alive. Can’t count on much these days.”
Elend nodded. “We won’t take any further action until we have more information. Ham, make certain the soldiers dig in well—use the field fortifications that Demoux taught them. Cett, see that those guard patrols get set up, and make certain our Tineyes remain alert and on watch. Vin will scout and see if she can sneak into the cache like she did in Urteau. If we know what’s in there, then we can better judge whether to gamble on trying to conquer the city or not.”
The various members of the group nodded, understanding that the meeting was over. As they left, Elend stepped back out into the mists, looking up at the distant bonfires burning on the rocky heights.
Quiet as a sigh, Vin stepped up to his side, following his gaze. She stood for a few moments. Then she glanced to the side, where a pair of soldiers were entering the tent to carry Cett away. Her eyes narrowed in displeasure.
“I know,” Elend said quietly, knowing that she was thinking of Cett again and his influence over Elend.
“You didn’t deny that you might turn to assassination,” Vin said softly.
“Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
“And if it does?”
“Then I’ll make the decision that is best for the empire.”
Vin was silent for a moment. Then, she glanced at the fires up above.
“I could come with you,” Elend offered.
She smiled, then kissed him. “Sorry,” she said. “But you’re noisy.”
“Come now. I’m not that bad.”
“Yes you are,” Vin said. “Plus, you smell.”
“Oh?” he asked, amused. “What do I smell like?”
“An emperor. A Tineye would pick you out in seconds.”
Elend raised his eyebrows. “I see. And, don’t you possess an imperial scent as well?”
“Of course I do,” Vin said, wrinkling her nose. “But I know how to get rid of it. Either way, you’re not good enough to go with me, Elend. I’m sorry.”
Elend smiled. Dear, blunt Vin.
Behind him, the soldiers left the tent, carrying Cett. An aide walked up, delivering to Elend a short list of informants and noblemen who might be willing to talk. Elend passed it to Vin. “Have fun,” he said.
She dropped a coin between them, kissed him again, then shot up into the night.
26
I am only just beginning to understand the brilliance of the Lord Ruler’s cultural synthesis. One of the benefits afforded him by being both immortal and—for all relevant purposes—omnipotent was a direct and effective influence on the evolution of the Final Empire.
He was able to take elements from a dozen different cultures and apply them to his new, “perfect” society. For instance, the architectural brilliance of the Khlenni builders is manifest in the keeps that the high nobility construct. Khlenni fashion sense—suits for gentlemen, gowns for ladies—is another thing the Lord Ruler decided to appropriate.
I suspect that despite his hatred of the Khlenni people—of whom Alendi was one—Rashek had a deep-seated envy of them as well. The Terris of the time were pastoral herdsmen, the Khlenni cultured cosmopolitans. However ironic, it is logical that Rashek’s new empire would mimic the high culture of the people he hated.
SPOOK STOOD IN HIS LITTLE ONE-ROOM LAIR, a room that was—of course—illegal. The Citizen forbade such places, places where a man could live unaccounted, unwatched. Fortunately, forbidding such places didn’t eliminate them.
It only made them more expensive.
Spook was lucky. He barely remembered leaping from the burning building, clutching six Allomantic vials, coughing and bleeding. He didn’t at all remember making it back to his lair. He should probably be dead. Even surviving the fires, he should have been sold out—if the proprietor of his little illegal inn had realized who Spook was and what he’d escaped, the promise of reward would undoubtedly have been irresistible.
But, Spook had survived. Perhaps the other thieves in the lair thought he had been on the wrong side of a robbery. Or, perhaps they simply didn’t care. Either way, he was able to stand in front of the room’s small mirror, shirt off, looking in wonder at his wound.
I’m alive, he thought. And… I feel pretty good.
He stretched, rolling his arm in its socket. The wound hurt far less than it should have. In the very dim light, he was able to see the cut, scabbed over and healing. Pewter burned in his stomach—a beautiful complement to the familiar flame of tin.
He was something that shouldn’t exist. In Allomancy, people either had just one of the eight basic powers, or they had all fourteen powers. One or all. Never two. Yet, Spook had tried to burn other metals without success. Somehow, he had been given pewter alone to complement his tin. Amazing as that was, it was overshadowed by a greater wonder.
He had seen Kelsier’s spirit. The Survivor had returned and had shown himself to Spook.
Spook had no idea how to react to that event. He wasn’t particularly religious, but… well, a dead man—one some called a god—had appeared to him and saved his life. He worried that it had been an hallucination. But, if that were so, how had he gained the power of pewter?
He shook his head, reaching for his bandages, but paused as something twinkled in the mirror’s reflection. He stepped closer, relying—as always—upon starlight from outside to provide illumination. With his extreme tin senses, it was easy to see the bit of metal sticking from the skin in his shoulder, even though it only protruded a tiny fraction of an inch.