Mistborn #03 The Hero of Ages

him the most."
    "Well, except for the ones who died from the sickness," Elend noted.
    "True," Demoux said, looking up. "So . . . maybe there's hope for me."
    "That wasn't supposed to be a comforting comment, Demoux. I still don't accept all of this. Perhaps there are oddities, but your interpretation is based on speculation. Why would the Survivor be displeased with you? You're one of his most faithful priests."
    "I took the position for myself, my lord," Demoux said. "He didn't choose me. I just . . . started teaching what I'd seen, and people listened to me. That must be what I did to offend him. If he'd wanted that from me, he'd have chosen me when he was alive, don't you think?"
    I don't think the Survivor cared much about this when he was alive, Elend thought. He just wanted to stir up enough anger in the skaa that they would rebel.
    "Demoux," Elend said, "you know that the Survivor didn't organize this religion when he was alive. Only men and women like you—those who looked toward his teachings after he died—have been able to build up a community of the faithful."
    "True," Demoux. "But he did appear to some people after his death. I wasn't one of those people."
    "He didn't appear to anyone," Elend said. "That was OreSeur the kandra wearing his body. You know that, Demoux."
    "Yes," Demoux said. "But, that kandra acted at the Survivor's request. And, I wasn't on the list to get visited."
    Elend laid a hand on Demoux's shoulder, looking in the man's eyes. He had seen the general, worn and grizzled beyond his age, determinedly stare down a savage koloss a full five feet taller than he was. Demoux was not a weak man, either in body or in faith.
    "Demoux," Elend said, "I mean this in the kindest way, but your self-pity is getting in the way. If these mists took you, then we need to use that as proof that their effects have nothing to do with Kelsier's displeasure. We don't have time for you to question yourself right now—we both know you're twice as devoted as any other man in this army."
    Demoux flushed.
    "Think about it," Elend said, giving Demoux a little extra Allomantic shove in the emotions, "in you, we have obvious proof that a person's faithfulness has nothing to do with whether or not they're taken by the mists. So, rather than letting you mope, we need to move on and find the real reason the mists are behaving as they are."
    Demoux stood for a moment, then finally nodded. "Perhaps you're right, my lord. Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions."
    Elend smiled. Then, he paused, thinking about his own words. Obvious proof that a person's faithfulness has nothing to do with whether they're taken by the mists. . . .
    It wasn't exactly true. Demoux was one of the strongest believers in the camp. What of the others who had been sick as long as he? Had they been, perhaps, men of extreme faith as well? Elend opened his mouth to ask the question of Demoux. That was when the shouting started.

Hemalurgic decay was less obvious in Inquisitors that had been created from Mistborn. Since they already had Allomantic powers, the addition of other abilities made them awesomely strong.
    In most cases, however, Inquisitors were created from Mistings. It appears that Seekers, like Marsh, were the favored recruits. For, when a Mistborn wasn't available, an Inquisitor with enhanced bronze abilities was a powerful tool for searching out skaa Mistings.
    37
    SCREAMS ROSE IN THE DISTANCE. Vin started upright in her cabin. She hadn't been sleeping, though she'd been close. Another night of scouting Fadrex City had left her tired.
    All fatigue was forgotten, however, as the sounds of battle clanged from the north. Finally! she thought, throwing off her blankets and dashing from the cabin. She wore her standard trousers and shirt, and—as always—carried several vials of metals. She downed one of these as she scrambled across the deck of the narrow-boat.
    "Lady Vin!" one of the bargemen called through the daymists. "The camp has been attacked!"
    "And about time, too," Vin said as she Pushed herself off the boat's cleats, hurling herself into the air. She shot through the morning mists, curls and wisps of white making her feel as a bird might flying through a cloud.
    With tin, she soon found the battle. Several groups of men on horseback had ridden into the north section of camp, and were apparently trying to make their way toward the supply barges, which floated in a well-protected bend in the canal. A group of Elend's Allomancers had