Wed
Jun 15 2011 12:00pm

The Alloy of Law: Prologue & Chapter One

1

Five months later, Wax walked through the decorated rooms of a large, lively party, passing men in dark suits with tailcoats and women in colorful dresses with narrow waists and lots of folds through long pleated skirts. They called him “Lord Waxillium” or “Lord Ladrian” when they spoke to him.

He nodded to each, but avoided being drawn into conversation. He deliberately made his way to one of the back rooms of the party, where dazzling electric lights—the talk of the city—produced a steady, too-even light to ward off the evening’s gloom. Outside the windows, he could see mist tickling the glass.

Defying decorum, Wax pushed his way through the room’s enormous glass double doors and stepped out onto the mansion’s grand balcony. There, finally, he felt like he could breathe again.

He closed his eyes, taking the air in and out, feeling the faint wetness of the mists on the skin of his face. Buildings are so . . . suffocating here in the city, he thought. Have I simply forgotten about that, or did I not notice it when I was younger?

He opened his eyes, and rested his hands on the balcony railing to look out over Elendel. It was the grandest city in all the world, a metropolis designed by Harmony himself. The place of Wax’s youth. A place that hadn’t been his home for twenty years.

Though it had been five months since Lessie’s death, he could still hear the gunshot, see the blood sprayed on the bricks. He had left the Roughs, moved back to the city, answering the desperate summons to do his duty to his house at his uncle’s passing.

Five months and a world away, and he could still hear that gunshot. Crisp, clean, like the sky cracking.

Behind him, he could hear musical laughter coming from the warmth of the room. Cett Mansion was a grand place, full of expensive woods, soft carpets, and sparkling chandeliers. No one joined him on the balcony.

From this vantage, he had a perfect view of the lights down Demoux Promenade. A double row of bright electric lamps with a steady, blazing whiteness. They glowed like bubbles along the wide boulevard, which was flanked by the even wider canal, the still and quiet waters reflecting the light. An evening railway engine called a greeting as it chugged through the distant center of the city, hem- ming the mists with darker smoke.

Down Demoux Promenade, Wax had a good view of both the Ironspine Building and Tekiel Tower, one on either side of the canal. Both were unfinished, but their steelwork lattices already rose high into the sky. Mind-numbingly high.

The architects continued to release updated reports of how high they intended to go, each one trying to outdo the other. Rumors he’d heard at this very party, credible ones, claimed that both would eventually top out at over fifty stories. Nobody knew which would end up proving the taller, though friendly wagers were common.

Wax breathed in the mists. Out in the Roughs, Cett Mansion—which was three stories high—would have been as tall as a building got. Here, it felt dwarfed. The world had gone and changed on him during his years out of the city. It had grown up, inventing lights that needed no fire to glow and buildings that threatened to rise higher than the mists themselves. Looking down that wide street at the edge of the Fifth Octant, Wax suddenly felt very, very old.

“Lord Waxillium?” a voice asked from behind.

He turned to find an older woman, Lady Aving Cett, peeking out the door at him. Her gray hair was up in a bun and she wore rubies at her neck. “By Harmony, my good man. You’ll take a chill out here! Come, there are some people you will wish to meet.”

“I’ll be along presently, my lady,” Wax said. “I’m just getting a little air.”

Lady Cett frowned, but retreated. She didn’t know what to make of him; none of them did. Some saw him as a mysterious scion of the Ladrian family, associated with strange stories of the realms beyond the mountains. The rest assumed him to be an uncultured, rural buffoon. He figured he was probably both.

He’d been on show all night. He was supposed to be looking for a wife, and pretty much everyone knew it. House Ladrian was insolvent following his uncle’s imprudent management, and the easiest path to solvency was marriage. Unfortunately, his uncle had also managed to offend three-quarters of the city’s upper crust.

Wax leaned forward on the balcony, the Sterrion revolvers under his arms jabbing his sides. With their long barrels, they weren’t meant to be carried in underarm holsters. They had been awkward all night.

He should be getting back to the party to chat and try to repair House Ladrian’s reputation. But the thought of that crowded room, so hot, so close, sweltering, making it difficult to breathe. . . .

Giving himself no time to reconsider, he swung off over the side of the balcony and began falling three stories toward the ground. He burned steel, then dropped a spent bullet casing slightly behind himself and Pushed against it; his weight sent it speeding down to the earth faster than he fell. As always, thanks to his Feruchemy, he was lighter than he should have been. He hardly knew anymore what it felt like to go around at his full weight.

When the casing hit the ground, he Pushed against it and sent himself horizontally in a leap over the garden wall. With one hand on its stone top, he vaulted out of the garden, then reduced his weight to a fraction of normal as he fell down the other side. He landed softly.

Ah, good, he thought, crouching down and peering through the mists. The coachmen’s yard. The vehicles everyone had used to get there were arranged here in neat rows, the coachmen themselves chatting in a few cozy rooms that spilled orange light into the mists. No electric lights here; just good, warmth-giving hearths.

