Alcatraz Versus the Knights of Crystallia by Brandon Sanderson

  "Um," I said, glancing at my grandfather. He indicated that I should keep talking. “Anyway, I've come to speak at this trial, as is my right as a member of the Smedry clan."

  "I believe you have been doing that already,” Draulin said flatly. (Sometimes I can see where Bastille gets her snark.)

  "Yes, well," I continued, "I want to vouch for Bastille's skill and cleverness. Without her intervention, both Grandpa Smedry and I would be dead. You probably would be too, Draulin. Let's not forget that you were captured by the very Librarian that Bastille defeated."

  "I saw you defeat that Librarian, Lord Smedry," Draulin said. "Not my daughter."

  "We did it together,” I said. "As part of a plan we came up with as a team. You got your sword back only because Bastille and I retrieved it for you."

  "Yes," said the elderly knight. "But then, that is part of the problem."

  "It is?" I said. "Wounding Draulin's pride caused that much trouble?"

  Draulin blushed – I felt pleased, though a little ashamed, for getting such a reaction out of her.

  "It's more than that,” Big Chin – Archedis – said. "Bastille held her mother's sword."

  "She didn't have much choice," I said. "She was trying to save my life, and that of her mother – not to mention my father's life by association. Besides, she only picked it up for a short time."

  "Regardless," Archedis said. "Bastille's use of the sword . . . interfered with it. It is more than tradition that keeps us from letting others hold our weapons."

  "Wait," I said. "Does this have to do with those crystals in your necks?"

  The three knights shared a look.

  "We don't discuss these kinds of things with outsiders," the elderly knight said.

  "I'm not an outsider," I said. "I'm a Smedry. Besides, I know most of it already." There were three kinds of Crystin shards – the ones that they made into swords, the ones they implanted in Crystin necks, and a third one Bastille hadn't wanted to talk about.

  "You bond to those neck crystals," I said, pointing. "You bond to the swords too, don't you? Is that what this is all about? When Bastille picked up her mother's sword to fight Kilimanjaro, it interfered with the bond?"

  "That's not all this is about," the oldest knight said. "This is much bigger than that. What Bastille did in fighting with her mother's sword showed recklessness – just like losing her own sword did."

  "So?" I demanded.

  "So?" Draulin asked. "Young Lord Smedry, we are an order founded on the principle of keeping people like yourself alive. The kings, nobility, and particularly Smedrys of the Free Kingdoms seem to seek their own deaths with regularity. In order to protect them, the Knights of Crystallia must be constant and coolheaded."

  "With all due respect, young Lord Smedry," the aged knight said, "it is our job to counteract your foolhardy nature, not encourage it. Bastille is not yet right for knighthood."

  "Look,” I said. "Somebody decided that she was worthy of being a knight. Maybe we should talk to them?"

  "We are them," Archedis said. "We three elevated Bastille to knighthood six months ago, and are also the ones who chose her first assignment. That is why we are the ones who must face the sad task of stripping her knighthood from her. I believe it is time for us to vote.

  "But –“

  "Lord Smedry," Draulin said curtly. "You have had your say, and we suffered you. Have you anything more to say that will productively add to this argument?"

  They all regarded me. "Would calling them idiots be productive?" I asked, turning toward my grandfather.

  "Doubtful,” he said, smiling. "You could try 'nigglenut,' since I bet they don't know the meaning. That probably wouldn't help much either."

  "Then I'm done," I said, feeling even more annoyed than when I'd first entered the room.

  "Draulin, your vote?" the aged knight – obviously in charge – said.

  "I vote to strip knighthood from her," Draulin said. “And sever her from the Mindstone for one week to remove her taint from Crystin blades that do not belong to her."

  "Archedis?" the elderly knight asked.

  "The young Smedry's speech has moved me," the large-chinned knight said. "Perhaps we have been hasty. I vote to suspend knighthood, but not remove it. Bastille's taint of another's sword must be cleansed, but I believe one week to be too harsh. One day should suffice."

  I didn't really know what that last part meant, but the big knight earned a few points in my book for his kindness.

