Chapter
11
Okay, so he didn’t really explode. I just wanted you to turn the page really fast.
You see, if you turn the pages quickly, you might rip one of them. If you do that, then obviously you’ll want to go buy another copy of the book. Who wants one with a ripped page? Not you. You have refined tastes.
In fact, think of all the wonderful ways you can use this book. It will make an excellent coaster. You could also use it as building material. Or you could frame the pages as art. (After all, each page is a perfect work of art. Look at 56. Exquisite.)
Obviously you need lots of copies. One isn’t enough. Go buy more. Have you forgotten that you need to fight the Librarians?
Anyway, after getting done not exploding, Grandpa Smedry went into the chamber. I followed, expecting to find a courtroom. I was surprised to see only a simple wooden table with three knights sitting behind it. Bastille stood by the far wall at attention, hands at her sides, staring straight ahead. The three knights at the table weren’t even looking at her as they decided her punishment.
One of the knights was a masculine, burly man with an enormous chin. He was dangerous in an “I’m a knight and I could totally kill you” sort of way.
Next to him was Bastille’s mother, Draulin, who was dangerous in an “I’m Bastille’s mother and I could also kill you” sort of way.
The third one was an elderly, bearded knight who was dangerous in a “Stop playing your hip hop music so loud, you darn kids! Plus I could kill you too” sort of way.
Judging by their expressions, they were not happy to see my grandfather and me. “Lord Smedry,” the man with the chin said, “why have you interrupted these proceedings? You know you have no authority here.”
“If I let that stop me, I’d never have any fun!” Grandpa Smedry said.
“This is not about fun, Lord Smedry,” Bastille’s mother said. “It’s about justice.”
“Oh, and since when has it been ‘just’ to punish someone for things that were not their fault?”
“We are not looking at fault,” said the aged knight. “If a knight is incapable of protecting his or her charges, then that knight must be removed from his or her station. It is not young Bastille’s fault if we promoted her too quickly and—”
“You didn’t promote her too quickly,” I snapped. “Bastille is the most amazing knight in your ranks.”
“And you know much about the knights in our ranks, young Smedry?” the aged knight asked.
He was right. I felt a little foolish—but then when has that ever stopped a Smedry?
“No,” I admitted. “But I do know that Bastille has done a fantastic job of protecting my grandfather and me. She’s an excellent soldier—I saw her go head-to-head with one of the Scrivener’s Bones and hold her own with only a dagger. I’ve seen her take down two Librarian thugs before I could even finish blinking.”
“She lost her sword,” Draulin said.
“So?” I demanded.
“It’s the symbol of a Knight of Crystallia,” Big Chin said.
“Well, get her another sword then!” I snapped.
“It’s not that easy,” the old knight explained. “The fact that a knight is not capable of caring for her sword is very disturbing. We need to maintain quality in the order for the good of all nobility.”
I stepped forward. “Did she tell you how the sword broke?”
“She was fighting Alivened,” Draulin said. “She rammed it in one of their chests, then she was hit and knocked aside. When the Alivened was killed by falling through the floor, the sword was lost.”
I glanced back at Bastille. She didn’t meet my eyes.
“No,” I said, looking back at them. “That’s what happened, yes, but it’s not what happened. It wasn’t the fall, or even the death of the Alivened, and the sword wasn’t just lost. It was destroyed. By me. My Talent.”
The big-chinned knight gave a chuckle at that. “Lord Smedry,” he said, “I understand that you are loyal and care for your friends, and I respect you for it. Good man! But you shouldn’t make such wild exaggerations. Everyone knows that full Crystin shards are impervious to things like Oculator’s Lenses and Smedry Talents!”
I stepped forward to the table. “Hand me your sword, then.”
The knight started. “What?”
“Give it to me,” I said, holding out a hand. “Let’s see if it’s impervious.”
There was silence in the small glass chamber for a moment. The knight seemed incredulous. (Crystin don’t let others hold their swords. Asking Big Chin to give me his was a little like asking the president to lend me his nuclear missile launch codes for the weekend.)
Still, backing down would make Big Chin look like he believed my claim. I could see the indecision in his eyes, his hand hovering toward the hilt of his weapon, as if to hand it over.
“Be careful, Archedis,” Grandpa Smedry said quietly. “My grandson’s Talent is not to be underestimated. The Breaking Talent, by my estimation, hasn’t been manifest this powerfully for centuries. Perhaps millennia.”
The knight moved his hand away from the sword. “The Breaking Talent,” he said. “Well, perhaps it is possible for that to affect a Crystin sword.”
Draulin pursed her lips, and I could tell that she wanted to object.
“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?”