"I can give them a taste of what they're going to get unless Guantra surrenders," said Kortha. "I needn't kill them all. Just cause a few—ah—explosions."
"Guantra will never surrender."
"His men will make him. They will realize I hold the trump cards in this little game."
The fleets came in unhurriedly, majestically.
Aboard each flier was purposeful order as men ran across clean decks, stood warily at battle-stations, swarmed into the upper shrouds with small-arms. A few broadsides from those cannon would reduce Ruuzol to smoldering ruins.
"Now?" whispered Ilse through wet lips.
"No. Not yet. I want them all within range."
Minutes eked along, slowly. Now the ships were prow to bow, circling the mesa. Ilse shuddered, looking at the empty holes in the gun-muzzles. She licked her lips and found her tongue dry as the dust of the Yassan Desert.
"Now!" said Kortha, and his hand flashed out, and the red lever swung over, hard.
It stayed over for short seconds....