He walked among the carriages until he found his own, then opened the trunk strapped to the back.

Off came his gentleman’s fine dinner coat. Instead he threw on his mistcoat, a long, enveloping garment like a duster with a thick collar and cuffed sleeves. He slipped a shotgun into its pocket on the inside, then buckled on his gun belt and moved the Sterrions into the holsters at his hips.

Ah, he thought. Much better. He really needed to stop carrying the Sterrions and get some more practical weapons for concealment. Unfortunately, he’d never found anything as good as Ranette’s work. Hadn’t she moved to the city, though? Perhaps he could look her up and talk her into making him something. Assuming she didn’t shoot him on sight.

A few moments later, he was running through the city, the mistcoat light upon his back. He left it open at the front, revealing his black shirt and gentleman’s trousers. The ankle-length mistcoat had been divided into strips from just above the waist, the tassels streaming behind him with a faint rustle.

He dropped a bullet casing and launched himself high into the air, landing atop the building across the street from the mansion. He glanced back at it, the windows ablaze in the evening dark. What kind of rumors was he going to start, vanishing from the balcony like that?

Well, they already knew he was Twinborn—that was a matter of public record. His disappearance wasn’t going to do much to help patch his family’s reputation. For the moment, he didn’t care. He’d spent almost every evening since his return to the city at one social function or another, and they hadn’t had a misty night in weeks.

He needed the mists. This was who he was.

Wax dashed across the rooftop and leaped off, moving toward Demoux Promenade. Just before hitting the ground, he flipped a spent casing down and Pushed on it, slowing his descent. He landed in a patch of decorative shrubs that caught his coat tassels and made a rustling noise.

Damn. Nobody planted decorative shrubs out in the Roughs. He pulled himself free, wincing at the noise. A few weeks in the city, and he was already getting rusty?

He shook his head and Pushed himself into the air again, moving out over the wide boulevard and parallel canal. He angled his flight so he crested that and landed on one of the new electric lamps. There was one nice thing about a modern city like this; it had a lot of metal.

He smiled, then flared his steel and Pushed off the top of the streetlamp, sending himself in a wide arc through the air. Mist streamed past him, swirling as the wind rushed against his face. It was thrilling. A man never truly felt free until he’d thrown off gravity’s chains and sought the sky.

As he crested his arc, he Pushed against another streetlight, throwing himself farther forward. The long row of metal poles was like his own personal railway line. He bounded onward, his antics drawing attention from those in passing carriages, both horse-drawn and horseless.

He smiled. Coinshots like himself were relatively rare, but Elendel was a major city with an enormous population. He wouldn’t be the first man these people had seen bounding by metal through the city. Coinshots often acted as high-speed couriers in Elendel.

The city’s size still astonished him. Millions lived here, maybe as many as five million. Nobody had a sure count across all of its wards—they were called octants, and as one might expect, there were eight of them.

Millions; he couldn’t picture that, though he’d grown up here. Before he’d left Weathering, he’d been starting to think it was getting too big, but there couldn’t have been ten thousand people in the town.

He landed atop a lamp directly in front of the massive Ironspine Building. He craned his neck, looking up through the mists at the towering structure. The unfinished top was lost in the darkness. Could he climb something so high? He couldn’t Pull on metals, only Push—he wasn’t some mythological Mistborn from the old stories, like the Survivor or the Ascendant Warrior. One Allomantic power, one Feruchemical power, that was all a man could have. In fact, having just one was a rare privilege—being Twinborn like Wax was truly exceptional.

Wayne claimed to have memorized the names of all of the different possible combinations of Twinborn. Of course, Wayne also claimed to have once stolen a horse that belched in perfect musical notes, so one learned to take what he said with a pinch of copper. Wax honestly didn’t pay attention to all of the definitions and names for Twinborn; he was called a Crasher, the mix of a Coinshot and a Skimmer. He rarely bothered to think of himself that way.

He began to fill his metalminds—the iron bracers he wore on his upper arms—draining himself of more weight, making himself even lighter. That weight would be stored away for future use. Then, ignoring the more cautious part of his mind, he flared his steel and Pushed.

He shot upward. The wind became a roar, and the lamp was a good anchor—lots of metal, firmly attached to the ground—capable of pushing him quite high. He’d angled slightly, and the building’s stories became a blur in front of him. He landed about twenty stories up, just as his Push on the lamp was reaching its limit.

This portion of the building had been finished already, the exterior of a molded material that imitated worked stone. Ceramics, he’d heard. It was a common practice for tall buildings, where the lower levels would be actual stone, but the higher reaches would use something lighter.

He grabbed hold of an outcropping. He wasn’t so light that the wind could push him away—not with his metalminds on his forearms and the weapons he wore. His lighter body did make it easier to hold himself in place.

Mist swirled beneath him. It seemed almost playful. He looked upward, deciding his next step. His steel revealed lines of blue to nearby sources of metal, many of which were the struc- ture’s frame. Pushing on any of them would send him away from the building.

