Mistborn #03 The Hero of Ages

increases dramatically, my lord," one voice explained.
    "The shard of metal got dangerously close to your heart," said another.
    Dangerously close? Marsh thought with a smile from his upside-down perch. The spike pierced his heart. But, of course, the surgeons couldn't know that. Since Penrod was conscious, they would assume that the spike had come close, but somehow just barely missed.
    "We fear pulling it out," the first surgeon said. "How . . . do you feel?"
    "Remarkably good, actually," said Penrod. "There is an ache, and some discomfort. But I feel strong."
    "Then let us leave the shard, for now," the first surgeon said, sounding concerned. But, what else could he do? If he did pull the spike out, it would kill Penrod. A clever move by Ruin.
    They would wait for Penrod to regain his strength, then try again to remove the spike. Again, it would threaten Penrod's life. They'd have to leave it. And, with Ruin now able to touch his mind—not control him, just nudge things in certain directions—Penrod would soon forget about the spike. The discomfort would fade, and with the spike under his clothing, no one would find it irregular.
    And then he would be Ruin's as surely as any Inquisitor. Marsh smiled, let go of the outcropping, and dropped to the dark streets below.

For all that it disgusts me, I cannot help but be impressed by Hemalurgy as an art. In Allomancy and Feruchemy, skill and subtlety come through the application of one's powers. The best Allomancer might not be the most powerful, but instead the one who can best manipulate the Pushes and Pulls of metals. The best Feruchemist is the one who is most capable of sorting the information in his copperminds, or best able to manipulate his weight with iron.
    The art that is unique to Hemalurgy, however, is the knowledge of where to place the spikes.
    43
    VIN LANDED WITH A HUSHED rustle of cloth. She crouched in the night, holding up her dress to keep it from brushing the ashen rooftop, then peered into the mists.
    Elend dropped beside her, then fell into a crouch, asking no questions. She smiled, noting that his instincts were getting better. He watched the mists too, though he obviously didn't know what he was looking for.
    "He's following us," Vin whispered.
    "Yomen's Mistborn?" Elend asked.
    Vin nodded.
    "Where?" he asked.
    "Three houses back," Vin said.
    Elend squinted, and she felt one of his Allomantic pulses suddenly increase in speed. He was flaring tin.
    "That lump on the right side?" Elend asked.
    "Close enough," Vin said.
    "So . . ."
    "So, he knows I've spotted him," Vin said. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have stopped. Right now, we're studying one another."
    Elend reached to his belt, slipping out an obsidian knife.
    "He won't attack," Vin said.
    "How do you know?"
    "Because," Vin said. "When he intends to kill us, he'll try to do it when you and I aren't together—or when we're sleeping."
    That seemed to make Elend even more nervous. "Is that why you've been staying up all night lately?"
    Vin nodded. Forcing Elend to sleep alone was a small price to pay for keeping him safe. Is it you back there following us, Yomen? she wondered. On the night of your own party? That would be quite the feat. It didn't seem likely; but still, Vin was suspicious. She had a habit of suspecting everyone of being Mistborn. She still thought it was healthy, even if she had been wrong more often than not.
    "Come on," she said, rising. "Once we get into the party, we shouldn't have to worry about him."
    Elend nodded, and the two continued along their path to the Canton of Resource.
    The plan is simple, Elend had said just hours before. I'll confront Yomen, and the nobility won't be able to help gathering around to gawk. At that point, you sneak away and see if you can find your way to the storage chamber.
    It really was a simple plan—the best ones usually were. If Elend confronted Yomen, it would keep the attention of the guards on him, hopefully letting Vin slip out. She'd have to move quickly and quietly, and would probably have to eliminate some guards—all without raising an alarm. Yet, this appeared to be the only way in. Not only was Yomen's fortress-like building well lit and extremely well guarded, but his Mistborn was good. The man had detected her every other time she'd tried to sneak in—always remaining at a distance, his mere presence warning her that he could raise the alarm in a heartbeat.
    Their best chance was the ball. Yomen's defenses, and his Mistborn,