“You’re not in danger,” Kelsier said quietly.
Spook relaxed as someone rushed around the alley corner. It was one of the men from Durn’s chips game. The man was puffing, his face flushed with exhaustion. “My lord!” he said.
“I’m no lord,” Spook said. “What happened? Is Durn in danger?”
“No, sir,” the man said. “I just … I …”
Spook raised an eyebrow.
“I need your help,” the man said between breaths. “When we realized who you were, you were already gone. I just …”
“Help with what?” Spook said tersely.
“My sister, sir,” the man said. “She got taken by the Citizen. Our … father was a nobleman. Durn hid me, but Mailey, she got sold by the woman I’d left her with. Sir, she’s only seven. He’s going to burn her in a few days!”
Spook frowned. What does he expect me to do? He opened his mouth to ask that very question, but then stopped. He wasn’t the same man anymore. He wasn’t limited as the old Spook would have been. He could do something else.
What Kelsier would have done.
“Can you gather ten men?” Spook asked. “Friends of yours, willing to take part in some late-night work?”
“Sure. I guess. Does this have to do with saving Mailey?”
“No,” Spook said. “It has to do with your payment for saving Mailey. Get me those workers, and I’ll do what I can to help your sister.”
The man nodded eagerly.
“Do it now,” Spook said, pointing. “We start tonight.”
In Hemalurgy, the type of metal used in a spike is important, as is the positioning of that spike on the body. For instance, steel spikes take physical Allomantic powers—the ability to burn pewter, tin, steel, or iron—and bestow them upon the person receiving the spike. Which of these four is granted, however, depends on where the spike is placed.
Spikes made from other metals steal Feruchemical abilities. For example, all of the original Inquisitors were given a pewter spike, which—after first being pounded through the body of a Feruchemist—gave the Inquisitor the ability to store up healing power. (Though they couldn’t do so as quickly as a real Feruchemist, as per the law of Hemalurgic decay.) This, obviously, is where the Inquisitors got their infamous ability to recover from wounds quickly, and was also why they needed to rest so much.
36
“YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE GONE IN,” Cett said flatly.
Elend raised an eyebrow, riding his stallion through the center of his camp. Tindwyl had taught him that it was good to be seen by one’s people, especially in situations where he could control the way he was perceived. He happened to agree with this particular lesson, and so he rode, wearing a black cloak to mask the ash’s smudges, making certain his soldiers knew that he was among them. Cett rode with him, tied into his specially made saddle.
“You think I put myself in too much danger by entering the city?” Elend asked, nodding to a group of soldiers who had paused in their morning labors to salute him.
“No,” Cett said, “we both know that I don’t give a damn whether you live or die, boy. Besides, you’re Mistborn. You could have gotten out if things turned dangerous.”
“Why, then?” Elend asked. “Why was it a mistake?”
“Because,” Cett said. “You met the people inside. You talked with them, danced among them. Hell, boy. Can’t you see why that’s such a problem? When the time comes to attack, you’ll worry about people you’re going to hurt.”
Elend rode in silence for a moment. The morning mists were a normal thing to him now. They obscured the camp, masking its size. Even to his tin-enhanced eyes, distant tents became silhouetted lumps. It was as if he rode through some mythical world, a place of muffled shadows and distant noises.
Had it been a mistake for him to enter the city? Perhaps. Elend knew the theories Cett spoke of—he understood how important it was for a general to view his enemies not as individuals, but as numbers. Obstacles.
“I’m glad for my choice,” Elend said.
“I know,” Cett said, scratching at his thick beard. “That’s what frustrates me, to be honest. You’re a compassionate man. That’s a weakness, but it isn’t the real problem. The problem is your inability to deal with your own compassion.”
Elend raised an eyebrow.
“You should know better than to let yourself grow attached to your enemy, Elend,” Cett said. “You should have known how you would react, and planned so that you could avoid this very situation! Hell, boy, every leader has weaknesses—the ones who win are the ones who learn how to smother those weaknesses, not give them fuel!” When Elend didn’t respond to that, Cett simply sighed. “All right, then, let’s talk about the siege. The engineers have blocked off several streams that lead into the city, but they don’t think those were the primary sources of water.”
“They weren’t,” Elend said. “Vin has located six main wells within the city itself.”
“We should poison them,” Cett said.
Elend fell silent. The two halves of him still warred inside. The man he had been just wanted to protect as many people as possible. The man he was becoming, however, was more realistic. It knew that sometimes he had to kill—or at least discomfort—in order to save.
“Very well,” Elend said. “I’ll have Vin do it tonight—and I’ll have her leave a message written on the wells saying what we’ve done.”
“What good will that do?” Cett asked, frowning.
“I don’t want to kill the people, Cett,” Elend said, “I want to worry them. This way, they’ll go to Yomen for water. With the entire city making demands, he should go through the water supply in his storage cache pretty quickly.”
Cett grunted. He seemed pleased, however, that Elend had taken his suggestion. “And the surrounding villages?”
“Feel free to bully them,” Elend said. “Organize a force of ten thousand, and send them out to harass—but not kill. I want Yomen’s spies in the area to send him worried notes about his kingdom collapsing.”
“You’re trying to play this halfway, lad,” Cett said. “Eventually, you’ll have to choose. If Yomen doesn’t surrender, you’ll have to attack.”
Elend reined in his horse outside the command tent. “I know,” he said softly.
Cett snorted, but he fell silent as servants came out of the tent to unstrap him from the saddle. As they started, however, the earth began to tremble. Elend cursed, struggling to maintain control of his horse as it grew skittish. The shaking rattled tents, knocking poles free and collapsing a couple of them, and Elend heard the clang of metal as cups, swords, and other items were knocked to the ground. Eventually, the rumbling subsided, and he glanced to the side, checking on Cett. The man had managed to keep control of his mount, though one of his useless legs swung free from the saddle, and he looked as if he was about to fall off. His servants rushed to his side to help.
“Damn things are growing more and more frequent,” Cett said.