Harth nodded sullenly, watching the Darksiders come nearer and nearer. He showed his teeth in a mirthless grin.
"They think us easy meat," Harth said softly. His eyes began to burn.
"We could find a cave somewhere in those mountains," Flane went on, his eyes keen on Harth's face. "We could make a stand there. It could be so costly that the Darksiders might leave us, so as not to miss the mekniks."
Harth turned to him with a chuckle. "You are a sly dog, Flane. You persuade a man that his death is a marvelous thing. Ah, well. You may be right. We'll do as you say, as usual. I see no other course."
Flane leaped from the cabin, sped along the tilting deck on the starboard side, half-running on the wall of the cabin. He shouted the men out of their battle stations, swept them up in the whirl of his own enthusiasm.
"Overboard with everything movable! Heave it over. Retain only food and weapons. Everything else goes. We've got to get the ship up that mountain!"
Aevlyn ran to him, to be near him, and to spur on the men with her presence. She put soft white hands to lamps and cushions, carrying them to the rail and casting them. Chairs and tables were borne by the men who formed quick-moving lines at Flane's directions. Soon the cabins lay stripped and bare, except for the men who clustered in them, polishing and sharpening swords and lances.
Flane went with Aevlyn to the prow of the magniship, hearing Harth bellow orders to the helmsman.
Inch by inch the crippled vessel went up. Scraping past the tops of trees, grating its keel on a jagged lip of rock, it mounted steadily. The trees fell away below, yielding place to massive rocks that lay piled and scattered on one another like sleeping kittens. Like giants slain and scattered in battle lay the boulders.
"There!" shouted Flane, pointing.