Ah, TenSoon thought. So Penrod managed to keep the throne. But … what’s this about an emperor? TenSoon feared that the emperor was Straff Venture. That terrible man had been the one poised to take Luthadel when TenSoon had left.
But what of Vin? Somehow, TenSoon just couldn’t bring himself to believe that she had been defeated. He had watched her kill Zane Venture, a man who had been burning atium when Vin had none. She’d done the impossible three times, to TenSoon’s count. She’d slain the Lord Ruler. She’d defeated Zane.
And she’d befriended a kandra who had been determined to hate her.
The guards fell silent again. This is foolish, TenSoon thought. I don’t have time to hide in corners and eavesdrop. The world is ending! He rose, shaking the ash from his body—an action that caused the guards to start, raising their spears anxiously as they searched the darkening night for the source of the sound.
TenSoon hesitated, their nervousness giving him an idea. He turned and loped off into the night. He’d grown to know the city quite well during his year serving with Vin—she had liked to patrol the city, particularly the areas around Keep Venture. Even with his knowledge, however, it took TenSoon some time to find his way to where he was going. He had never visited the location, but he had heard it described.
Described by a person whom TenSoon had been killing at the time.
The memory still brought him chills. Kandra served Contracts—and in Contracts, they usually were required to imitate specific individuals. A master would provide the proper body—kandra were forbidden to kill humans themselves—and the kandra would emulate it. However, before any of that happened, the kandra would usually study its quarry, learning as much about them as possible.
TenSoon had killed OreSeur, his generation brother. OreSeur, who had helped overthrow the Father. At Kelsier’s command, OreSeur had pretended to be a nobleman named Lord Renoux so that Kelsier would have an apparent nobleman as a front to use in his plan to overthrow the empire. But, there had been a more important part for OreSeur to play in Kelsier’s plot. A secret part that not even the other members of the crew had known until after Kelsier’s death.
TenSoon arrived at the old warehouse. It stood where OreSeur had said it would. TenSoon shuddered, remembering OreSeur’s screams. The kandra had died beneath TenSoon’s torture, torture which had been necessary, for TenSoon had needed to learn all that he could. Every secret. All that he would need in order to convincingly imitate his brother.
That day, TenSoon’s hatred of humans—and at himself for serving them—had burned more deeply than ever before. How Vin had overcome that, he still didn’t know.
The warehouse before TenSoon was now a holy place, ornamented and maintained by the Church of the Survivor. A plaque hung out front, displaying the sign of the spear—the weapon by which both Kelsier and the Lord Ruler had died—and giving a written explanation of why the warehouse was important.
TenSoon knew the story already. This was the place where the crew had found a stockpile of weapons, left by the Survivor to arm the skaa people for their revolution. It had been discovered the same day that Kelsier had died, and rumors whispered that the spirit of the Survivor had appeared in this place, giving guidance to his followers. Those rumors were true, after a fashion. TenSoon rounded the building, following instructions OreSeur had given as he died. The Blessing of Presence let TenSoon recall the precise words, and despite the ash, he found the spot—a place where the cobbles were disturbed. Then, he began to dig.
Kelsier, the Survivor of Hathsin, had indeed appeared to his followers that night years ago. Or, at least, his bones had. OreSeur had been commanded to take the Survivor’s own body and digest it, then appear to the faithful skaa and give them encouragement. The legends of the Survivor, the whole religion that had sprung up around him, had been started by a kandra.
And TenSoon had eventually killed that kandra. But not before learning his secrets. Secrets such as where OreSeur had buried the bones of the Survivor, and how the man had looked.
TenSoon smiled as he unearthed the first bone. They were years old now, and he hated using old bones. Plus, there would be no hair, so the one he created would be bald. Still, the opportunity was too valuable to pass up. He’d only seen the Survivor once, but with his expertise in imitation …
Well, it was worth a try.
Wellen leaned against his spear, watching those mists again. Rittle—his companion guard—said they weren’t dangerous. But, Rittle hadn’t seen what they could do. What they could reveal. Wellen figured that he had survived because he respected them. That, and because he didn’t think too hard about the things he had seen.
“You think Skiff and Jaston will be late to relieve us again?” Wellen asked, trying again to start a conversation.
Rittle just grunted. “Dunno, Wells.” Rittle never did care for small talk.
“I think maybe one of us should go see,” Wellen said, eyeing the mist. “You know, ask if they’ve come in yet. …” He trailed off.
Something was out there.
Lord Ruler! he thought, cringing back. Not again!
But, no attack came from the mists. Instead, a dark figure strode forward. Rittle perked up, lowering his spear. “Halt!”
A man walked from the mists, wearing a deep black cloak, arms at his sides, hood up. His face, however, was visible. Wellen frowned. Something about this man looked familiar. …
Rittle gasped, then fell to his knees, clutching something at his neck—the pendant of a silver spear that he always wore. Wellen frowned. Then he noticed the scars on this newcomer’s arms.
Lord Ruler! Wellen thought in shock, realizing where he’d seen this man’s face. It had been in a painting, one of many available in the city, that depicted the Survivor of Hathsin.
“Rise,” the stranger said, speaking in a benevolent voice.
Rittle stood on shaking feet. Wellen backed away, uncertain whether to be awed or terrified, and feeling a little of both.
“I have come to commend your faith,” the Survivor said.
“My lord …” Rittle said, his head still bowed.
“Also,” Kelsier said, raising a finger. “I have come to tell you I do not approve of how this city is being run. My people are sick, they starve, and they die.”
“My lord,” Rittle said, “there is not enough food, and there have been riots seizing that which was stockpiled. My lord, and the mists kill! Please, why have you sent them to kill us!”
“I did no such thing,” Kelsier said. “I know that food is scarce, but you must share what you have and have hope. Tell me of the man who rules this city.”
“King Penrod?” Rittle asked. “He rules for Emperor Elend Venture, who is away at war.”
“Lord Elend Venture? And he approves of how this city is being treated?” Kelsier looked angry. Wellen cringed.
“No, my lord!” Rittle said, shaking. “I …”
“Lord Penrod is mad,” Wellen found himself saying.
The Survivor turned toward him.
“Wells, you shouldn’t …” Rittle said, but then trailed off, the Survivor shooting him a stern look.
“Speak,” the Survivor said to Wellen.
“He speaks to the air, my lord,” Wellen said, averting his eyes. “Talks to himself—claims that he can see the Lord Ruler standing beside him. Penrod … he’s given lots of strange orders, lately. Forcing the skaa to fight each other for food, claiming that only the strong should survive. He kills those who disagree with him. That kind of thing.”