Mistborn #01 The Final Empire

unremarkable. In fact, it had a comfortable hominess, like a study or den. It was packed full of strange objects and decorations—like the horns of some foreign beast and a strange pair of shoes with very wide, flat bottoms. It was the room of a pack rat, a place to keep memories of the past.
    She jumped as something moved near the center of the room. A pivoting chair stood by the hearth, and it spun slowly, revealing the wizened old man who sat in it. Bald, with liver-spotted skin, he appeared to be in his seventies. He wore rich, dark clothing, and he frowned angrily at Vin.
    That’s it, Vin thought. I’ve failed—there’s nothing here. Time to get out.
    Just as she was spinning to dash away, however, rough hands grabbed her from behind. She cursed, struggling as she glanced down at the Inquisitor’s bloodied leg. Even with pewter, he shouldn’t have been able to walk on it. She tried to twist away, but the Inquisitor had her in a powerful grasp.
    “What is this?” the old man demanded, standing.
    “I’m sorry, Lord Ruler,” the Inquisitor said deferentially.
    Lord Ruler! But . . . I saw him. He was a young man.
    “Kill her,” the old man said, waving his hand.
    “My lord,” the Inquisitor said. “This child is . . . of special interest. Might I keep her for a time?”
    “What special interest?” the Lord Ruler said, sighing as he sat again.
    “We wish to petition you, Lord Ruler,” said the Inquisitor. “Regarding the Canton of Orthodoxy.”
    “This again?” the Lord Ruler said wearily.
    “Please, my lord,” said the Inquisitor. Vin continued to struggle, flaring her pewter. The Inquisitor pinned her arms to her sides, however, and her backward kicking did very little good. He’s so strong! she thought with frustration.
    And then, she remembered it. The Eleventh Metal, its power sitting within her, forming an unfamiliar reserve. She looked up, glaring at the old man. This had better work. She burned the Eleventh Metal.
    Nothing happened.
    Vin struggled in frustration, her heart sinking. And then she saw him. Another man, standing right beside the Lord Ruler. Where had he come from? She hadn’t seen him enter.
    He had a full beard and wore a thick, woolen outfit with a fur-lined cloak. It wasn’t rich clothing, but it was well constructed. He stood quietly, seeming . . . content. He smiled happily.
    Vin cocked her head. There was something familiar about the man. His features looked very similar to those of the man who had killed Kelsier. However, this man was older and . . . more alive.
    Vin turned to the side. There was another unfamiliar man beside her, a young nobleman. He was a merchant, from the looks of his suit—and a very wealthy one at that.
    What is going on?
    The Eleventh Metal burned out. Both newcomers vanished like ghosts.
    “Very well,” said the elderly Lord Ruler, sighing. “I agree to your request. We will meet in several hours’ time—Tevidian has already requested a gathering to discuss matters outside the palace.”
    “Ah,” said the second Inquisitor. “Yes . . . it will be good for him to be there. Good indeed.”
    Vin continued to squirm as the Inquisitor pushed her to the ground, then lifted his hand, gripping something she couldn’t see. He swung, and pain flashed through her head.
    Despite her pewter, all went black.

    Elend found his father in the north entryway—a smaller, less daunting entrance to Keep Venture, though only when compared with the majestic grand hall.
    “What’s going on?” Elend demanded, pulling on his suit coat, his hair disheveled from sleep. Lord Venture stood with his guard captains and canalmasters. Soldiers and servants scattered through the white-and-brown hallway, rushing about with an air of apprehensive fright.
    Lord Venture ignored Elend’s question, calling for a messenger to ride for the east river docks.
    “Father, what’s happening?” Elend repeated.
    “Skaa rebellion,” Lord Venture snapped.
    What? Elend thought as Lord Venture waved for another group of soldiers to approach. Impossible. A skaa rebellion in Luthadel itself . . . it was unthinkable. They didn’t have the disposition to try such a bold move, they were just . . .
    Valette is skaa, he thought. You have to stop thinking like other noblemen, Elend. You have to open your eyes.
    The Garrison was gone, off to slaughter a different group of rebels. The skaa had been forced to watch those gruesome executions weeks ago, not to mention the slaughter