The Mistborn Trilogy by Brandon Sanderson Page B

flat-faced, quiet thug. “He must have spent the entire time planning for this job.”
    “It must be some job indeed….” Ulef said.
    “Tell me about him,” Vin said quietly.
    “Kelsier?” Disten asked.
    Vin nodded.
    “They didn’t talk about Kelsier down south?”
    Vin shook her head.
    “He was the best crewleader in Luthadel,” Ulef explained. “A legend, even among the Mistings. He robbed some of the wealthiest Great Houses in the city.”
    “And?” Vin asked.
    “Someone betrayed him,” Harmon said in a quiet voice.
    Of course, Vin thought.
    “The Lord Ruler himself caught Kelsier,” Ulef said. “Sent Kelsier and his wife to the Pits of Hathsin. But he escaped. He escaped from the Pits, Vin! He’s the only one who ever has.”
    “And the wife?” Vin asked.
    Ulef glanced at Harmon, who shook his head. “She didn’t make it.”
    So, he’s lost someone too. How can he laugh so much? So honestly?
    “That’s where he got those scars, you know,” Disten said. “The ones on his arms. He got them at the Pits, from the rocks on a sheer wall he had to climb to escape.”
    Harmon snorted. “That’s not how he got them. He killed an Inquisitor while escaping—that’s where he got the scars.”
    “I heard he got them fighting one of the monsters that guard the Pits,” Ulef said. “He reached into its mouth and strangled it from the inside. The teeth scraped his arms.”
    Disten frowned. “How do you strangle someone from the inside?”
    Ulef shrugged. “That’s just what I heard.”
    “The man isn’t natural,” Hrud muttered. “Something happened to him in the Pits, something bad. He wasn’t an Allomancer before then, you know. He entered the Pits a regular skaa, and now…Well, he’s a Misting for sure—if he’s even human anymore. Been out in the mists a lot, that one has. Some say that the real Kelsier is dead, that the thing wearing his face is…something else.”
    Harmon shook his head. “Now, that’s just plantation-skaa foolishness. We’ve all gone out in the mists.”
    “Not in the mists outside the city,” Hrud insisted. “The mistwraiths are out there. They’ll grab a man and take his face, sure as the Lord Ruler.”
    Harmon rolled his eyes.
    “Hrud’s right about one thing,” Disten said. “That man isn’t human. He might not be a mistwraith, but he’s not skaa either. I’ve heard of him doing things, things like only they can do. The ones that come out at night. You saw what he did to Camon.”
    “Mistborn,” Harmon muttered.
    Mistborn. Vin had heard the term before Kelsier had mentioned it to her, of course. Who hadn’t? Yet, the rumors about Mistborn made stories of Inquisitors and Mistings seem rational. It was said that Mistborn were heralds of the mists themselves, endowed with great powers by the Lord Ruler. Only high noblemen could be Mistborn; they were said to be a secret sect of assassins who served him, only going out at night. Reen had always taught her that they were a myth, and Vin had assumed he was right.
    And Kelsier says I—like he himself—am one of them. How could she be what he said? Child of a prostitute, she was nobody. She was nothing.
    Never trust a man who tells you good news, Reen had always said. It’s the oldest, but easiest, way to con someone.
    Yet, she did have her Luck. Her Allomancy. She could still sense the reserves Kelsier’s vial had given her, and had tested her powers on the crewmembers. No longer limited to just a bit of Luck a day, she found she could produce far more striking effects.
    Vin was coming to realize that her old goal in life—simply staying alive—was uninspired. There was so much more she could be doing. She had been a slave to Reen; she had been a slave to Camon. She would be a slave to this Kelsier too, if it would lead her to eventual freedom.
    At his table, Milev looked at his pocket watch, then stood. “All right, everyone out.”
    The room began to clear in preparation for Kelsier’s