Mistborn #01 The Final Empire

still open door.
    Vin’s face flushed slightly with color, and her breathing seemed to steady. To Kelsier’s Allomantic bronze senses, she began to pulse softly with a rhythm not unlike a second heartbeat.
    “Ah, good,” Sazed said, undoing Vin’s makeshift bandage. “I feared that her body was too unfamiliar with Allomancy to burn metals unconsciously. There is hope for her, I think. Master Cladent, I shall require a pot of boiled water, some bandages, and the medical bag from my rooms. Quickly, now!”
    Clubs nodded, waving for his apprentices to do as instructed. Kelsier cringed as he watched Sazed’s work. The wound was bad—worse than any he himself had survived. The cut went deeply into her gut; it was the type of wound that killed slowly, but consistently.
    Vin, however, was no ordinary person—pewter would keep an Allomancer alive long after their body should have given out. In addition, Sazed was no ordinary healer. Religious rites were not the only things that Keepers stored in their uncanny memories; their metalminds contained vast wealths of information on culture, philosophy, and science.
    Clubs ushered his apprentices from the room as the surgery began. The procedure took an alarming amount of time, Ham applying pressure to the wound as Sazed slowly stitched Vin’s insides back together. Finally, Sazed closed the outer wound and applied a clean bandage, then asked Ham to carefully carry the girl up to her bed.
    Kelsier stood, watching Ham carry Vin’s weak, limp form out of the kitchen. Then, he turned to Sazed questioningly. Dockson sat in the corner, the only other one still in the room.
    Sazed shook his head gravely. “I do not know, Master Kelsier. She could survive. We will need to keep her supplied with pewter—it will help her body make new blood. Even still, I have seen many strong men die from wounds smaller than this one.”
    Kelsier nodded.
    “I arrived too late, I think,” Sazed said. “When I found her gone from Renoux’s mansion, I came to Luthadel as quickly as I could. I used up an entire metalmind to make the trip with haste. I was still too late. . . .”
    “No, my friend,” Kelsier said. “You’ve done well this night. Far better than I.”
    Sazed sighed, then reached over and fingered the large book he’d set aside before beginning the surgery. The tome was wet with rainwater and blood. Kelsier regarded it, frowning. “What is that, anyway?”
    “I don’t know,” Sazed said. “I found it at the palace, while I was searching for the child. It is written in Khlenni.”
    Khlenni, the language of Khlennium—the ancient, pre-Ascension homeland of the Lord Ruler. Kelsier perked up a bit. “Can you translate it?”
    “Perhaps,” Sazed said, suddenly sounding very tired. “But . . . not for a time, I think. After this evening, I shall need to rest.”
    Kelsier nodded, calling for one of the apprentices to prepare Sazed a room. The Terrisman nodded thankfully, then walked wearily up the stairs.
    “He saved more than Vin’s life tonight,” Dockson said, approaching quietly from behind. “What you did was stupid, even for you.”
    “I had to know, Dox,” he said. “I had to go back. What if the atium really is in there?”
    “You said that it isn’t.”
    “I said that,” Kelsier said with a nod, “and I’m mostly sure. But what if I’m wrong?”
    “That’s no excuse,” Dockson said angrily. “Now Vin is dying and the Lord Ruler is alerted to us. Wasn’t it enough that you got Mare killed trying to get into that room?”
    Kelsier paused, but he was too drained to feel any anger. He sighed, sitting down. “There’s more, Dox.”
    Dockson frowned.
    “I’ve avoided talking about the Lord Ruler to the others,” Kelsier said, “but . . . I’m worried. The plan is good, but I have this terrible, haunting feeling that we’ll never succeed as long as he’s alive. We can take his money, we can take his armies, we can trick him out of the city . . . but I still worry that we won’t be able to stop him.”
    Dockson frowned. “You’re serious about this Eleventh Metal business, then?”
    Kelsier nodded. “I searched for two years to find a way to kill him. Men have tried everything—he ignores normal wounds, and decapitation only annoys him. A group of soldiers burned down his inn during one of the early wars. The Lord Ruler walked out as barely more than a skeleton, then healed in a matter of seconds.
    “Only the stories of the Eleventh