There, he thought, noting a decent-sized ledge about five feet up. He climbed up the side of the building, gloved fingers sure on the complexly ornamented surface. A Coinshot quickly learned not to fear heights. He hoisted himself up onto the ledge, then dropped a bullet casing, stopping it with his booted foot.

He looked upward, judging his trajectory. He drew a vial from his belt, then uncorked it and downed the liquid and steel shavings inside it. He hissed through his teeth as the whiskey burned his throat. Good stuff, from Stagin’s still. Damn, I’m going to miss that when my stock runs out, he thought, tucking the vial away.

Most Allomancers didn’t use whiskey in their metal vials. Most Allomancers were missing out on a perfect opportunity. He smiled as his internal steel reserves were restored; then he flared the metal and launched himself.

He flew up into the night sky. Unfortunately, the Ironspine was built in set-back tiers, the upper stories growing progressively narrower as you went higher. That meant that even though he Pushed himself directly up, he was soon soaring in open darkness, mists around him, the building’s side a good ten feet away.

Wax reached into his coat and removed his short-barreled shotgun from the long, sleevelike pocket inside. He turned—pointing it outward—braced it against his side, and fired.

He was light enough that the kick flung him toward the building. The boom of the blast echoed below, but he had spray shot in the shells, too small and light to hurt anyone when it fell dispersed from such a height.

He slammed into the wall of the tower five stories above where he’d been, and grabbed hold of a spikelike protrusion. The decoration up here really was marvelous. Who did they think would be looking at it? He shook his head. Architects were curious types. Not practical at all, like a good gunsmith. Wax climbed to another shelf and jumped upward again.

The next jump was enough to get him to the open steelwork lattice of the unfinished upper floors. He strolled across a girder, then shimmied up a vertical member—his reduced weight making it easy—and climbed atop the very tallest of the beams jutting from the top of the building.

The height was dizzying. Even with the mists obscuring the landscape, he could see the double row of lights illuminating the street below. Other lights glowed more softly across the town, like the floating candles of a seafarer’s ocean burial. Only the absence of lights allowed him to pick out the various parks and the bay far to the west.

Once, this city had felt like home. That was before he’d spent twenty years living out in the dust, where the law was sometimes a distant memory and people considered carriages a frivolity. What would Lessie have thought of one of these horseless contraptions, with the thin wheels meant for driving on a city’s fine paved streets? Vehicles that ran on oil and grease, not hay and horseshoes?

He turned about on his perch. It was difficult to judge locations in the dark and the mists, but he did have the advantage of a youth spent in this section of the city. Things had changed, but not that much. He judged the direction, checked his steel reserves, then launched himself out into the darkness.

He shot outward in a grand arc above the city, flying for a good half a minute on the Push off those enormous girders. The skyscraper became a shadowed silhouette behind him, then vanished. Eventually, his impetus ran out, and he dropped back through the mists. He let himself fall, quiet. When the lights grew close—and he could see that nobody was below him—he pointed his shotgun at the ground and pulled the trigger.

The jolt punched him upward for a moment, slowing his descent. He Pushed off the birdshot in the ground to slow him further; he landed easily in a soft crouch. He noticed with dissatisfaction that he’d all but ruined some good paving stones with the shot.

Harmony! he thought. This place really was going to take some getting used to. I’m like a horse blundering through a narrow marketplace, he thought, hooking his shotgun back under his coat. I need to learn more finesse. Out in the Roughs, he’d been considered a refined gentleman. Here, if he didn’t watch himself, he’d soon prove himself to be the uncultured brute that most of the nobility already assumed that he was. It—

Gunfire.

Wax responded immediately. He Pushed himself sideways off an iron gate, then ducked in a roll. He came up and reached for a Sterrion with his right hand, his left steadying the shotgun in its sleeve in his coat.

He peered into the night. Had his thoughtless shotgun blasts drawn the attention of the local constables? The guns fired again, and he frowned. No. Those are too distant. Something’s happening.

This actually gave him a thrill. He leaped into the air and down the street, Pushing off that same gate to get height. He landed atop a building; this area was filled with three- and four-story apartment structures that had narrow alleyways between. How could people live without any space around them? He’d have gone mad.

He crossed a few buildings—it was handy that the rooftops were flat—and then stopped to listen. His heart beat excitedly, and he realized he’d been hoping for something like this. It was why he’d been driven to leave the party, to seek out the skyscraper and climb it, to run through the mists. Back in Weathering, as the town grew larger, he’d often patrolled at night, watching for trouble.

He fingered his Sterrion as another shot was fired, closer this time. He judged his distance, then dropped a bullet casing and Pushed himself into the air. He’d restored his weight to three-quarters and left it there. You needed some weight on you to fight effectively.

The mists swirled and spun, teasing him. One could never tell which nights would bring out the mists; they didn’t conform to normal weather patterns. A night could be humid and chill, and yet not a wisp of mists would appear. Another night could begin dry as brittle leaves, but the mists would consume it.

They were thin this night, and so visibility was still good. Another crack broke the silence. There, Wax thought. Steel burning with a comfortable warmth within him, he leaped over another street in a flurry of mistcoat tassels, spinning mist, and calling wind.