  "Then it is up to me," the aged knight said. "I will take the middle road. Bastille, we strip your knighthood from you, but will have another hearing in one week to reevaluate. You are to be severed from the Mindstone for two days. Both punishments are effective immediately. Report to the chamber of the Mindstone."

  I glanced back at Bastille. Somehow I felt that decision wasn't in our favor. Bastille continued to stare straight ahead, but I could see lines of tension – even fear – in her face.

  I won't let this happen! I thought, enraged. I gathered my Talent. They couldn't take her. I could stop them. I'd show them what it was like when my Talent broke their swords and –

  “Alcatraz, lad,” Grandpa Smedry said softly. "Privileges, such as our ability to visit Crystallia, are retained when they are not abused. I believe we have pushed our friends as far as they will go."

  I glanced at him. Sometimes there was a surprising depth of wisdom in those eyes of his.

  "Let it go, Alatraz,” he said. "We'll find another way to fight this."

  The knights had stood and were making their way from the room, likely eager to get away from my grandfather and me. I watched, helpless, as Bastille followed them. She shot me a glance as she left and whispered a single word. "Thanks."

  Thanks, I thought. Thanks for what? For failing?

  I was, of course, feeling guilty. Guilt, you may know, is a rare emotion that is much like an elevator made of Jell-O. (Both will let you down quite abruptly.)

  "Come, lad," Grandpa Smedry said, taking my arm.

  "We failed," I said.

  "Hardly! They were ready to strip her knighthood completely. At least we've got a chance for her to get it back. You did well."

  “A chance to get it back," I said, frowning. "But if the same people are going to vote again in a week, then what good have we done? They'll just vote to strip her knighthood completely."

  "Unless we show them she deserves it,” Grandpa said. "By, say, stopping the Librarians from getting that treaty signed and taking over Mokia?"

  Mokia was important. But even if we could do what he said, and even if we could get Bastille involved, how was fighting a political battle going to prove anything to do with knighthood?

  "What's a Mindstone?" I asked as we walked back to the Transporter chamber.

  "Well,” Grandpa Smedry said, "You're not supposed to know about that. Which, of course, makes it all the more fun to tell you. There are three kinds of Crystin shards."

  "I know," I interjected. "They make swords from one type."

  "Right," Grandpa Smedry said. "Those are special in that they're very resilient to Oculatory powers and things like Smedry Talents, which lets the Knights of Crystallia fight Dark Oculators. The second type of shards are the ones in their necks – the Fleshstones, they call them."

  "Those give them powers,” I said. "Make them better soldiers. But what's the third one?"

  "The Mindstone," Grandpa Smedry said. "It is said to be a shard from the Worldspire itself, a single crystal that connects all the other Crystin shards. Even I don't know for certain what it does, but I think it connects all Crystin together letting them draw upon the strength of other knights."

  "And they're going to cut Bastille off from it," I said. "Maybe that will be a good thing. She'll be more her own person."

  Grandpa Smedry eyed me. "The Mindstone doesn't make the knights all have a single mind, lad. It lets them share skills. If one of them knows how to do something, they all get a fraction
of a tad of an iota better at that same thing."

  We entered the room with the box, then stepped inside it; apparently, Grandpa Smedry had left instructions for the boxes to be swapped every ten minutes until we returned.

  "Grandfather," I said. "My Talent. Is it as dangerous as you said back there?"

  He didn't reply.

  "In the tomb of Alcatraz the First," I said as the doors to our box closed, "the writing on the walls spoke of the breaking Talent. The writing . . . called it the 'Dark Talent' and implied it had caused the fall of the entire Incarna civilization."

  "Others have held the breaking Talent, lad," Grandpa Smedry said. "None of them caused any civilizations to fall! Though they did knock down a wall or two."

  His attempt at mirth seemed forced. I opened my mouth to ask more, but the doors to the box opened. Standing directly outside was Folsom Smedry in his red robes, Himalaya at his side.

  "Lord Smedry!" Folsom said, looking relieved. "Finally!"

