A bare space towered above the tossed rocks, flat on top and jagged at the sides. A steep path rose sharply to the level of the empty mesa, up which three men could walk abreast. It was the only means of entrance to the fortress of stone, for behind it, as though sheared by a gigantic sword, the cliff was cut away. Behind the mesa dropping thousands of feet straight down, a gorge was sliced into the mountain.
"We could hold that mesa forever," Flane grinned, "given enough food and water. Only three men can come at us at once. There is no way of retreat, except by falling to our deaths in the gorge."
Even Harth grunted, "It isn't so bad. A man could die a good death there, with his weapons red with his enemy's blood. As we all probably will."
Flane sighed, "If only we could get word to the Klarnva in Moornal and Yeelya! Then our stand here would be worth while. It would give the cities time to unite, to put an army in the field."
Aevlyn was buckling on a cape fitted with cabin-mail at breast and shoulder. She said suddenly, "One man might make Moornal in the magniship. He could spread word."
"You!" said Flane and Harth in one breath, but Aevlyn came close to Flane and shook her red mop of hair.
"No. I stay with Flane. I will never be separated from him again. Send another. I will not go."
Flane cajoled and begged and finally commanded, but Aevlyn bubbled laughter between her full red lips, and patted his hands. Her fiery hair swirled as she shook her head, brown eyes a-dance.
"I stay with you, Flane, come death or life! Now stop, for time grows short. Pick another who knows the ship and let him go."