He landed softly, then raised his gun in front of him as he ran in a crouch across the roof. He reached the edge and looked down. Just below him, someone had taken refuge behind a pile of boxes near the mouth of an alley. In the dark, misty night, Wax couldn’t make out many details, but the person was armed with a rifle resting on a box. The barrel was pointed toward a group of people down the street who wore the distinctive domed hats of city constables.

Wax Pushed out lightly from himself in all directions, setting up his steel bubble. A latch on a trapdoor at his feet rattled as his Allomancy affected it. He peered down at the man firing upon the constables. It would be good to do something of actual value in this city, rather than just standing around chatting with the overdressed and the overprivileged.

He dropped a bullet casing, and his Allomancy pressed it down onto the rooftop beneath him. He Pushed more forcefully on it, launching himself up and through the swirling mists. He decreased his weight dramatically and pushed on a window latch as he fell, positioning himself so he landed right in the middle of the alleyway.

With his steel, he could see lines pointing toward four different figures in front of him. Even as he landed—the men muttering curses and spinning toward him—he raised his Sterrion and sighted on the first of the street thugs. The man had a patchy beard and eyes as dark as the night itself.

Wax heard a woman whimpering.

He froze, hand steady, but unable to move. The memories, so carefully dammed up in his head, crashed through and flooded his mind. Lessie, held with a gun to her head. A single shot. Blood on the red brick walls.

The street thug jerked his rifle toward Wax and fired. The steel bubble barely deflected it, and the bullet tugged through the fabric of Wax’s coat, just missing his ribs.

He tried to fire, but that whimpering . . .

Oh, Harmony, he thought, appalled at himself. He pointed his gun downward and fired into the ground, then Pushed on the bullet and threw himself backward, up out of the alleyway.

Bullets pierced the mists all around him. Steel bubble or not, he should have fallen to one of them. It was pure luck that saved his life as he landed on another roof and rolled to a stop, prone, protected from the gunfire by a parapet wall.

Wax gasped for breath, hand on his revolver. Idiot, he thought to himself. Fool. He’d never frozen in combat before, even when he’d been green. Never. This, however, was the first time he’d tried to shoot someone since the disaster in the ruined church.

He wanted to duck away in shame, but he gritted his teeth and crawled forward to the edge of the roof. The men were still down there. He could see them better now, gathering and preparing to make a run for it. They probably wanted nothing to do with an Allomancer.

He aimed at the apparent leader. However, before Wax could fire, the man fell to gunfire from the constables. In moments, the alleyway swarmed with men in uniforms. Wax raised his Sterrion beside his head, breathing deeply.

I could have fired that time, he told himself. It was just that one moment where I froze. It wouldn’t have happened again. He told himself this several times as the constables pulled the malefactors out of the alley one at a time.

There was no woman. The whimpering he’d heard had been a gang member who’d taken a bullet before Wax arrived. The man was still groaning in pain as they took him away.

The constables hadn’t seen Wax. He turned and disappeared into the night.

***

A short time later, Wax arrived at Ladrian Mansion. His residence in the city, his ancestral home. He didn’t feel like he belonged there, but he used it anyway.

The stately home lacked expansive grounds, though it did have four elegant stories, with balconies and a nice patio garden out back. Wax dropped a coin and bounded over the front fence, landing atop the gatehouse. My carriage is back, he noticed. Not surprising. They were getting used to him; he wasn’t certain whether to be pleased by that or ashamed of it.

He Pushed off the gates—which rattled at the weight—and landed on a fourth story balcony. Coinshots had to learn precision, unlike their cousin Allomancers, Ironpullers—also known as Lurchers. Those would just pick a target and Pull themselves toward it, but they usually had to grind up the side of a building, making noise. Coinshots had to be delicate, careful, accurate.

The window was unlatched; he’d left it that way. He didn’t fancy dealing with people at the moment; his abortive confrontation with the criminals had rattled him. He slipped into the darkened room, then padded across it and listened at the door. No sounds in the hallway. He opened the door silently, then moved out.

The hallway was dark, and he was no Tineye, capable of enhancing his senses. He felt his way with each step, being careful not to trip on the edge of a rug or bump into a pedestal.

His rooms were at the end of the hallway. He reached for the brass knob with gloved fingers. Excellent. He carefully pushed the door open, stepping into his bedroom. Now he just had to—

A door opened on the other side of his room, letting in bright yellow light. Wax froze in place, though his hand quickly reached into his coat for one of his Sterrions.

An aging man stood in the doorway, holding a large candela- brum. He wore a tidy black uniform and white gloves. He raised an eyebrow at Wax. “High Lord Ladrian,” he said, “I see that you’ve returned.”

“Um . . .” Wax said, sheepishly removing his hand from inside his coat.

“Your bath is drawn, my lord.”

“I didn’t ask for a bath.”

“Yes, but considering your night’s . . . entertainments, I thought it prudent to prepare one for you.” The butler sniffed. “Gunpowder?”

