Chapter seventeenThe gangs had risen. And Oxonium burned.
Glaring down appalled as flames gouted from wrecked buildings and black smoke drifted like evil fingers clenching around their victims, I saw the pity and the horror of it all. I have seen many fine cities burn, to my sorrow; destruction wrought by greed and hatred and fear. Now the Suns rose higher and their slanting rays illuminated only more calamity and pain.
“Bring her round.” My order was curt, brutal.
Cloudscamper swung about, above the flames, above the smoke, high above the hideous clamor below.
Not all the buildings in Oxonium burned. On Grand Central the king’s palace, although damaged, remained recognizably intact, as did the palace of Kov Brannomar. These were protected to some degree by the sorcerous arts of Branno
