Mistborn #02 The Well of Ascension

chance that Kelsier had! How dare they refuse my protection, refuse to let me help them!
    How dare they die. . .
    Her pewter was running low, and she was only a few hours into her run. True, she had probably covered an entire day's worth of walking in those few hours. Yet, somehow, she knew it wouldn't be enough. They were already dead. She was going to be too late, just as when she'd run years before. Too late to save their army. Too late to save her friends.
    Vin continued to run. And she continued to cry.

    "How did we get here, Clubs?" Breeze asked quietly, still on the floor of the courtyard, before the booming gate. He sat on his horse, amid a muddy mixture of falling snow and ash. The simple, quiet flutterings of white and black seemed to belie the screaming men, the breaking gate, and the falling rocks.
    Clubs looked over at him, frowning. Breeze continued stare up at the ash and snow. Black and white. Lazy.
    "We aren't men of principle," Breeze said quietly. "We're thieves. Cynics. You, a man tired of doing the Lord Ruler's bidding, a man determined to see himself get ahead for once. Me, a man of wavering morals who loves to toy with others, to make their emotions my game. How did we end up here? Standing at the head of an army, fighting an idealist's cause? Men like us shouldn't be leaders."
    Clubs watched the men in the courtyard. "Guess we're just idiots," he finally said.
    Breeze paused, then noticed that glimmer in Clubs's eyes. That spark of humor, the spark that was hard to recognize unless one knew Clubs very well. It was that spark that told the truth—that showed Clubs to be a man of rare understanding.
    Breeze smiled. "I guess we are. Like we said before. It's Kelsier's fault. He turned us into idiots who would stand at the front of a doomed army."
    "That bastard," Clubs said.
    "Indeed," Breeze said.
    Ash and snow continued to fall. Men yelled in alarm.
    And the gates burst open.

    "The eastern gate has been breached, Master Terrisman!" Dockson's messenger said, puffing slightly as he crouched beside Sazed. They both sat beneath the wall-top battlements, listening to the koloss pound on their own gate. The one that had fallen would be Zinc Gate, the one on the easternmost side of Luthadel.
    "Zinc Gate is the most well defended," Sazed said quietly. "They will be able to hold it, I think."
    The messenger nodded. Ash blew along the wall top, piling in the cracks and alcoves in the stone, the black flakes adulterated by the occasional bit of bone-white snow.
    "Is there anything you wish me to report to Lord Dockson?" the messenger asked.
    Sazed paused, glancing along his wall's defenses. He'd climbed down from the watchtower, joining the regular ranks of men. The soldiers had run out of stones, though the archers were still working. He peeked over the side of the wall and saw the koloss corpses piling up. However, he also saw the splintered front of the gate. It's amazing they can maintain such rage for so long , he thought, ducking back. The creatures continued to howl and scream, like feral dogs.
    He sat back against the wet stone, shivering in the chill wind, his toes growing numb. He tapped his brassmind, drawing out the heat he'd stored therein, and his body suddenly flooded with a pleasant sensation of warmth.
    "Tell Lord Dockson that I fear for this gate's defenses," Sazed said quietly. "The best men were stolen away to help with the eastern gates, and I have little confidence in our leader. If Lord Dockson could send someone else to be in charge, that would be for the best, I think."
    The messenger paused.
    "What?" Sazed asked.
    "Isn't that why he sent you, Master Terrisman?"
    Sazed frowned. "Please tell him I have even less confidence in my own ability to lead. . .or to fight. . .than I do in that of our commander."
    The messenger nodded and took off, scrambling down the steps toward his horse. Sazed cringed as a rock hit the wall just above him. Chips flipped over the merlon, scattering to the battlement in front of him. By the Forgotten Gods. . . Sazed thought, wringing his hands. What am I doing here?
    He saw motion on the wall beside him, and turned as the youthful soldier captain—Captain Bedes—moved up to him, careful to keep his head down. Tall, with thick hair that grew down around his eyes, he was spindly even beneath his armor. The young man looked like he should have been dancing at balls, not leading soldiers in battle.
    "What did the messenger say?" Bedes asked