  "What?" Grandpa Smedry said.

  "You're late," Folsom said.

  "Of course I am,” Grandpa said. "Get on with it!"

  "She's here."

  "Who?"

  “Her,” Folsom said. "She Who Cannot Be Named. She's in the keep, and she wants to talk to you."

  CHAPTER 12

  Right now, you should be asking yourself some questions. Questions like: "How is it possible that this book can be so awesome?" and "Why did the Librarian slip and fall down?" and "What exactly was it that exploded and made the Hawkwind crash in Chapter Two?"

  Did you think I'd forgotten that last one? No, not at all. (The crash nearly killed me, after all.) I figured that the Librarians might be behind it, as everyone else assumed. But why had they done it? And, more important, how?

  There just hadn't been time to ask those questions, important though they were. Too much was going on. We'll get to it, though.

  (Also, the answer to the second question in the first paragraph is obvious. She fell because she was looking through the library's nonfriction section.)

  We approached Keep Smedry's audience lounge, where Sing – with his hefty Mokian girth – stood guard. It was time to confront She Who Cannot Be Named – the most dangerous Librarian in all of the Order of the Wardens of the Standard. I'd fought Blackburn, Dark Oculator, and felt the pain of his Torturer's Lens. I'd fought Kilimanjaro, of the Scrivener's Bones, with his blood-forged Lenses and terrible half-metal smile. Librarian hierarchs were not to be trifled with.

  I tensed, entering the medium-sized castle chamber with Grandpa Smedry and Folsom, ready for anything. The Librarian, however, wasn't there. The only person in the room was a little old grandmother wearing a shawl and carrying an orange handbag. "It's a trap!" I said. "They sent a grandmother as a decoy! Quickly, old lady. You’re in great danger! Run for safety while we secure the area!"

  The old lady met Grandpa Smedry's eyes. “Ah, Leavenworth. Your family is always such a delight!"

  "Kangchenjunga Sarektjakka," Grandpa Smedry said, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. Almost cold.

  "You always were the only one out here who could pronounce that correctly!" said Kagechech . . . Kachenjuaha . . . She Who Cannot Be Named. Her voice had a decidedly kindly tone to it. This? This was She Who Cannot Be Named? The most dangerous Librarian of all? I felt a little bit let down.

  "Such a dear you are, Leavenworth," she continued.

  Grandpa Smedry raised an eyebrow. "I can't say it's good to see you, Kangchenjunga, so instead – perhaps – I will say that it's interesting to see you."

  "Does it have to be that way?" she asked. "Why, we're old friends!"

  "Hardly. Why have you come here?"

  The old grandmother sighed, then walked forward on shaky legs, back bowed with age, using a cane to walk. The room was carpeted with a large maroon rug, the walls bearing similar tapestries, along with several formal-looking couches for meeting with dignitaries. She didn't sit in one of these, however, she just walked up to my grandfather.

  "You never have forgiven me for that little incident, have you?" the Librarian asked, fiddling in her handbag.

  "Incident?" Grandpa Smedry said. "Kangchenjunga, I believe you left me dangling from a frozen mountain cliff, my foot tied to a slowly melting block of ice, my body strapped with bacon and stuck with a sign that read 'Free Wolf-chow."'

  She smiled wistfully. "Ah, now that was a trap. Kids these days don't know how to do it correctly." She reached into her handbag. I tensed, and then she pulled out what appeared to be a plate of chocolate chip cookies, wrapped in plastic wrap. She handed these to me, then patted me on the head. "What a pleasant lad," she said, then turned to my grandfather.

  "You asked why I had come, Leavenworth,” she said.

  "Well, we want the kings to know that we are serious about this treaty, and so I have come to speak before the final vote this evening."

  I stared down at the cookies, expecting them to explode or something. Grandpa Smedry didn't seem worried – he kept his eyes focused directly on the Librarian.

  "We won't let this treaty happen," Grandpa said.

  The Librarian tsked quietly, shaking her head as she shuffled out of the room. "So unforgiving, you Smedrys. What can we do to show that we're sincere? What possible solution is there to all of this?"

