Aie! Let the harpers tell of this battle!
Flane glanced at his blade. It was chined and nicked, and hung by a needle of steel to the hilt. Laughing shortly, he tapped it against a lip of rock and watched it drop onto the stones below. He went and drew the blue-hilted sword from the ornate scabbard and shook it in the air.
"By the dead hand that held you, you'll quench your thirst this day, you blue beauty!" he howled.
The mekniks were pouring onto the rocky plain now, and the Darksiders greeted them with cries of delight. Beside Flane, Aevlyn said bitterly, "Thousands more against us!"
Flane laughed, "The odds even, darling!"
He rested on his blade, watching the big blonde Darksider who led most of the attacks with a gnarled club in his hand, walk toward them. Two mekniks paced at his side.
"Surrender, Flane of Klarn," the blonde said. "We offer safe conduct to you all."
Flane laughed in his face.
"The mekniks would never let me live, Darksider," he replied. "Better a death in the open air than a dagger under the ribs on a dark night while I sleep."