For a man who claimed he didn’t want to kill Straff, Zane certainly spent a lot of effort trying. Fortunately, Straff had a tool even Zane didn’t know about—one that came in the form of a woman. Straff smiled as his tin-enhanced ears heard soft footsteps approaching in the night.
The soldiers sent Amaranta right in. Straff hadn’t brought all of his mistresses with him on the trip—just his ten or fifteen favorites. Mixed in with the ones he was currently bedding, however, were some women that he kept for their effectiveness rather than their beauty. Amaranta was a good example. She had been quite attractive a decade before, but now she was creeping up into her late twenties. Her breasts had begun to sag from childbirth, and every time Straff looked at her, he noticed the wrinkles that were appearing on her forehead and around her eyes. He got rid of most women long before they reached her age.
This one, however, had skills that were useful. If Zane heard that Straff had sent for the woman this night, he’d assume that Straff had simply wanted to bed her. He’d be wrong.
“My lord,” Amaranta said, getting down on her knees. She began to disrobe.
Well, at least she’s optimistic, Straff thought. He would have thought that after four years without being called to his bed, she would understand. Didn’t women realize when they were too old to be attractive?
“Keep your clothing on, woman,” he snapped.
Amaranta’s face fell, and she laid her hands in her lap, leaving her dress half undone, one breast exposed—as if she were trying to tempt him with her aging nudity.
“I need your antidote,” he said. “Quickly.”
“Which one, my lord?” she asked. She wasn’t the only herbalist Straff kept; he learned scents and tastes from four different people. Amaranta, however, was the best of them.
“Birchbane,” Straff said. “And … maybe something else. I’m not sure.”
“Another general potion, then, my lord?” Amaranta asked.
Straff nodded curtly. Amaranta rose, walking to his poison cabinet. She lit the burner at the side, boiling a small pot of water as she quickly mixed powders, herbs, and liquids. The concoction was her particular specialty—a mixture of all of the basic poison antidotes, remedies, and reagents in her repertoire. Straff suspected that Zane had used the birchbane to cover something else. Whatever it was, however, Amaranta’s concoction would deal with—or at least identify—it.
Straff waited uncomfortably as Amaranta worked, still half naked. The concoction needed to be prepared freshly each time, but it was worth the wait. She eventually brought him a steaming mug. Straff gulped it, forcing down the harsh liquid despite its bitterness. Immediately, he began to feel better.
He sighed—another trap avoided—as he drank the rest of the cup to be certain. Amaranta knelt expectantly again.
“Go,” Straff ordered.
Amaranta nodded quietly. She put her arm back through the dress’s sleeve, then retreated from the tent.
Straff sat stewing, empty cup cooling in his hand. He knew he held the edge. As long as he appeared strong before Zane, the Mistborn would continue to do as commanded.
Probably.
If only I had passed over Alendi when looking for an assistant, all those years ago.
19
SAZED UNCLASPED HIS FINAL STEELMIND. He held it up, the braceletlike band of metal glistening in the red sunlight. To another man, it might seem valuable. To Sazed, it was now just another empty husk—a simple steel bracelet. He could refill it if he wished, but for the moment he didn’t consider the weight worth carrying.
With a sigh, he dropped the bracelet. It fell with a clank, tossing up a puff of ash from the ground. Five months of storing, of spending every fifth day drained of speed, my body moving as if impeded by a thick molasses. And now it’s all gone.
The loss had purchased something valuable, however. In just six days of travel, using steelminds on occasion, he had traveled the equivalent of six weeks’ worth of walking. According to his cartography coppermind, Luthadel was now a little over a week away. Sazed felt good about the expenditure. Perhaps he’d overreacted to the deaths he’d found in the little southern village. Perhaps there was no need for him to hurry. But, he’d created the steelmind to be used.
He hefted his pack, which was much lighter than it had been. Though many of his metalminds were small, they were heavy in aggregate. He’d decided to discard some of the less valuable or less full ones as he ran. Just like the steel bracelet, which he left sitting in the ash behind him as he went on.
He was definitely in the Central Dominance now. He’d passed Faleast and Tyrian, two of the northern Ashmounts. Tyrian was still just barely visible to the south—a tall, solitary peak with a cut-off, blackened top. The landscape had grown flat, the trees changing from patchy brown pines to the willowy white aspens common around Luthadel. The aspens rose like bones growing from the black soil, clumping, their ashen white bark scarred and twisted. They—
Sazed paused. He stood near the central canal, one of the main routes to Luthadel. The canal was empty of boats at the moment; travelers were rare these days, even more rare than they had been during the Final Empire, for bandits were far more common. Sazed had outrun several groups of them during his hurried flight to Luthadel.
No, solitary travelers were rare. Armies were far more common—and, judging from the several dozen trails of smoke he saw rising ahead of him, he had run afoul of one. It stood directly between him and Luthadel.
He thought quietly for a moment, flakes of ash beginning to fall lightly around him. It was midday; if that army had scouts, Sazed would have a very difficult time getting around it. In addition, his steelminds were empty. He wouldn’t be able to run from pursuit.
And yet, an army within a week of Luthadel. … Whose was it, and what threat did it pose? His curiosity, the curiosity of a scholar, prodded him to seek a vantage from which to study the troops. Vin and the others could use any information he gathered.
Decision made, Sazed located a hill with a particularly large stand of aspens. He dropped his pack at the base of a tree, then pulled out an ironmind and began to fill it. He felt the familiar sensation of decreased weight, and he easily climbed to the top of the thin tree—his body was now light enough that it didn’t take much strength to pull himself upward.
Hanging from the very tip of the tree, Sazed tapped his tinmind. The edges of his vision fuzzed, as always, but with the increased vision he could make out details about the large group settled into a hollow before him.
He was right about it being an army. He was wrong about it being made up of men.
“By the forgotten gods …” Sazed whispered, so shocked that he nearly lost his grip. The army was organized in only the most simplistic and primitive way. There were no tents, no vehicles, no horses. Just hundreds of large cooking fires, each ringed with figures.
And those figures were of a deep blue. They varied greatly in size; some were just five feet tall, others were lumbering hulks of ten feet or more. They were both the same species, Sazed knew. Koloss. The creatures—though similar to men in base form—never stopped growing. They simply continued to get bigger as they aged, growing until their hearts could no longer support them. Then they died, killed by their body’s own growth imperative.