The ceiling overhead was lifting—shifting. Smaller stalks and vines which had taken root in the sand were tearing away. Above us came a cry—shouts—confusion. . . .
We swam to extricate ourselves. Tearing vines seemed to leap at us, but we avoided them.
Back to our dolphins. They were waiting; we mounted them—turned to look at the city. It was turning over in the water, and floating away. Slowly, then faster, down toward that black opening into which the current would sweep it.
The city of death! But every living thing in it was pouring out. Lights—dark blobs of figures—shouts—commands. . . .
The Maagogs were escaping! In a turmoil; and they would lose whatever apparatus they had for war; but they were escaping nevertheless. We had hoped the catastrophe would come more quickly. But it did not. The city toppled slowly over, while those terrified figures leaped from it. Slowly it floated away—then plunged into the torrent.
It was gone with its murdered Marinoid dead; but on the sand, and in the water ahead of us, the Maagogs and the half-breeds remained. Some had gone to their death, no doubt; the others . . .
“They will not wait to attack us now,” Nona whispered suddenly. “We have crippled them, but . . .”
“We must get back,” I exclaimed. “It is we who must attack at once—finish them up—now, before they can recover—”
In Rax, we found Atar with his work well done. We Marinoids were ready. And within an hour or very little more, we set forth to meet the advancing Maagogs.