Inheritance

Run! Figure it out later! For now just run!

Lardren Valdreaux shot along one of Urteau's channels, passing between the calm water and a stone bridge with inches to spare on either side. He pushed off as he threw a handful of coins, water splashing up to chase after him as he vaulted onto a rooftop, sprinting across the clay tile. Blood dripped from his left arm, streaming out from where his pinky and ring finger had been attached only minutes before. Pewter flared in his belly, keeping him on his feet and running in spite of his wounds. He threw down another coin, Pushing headlong into the air and across a narrow alley to the next building, desperately hoping he'd evaded his attacker.

His Mistcloak flapped behind him, grey and black tendrils enveloping him and mimmicking the playful movements of the Mist he dashed through.

I need to get home. He can't touch me inside Keep Valdreaux...


His bronze was flaring in tandem with his Pewter and Copper, but even so he barely heard the Allomantic pulses to his left before he saw half a dozen blue lines shooting towards him, a handful of coins pierced through the Mist, creating a clear wake in their passing.

Impossible! How can I never sense him until he's so close?! Is he using Copper to toy with me?

Lardren pushed back against the coins, deflecting them and pushing himself to the side as the other Mistborn pushed back. Nudging against a window latch, Lardren altered his course to fall alongside a Skaa tennement, plunging down four stories in an eyeblink. Just before he hit the ground he slammed his hand against the building, launching himself across the street. He flipped around, planting his feet on the stone wall as he drew his last glass knife. Seeking out with his bronze, he heard the faint pulse of Allomancy up on top of the tennement. Barring his teeth and flaring his Pewter and Steel he flew back up the four stories, slashing his knife as he closed on his target.

He barely saw the Mistcloak wrapped outline of his target before it disappeared along with its Allomantic pulses. Lardren's knife whistled through empty air, and he barely registered his own shock before something slammed into his side, sending him spinning through the Mist and back down to the ground.

So fast!

Were it not for his rapidly dwindling Pewter the kick would have broken ribs, but as it was Lardren only had the air forced from his lungs as he tumbled to the ground. He hit the cobblestones hard, rolling several feet and wobbling slightly as he got to his feet. He raised up his knife, then realized the blade had broken some time in his tumble. Cursing, he threw the useless thing aside and took up a boxer's stance.

The Mistborn floated down in front of him, just on the edge of his Tin enhanced eyes. Lardren spat out blood, eyeing his opponent.

"I don't know who you are, but I'll give you this: you're good. Had we known Lord Rasthsone had such capable protection we would have brought more than one team."

The Mistborn said nothing, remaining motionless. Lardren took the chance to catch his breath, taking stock of his injuries. Aside from a massive bruise forming on his ribs and the two missing fingers, he had half a dozen shallow cuts and his knuckles were scraped raw from the night's fighting. Still, he fared better than the four Thugs, two Coinshots and single Lurcher this mysterious Mistborn had killed. Fully half of House Valdreaux's Mistings killed on what should have been a simple assassination.

None of his wounds were life threatening, not to a Mistborn, but the fingers galled him. Lucia would never hear her song now. Even if he survived the night.

Slowly, the Mistborn started walking forwards. Lardren let him close. He was out of coins, and he was the best boxer in Urteau with or without metals. Let the twit come closer. He smiled.

The Mistborn stopped about five feet away. Lardren could see he was slight of build and stood several inches shorter than himself, but his hood was up obscuring his face. When he spoke, it was a whisper, and seemed to come from all around him, echoing out of the Mists themselves.

"These nights are not yours. You are but a child playing with your father's sword."

His fist shot up for Lardren's nose, but he dodged, quickly snapping a counter jab that connected with the Mistborn's chest. The Mistborn sprang back, then dashed forward and flipped into a flying kick for Lardren's head. he ducked the kick, then flared his Pewter as he swung a ham sized fist in a savage uppercut. The Mistborn caught his fist in both hands with remarkable agility, pushing off with his feet now planted on Lardren's chest. He hung on to Lardren's fist, using his weight to spin him around hand throw him off balance. He creened into a stack of boxes, cursing as he fell. Rather than getting right to his feet, he grabbed one of the boxes, hurling it at the Mistborn. He dropped a coin, shooting up into the night as the box whizzed past his feet.

Lardren climbed up, sporting a few new cuts and bruises. He sought out with his Bronze, but the Mistborn had disappeared again. Right then, his Pewter burned out, leaving him feeling suddenly drained and drawn. He needed to find help, fast. He shook his Mistcloak free of the shattered boxes, then looked to his left with a surprised expression on his face as the Mistborn darted up to him from down the street and carved a deep gouge across his throat.

Impossible! He can't be that fast!

Lardren collapsed back into the boxes, choking as his life bled out. The Mistborn caught him, lowering him gently down. Again his voice echoed, seeming to resound all around him.

"Rest now, child. Mist's Heir will put you to rest."

Lardren's vision clouded, the world growing cold. He thought he could hear laughter on the edge of his mind, getting louder and louder as the Void took him and he died, wrapped in the Mist.