Flane and Aevlyn rode side by side. There were bandages still on their arms, on Flane's chest and thigh. Behind them thundered Besl, the blonde Darksider, and a _dular_ from Moornal. The cool wind in his face made Flane grin; made him stare, in sheer gladness at being alive, at the grassy plain, the swollen, crimson sun, the distant blue mountains. He had not thought to be alive today. There had been confusion on the mesa after he had laughed. The _mekniks_ were all for throwing him into the gorge, but the Darksiders saw in him the savior of their prophecy, and would not have him touched. "This is the key to the Machine," Flane informed them, showing them the ruined blade. "The blade is the key." "The blade is gone," growled a sullen _meknik_. "Not all of it. Only the foible of the blade. The forte remains. It may be sufficient to turn the lock. It is worth a try. Speak out--do I go to Klarn with a safe conduct, or do you try throwing me in the gorge?" The giant blonde came to Flane's side and lifted his club. "I, Besl, promise safe conduct for the Keeper," he roared, looking at the _mekniks_ with sullen eye, "and any who interferes shall be treated as enemies." As sullenly, the _mekniks_ agreed. They could not do otherwise, for without the Darksiders, they were no match for the _dulars_ of Klarn. One of them said, "But we cannot vouchsafe a passage through the city itself. Other _mekniks_ might not agree with us." "I'll risk that," snapped Flane. "I have gone through them once. I can do it again." Later, when they were alone, Flane said to Aevlyn, "It is but a forlorn hope. When the stem of a key is gone, the lock will not open. And the foible of this blade is part of the key, too. And it is powder on the rocks." "Then why go to Klarn at all?" sighed Aevlyn, out of the weariness of her spirit, tired of seeing men die and blood run red. "Because there is still a chance. A slim one, true. But--a chance!" Her eyes were dark and worshipping, staring up at his grim face. She whispered, "Brood of the space-wanderers! You never quit, do you, Flane? You always keep on, even after you've failed!" "My stubbornness hasn't hurt us yet. I wouldn't give up on the desert, and thus I won the sword, and you. I kept Harth fighting, and we've discovered that the sword is a key to the Machine! Now--well, what the All-High can see in His cave, He shall see!" The Darksiders provided them with swift, tireless _megathons_. Flane missed Saarl, but Saarl was in Moornal now, if the magniship got back. The dun mount he straddled was a good beast. When they were in the saddle, Besl swung onto a black stallion beside them. "I go as a watchdog, Flane of Klarn. If you fail, I carry word to the Darksiders, to bring fire and steel through the cities of the Klarnva." "Good enough," Flane grunted, but Aevlyn pressed his hand with hers, bowing her head, biting her lips until a drop of blood welled.