The Hero of Ages

it? Is it not the point of this judgment for me to speak of my purposes?'

He kept talking, despite the fact that KanPaar tried to speak over him. 'I did it because she has the right to know our Secret,' TenSoon shouted. 'She is the Mother! She inherited everything the Lord Ruler had. Without her, we have nothing. We cannot create new Blessings, or new kandra, on our own! The Trust is hers, now! We should go to her. If this truly is the end of all things, then the Resolution will soon come. She will-'

'Enough!' KanPaar bellowed.

The chamber fell silent again.

TenSoon stood, breathing deeply. For a year, trapped in his pit, he'd planned how to proclaim that information. His people had spent a thousand years, ten generations, following the teachings of the First Contract. They deserved to hear what had happened to him.

And yet, it felt so. . inadequate to just scream it out like some raving human. Would any of his people really believe? Would he change anything at all?

'You have, by your own admission, betrayed us,' KanPaar said. 'You've broken Contract, you've murdered one of your own generation, and you've told a human how to dominate us. You demanded judgment. Let it come.'

TenSoon turned quietly, looking up toward the alcoves where the members of the First Generation watched.

Perhaps. . perhaps they'll see that what I say is true. Perhaps my words will shock them, and they'll realize that we need to offer service to Vin, rather than just sit in these caves and wait while the world ends around us.

But, nothing happened. No motion, no sound. At times, TenSoon wondered if anyone still lived up there. He hadn't spoken with a member of the First Generation for centuries-they limited their communications strictly to the Seconds.

If they did still live, none of them took the opportunity to offer TenSoon clemency. KanPaar smiled. 'The First Generation has ignored your plea, Third,' he said. 'Therefore, as their servants, we of the Second Generation will offer judgment on their behalf. Your sentencing will occur in one month's time.'

TenSoon frowned. A month? Why wait?

Either way, it was over. He bowed his head, sighing. He'd had his say. The kandra now knew that their Secret was out-the Seconds could no longer hide that fact. Perhaps his words would inspire his people to action.

TenSoon would probably never know.

Rashek moved the Well of Ascension, obviously.

It was very clever of him-perhaps the cleverest thing he did. He knew that the power would one day return to the Well, for power such as this-the fundamental power by which the world itself was formed-does not simply run out. It can be used, and therefore diffused, but it will always be renewed.

So, knowing that rumors and tales would persist, Rashek changed the very landscape of the world. He put mountains in what became the North, and named that location Terris. Then he flattened his true homeland, and built his capital there.

He constructed his palace around that room at its heart, the room where he would meditate, the room that was a replica of his old hovel in Terris. A refuge created during the last moments before his power ran out.

12

'I'm worried about him, Elend,' Vin said, sitting on their bedroll.

'Who?' Elend asked, looking away from the mirror. 'Sazed?'

Vin nodded. When Elend awoke from their nap, she was already up, bathed, and dressed. He worried about her sometimes, working herself as hard as she did. He worried even more now that he too was Mistborn, and understood the limitations of pewter. The metal strengthened the body, letting one postpone fatigue-but at a price. When the pewter ran out or was turned off, the fatigue returned, crashing down on you like a collapsing wall.

Yet Vin kept going. Elend was burning pewter too, pushing himself, but she seemed to sleep half as much as he did. She was harder than he was-strong in ways he would never know.

'Sazed will deal with his problems,' Elend said, turning back to his dressing. 'He must have lost people before.'

'This is different,' Vin said. He could see her in the reflection, sitting cross-legged behind him in her simple clothing. Elend's stark white uniform was just the opposite. It shone with its gold-painted wooden buttons, intentionally crafted with too little metal in them to be affected by Allomancy. The clothing itself had been made with a special cloth that was easier to scrub clean of ash. Sometimes, he felt guilty at all the work it took to make him look regal. Yet it was necessary. Not for his vanity, but for his image. The image for which his men marched to war. In a land of black, Elend wore white-and became a symbol.

'Different?' Elend asked, doing up the buttons on his jacket sleeves. 'What is different about Tindwyl's death? She fell during the assault on Luthadel. So did Clubs and Dockson. You killed my own father in that battle, and I beheaded my best friend shortly before it. We've all lost people.'

'He said something like that himself,' Vin said. 'But, it's more than just one death to him. I think he sees a kind of betrayal in Tindwyl's death-he always was the only one of us who had faith. He lost that when she died, somehow.'

'The only one of us who had faith?' Elend asked, plucking a wooden, silver-painted pin off his desk and affixing it to his jacket. 'What about this?'

'You belong to the Church of the Survivor, Elend,' Vin said. 'But you don't have faith. Not like Sazed did. It was like. . he knew everything would turn out all right. He trusted that something was watching over the world.'

'He'll deal with it.'

'It's not just him, Elend,' Vin said. 'Breeze tries too hard.'

'What does that mean?' Elend asked with amusement.

'He Pushes on everyone's emotions,' Vin said. 'He Pushes too hard, trying to make others happy, and he laughs too hard. He's afraid, worried. He shows it by overcompensating.'

Elend smiled. 'You're getting as bad as he is, reading everybody's emotions and telling them how they're feeling.'

'They're my friends, Elend,' Vin said. 'I know them. And, I'm telling you-they're giving up. One by one, they're beginning to think we can't win this one.'

Elend fastened the final button, then looked at himself in the mirror. Sometimes, he still wondered if he fit the ornate suit, with its crisp whiteness and implied regality. He looked into his own eyes, looking past the short beard, warrior's body, and scarred skin. He looked into those eyes, searching for the king behind them. As always, he wasn't completely impressed with what he saw.

He carried on anyway, for he was the best they had. Tindwyl had taught him that. 'Very well,' he said. 'I trust that you're right about the others-I'll do something to fix it.'

That, after all, was his job. The title of emperor carried with it only a single duty.

To make everything better.

'All right,' Elend said, pointing to a map of the empire hanging on the wall of the conference tent. 'We timed the arrival and disappearance of the mists each day, then Noorden and his scribes analyzed them. They've given us these perimeters as a guide.'

The group leaned in, studying the map. Vin sat at the back of the tent, as was still her preference. Closer to the shadows. Closer to the exit. She'd grown more confident, true-but that didn't make her careless. She liked to be able to keep an eye on everyone in the room, even if she did trust them.

And she did. Except maybe Cett. The obstinate man sat at the front of the group, his quiet teenage son at his side, as always. Cett-or, King Cett, one of the monarchs who had sworn allegiance to