“Er, yes.”

“I trust my lord didn’t shoot anyone too important.”

No, Wax thought. No, I couldn’t.

Tillaume stood there, stiff, disapproving. He didn’t say the words he was undoubtedly thinking: that Wax’s disappearance from the party had caused a minor scandal, that it would be even more difficult to procure a proper bride now. He didn’t say that he was disappointed. He didn’t say these things because he was, after all, a proper lord’s servant.

Besides, he could say them all with a glance anyway.

“Shall I draft a letter of apology to Lady Cett, my lord? I believe she will expect it, considering that you sent one to Lord Stanton.”

“Yes, that would be well,” Wax said. He lowered his fingers to his belt, feeling the metal vials there, the revolver at each hip, the weight of the shotgun strapped inside his coat. What am I doing? I’m acting like a fool.

He suddenly felt exceedingly childish. Leaving a party to go patrolling through the city, looking for trouble? What was wrong with him?

He felt as if he’d been trying to recapture something. A part of the person he’d been before Lessie’s death. He had known, deep down, that he might have trouble shooting now and had wanted to prove otherwise.

He’d failed that test.

“My lord,” Tillaume said, stepping closer. “May I speak . . . boldly, for a moment?”

“You may.”

“The city has a large number of constables,” Tillaume said. “And they are quite capable in their jobs. Our house, however, has but one high lord. Thousands depend on you, sir.” Tillaume nodded his head in respect, then moved to begin lighting some candles in the bedroom.

The butler’s words were true. House Ladrian was one of the most powerful in the city, at least historically. In the city’s government, Wax represented the interests of all of the people his house employed. True, they’d also have a representative based on votes in their guild, but it was Wax they depended on most.

His house was nearly bankrupt—rich in potential, in holdings, and in workers, but poor in cash and connections because of his uncle’s foolishness. If Wax didn’t do something to change that, it could mean jobs lost, poverty, and collapse as other houses pounced on his holdings and seized them for debts not paid.

Wax ran his thumbs along his Sterrions. The constables handled those street toughs just fine, he admitted to himself. They didn’t need me. This city doesn’t need me, not like Weathering did.

He was trying to cling to what he had been. He wasn’t that person any longer. He couldn’t be. But people did need him for something else.

“Tillaume,” Wax said.

The butler looked back from the candleas. The mansion didn’t have electric lights yet, though workmen were coming to install them soon. Something his uncle had paid for before dying, money Wax couldn’t recover now.

“Yes, my lord?” Tillaume asked.

Wax hesitated, then slowly pulled his shotgun from its place inside his coat and set it into the trunk beside his bed, placing it beside a companion he’d left there earlier. He took off his mistcoat, wrapping the thick material over his arm. He held the coat reverently for a moment, then placed it in the trunk. His Sterrion revolvers followed. They weren’t his only guns, but they represented his life in the Roughs.

He closed the lid of the trunk of his old life. “Take this, Tillaume,” Wax said. “Put it somewhere.”

“Yes, my lord,” Tillaume said. “I shall have it ready for you, should you need it again.”

“I won’t be needing it,” Wax said. He had given himself one last night with the mists. A thrilling climb up the tower, an evening spent with the darkness. He chose to focus on that—rather than his failure with the toughs—as his night’s accomplishment.

One final dance.

“Take it, Tillaume,” Wax said, turning away from the trunk. “Put it somewhere safe, but put it away. For good.”

“Yes, my lord,” the butler said softly. He sounded approving.

And that, Wax thought, is that. He then walked into the washroom. Wax the lawkeeper was gone.

It was time to be Lord Waxillium Ladrian, Sixteenth High Lord of House Ladrian, residing in the Fourth Octant of Elendel City.

Mistborn: The Alloy of Law © Brandon Sanderson 2011

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66 comments
Diana J. Davidson
1. Diana J. Davidson
YAY! Another Mistborn book! I had no idea there'd be more so I am Thrilled. This promises to be another great hit by Brandon Sanderson. I can't wait to get my hands on it! Except... all my other Mistborn books are signed, Brandon. What are we going to do about that? ^v~ Take care!
Diana J. Davidson
2. JeppieJepp
There are two spelling mistakes in the second paragraph talking about the letter FYI. Can't wait to see the final book, loving the work Brandon
Diana J. Davidson
3. Adrienne Hotard
Thank you for putting this up! I'm so excited and the "teaser" posts have been killing me! Can we just get Tor to clone Brandon so these books get released faster!
Heidi Byrd
4. sweetlilflower
Wow! Brandon is truly an excellent writer. This little taste is both tantalizing and frustrating. I want more!!!!!!
Diana J. Davidson
5. FellKnight
WOOT! This prologue makes me even *more* anxious for the full book! (If that is possible!)

Fell
Diana J. Davidson
6. BasualdoA
Four spelling mistakes actually, but I'm not a spelling nazi, come forth to cast aspersions.

