Mistborn #01 The Final Empire

only a nobleman’s dueling cane as a weapon, and he wore no armor. Five of the men with him wore Venture red—men from Elend’s keep. One, however—the one who had been leading them as they charged into the room—wore a palace guard’s uniform. Vin realized that she recognized him just vaguely. His uniform jacket was missing the symbol on its shoulder. The man from before, she thought, stupefied. The one I convinced to change sides . . .
    The lead Ministry soldier apparently made his decision. He waved curtly, ignoring Elend’s command, and the soldiers began to edge around the room, moving to surround Elend’s band.
    “Valette, you have to go!” Elend said urgently, raising his dueling cane.
    “Come, Mistress,” Sazed said, reaching her side, moving to lift her to her feet.
    “We can’t abandon them!” Vin said.
    “We have to.”
    “But you came for me. We have to do the same for Elend!”
    Sazed shook his head. “That was different, child. I knew I had a chance to save you. You cannot help here—there is beauty in compassion, but one must learn wisdom too.”
    She allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, Elend’s soldiers obediently moving to block off the Ministry soldiers. Elend stood at their front, obviously determined to fight.
    There has to be another way! Vin thought with despair. There has to . . .
    And then she saw it sitting discarded in one of the trunks along the wall. A familiar strip of gray cloth, one single tassel, hanging over the trunk’s side.
    She pulled free of Sazed as the Ministry soldiers attacked. Elend cried out behind her, and weapons rang.
    Vin threw the top pieces of cloth—her trousers and shirt—out of the trunk. And there, at the bottom, lay her mistcloak. She closed her eyes and reached into the side cloak pocket.
    Her fingers found a single glass vial, cork still in place.
    She pulled the vial out, spinning toward the battle. The Ministry soldiers had retreated slightly. Two of their members lay wounded on the floor—but three of Elend’s men were down. The small size of the room had, fortunately, kept Elend’s men from being surrounded at first.
    Elend stood sweating, a cut in his arm, his dueling cane cracked and splintered. He grabbed the sword from the man he had felled, holding the weapon in unpracticed hands, staring down a much larger force.
    “I was wrong about that one, Mistress,” Sazed said softly. “I . . . apologize.”
    Vin smiled. Then she flipped the cork free from her vial and downed the metals in one gulp.
    Wells of power exploded within her. Fires blazed, metals raging, and strength returned to her weakened, tired body like a dawning sun. Pains became trivial, dizziness disappeared, the room became brighter, the stones more real beneath her toes.
    The soldiers attacked again, and Elend raised his sword in a determined, but unhopeful, posture. He seemed utterly shocked when Vin flew through the air over his head.
    She landed amid the soldiers, blasting outward with a Steelpush. The soldiers on either side of her smashed into the walls. One man swung a quarterstaff at her, and she slapped it away with a disdainful hand, then smashed a fist into his face, spinning his head back with a crack.
    She caught the quarterstaff as it fell, spinning, slamming it into the head of the soldier attacking Elend. The staff exploded, and she let it drop with the corpse. The soldiers at the back began to yell, turning and dashing away as she Pushed two more groups of men into the walls. The final soldier left in the room turned, surprised, as Vin Pulled his metal cap to her hands. She Pushed it back at him, smashing it into his chest and anchoring herself from behind. The soldier flew down the hallway toward his fleeing companions, crashing into them.
    Vin breathed out in excitement, standing with tense muscles amidst the groaning men. I can . . . see how Kelsier would get addicted to this.
    “Valette?” Elend asked, stupefied.
    Vin jumped up, grabbing him in a joyful embrace, hanging onto him tightly and burying her face into his shoulder. “You came back,” she whispered. “You came back, you came back, you came back. . . .”
    “Um, yes. And . . . I see that you’re a Mistborn. That’s rather interesting. You know, it’s generally common courtesy to tell one’s friends about things like that.”
    “Sorry,” she mumbled, still holding on to him.
    “Well, yes,” he said, sounding very distracted. “Um, Valette? What happened to your