You knew this would be hard, he told himself. You understood the burden you were taking upon yourself.
But, what right had he? Even members of his own crew—Ham, Breeze, and the others—assumed that the Final Empire was invincible. They followed because of their faith in Kelsier, and because he had couched his plans in the form of a thieving job. Well, now that job’s patron was dead; a scout sent to check the battlefield had, for better or worse, been able to confirm Yeden’s death. The soldiers had put his head on a spear beside the road, along with several of Ham’s officers.
The job was dead. They had failed. The army was gone. There would be no rebellion, no seizing of the city.
Footsteps approached. Kelsier looked up, wondering if he even had the strength to stand. Vin lay curled up beside his stump, asleep on the hard ground, only her mistcloak for a cushion. Their extended pewter drag had taken a lot out of the girl, and she had collapsed virtually the moment Kelsier had called a halt for the night. He wished he could do the same. However, he was far more experienced with pewter dragging than she was. His body would give out eventually, but he could keep going for a bit longer.
A figure appeared from the mists, hobbling in Kelsier’s direction. The man was old, older than any that Kelsier had recruited. He must have been part of the rebellion from earlier—one of the skaa who had been living in the caves before Kelsier hijacked them.
The man chose a large stone beside Kelsier’s stump, sitting with a sigh. It was amazing that one so old had even been able to keep up. Kelsier had moved the group at a fast pace, seeking to distance them as much as possible from the cave complex.
“The men will sleep fitfully,” the old man said. “They aren’t accustomed to being out in the mists.”
“They don’t have much choice,” Kelsier said.
The old man shook his head. “I suppose they don’t.” He sat for a moment, aged eyes unreadable. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”
Kelsier paused, then shook his head. “I’m sorry. Did I recruit you?”
“After a fashion. I was one of the skaa at Lord Tresting’s plantation.”
Kelsier opened his mouth slightly in surprise, finally recognizing a slight familiarity to the man’s bald head and tired, yet somehow strong, posture. “The old man I sat with that night. Your name was . . .”
“Mennis. After you killed Tresting, we retreated up to the caves, where the rebels there took us in. A lot of the others left eventually, off to find other plantations to join. Some of us stayed.”
Kelsier nodded. “You’re behind this, aren’t you?” he said, gesturing toward the camp. “The preparations?”
Mennis shrugged. “Some of us can’t fight, so we do other things.”
Kelsier leaned forward. “What happened, Mennis? Why did Yeden do this?”
Mennis just shook his head. “Though most expect young men to be fools, I’ve noticed that just a little bit of age can make a man far more foolish than he was as a child. Yeden . . . well, he was the type who was too easily impressed—both by you and by the reputation you left for him. Some of his generals thought it might be a good idea to give the men some practical battle experience, and they figured a night raid on the Holstep Garrison would be a clever move. Apparently, it was more difficult than they assumed.”
Kelsier shook his head. “Even if they’d been successful, exposing the army would have made it useless to us.”
“They believed in you,” Mennis said quietly. “They thought that they couldn’t fail.”
Kelsier sighed, resting his head back, staring up into the shifting mists. He slowly let his breath exhale, its air mingling with the currents overhead.
“So, what becomes of us?” Mennis asked.
“We’ll split you up,” Kelsier said, “get you back into Luthadel in small groups, lose you among the skaa population.”
Mennis nodded. He seemed tired—exhausted—yet he didn’t retire. Kelsier could understand that feeling.
“Do you remember our conversation back on Tresting’s plantation?” Mennis asked.
“A bit,” Kelsier said. “You tried to dissuade me from making trouble.”
“But it didn’t stop you.”
“Troublemaking is just about the only thing I’m good at, Mennis. Do you resent what I did there, what I forced you to become?”
Mennis paused, then nodded. “But, in a way, I’m thankful for that resentment. I believed that my life was over—I awoke each day expecting that I wouldn’t have the strength to rise. But . . . well, I found purpose again in the caves. For that, I’m grateful.”
“Even after what I did to the army?”
Mennis snorted. “Don’t think quite so highly of yourself, young man. Those soldiers got themselves killed. You might have been their motivation, but you didn’t make the choice for them.
“Regardless, this isn’t the first skaa rebellion to get slaughtered. Not by far. In a way, you’ve accomplished a lot—you gathered an army of considerable size, and then you armed and trained it beyond what anyone had a right to expect. Things went a little more quickly than you anticipated, but you should be proud of yourself.”
“Proud?” Kelsier asked, standing to work off some of his agitation. “This army was supposed to help overthrow the Final Empire, not get itself killed fighting a meaningless battle in a valley weeks outside of Luthadel.”
“Overthrow the . . .” Mennis looked up, frowning. “You really expected to do something like that?”
“Of course,” Kelsier said. “Why else would I gather an army like this?”
“To resist,” Mennis said. “To fight. That’s why those lads came to the caves. It wasn’t a matter of winning or losing, it was a matter of doing something—anything—to struggle against the Lord Ruler.”
Kelsier turned, frowning. “You expected the army to lose from the beginning?”
“What other end was there?” Mennis asked. He stood, shaking his head. “Some may have begun to dream otherwise, lad, but the Lord Ruler can’t be defeated. Once, I gave you some advice—I told you to be careful which battles you chose to fight. Well, I’ve realized that this battle was worth fighting.
“Now, let me give you another piece of advice, Kelsier, Survivor of Hathsin. Know when to quit. You’ve done well, better than any would have expected. Those skaa of yours killed an entire garrison’s worth of soldiers before they were caught and destroyed. This is the greatest victory the skaa have known in decades, perhaps centuries. Now it’s time to walk away.”
With that, the old man nodded his head in respect, then began to shuffle back toward the center of the camp.
Kelsier stood, dumbfounded. The greatest victory the skaa have known in decades . . .
That was what he fought against. Not just the Lord Ruler, not just the nobility. He fought against a thousand years of conditioning, a thousand years of life in a society that would label the deaths of five thousand men as a “great victory.” Life was so hopeless for the skaa that they’d been reduced to finding comfort in expected defeats.