The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn #6) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,112
was, and was surprised to see red blooming on her coat around a hole.
A bullet hole.
“I’ve been shot!” she said, more surprised than pained. Shouldn’t that hurt? She’d been shot!
She stared at the blood, her blood, until the masked man grabbed her by the shoulders and started towing her toward the ship. MeLaan cursed and helped him. Marasi realized she’d dropped her gun, and struggled against them, trying to reach for it, suddenly frantic that she not leave it behind.
That made almost no sense, and part of her acknowledged it, but rusts—
Shock, she thought. I’m going into shock.
Oh, hell.
* * *
Wax soared high above the floor of the warehouse, zipping past the catwalks, where several gunmen with rifles had set up. He flipped Ranette’s ball device outward—catching it around the railing of the catwalk—and hung on tight, pivoting sharply in the air. The gunmen started, trying to draw a bead on him as he landed behind them.
He stepped back and Pushed one gunman out at just the right moment, shoving him into the air as the last of the kill-squad Allomancers shot up past the catwalks, bearing a stunned expression at Wax’s sudden change of direction. He collided with the rifleman in midair, and Wax turned, Pushing the other rifleman away. The poor man screamed as he fell.
Farther down the catwalk, two more men had set up with crossbows and wooden shields. Lovely.
Wax increased his weight. The entire catwalk shattered as he crashed downward through the wood, destroying the supports. He Pushed himself off a falling bar, shooting back out into the air, spinning Ranette’s ball device on its cord. Above him, the suited man shook off the frantic gunman, dropping him and Pushing off to send himself into the air.
Wax flipped Ranette’s ball upward and let go of the cord, still falling backward. The confused Allomancer caught the device by the cord as it passed.
Wax shot him in the chest.
Shouldn’t drop your Allomantic shield, Wax thought, twisting in the air as he fell. Even to catch a neat toy.
As he approached the ground, Wax slowed himself on a spent bullet, then landed with a flare of mistcoat tassels. The dead Allomancer thumped to the ground beside him.
The ball dropped from his fingers and rolled toward Wax. “Thanks,” Wax said, scooping it up. Where was—
Marasi. Down and bleeding, being dragged into the ship. Damn! Wax growled, launching himself into the air again as more soldiers fired. This place was a mess. Too many soldiers, many of whom were advancing on the ship, hiding a group of men with modern crossbows behind them. As one got close to the ship, Wayne peeked out.
“Wayne!” Wax shouted, passing overhead. He pocketed Ranette’s ball and pulled out the Allomantic grenade—which was buzzing furiously—and dropped it.
Wayne looked up just in time to snatch the thing from the air, then looked down at it with surprise. When the first bullet curved away from him, Wayne grinned instead, then let out a whoop and flung it at the men in front of him. The thing rolled among them, tossing weapons aside with its power.
Wax sighed, landing on the top of the ship. Of course he’d throw it.
Wayne followed by jumping among the approaching soldiers, energetically laying about with his dueling canes. A bullet came startlingly close to Wax. More aluminum? As Wayne enthusiastically busted heads, Wax launched off the ship and landed among the advancing soldiers, increased his weight, and Pushed outward with a flare of strength. That tossed people away from him in a blast.
When the bodies fell, three men stood, stupefied, holding guns Wax couldn’t sense.
He brought them down with a Sterrion—his other guns were out of bullets—then turned as he heard something distant. Horns blaring, a command. He leaped to the side, enough men dead or dropped that he could get a clear view out one of the doors into the night.
Men were streaming out of the buildings in the village. Dozens. He had a sinking feeling of dread. How long until his metals gave out? How many could he fight until someone with a crossbow or an aluminum bullet got lucky and hit him? He roared, launching himself upward in a leap over the fallen men he’d Pushed. Many were climbing to their feet. He was one man, not an army. He needed to run.
“Back!” he shouted at Wayne, who already had a crossbow bolt sticking from his thigh. The shorter man joined him, running toward cover inside the wrecked ship.