Really looking forward to reading your work Brandon and the best of luck in your adventures :)
Diana J. Davidson
7. ABrown
ok did anyone else notice that Lord Ladrian was also Breeze's proper name? It's only mentioned once, by Sazed but I thought it was of interest.
Josh Smith
8. Master_Moridin
This is amazing! November needs to hurry up and get here.
Diana J. Davidson
9. tarcalion
ah, just release the whole book now! and the next trilogy....and all of stormlight and dragonsteel, for adonalsium's sake. i need more! seriously, though, exciting prologue. very interested to see this world.
Chris Lough
10. TorChris
@2, @6, and everyone else: Feel free to email Tips@tor.com regarding any spelling errors you spot. It's still early days for these excerpts, so a few are bound to creep through, but we can correct them easily. Thanks!
Peter Ahlstrom
11. PeterAhlstrom
It would help ME if you'd post them here in the comments thread as well. That paragraph in particular was a very late addition (it's not in the ARC) and I haven't had a chance to make sure all the late corrections were entered cleanly. I need to keep an electronic version here for the foreign editions to translate from; usually spelling mistakes wash out in translation but it pays to be careful.
Aniello Del Sorbo
12. anidel
"He realy should have burned that letter."

Note: "realy" not "really".

Other than that, perfect as usual :)
Peter Ahlstrom
13. PeterAhlstrom
Yeah, and it says "Lessier" and "witout" too. You can blame it on my handwriting if you like.
Diana J. Davidson
14. LisaMichele
Yay! I just finished the Mistborn trilogy for the first time a week ago, and was going through some serious withdrawl.

@7 - I hadn't noticed that, thanks! That's kind of interesting...
Diana J. Davidson
15. Adrienne Hotard
I've emailed them as well. I had this on the TWG discussion.

koloss to Koloss
well tailored to well-tailored (I believe)
eyeblink to eye blink
witout to without
realy to really
firepit to fire pit
re-inforcing to reinforcing
adit to adrift (I think that's what he was going for there)
judg- ing to judging
Bonnie Andrews
16. misfortuona
So many questions.... Now the wait begins. You think I'd know better than to read these teasers.
Wonderful work as usual Brandon.
Thank you!

Mis-taken with The Alloy of Law
Marcus W
17. toryx
It's a decent start to a new book set in the mistborn world.
karl oswald
18. Toster
very cool excerpt. i especially love the couple of curses (harmony=preservation and ruin in balance: Sazed!; rust and ruin), and all the other references to mistborn. someone mentioned ladrian, then there's elendel. i wonder where vin's gonna pop up? maybe the koloss will remember her...

can't wait for this book, and seeing how BS writes Twinborns, which should be simply awesome.
Mark Lawrence
19. incurablyGeek
Loved the references to the original trilogy: Lord Ladrian (Wax is apparently a descendent of Breeze and Alrianne Cett which makes him distant relation to Lady Cett), Demoux Promenade and the references to "Harmony" -- Sazed the Hero of Ages who "harmonized" Ruin and Preservation but apparently decided that mistborn was too much of a good thing to allow to continue.

Good stuff building on good stuff.
John Pigott
20. AbEnd
@15: Adit = A horizontal passage leading into a mine for the purposes of access or drainage

BS must be a killer Scrabble player!
Diana J. Davidson
21. helly
out of november 8th? great :)
Birgit
22. birgit
i wonder where vin's gonna pop up?

Is she the Ascendant Warrior?
Diana J. Davidson
23. beverley
Just read teaser, absolutely brill cant wait for more.
Diana J. Davidson
24. Teancum
I haven't been this excited for a book since Mistborn 3. I'm going insane... Brandon Sanderson is the best author ever!
Diana J. Davidson
25. Markus Ambrose
Thanks for the amazing birthday present Mr. Sanderson. I didn't know we were that great of friends. :)
Diana J. Davidson
26. Darin Calhoun
Awesome, I loved it!
T C
27. Freelancer
Hey, Brandon. I see you've been reading some dime-store novellas. The pacing and phrasing are very familiar. So, the Old West with metal magic. This should be interesting. Nice touch that the capital(?) city is Elendel.

As long as it isn't getting in the way of AMoL, ok? Oh, and howdy, Peter.
Diana J. Davidson
28. R. Davis
Heard Brandon read this at the Harvard Con. It is pretty awesome.
pat purdy
29. night owl
I actually finished the Mistborn Trilogy yesterday! (everything in my house waits, I am surrounded in dirt.)
Thrilled you have another book coming out, ...now, when is the second book of the Stormlight Archive Series due?
Steven Pattingale
30. Pattingale
Wow! Awesome. Loved it. Great intro to the novel, cannot wait to read more.
Diana J. Davidson
31. Elicius
Maaan, this is totally awesome. Thank you for publishing this addition to the series, and for giving us a preview! The Mistborn world is somewhere I can't help but love.

