“I’m glad we did this,” he said.
“There’s another ball soon,” she said. “In a few weeks.”
“I know,” he said. “As I understand it, that ball is going to be held at the Canton of Resource.”
Vin nodded. “Thrown by Yomen himself.”
“And, if the supply cache is hidden anywhere in the city, it will most likely be beneath that building.”
“We’d have an excuse—and a precedent—to get in.”
“Yomen has some atium,” Elend said. “He’s wearing a bead of it on his forehead. Though, just because he has one bead doesn’t mean he has a wealth of it.”
Vin nodded. “I wonder if he’s found the storage cavern.”
“He has,” Elend said, “I’m sure of it. I got a reaction out of him when I mentioned it.”
“That still shouldn’t stop us,” Vin said, smiling. “We go to his ball, sneak into the cavern, find out what the Lord Ruler left there, then decide what to do about the siege—and the city—based on that?”
“Seems like a good plan,” Elend said. “Assuming I can’t get him to listen to reason. I was close, Vin. I can’t help but think that there might be a chance to bring him to our side.”
She nodded.
“All right, then,” he said. “Ready to make a grand exit?”
Vin smiled, then nodded. As the music ended, Elend spun and threw her to the side, and she Pushed off of the metal dance floor rim. She shot out over the crowd, guiding herself toward the exit, dress flapping.
Behind, Elend addressed the crowd. “Thank you so much for letting us join you. Anyone who wants to escape the city will be allowed passage through my army.”
Vin landed and saw the crowd turn as Elend jumped over their heads, fortunately managing to guide himself through the relatively low room without crashing into any windows or hitting the ceiling. He joined her at the doors, and they escaped through the antechamber and into the night.
Hemalurgy is of Ruin. It destroys. By taking abilities from one person and giving them to another—in reduced amounts—power is actually lost. In line with Ruin’s own appointed purpose—breaking down the universe into smaller and smaller pieces—Hemalurgy gives great gifts, but at a high cost.
33
HUMANS MIGHT HAVE SCORNED TENSOON, perhaps throwing things at him or yelling curses as he passed. Kandra were too orderly for that kind of display, but TenSoon could feel their disdain. They watched as he was taken from his cage, then led back to the Trustwarren for judgment. Hundreds of eyes regarded him, set in bodies with bones of steel, glass, rock, and wood. The younger kandra were more extreme in form, the older were more orthodox.
All were accusatory.
Before, at the trial, the crowd had been curious—perhaps horrified. That had changed; TenSoon’s time spent in the display cage had worked as intended. The Second Generation had been able to promote his infamy, and kandra who had once, perhaps, been sympathetic to him now watched with disgust. In a thousand years of history, the kandra had never had a criminal such as TenSoon.
He bore the stares and the scorn with a raised head, padding through the corridor in a dog’s body. It was strange to him, how natural the bones felt. He’d only spent a year’s time wearing them, but putting them on again—discarding the scrawny, naked human body—felt more like returning home than coming back to the Homeland had a year before.
And so, what was supposed to be a humiliation for him became, instead, something of a triumph. It had been a wild hope, but he’d manipulated the Second Generation into giving him back the dog’s body. The sack had even contained the body’s hair and nails—likely, they had simply collected the entire mess after forcing TenSoon to abandon it and enter his prison a year ago.
The comfortable bones gave him strength. This was the body that Vin had given him. She was the Hero of Ages. He had to believe that.
Otherwise he was about to make a very big mistake.
His guards led him into the Trustwarren. This time, there were too many observers to fit into the room, so the Seconds declared that those younger than the Seventh Generation had to wait outside. Even so, kandra filled the rows of stone seats. They sat silently as TenSoon was led to the slightly raised metallic disk set into the center of the stone floor. The broad doors were left open, and younger kandra crowded outside, listening.
TenSoon looked up as he stepped onto his platform. The lump-like shadows of the First Generation waited above, each one in his separate alcove, backlit faintly in blue.
KanPaar approached his lectern. TenSoon could see the satisfaction in the way KanPaar slid across the floor. The Second felt that his triumph was complete—what happened to those who ignored the directives of the Second Generation would not soon be forgotten. TenSoon settled back on his haunches, guarded by two kandra with the Blessing of Potency twinkling in each shoulder. They carried large mallets.
“TenSoon of the Third Generation,” KanPaar said loudly. “Are you ready to bear the sentence of your judgment?”
“There will be no judgment,” TenSoon said. His words slurred, coming from the dog’s mouth, but they were clear enough to understand.
“No judgment?” KanPaar asked, amused. “You now seek to back out of what you yourself demanded?”
“I came to give information, not to be judged.”
“I—”
“I’m not speaking to you, KanPaar,” TenSoon said, turning from the Second to look up. “I’m talking to them.”
“They heard your words, Third,” KanPaar snapped. “Control yourself! I will not let you turn this judgment into a circus, as you did before.”
TenSoon smiled. Only a kandra would consider a mild argument to be a ‘circus.’ TenSoon didn’t turn away from the First Generation’s alcoves, however.
“Now,” KanPaar said. “We—”
“You!” TenSoon bellowed, causing KanPaar to sputter again. “First Generation! How long will you sit in your comfortable home, pretending that the world above doesn’t exist? You think that if you ignore the problems, they won’t affect you? Or, is it that you’ve stopped believing in your own teachings?
“The days of mist have come! The endless ash now falls! The earth shakes and trembles. You can condemn me, but you must not ignore me! The world will soon die! If you want people—in all of their forms—to survive, you must act! You must be ready! For you may soon need to command our people to accept the Resolution!”
The room fell silent. Several of the shadows above shuffled, as if discomfited—though kandra generally didn’t react in such a way. It was too disorderly.
Then a voice—soft, scratchy, and very tired—spoke from above. “Proceed, KanPaar.”
The comment was so unexpected that several members of the audience actually gasped. The First Generation never spoke in the presence of lessers. TenSoon wasn’t awed—he’d seen them, and talked with them, before they’d grown too superior to deal with anyone but the Seconds. No, he wasn’t awed. He was just disappointed.
“My faith in you was misplaced,” he said, mostly to himself. “I should not have returned.”