Alcatraz Versus the Scrivener's Bones

Kiliman activated the Frostbringer’s Lens, blasting it toward Bastille. She dropped her pack and whipped up her dagger, slicing it directly through the icy beam. The dagger shattered, and her hand turned blue. But, she blocked the ray long enough to get inside Kiliman’s reach, and she delivered a solid blow to his stomach with her other hand.

Kiliman let out an oof of pain and stumbled backward. Angered, he slammed his sword down toward Bastille. Somehow she got out of the way, and the sword hit the ground with a harsh sound.

She’s so quick! I thought. She was already around to Kiliman’s side and delivered a powerful kick to his ribs. Although he didn’t look like he enjoyed the blow, he didn’t react as much as I would have thought a normal person would. He was part Alivened; ordinary weapons couldn’t kill this creature. That was a job for an Oculator.

As I drew close, Kiliman spun, slamming his shoulder into Bastille’s chest. The blow threw her backward to the ground, and Kiliman laughed, then raised the Frostbringer’s Lens, pointing it directly at her.

“No!” I yelled. The only thing I had, however, was the Grappler’s Glass boot. So I threw it.

The Lens began to glow. For once in my life, however, my aim was true—and the boot hit the Lens square on and locked into place. When the Lens went off, ice formed in a large block around the shoe, weighing it down—but also filling the boot itself, making it impossible to reach inside and turn it off.

Kiliman cursed, shaking his hand. As he did so, I realized that I still had hold of the tripwire tied to the boot. Thinking that I’d be able to pull the Frostbringer’s Lens to myself, I yanked on the wire.

I hadn’t stopped to think that Kiliman might yank back. And he was a lot stronger than I was. His pull caused the wire to bite into my hands as it hauled me off my feet. I cried out, hitting the ground, and my Talent proactively broke the wire before Kiliman could pull me any farther toward him. I looked up, dazed, ten feet of wire still wrapped around my hands.

Kiliman freed his hand from the frozen Lens-boot combination, and he tossed both aside. Bastille was climbing to her feet. Without her jacket—which had broken when Dragonaut crashed—she couldn’t take much more punishment than an ordinary person, and Kiliman had hit her square on with a metal shoulder. It was a wonder she could even walk.

Kiliman hefted the Crystin blade in two hands, then smiled at us. He didn’t seem to be at all threatened; that attitude, however, seemed to make Bastille even more determined. Despite my yelled warning, she charged the monster again.

And she calls us Smedrys crazy! I thought with frustration, pushing myself to my feet. As Kiliman raised his weapon to swing at Bastille, I slammed my hand to the ground and released the Breaking Talent.

The floor cracked. There was an awesome, deafening sound as rocks shattered and sections of floor became rubble. Kiliman idly stepped to the side, raising a metallic eyebrow at the rift that appeared behind him.

“What, exactly, was that supposed to do?” he asked, glancing at me.

“It was supposed to make you stumble,” I said. “But it’ll work as a distraction too.”

At that moment, Bastille tackled him.

Kiliman yelled, falling to the ground, the Crystin blade sliding from his grip. As he landed, something fell from one of his pockets and skidded across the floor.

My Translator’s Lenses.

I cried out, dashing toward them. From behind, I could hear Bastille grunting as she snatched the Crystin blade. Kiliman, however, was just too strong. He grabbed her foot with a metal-bolt hand, then threw her to the side, causing her to drop the sword.

She hit the wall with a terrible thud. I spun in alarm.

Bastille slid to the ground. She looked dazed. Her forehead was bleeding from a cut, and one of her hands was still blue from the blast of frost. She favored her right side and grimaced as she tried—then failed—to stand. She seemed to be in really bad shape.

Kiliman stood up, then recovered the Crystin blade. He shook his head, as if to clear it, and with his flesh hand he pulled out another Lens. The Voidstormer’s Lens: the one that sucked things toward him.

He pointed the Lens toward Bastille. She groaned as she began to slide across the floor in his direction, unable to even stand. Kiliman raised the sword.

I dived for the Translator’s Lenses, which had skidded across the floor to rest beside one of the scroll-covered walls. I knelt next to the Lenses, hurriedly grabbing them.

“Ha!” Kiliman said. “You’d fetch those Lenses even as I kill your friend. I thought that Smedrys were supposed to be bold and honorable. We can see what happens to your grand ideals once real danger is near!”

I knelt there for a moment, my back to Kiliman, Translator’s Lenses in my fingers. I knew I couldn’t let him have them. Not even to save my life or Bastille’s …