Hehe, Elendel.
Diana J. Davidson
32. Untergeek
I'm thinking that the Ascendent Warrior is actually Spook, who Sazed/Harmony made mistborn at the conclusion of The Hero of Ages.
Diana J. Davidson
33. Mollymolo
Oh, wow, I had no idea this was coming! (And, indeed, part of my recent recommendation of the series to a friend was that it really was a trilogy, with beginning, middle, and end, rather than an endless series, which was something she wanted to avoid). But, very excited to read it! (I hate reading little preview excerpts, though, if there's a long wait until the real book, so I'm going to have to wait until November, alas!)
Diana J. Davidson
34. Shan
Brandon Sanderson does steampunk. This is awesome! Cannot wait for more chapter and can it be November already??
Harry Burger
35. Lightbringer
Actually, I recall Sazed made the entire crew Mistborn at the very end. The Ascendant Warrior is clearly Vin, I was expecting her to be the Angel of Death, beautiful but deadly and married to the Lawbringer (Elend) in mythology. Sad that Sazed's name is lost, but Harmony is a good kenning for him.

Clearly Tan was burning Atium, though I thought with Ruin gone, so would Atium, and only someone cruel with legions of slave labor could operate the Pits. Or perhaps Tan is a twinborn, Tineye and Feruchemical speed storage? Or Feruchemical senses storage and pewter for strength/speed?

Love the bit about using good whiskey in Allomantic vials.

And we all know any time in fiction when an efficient killer decides to put his guns away, he's going to need to bring them out again and overcome his internal demons.

Can't wait to read the whole thing.
Benjamin Moldovan
36. benpmoldovan
Lightbringer @35: Maybe he was burning electrum.
Diana J. Davidson
37. Dan33
@ lightbringer Actually, im pretty sure he made Spook the first mistborn of the new world, i think the rest of the crew just kept their abilities but Spook was made mistborn
Diana J. Davidson
38. Geckomayhem
Absolutely brilliant! I have been waiting a long time for this; ever since I heard that BS was writing a fourth Mistborn book (maybe they will call this the Twinborn series?). Very, very cool. Simply can't wait to read the next instalment! I'm sure it will keep most of us going until November. XD

The whole steampunk angle fits so well, too. Really neat to be reading both wild west and fantasy together. :o
Diana J. Davidson
39. DocHogan
@35, @36: It appears the mists of Preservation may have returned in some fashion, so atium may have returned as well. It would make sense that Preservation and Ruin are forces eternal and would return eventually, regardless of previous storyline; at best, their power would be dissapated from use by Sazed.

That would put this timeline 900-1000 years after the end of Hero of Ages, give-or-take a century or two based on Harmony's (Sazed's) melding of the two forces; the longer he used them, and depending on when/if he finally 'moved on', would alter the standard millennia it took in the original series for Preservation and Ruin to reconsolidate power. Granted, that period, and need to consolidate, was based on Preservation's imprisonment of Ruin, but we don't know what Sazed did with them when he was done.
Diana J. Davidson
40. jricks
"That would put this timeline 900-1000 years after the end of Hero of Ages..."

I'm not sure, but I think BS said it was more like 300 years after Hero of Ages.

Great job Brandon! I'm thinking this will be the best Mistborn novel yet!
Grant Seamer
41. Lighttriumphs
I have to admit I haven't read any of the Mistborn series before. Having read this though, I will just have to hunt them down! At least I'll have plenty of time before this book comes out.
Diana J. Davidson
42. Saetana
I really enjoyed the original Mistborn trilogy but I'm not too sure about this one, I'm not a great lover of steampunk fantasy, it takes something special to make me read it (Shadows of the Apt for example), I'll wait for more extracts before making a decision. What I loved about the Mistborn trilogy was the characters, Sanderson is more about characters than description and I'm not sure I want to start again with a completely unknown set of people, still, there is always the library ;o)
Diana J. Davidson
43. ChocolateRob
Will this be available on the Kindle?
I finally bought one on the basis of a quote about Way of Kings by Brandon's friend Howard Tayler -

"This 1000-page tome is the best argument you’ll have all year to get an e-reader, because you HAVE to have this book, but you might not be muscular enough to carry it around."

I have all BS's books in papery format but thought Kindle would be a great way to read them whenever I want, only to discover that WoK is the only one of his books currently available (at least in the UK).
Antoni Ivanov
44. tonka
“I have seen God, lawkeeper,” Tan whispered. Where was he? “I have seenDeath himself, with the nails in his eyes. I have seen the Survivor, who is life.”


