The blade swam in the amethyst mist; glowed brightly, shimmering with opalescent hues. With staring eyes, Flane watched the steel dissipate into drifting powder. He held half a sword in his hand. A cry of alarm broke from the lips of the Darksiders. They eyed the half-blade, mouths open in awe. From guard and pommel it coruscated blazing whiteness as the sun caught at the seven globes inside the blue stuff. Like suns those points of whiteness glittered ... _like stars_! "The prophecy!" howled the Darksiders. "He bears the stars in his hand!" "He holds the key to the Machine!" The blonde Darksider stared at him, frowning. He let the club fall until its knotted end hit the stone. "Is it true, Flane of Klarn?" he whispered. "Is that sword the key to the Machine, as the prophecy has said?" Flane looked at the sword, at the blue hilt with its blazing pinpricks of light, at the diamond-shaped blade that was half a blade, now-- It was the truth! The diamond blade was key to the Machine! Fool, fool, not to have guessed! Its diamond shape, and the star-formed guard, and the dead body beneath the spaceship: the Keeper, of course! The stars in the hilt for the prophecy, and the blade for the key! "Yes," he cried hoarsely, "oh, All-Highest, yes!" The blonde Darksider dropped the club and knelt before Flane, lowering his head. A great rustling was heard, as the other Darksiders knelt with him. Only the _mekniks_ drew aside, muttering. "You are him for whom the Darksiders have prayed, year in and year out," he said. "You are the saviour who is to come, to unite Darksider and Klarnvan. You bear the key!" Flane heard Aevlyn sobbing behind him, as he lifted the sword and stared at it. He felt like weeping, too. For the diamond-shaped blade was only half a blade, now. The violet fire had eaten it up. The key to the Machine was in his hand at last, but it was a ruined key! The Darksider was bowing and saying, "I swear fealty to the bearer of the sun-starred sword, for he shall be my Keeper." Behind him the others roared out the ancient oath, their voices lifting triumphantly. "By the grip that plunges home the blade, by the hand that is turned away to ward off evil, by the voice of the Machine, I swear my oath and pledge my faith. I am obedient. I am true. I am his who bears the sword!" The rolling echo of the oath was swept into silence, but still Flane stared at the broken sword in his hand. A ruined key! _There was no hope, now!_ Flane stood with legs apart and flung his head to the blue sky and howled his laughter like a madman, until froth grew in the corners of his mouth, and tears rolled down his cheeks.... IV The sun lay like a crimson ball on the horizon. Flooded with its red rays were the waving grass fields, and the riders of the _megathons_ that sped across them. Hooves rose and fell, as the stallions' heads stretched forward, eager for the run.