But now the Darksiders were using their rocks against the magniship. Great jagged stones came crashing and bouncing on the deck. Men screamed, caught under them. Flesh was mashed, and ran red blood. One rock pierced the sides of the ship and clattered inside it, rolling and tumbling. Men moaned in the depths of the vessel, where the stone had gone. Flane thinned his lips and fired faster, and faster. One by one he encompassed the engines with the violet fire, and one by one they flared and disappeared. Now there were none left, and Flane turned from the rail with a sigh of satisfaction. He stood stock-still, staring. The deck of the magniship listed at a peculiar angle. It was difficult to walk on it, for one side was lifted toward the sky, and the other pointed down toward earth. He had been so engrossed in his destruction of the war-engines, that he had not noticed. The horde roared its triumph. "She sinks! She sinks! She is coming toward us! Now we shall have the gun!" Flane went across the deck with flying feet. He caught at a stanchion, swung in through an open door, shouting, "Lift it! Lift her nose." Aevlyn was pale, watching him beside Harth who stared unseeingly at the man in the doorway. Aevlyn whispered, "It's no use, Flane! Those rocks they hurled swept away the red magnetic balls on the port side of the ship. We're done for. We can't stay up much longer." "We can stay up long enough to get to the mountains," Flane rasped, pointing to where the green-and-brown hills rose toward the clouds. "There we can make a stand. The Darksiders can come at us only a few at a time. We can hold out until help comes from Moornal. It is our only hope." Harth slapped the table with the palm of his hand, violently, so that a quill and an inkbottle bounced a little. "Sheer madness!" he bellowed, rising swiftly to his feet. "Now I have listened to you, Flane of Klarn, and I have given you your way. But from now on, it shall be Harth of Moornal who says what we shall do." Flane's fingers opened and closed. His green eyes flared hotly, and he opened his mouth to snarl fierce words. Then Aevlyn was before him, the perfume of her auburn hair delicate in his nostrils, looking up at him. Her brown eyes begged with his. Flane sighed, "And what are those orders, Harth?" "We flee back to Moornal. We raise an army and--" Flane chuckled, "Idiot! I thought the ship was broken." "We can bargain with the Darksiders. They may yet give us terms." Flane took him by the arm and led him to the port window. They had an unobstructed view of the plains from there. They saw the shaggy _megathons_ racing with their bellies to the ground while their riders shook pennoned lances over their heads, charging. A sword blade glowed red in the sun, lifted into the air. A thundering of hooves rocked the ground. Voices bellowed, roared their hate.