The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn #6) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,144
purse.
ReLuur’s spike, it might be in there. Since it was Hemalurgically Invested, it might not have registered to the eyes of an Allomancer looking for metals on her. The guard dumped the purse out, spilling the contents onto the cold stone.
No spike. Instead, among her notebooks and handkerchiefs tumbled a palm-sized wedge of metal. The aluminum spearhead from the statue?
Wayne, I’m going to … She gritted her teeth. When had he swapped her for the spike? That man!
“I searched that purse already,” another guard noted. “No weapons.”
“Well then, what’s this?” the first guard said, picking up the wedge-shaped piece of aluminum.
The second guard snorted. “You’re welcome to try to kill someone with that if you want. It’s dull.”
Marasi wilted, feeling stupid. Even if she had the spike, what would she do? She couldn’t overpower armed guards.
Then what could she do?
Someone fell through the sky and thumped to the ground nearby. She perked up, thinking it must be Waxillium. Instead it was Suit, clothing ripped and dusty, carrying a gun. The guards saluted, the one with her purse dropping it and the metal wedge. One of her glass makeup jars rolled away.
Poor Allik huddled beside Steris. He’d stopped shivering, and his skin was turning blue. Steris met her eyes, and looked resigned.
Suit strode past. He looked far more intimidating dropping through the air using Allomantic abilities than he had bundled up for the weather and standing on the steps of the temple.
“Is my brother dead?” Telsin demanded, turning from her group of engineers nearby.
“Yes,” Suit said. “Though I encountered the short one.”
“You killed him?”
“Left him distracted,” Suit said. “I thought you’d want to see what I found.” He held up something that gleamed in the powerful lights the crew had set up. Two silvery bracers, each as long as a forearm. “There was a hidden chamber down there, Sequence. And my, what a secret it contained.”
Telsin shoved between her scientists and scrambled up to Suit. She took the bracers, awed.
“They don’t work,” Suit noted.
“What do you mean?”
“They’re out of attributes, I think. Their reserves gone.”
“But they grant Allomancy too,” Telsin said, putting them on and waving toward one of the guards, who tossed her a vial of metals. She downed it, eager.
“Well?” Suit asked.
“Nothing.”
A decoy, Marasi thought. Like the glass case and the empty pedestal … yes, that had been one too. She could see now why Waxillium had been doing his measuring.
Waxillium. He couldn’t really be …
No. What could she do? Not fight. But think. These Bands were a decoy. A second layer of falsehood to confuse intruders.
So where were the real ones?
* * *
Candles in a dark room.
They’re another decoy, Wax thought, mind muddled. Those bracers were too perfect, just like the stories. They were left to fool us.
Like the symbols of Wax’s old adversary, painted on the door of a mansion. Meant to distract. Delay.
This place was made for the Lord Ruler, Wax thought. Those traps … those traps are stupid. What if one did catch him? The whole thing has to be a decoy.
So what? There was another temple out there? Maybe they had hidden it in a cave?
He could barely see anymore. Wayne held his hand, tears streaming down his face. Everything was fading. The cold … coming … like darkness …
No, Wax thought, it wouldn’t be somewhere else. He’d need to be able to find it. He’d recognize it.…
It was.
It was here!
Wax gasped, and tried to form the words, eyes wide. Wayne gripped his hand, knuckles white.
He couldn’t feel it.
The darkness arrived, and Wax died.
28
Wax stilled.
Wayne let the hand fall limp. He wanted to just sit here. Stare at nothing like those fellows in rows nearby, the ones that weren’t crushed. Sit and become nothing.
All his life, only one man had believed in him. Only one man had forgiven him, had encouraged him. The rest of this damned race could burn away and become ash, for all Wayne cared. He hated them all.
But … what would Wax say?
He left me, the bastard, Wayne thought, wiping his eyes. In that moment, he hated Wax too. But then, Wayne loved him more than the hatred. He growled, and stumbled to his feet. He had no weapons; he’d dropped his dueling canes above.
He stared at Wax’s body, then knelt and felt along the man’s leg. He got ahold of something and yanked it free. The shotgun.
Wayne’s hands immediately started shaking.
“You stop that,” he hissed at them. “We’re done with that.”