Would that mean that he has met Marsh ? We know that he is immortal as long as he has atium.
Doc Hogan
45. dochogan
@ChocolateRob: Darn near every one of BSs books is available digitally on (in?) GoogleBooks, and can be read on almost any platform or reader. I have every one of BSs books in pulp format, but they're all signed so I hate to use them for casual reading ;) Have digital copies of each, and using Google Books to download protected ePub, they've been (legally!) added to my Sony Reader as well as any PC, Android, or iOS device with web access
Diana J. Davidson
46. ChocolateRob
@dochogan Almost any platform or reader except for Kindle that is.
It's not until you get one that you discover that Kindle won't play nice with anyone else. It's pretty much Kindle store or bust. I got a £65 Waterstones voucher as a present and I can't use that on the Kindle either.
I've managed to put the PDF of Warbreaker downloaded from Brandon's website on it but that's about it for non-Amazon.
Anyone considering a Kindle - be wary.
Diana J. Davidson
47. Waterlogged
@32 Could Elend be the ascendant warrior... after all he did become mistborn at the well of ascension. Although I must admit Vin is probably more likely to pop up in the same sentence as the survivor.
Diana J. Davidson
48. Dohtig
It is awesome to see the evolution of the Mistborn series, I am anxious to get the whole book!
Diana J. Davidson
49. Natata
@7 Yes. Obviously he's a descendant of Breeze. Much like Cett's descendants. And how Elendel is named after Elend and Demoux gets a mention. I doubt that it's super relevant - but it does build an immediate bond with the book
Diana J. Davidson
50. Noah Vale
I'm confused.

"He could see Tan’s face behind Lessie; the man held a garrote around her neck."

"The memories, so carefully dammed up in his head, crashed through and flooded his mind. Lessie, held with a gun to her head."

Lessie had a garrote around her neck during the prologue. When he's remembering it says a gun was to her head. Mess up?
Diana J. Davidson
51. silvelix
@50: probably using left and right hand.
@chocolaterob: you can use calibre ebook manager to convert ebooks in different format, you can also manage, rate, get metadata and many more using calibre.
Diana J. Davidson
52. portlandpeter
@51, a one handed garrote?
Diana J. Davidson
53. Noah Vale
But it never mentioned a gun in his hand. Pretty sure that's important enough for him to mention. Also, he jerked her head into the bullet. Didn't shoot her himself. So it's probably just a mistake. But it happens. Just wanna point it out.
Diana J. Davidson
54. saraheilonwy
Concerning typos...Lots of accidental "cloak" references when what he is supposed to be wearing is a "coat." I would guess you'll have to be especially careful about that in this book.
Peter Ahlstrom
55. PeterAhlstrom
You're both right about those issues. So we're fixing them. (Most of the "cloak" references had already been fixed in the book but I just checked and two of them were still there.) Thanks!
Diana J. Davidson
56. Mistborn
Mr. Sanderson,
Your books made not only my month, but also my year.Maybe even my life. Truly inspirational! You are simply awesome. The world waits for the release of this next book. Hope to see it out soon!
Love your writing.
Diana J. Davidson
57. Court
Just finished the mistborn trilogy; it was AMAZING. Although now I am in despair because it is over:(.
November can't come soon enough to soothe my saddened heart.


ps- Ever since I started reading these books I have been wanting to make mistborn references; my friends have no idea what I am talking about. :D
Diana J. Davidson
58. MKV
At first, I wasn't too sure about the Western-ish setting, but this is incredible. And I get the feeling I'm going to love these characters just as much as the Mistborn crew.
Keep on being awesome and inspiring, Brandon Sanderson!
Diana J. Davidson
59. Euphemism
If Wax keeps himself constantly at 3/4 inertia, how does that affect his muscle mass/bone development? Just as astronauts suffer from bone loss in zero-gravity conditions and need to spend extra time exercising, does Wax's abuse of his power affect him similarly?
Diana J. Davidson
60. kateydidnt
If Wax usually goes around at 3/4 his normal weight he must have alot of weight stored up by now. I suspect this will become significant at some point. I am sure there are situations where being heavier would become an asset. However 59 has a good point--if physical weight is not coorelated with physical strength than being heavier would be useless if you don't have the muscle mass or bone density to back it up.
T C
62. Freelancer
kateydidn't @60

Oh no, not useless at all, especially for a coinshot. If he could suddenly weigh, say, a ton, how much metal could he move with a flared Push? Definitely one of several Chekov's guns in this exerpt. The most obvious being his Sterrions, even if they're in a chest, not on the mantle. No way we get introduced to them in a Prologue and never seen them again.
Tate Thorpe
63. FearTheWiggum001
Brandon, you're phenominal! Love all your books! I am drooling just thinking of when i get this book!
Diana J. Davidson
64. Andy DiMartino
Totally Psyched!!!!
Diana J. Davidson
65. Methos
@62
I don't think it's as simple as using weight to add power to a coinshot. In the first books whenever Sazad added significant weight, he was also tapping his pewtermind to give himself the strength to cope with it (ie during the siege in book 2). And whenever Vin was doing a particularly strong push or pull, it references her burning pewter to keep from pulling herself apart.

While Wax could double or triple his weight without too much problem, I doubt he can increase it indefinitely.
George Samuel
66. Purplescai
I was skeptic at first about this, but now I see how you added to the amazing magical system in mistborn the features brought on by technology, and it's amazing.

Please don't ever stop blowing our minds.
Dylon Crone
67. DylonCrone
I look foreward to reading these. The last mistborn books were perfect, in biginning and end, so I have no doubt this book and its sequels will be even better. But, I will say this: no matter what characters you create, none will surpass that original Crew.

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