Mistborn #01 The Final Empire

impressed—both by you and by the reputation you left for him. Some of his generals thought it might be a good idea to give the men some practical battle experience, and they figured a night raid on the Holstep Garrison would be a clever move. Apparently, it was more difficult than they assumed.”
    Kelsier shook his head. “Even if they’d been successful, exposing the army would have made it useless to us.”
    “They believed in you,” Mennis said quietly. “They thought that they couldn’t fail.”
    Kelsier sighed, resting his head back, staring up into the shifting mists. He slowly let his breath exhale, its air mingling with the currents overhead.
    “So, what becomes of us?” Mennis asked.
    “We’ll split you up,” Kelsier said, “get you back into Luthadel in small groups, lose you among the skaa population.”
    Mennis nodded. He seemed tired—exhausted—yet he didn’t retire. Kelsier could understand that feeling.
    “Do you remember our conversation back on Tresting’s plantation?” Mennis asked.
    “A bit,” Kelsier said. “You tried to dissuade me from making trouble.”
    “But it didn’t stop you.”
    “Troublemaking is just about the only thing I’m good at, Mennis. Do you resent what I did there, what I forced you to become?”
    Mennis paused, then nodded. “But, in a way, I’m thankful for that resentment. I believed that my life was over—I awoke each day expecting that I wouldn’t have the strength to rise. But . . . well, I found purpose again in the caves. For that, I’m grateful.”
    “Even after what I did to the army?”
    Mennis snorted. “Don’t think quite so highly of yourself, young man. Those soldiers got themselves killed. You might have been their motivation, but you didn’t make the choice for them.
    “Regardless, this isn’t the first skaa rebellion to get slaughtered. Not by far. In a way, you’ve accomplished a lot—you gathered an army of considerable size, and then you armed and trained it beyond what anyone had a right to expect. Things went a little more quickly than you anticipated, but you should be proud of yourself.”
    “Proud?” Kelsier asked, standing to work off some of his agitation. “This army was supposed to help overthrow the Final Empire, not get itself killed fighting a meaningless battle in a valley weeks outside of Luthadel.”
    “Overthrow the . . .” Mennis looked up, frowning. “You really expected to do something like that?”
    “Of course,” Kelsier said. “Why else would I gather an army like this?”
    “To resist,” Mennis said. “To fight. That’s why those lads came to the caves. It wasn’t a matter of winning or losing, it was a matter of doing something—anything—to struggle against the Lord Ruler.”
    Kelsier turned, frowning. “You expected the army to lose from the beginning?”
    “What other end was there?” Mennis asked. He stood, shaking his head. “Some may have begun to dream otherwise, lad, but the Lord Ruler can’t be defeated. Once, I gave you some advice—I told you to be careful which battles you chose to fight. Well, I’ve realized that this battle was worth fighting.
    “Now, let me give you another piece of advice, Kelsier, Survivor of Hathsin. Know when to quit. You’ve done well, better than any would have expected. Those skaa of yours killed an entire garrison’s worth of soldiers before they were caught and destroyed. This is the greatest victory the skaa have known in decades, perhaps centuries. Now it’s time to walk away.”
    With that, the old man nodded his head in respect, then began to shuffle back toward the center of the camp.
    Kelsier stood, dumbfounded. The greatest victory the skaa have known in decades . . .
    That was what he fought against. Not just the Lord Ruler, not just the nobility. He fought against a thousand years of conditioning, a thousand years of life in a society that would label the deaths of five thousand men as a “great victory.” Life was so hopeless for the skaa that they’d been reduced to finding comfort in expected defeats.
    “That wasn’t a victory, Mennis,” Kelsier whispered. “I’ll show you a victory.”
    He forced himself to smile—not out of pleasure, and not out of satisfaction. He smiled despite the grief he felt at the deaths of his men; he smiled because that was what he did. That was how he proved to the Lord Ruler—and to himself—that he wasn’t beaten.
    No, he wasn’t going to walk away. He wasn’t finished