The Hero of Ages

was almost overpowering to Spook, and he had to start breathing through his mouth. They didn't have to walk very far before arriving at their destination. The Citizen himself was in attendance. He rode no horse-those had all been shipped to the farms, for only crass noblemen were too good to walk the ground on their own feet. He did, however, wear red.

'What's that he's wearing?' Spook whispered as Durn led him around the side of the crowd. The Citizen and his retinue stood on the steps of a particularly grand mansion, and the skaa were clustering around. Durn led Spook to a place where a group of toughs had muscled themselves an exclusive piece of the street with a good vantage of the Citizen. They nodded to Durn, letting him pass without comment.

'What do you mean?' Durn asked. 'The Citizen is wearing what he always does-skaa trousers and a work shirt.'

'They're red,' Spook whispered. 'That's not an approved color.'

'As of this morning it is. Government officers can wear it. That way, they stand out, and people in need can find them. Or, at least, that's the official explanation.'

Spook frowned. However, something else caught his attention.

She was there.

It was natural, of course-she accompanied her brother wherever he went. He was particularly worried for her safety, and seldom let her out of his sight. She wore the same look as always, eyes sorrowful within a frame of auburn hair.

'Sad group today,' Durn said, and at first Spook thought he was referring to Beldre. However, Durn was nodding toward the group of prisoners. They looked just like the rest of the people in the city-gray clothing, ash- stained faces, subservient postures. The Citizen, however, stepped forward to explain the differences.

'One of the first proclamations this government made,' he announced, 'was one of solidarity. We are a skaa people. The 'noblemen' chosen by the Lord Ruler oppressed us for ten centuries. Urteau, we decided, would become a place of freedom. A place like the Survivor himself prophesied would come.'

'You've got the count?' Durn whispered to Spook.

Spook nodded. 'Ten,' he said, counting the prisoners. 'The ones we expected. You're not earning your coin, Durn.'

'Watch.'

'These,' the Citizen said, bald scalp shining in the red sunlight as he pointed at the prisoners. 'These didn't heed our warning. They knew, as all of you know, that any nobleman who stayed in this city would forfeit his life! This is our will-all of our will.

'But, like all of their kind, these were too arrogant to listen. They tried to hide. But, they think themselves above us. They always will. That exposes them.'

He paused, then spoke again. 'And that is why we do what we must.'

He waved his soldiers forward. They shoved the prisoners up the steps. Spook could smell the oil on the air as the soldiers opened the house's doors and pushed the people in. Then, the soldiers barred the door from the outside and took up a perimeter. Each soldier lit a torch and threw it on the building. It didn't take superhuman senses to feel the heat that soon blazed to life, and the crowd shied back-revolted and frightened, but fascinated.

The windows had been boarded shut. Spook could see fingers trying to pry the wood free, could hear people screaming. He could hear them thumping against the locked door, trying to break their way out, crying in terror.

He longed to do something. Yet, even with tin, he couldn't fight an entire squad of soldiers on his own. Elend and Vin had sent him to gather information, not play their hand. Still, he cringed, calling himself a coward as he turned away from the burning building.

'This should not be,' Spook whispered harshly.

'They were noblemen,' Durn said.

'No they weren't! Their parents might have been, but these were skaa. Normal people, Durn.'

'They have noble blood.'

'So do we all, if you look back far enough,' Spook said.

Durn shook his head. 'This is the way it has to be. This is the Survivor-'

'Do not speak his name in association with this barbarity,' Spook hissed.

Durn was quiet for a moment, the only sounds that of the flames and those dying inside them. Finally, he spoke. 'I know it's hard to see, and perhaps the Citizen is too eager. But. . I heard him speak once. The Survivor. This is the sort of thing he taught. Death to the noblemen; rule by the skaa. If you'd heard him, you'd understand. Sometimes, you have to destroy something in order to build something better.'

Spook closed his eyes. Heat from the fire seemed to be searing his skin. He had heard Kelsier speak to crowds of skaa. And, Kelsier had said the things that Durn now referred to. Then, the Survivor had been a voice of hope, of spirit. His same words repeated now, however, became words of hatred and destruction. Spook felt sick.

'Again, Durn,' he said, looking up, feeling particularly harsh, 'I don't pay you to spout Citizen propaganda at me. Tell me why I'm here, or you'll get no further coin from me.'

The large beggar turned, meeting Spook's eyes behind the cloth. 'Count the skulls,' he said quietly. With that, Durn took his hand off Spook's shoulder and retreated into the crowd.

Spook didn't follow. The scents of smoke and burning flesh were growing too powerful for him. He turned, pushing his way through the crowd, seeking fresh air. He stumbled up against a building, breathing deeply, feeling the rough grain of its wood press against his side. It seemed to him that the falling flakes of ash were a part of the pyre behind, bits of death cast upon the wind.

He heard voices. Spook turned, noting that the Citizen and his guards had moved away from the fire. Quellion was addressing the crowd, encouraging them to be vigilant. Spook watched for a time, and finally the crowd began to leave, trailing the Citizen as he moved back toward the market pit.

He's punished them, now he needs to bless them. Often, especially after executions, the Citizen visited the people personally, moving between stalls in the market, shaking hands and giving encouragement.

Spook took off down a side street. He soon passed out of the wealthier section of town, arriving at a place where the street fell away before him. He chose a place where the retaining wall had collapsed, forming a slope down into the dry canal, then hopped down, skidding his way to the bottom. He pulled up the hood of his cloak, obscuring his covered eyes, and made his way through the busy street with the dexterity of one who had grown up a street urchin.

Even taking a more roundabout route, he arrived at Marketpit before the Citizen and his retinue. Spook watched through the raining ash as the man moved down a broad ramp of earth, trailed by a following that numbered in the hundreds.

You want to be him, Spook thought, crouching beside a merchant's stall. Kelsier died to bring this people hope, and now you think to steal his legacy.

This man was no Kelsier. This man wasn't even worthy to utter the Survivor's name.

The Citizen moved about, maintaining a paternal air, speaking to the people of the market. He touched them on the shoulders, shook hands, and smiled benevolently. 'The Survivor would be proud of you.' Spook could hear his voice even over the noise of the crowd. 'The ash that falls is a sign from him-it represents the fall of the empire, the ashes of tyranny. From those ashes we will make a new nation! One ruled by skaa.'

Spook edged forward, putting down the top of his hood and feeling before himself with his hands, as if he were blind. He carried his dueling cane across his back, in a strap obscured by the folds of his baggy gray shirt. He was more than capable when it came to moving through crowds. While Vin had always worked hard to remain obscure and unseen, Spook had managed to achieve both things without ever trying. In fact, he'd often tried the opposite. He'd dreamed of being a man like Kelsier-for even before he'd met the Survivor, Spook had heard stories of the man. The greatest skaa thief of their time-a man bold enough to try to rob the Lord Ruler himself.

And yet, try as he might, Spook had never been able to distinguish himself. It was just too easy to ignore yet another ash-faced boy, especially if you couldn't understand his thick Eastern slang. It had taken actually meeting Kelsier-seeing how he could move people by talking-to finally convince Spook to abandon his dialect. That was when Spook had begun to understand that there was a power in words.