Mistborn #02 The Well of Ascension

quietly.
    "Perhaps," Straff said. "He has to know that he'd never be able to hold on to it—he doesn't have the military might to protect a treasure like that. And, if he doesn't give it to me. . .well, it would probably be easier to take the atium from him than it would be to find it on my own."
    Zane seemed to find the answer satisfactory. He waited for a few moments, staring into the mists. Then he looked at Straff, a curious expression on his face. "What time is it?"
    Straff checked his pocket watch, something no Mistborn would carry. Too much metal. "Eleven seventeen," he said.
    Zane nodded, turning back to look at the city. "It should have taken effect by now."
    Straff frowned. Then he began to sweat. He flared tin, clamping his eyes shut. There ! he thought, noticing a weakness inside of him. "More poison?" he asked, keeping the fear from his voice, forcing himself to be calm.
    "How do you do it, Father?" Zane asked. "I thought for certain you'd missed this one. Yet, here you are, just fine."
    Straff was beginning to feel weak. "One doesn't need to be Mistborn to be capable, Zane," he snapped.
    Zane shrugged, smiling in the haunting way only he could—keenly intelligent, yet eerily unstable. Then he just shook his head. "You win again," he said, then shot upward into the sky, churning mists with his passing.
    Straff immediately turned his horse, trying to maintain his decorum as he urged it back toward the camp. He could feel the poison. Feel it stealing his life. Feel it threatening him, overcoming him. . ..
    He went, perhaps, too quickly. It was difficult to maintain an air of strength when you were dying. Finally, he broke into a gallop. He left his startled guards behind, and they called in surprise, breaking into a jog to try and keep up.
    Straff ignored their complaints. He kicked the horse faster. Could he feel the poison slowing his reactions? Which one had Zane used? Gurwraith? No, it required injection. Tompher, perhaps? Or. . .perhaps he had found one that Straff didn't even know about.
    He could only hope that wasn't the case. For, if Straff didn't know of the poison, then Amaranta probably wouldn't know of it either, and wouldn't be able to put the antidote into her catch-all healing potion.
    The lights of camp illuminated the mists. Soldiers cried out as Straff approached, and he was nearly run through as one of his own men leveled a spear at the charging horse. Fortunately, the man recognized him in time. Straff rode the man down even as he turned aside his spear.
    Straff charged right up to his tent. By now, his men were scattering, preparing as if for an invasion, or some other attack. There was no way he could hide this from Zane.
    I wouldn't be able to hide my death either .
    "My lord!" a captain said, dashing up to him.
    "Send for Amaranta," Straff said, stumbling off his horse.
    The soldier paused. "Your mistress, lord?" the man said, frowning. "Why—"
    " Now !" Straff commanded, throwing back his tent flap, walking inside. He paused, legs trembling as the tent flap closed. He wiped his brow with a hesitant hand. Too much sweat.
    Damn him ! he thought with frustration. I have to kill him, contain him. . .I have to do something. I can't rule like this !
    But what? He'd sat up nights, he'd wasted days, trying to decide what to do about Zane. The atium he used to bribe the man no longer seemed a good motivator. Zane's actions this day—slaughtering Straff's children in an obviously hopeless attempt to kill Elend's mistress—proved that he could no longer be trusted, even in a small way.
    Amaranta arrived with surprising speed, and she immediately began mixing her antidote. Eventually, as Straff slurped down the horrid-tasting concoction—feeling its healing effects immediately—he came to an uneasy conclusion.
    Zane had to die.

And yet. . .something about all this seemed so convenient. It felt almost as if we constructed a hero to fit our prophecies, rather than allowing one to arise naturally. This was the worry I had, the thing that should have given me pause when my brethren came to me, finally willing to believe .

40
    ELEND SAT BESIDE HER BED.
    That comforted her. Though she slept fitfully, a piece of her knew that he was there, watching over her. It felt odd to be beneath his protective care, for she was the one who usually did the guarding.
    So, when she finally woke, she wasn't surprised to find him in the chair beside her bed, reading quietly by soft candlelight. As she came