The Well of Ascension: Book Two of Mistborn

“You see, Szeth-son-son-Vallano,” Taravangian said. “I did not send you to do my bloody work for me. I do it here, myself. I have personally held the knife and released the blood from the veins of many. Much like you, I know I cannot escape my sins. We are two men of one heart. This is one reason why I sought you out.” “But why?” Szeth said. On the

“I don’t know,” Vin said. “Once maybe I would have thought you a fool, but … well, that’s kind of what trust is, isn’t it? A willful self-delusion? You have to shut out that voice that whispers about betrayal, and just hope that your friends aren’t going to hurt you.”

“The ash comes again,” the man said through bloody lips, his voice strangely grating. “The world will fall to it. You will get what you deserve, and all will wither beneath a cloud of blackness and a blanket of burned bodies made ash.” Marasi gritted her teeth, working on the rusty-looking spike, slick with blood. “Your end,” the voice whispered. “

Hard to argue with a god like Herne, who lives in every bramble thicket, every maggot crawling in every carcass, anywhere in the realm. But he’s not sure it would help these people, here in this camp, to have Arthur back as king. Arthur wasn’t a great healer, a great mender of broken things. He was the one who did the breaking, more often than not.