The Bone Palace - Amanda Downum [148]
“You’re correct about jurisdiction, Sergeant.” The witchlight’s pale glare washed the woman’s face sallow and ghastly, and showed her fear very well indeed. “But the royal guard and the Arcanost would both appreciate your assistance in this matter.”
The sergeant’s resolve folded before Isyllt could press further. “Of c-course, Necromancer.” She lifted a hand, but her men were already scurrying to move a section of the barricade.
Isyllt smiled; the cold made her teeth ache. Denaris led her horse through the gap, and Ashlin and Savedra followed. Isyllt’s cruelty wasn’t entirely spent. “Thank you, Sergeant. We would welcome assistance, if you have anyone to spare.”
“I—” The other Vigils shifted backward nervously while their leader stammered. “That is, my men are needed here, to hold the line.”
“Of course.” She nudged her horse toward the barricade, then paused. “Oh, have you any word of Inspector Shar’s cohort?”
The sergeant shook her head. “I think they were among the first to respond, so they may be deeper inside this mess. Beyond that—” She shrugged.
Isyllt nodded and urged her gelding through the gap. The Vigils were replacing the barricade as his tail cleared the opening.
Once Isyllt would have thought the scene inside something from a nightmare, a Mortificant’s vision of hell. She’d seen worse since, but not much. Flames licked from rooftop to rooftop, and gouts of smoke shredded in the wind to choke them. Snow was trampled to slush, grey with dirt and ash and sometimes dark with blood. Broken glass glittered vermilion amid the filth.
“Saints!” gasped Savedra, even as Isyllt’s ring chilled with a different flavor of death.
Gaunt shapes crouched on a rooftop across from the barricade, eyes blazing by firelight. Razor teeth flashed with their laughter. Vrykoloi, at least four. More than Isyllt had ever seen outside of the catacombs. Spider’s young rebels, come to feast in the chaos.
“What are they?” Ashlin asked, her hand on her sword.
“Vampires.”
“What do we do?”
“Ride on,” Isyllt said, her mouth dry and bitter with smoke. “We have no time, and we’re not their prey tonight.”
Ashlin’s eyes narrowed. “Who is?”
“Anyone without swords or spells.” Isyllt set heels to her unhappy horse, leading them deeper into the burning quarter.
They passed tendrils of the mob, shouting and smashing windows and pounding on doors, and smaller clusters of looters. Some families fled burning apartments; others lingered, faces ghostly behind barred windows. Praying, no doubt, that fire and violence passed them by. Victims and instigators both turned to the riders, but Denaris urged them all away. She and Ashlin carried naked blades, the steel not yet stained—boots and warnings and the bulk of their mounts would only protect them so long.
When hands closed on Isyllt’s leg and tried to unseat her, she conjured ghostlight, a web of unearthly fire that unfolded around the four riders. Her attackers fell back, crying out as the cold singed them. The horses whickered and drew closer together, away from the web, but their steady canter didn’t slow till they reached Desolation Circle and the grey bulk of the Hecatomb wall.
“Isyllt!”
She tugged on the reins, turning to look down at Khelséa’s blood-and-ash-smeared face. She let the web fall.
“Are you all right?” Isyllt asked. The inspector’s pistol was in her hand, her face dull beneath the mask of grime.
“Oh, splendid. I’m glad you made it to the party.” Her eyes glittered in the too-near firelight as she glanced at Denaris and Ashlin and Savedra. “And in such company, too.”
“We need inside the palace, Khels.”
“Are you looking for the king?”
Ashlin and Savedra swung around in an identical motion. “Is he here?” Ashlin asked, leaning over her horse’s neck.
Khelséa nodded. “He came through with three octads of soldiers.” Her mouth twisted, the grimace ghastly in the shifting shadows. “They rode warhorses—the crowds didn’t have a chance. They broke open the main gate—I think his men are still guarding it.”
A frown passed between