  She hesitated by the door, then turned and winked at us. "Oh, and don't get in my way. If you do, I'll have to rip out your entrails, dice them into little bits, then feed them to my goldfish. Toodles!"

  I stared in shock. Everything about her screamed “kindly grandmother." She even smiled in a cute old-lady sort of way when she mentioned our entrails, as if discussing a favored knitting project. She exited, and a couple of keep guards followed her.

  Grandpa Smedry sat down on one of the couches, exhaling deeply, Folsom sitting next to him. Sing still stood by the door, looking disturbed.

  "Well, then,” Grandpa said. "My, my.”

  "Grandfather,” I said, looking down at the cookies? "What should we do with these?”

  "We probably shouldn’t eat them,” he said.

  "Poison?" I asked.

  "No. They'll spoil our dinner.” He stopped, then shrugged. "But that's the Smedry way!" He slipped a cookie out and took a bite. “Ah, yes. As good as I remember. One of the nice things about facing off against Kangchenjunga is the treats. She's an excellent baker.”

  I noticed a motion to the side, and turned as Himalaya entered the room. "Is she gone?” the dark-haired former Librarian asked.

  "Yes," Folsom said, standing up immediately.

  "That woman is dreadful,” Himalaya said, sitting down.

  "Ten out of ten points for evilness," Folsom agreed.

  I remained suspicious of Himalaya. She had stayed outside because she didn't want to face a former colleague. But that had left her unsupervised. What had she been doing? Planting a bomb, like the one that blew up the Hawkwind? (See, I told you I hadn't forgotten about that.)

  "We need a plan,” Grandpa Smedry said. "We only have a few hours until the treaty vote. There has to be a way to stop this!"

  "Lord Smedry, I've been talking to the other nobility,” Sing said. "It . . . doesn't look good. They're all so tired of war. They want it to end."

  "I'll agree the war is terrible," Grandpa Smedry said. "But, Clustering Campbells, surrendering Mokia isn't the answer! We need to show them that."

  Nobody responded. The five of us sat in the room for a time, thinking. Grandpa Smedry, Sing, and Folsom enjoyed the cookies, but I held off. Himalaya wasn't eating them either. If they were poisoned, then she would know.

  A short time later, a servant entered. "Lord Smedry," the young boy said, "Crystallia is requesting a Swap Time."

  “Approved," Grandpa Smedry said.

  Himalaya took a cookie and finally ate one. So much for that theory, I thought with a sigh. A short time later, Bastille walked in.

  I stood up, shocked. "Bastille! you're here!”

/>   She appeared dazed, like she'd just suffered a repeated beating to the face. She looked at me and seemed to have trouble focusing. “I . . .” she said. “Yes, I am.”

  That gave me chills. Whatever they'd done to her in Crystallia must have been horrible if it left her unable to make sarcastic responses to my dumb comments. Sing rushed to pull over a chair for her. Bastille sat, hands in her lap. She was no longer wearing the uniform of a squire of Crystallia – she had on a generic brown tunic and trousers, like a lot of the people I'd seen in the city.

  "Child," Grandpa Smedry said, “how do you feel?”

  "Cold," she whispered.

  "We're trying to think of a way to stop the Librarians from conquering Mokia, Bastille,” I said. “Maybe . . . maybe you can help."

  She nodded absently. How were we going to involve her in helping expose the Librarian plot – and thereby get her knighthood back – if she could barely talk?

  Grandpa Smedry glanced at me. "What do you think?”

  "I think I'm going to go break some crystal swords," I snapped.

  "Not about Bastille, lad," Grandpa said. "I can assure you, we're all in agreement about how she's been treated. We've got larger problems right now."

  I shrugged. "Grandpa, I don't know anything about politics back in the Hushlands, let alone the politics here in Nalhalla! I have no idea what to do."

  "We can't just sit here!" Sing said. "My people are dying as we speak. If the other Free Kingdoms remove their support, Mokia won't have the supplies to keep fighting."