Mistborn: Secret History (Mistborn, #3.5)

Well, they weren’t moving terribly quickly even with the mounts. He was able to keep up with them easily, particularly since he didn’t tire as he had when alive.

He counted five of the wizened ancients and a force of fifteen soldiers. Curiously, each of the ancients was dressed almost exactly the same, in their similar robes with hoods up and leather satchels over their shoulders, the same style of saddlebags on each horse.

Decoys, Kelsier decided. If someone attacks, they can split up. Their enemy might not know which of them to follow.

Kelsier could use that, particularly since he was relatively certain who carried the Connection device. Alonoe, the imperious woman who seemed to be in charge, wasn’t the type to let power slip through her spindly fingertips. She intended to become Preservation; letting one of her colleagues carry the device would be too risky. What if they got ideas? What if they used it themselves?

No, she’d have the weapon on her somewhere. The only question was how to get it from her.

Kelsier gave it some time. Days of travel through the darkened landscape, keeping pace with the caravan while he planned.

There were three basic types of thievery. The first involved a knife to the throat and a whispered threat. The second involved pilfering in the night. And the third . . . well, that was Kelsier’s favorite. It involved a tongue coated with zinc. Instead of a knife it used confusion, and instead of prowling it worked in the open.

The best kind of thievery left your target uncertain if anything had happened at all. Getting away with the prize was all well and good, but it didn’t mean much if the city guard came pounding on your door the next day. He’d rather escape with half as many boxings, but the confidence that his trickery wouldn’t be discovered for weeks to come.

And the real trophy was to pull off a heist so clever, the target didn’t ever discover you’d taken something from them.

Each “night” the caravan made camp in an anxious little cluster of bedrolls around a campfire, much like the one in Kelsier’s pack. The ancients got out jars of light, drinking and restoring the luminance to their skin. They didn’t chat much; these people seemed less like friends and more like a group of noblemen who considered one another allies by necessity.

Soon after their meal each night, the ancients retired to their bedrolls. They set guards, but didn’t sleep in tents. Why would you need a tent out here? There was no rain to keep off, and practically no wind to block. Just darkness, rustling plants, and a dead man.

Unfortunately, Kelsier couldn’t figure out a way to get to the weapon. Alonoe slept with her satchel in her hands, watched over by two guards. Each morning she checked to make sure the weapon was still there. Kelsier managed to get a glimpse of it one morning, and saw the glowing light inside, making him reasonably certain her satchel wasn’t a decoy.

Well, that would come. His first step was to sow a little misdirection. He waited for an appropriate night, then pushed himself down into the ground, sinking his essence beneath the surface. Then he pulled himself through the rock. It was like swimming through very thick liquid dirt.

He came up near where Alonoe had just settled down to sleep, and stuck only his lips out of the ground. Dox would have had a fit of laughter seeing this, Kelsier thought. Well, Kelsier was far too arrogant to worry about his pride.

“So,” he whispered to Alonoe in her own language, “you presume to hold Preservation’s power. You think you’ll fare better than he did at resisting me?”

He then pulled himself down under the ground. It was black as night under there, but he could hear the thumping of feet and the cries of shock from what he’d said. He swam out a distance, then lifted an ear from the ground.

“It was Ruin!” Alonoe was saying. “I swear, it must have been his Vessel. Speaking to me.”

“So he does know,” said another of the ancient ones. Kelsier thought it was Elrao, the man who had challenged her back in the fortress.

“Your wards were supposed to prevent this!” Alonoe said. “You told me they’d stop him from sensing the device!”

“There are ways for him to know of us without having sensed the orb, Alonoe,” another female said. “My art is exacting.”

“How he found us is not the problem,” Elrao said. “The question is why he hasn’t destroyed us.”

“Preservation’s Vessel still lives,” the other woman said, musing. “That might be preventing Ruin’s direct interference.”

“I don’t like it,” Elrao said. “I think we should turn back.”

“We have committed,” Alonoe replied. “We press forward. No quarreling.”

The stir in the camp eventually quieted down and the ancient ones turned back to their bedrolls, though more of the guards stayed awake than usual. Kelsier smiled, then pushed himself over beside Alonoe’s head again.