Chapter 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.

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.

They crossed the mountain trails, and headed out over the plains. The great sand-stretches were dotted by eremophytic plants that lifted thorny branches toward a clear sky. It was a land of peace, where cactus dwelt with mesquite, and the riotous reds and yellows of the wildflowers splashed the desert with colour. Flane wondered whether this peace would soon be shattered by the flaming red clamour of war.

His thought almost came to reality on the third day. At noon the riders sighted a vast host moving toward them from the west. Flane stood in his stirrups, staring beneath a palm. Then Aevlyn saw the maroon pennons fluttering from glittering lancetops and cried, "They come from Moornal!"

There were golden swans among the maroon banners. She said again, "The men of Yeelya. Truly, the Klarnva are gathered to fight it out with the Darksiders."

A cluster of horsemen broke from the array and galloped toward them. Flane and Aevlyn and Besl met them with palms extended, although the warriors had long since recognized the fiery red hair of the girl. At Besl they shot dark glances, and some of them fingered the hafts of their swords.

Flane told his story, swiftly. The deputation from Moornal and Yeelya drew away; whispered among themselves with many gestures, once in a while glancing toward Flane and the half-sword that hung at his side.

An old man with hair the color of mountain snow broke from their group and came to Flane.

"We will abide by the trial of the sword," he said simply. "If the Machine works, then we will gladly live in peace with the Darksiders and the _mekniks_ of Klarn. Aye, we will help establish you as Keeper of the Machine, Flane of Klarn, that all may share its benefits."

Besl grunted his surprise, "I never thought to hear a man of Moornal speak words like that."

The warrior smiled grimly, "I am an old man. When I remember how life was in my youth," he sighed, "I would be friend of any who helped to bring it back."

The old man flung up an arm to his retainer and wheeled his horse beside Flane's stallion. He explained, "I go as Besl does. To bring my people the word. _War--or peace._"

* * * * *

They rode for many days, across the grasslands and into the desert, skirting that until they came to an ancient rock road.

And how they galloped into a red sunset, knowing that before the three moons rose, they would see the spires of Klarn in the distance. Within an hour they drew rein; clustered together, silent.

Sitting on their saddles on a hill, they all looked at the black towers of Klarn crouching below them, at the domed temple, the flat-roofed houses. The red Dragon Gate seemed covered with blood in the last rays of the sun.

"We must go unseen into that city," Flane said. "And, as unseen, find the temple of the Machine. There will be guards at the Dragon Gate. Leave them to me."

The beacon lights in the dragons' mouths roared gustily, glared scarlet in the blue darkness where Flane came out of it with a naked dagger in his hand. His rush toppled both guards. Before their writhing mouths could make a sound, his right arm lifted, drove downward twice with slim steel blade.

He straddled the still forms, curving an arm at the others who slipped from saddle to earth and came toward him.

"We must be swift," Flane said. "The _mekniks_ don't know of the truce their kind have made. Do not be seen or we'll never reach the temple."

Through side streets and alleyways Flane led them. Where shadows bulked black and grim, their running forms made odd silhouettes. Between two columns, they paused to stare at the Temple. It loomed gigantic in the blackness. Besl grunted softly, "I've never seen anything like it!" Then they were going across the quadrangle, stooping low, eyes peering left and right.

The sentry whirled as Flane came for him, but he whirled too slow. A brawny forearm locked about his throat, and he died with steel in his chest.

Flane drove into the temple, across its tiled floor.

He came to a stop before the Machine.

The others came softly forward. They stood a little behind him, staring up at the metal bulk, whose levers and dials shone with reflected light from the three moons swirling across the skies.

Aevlyn sobbed wearily. Besl whispered prayers to his Darkside gods. The old warrior whispered, "I have not looked on the glory of Klarn for many years, but it seems only as yesterday that I saw and heard the Keeper explaining its function. It works by radiation, you know. The globes filled with whitish powder store up sun energy, via the yellow prism in the desert. Solar energy, he called it. The Machine, when it works, picks up that energy and sends it all over Klarn in bands of power that drives all engines.

"It heats our cities. It lights our lights. It fires our guns. It even feeds us by helping to raise food. At least--it used to."

Flane tried not to think of the utter weariness in the old man's voice as he stepped forward. With his right hand he drew out the ruined sword, stared down at it; ran a fingertip along the shattered blade. The old man voiced the weariness of all the Klarn.

If the machine failed to work--

Flane did not like to think of that.

He stepped forward, lifting the blade.

He thrust it home, into the diamond-shaped opening. The blade clicked in, fitting perfectly.

_And nothing happened._

The Machine was truly dead above them. Aevlyn sobbed. She came to stand with him, pressing her arm shoulder to his in comfort as he leaned against the cold metal side of the Machine, hammering his fist against it until the knuckles bled.

Behind them Besl sighed, "Now that is too bad. I shall hate to order the _kaatra_-tail banners forward, but I have no choice."

Flane lifted his hand, looked down at the torn flesh, at the dark blood staining his flesh. Aevlyn was whispering to him but he did not hear. He was deaf to everything, at that moment.

A hand patted his arm sadly, and then the old man from Moornal turned on his heel and went out of the Temple, bowed and broken. With him went Besl. In the quadrangle before the Temple they came to a stop and stared at each other. The big Darksider saw tears furrowing the cheeks of the old man.

"I had thought to see a new world, Besl. The old world come to life again. Gaiety and laughter, play and sunshine. I thought Flane was the one the prophecy told of, with his foreign blood and his blue sword. I would have staked my neck on it."

"Yes," grunted Besl. "So too would I."

"War," groaned the old man. "There will be nothing left of Klarn. Nothing, except a few wandering tribes. The city-states will go. Darksider and Klarnvan will eat each other up."

Besl nodded glumly.

Heavily they strode to the red Dragon Gate. Swinging into their saddles, they swung their horses' heads around, and cantered into the night.

* * * * *

From the Temple balcony that overlooked the city, Flane and Aevlyn watched them. Like toys they seemed, rider and mount blending motion to infinite grace. They saw Besl and the old man lift their right arms, salute; saw them take separate paths as they rode on.

"Each goes to summon his people to war," Flane said heavily.

Aevlyn leaned her cheek against his bare, scarred arm.

"Failure!" Flane rasped harshly, with a bitter laugh. "I've failed all right. Now will there be a war, and nothing but war. The _dulars_ of Klarn and Moornal and Yeelya against the Darksiders and the _mekniks_. Few will survive."

Aevlyn turned him slowly, traced the lines of his cheeks and mouth with quivering fingertips. Two tears glistened beneath her lashes as she struggled to smile.

"We may still make a new world," she whispered. "It is not too late."

"When those riders reach their armies, a wave of steel and fire will rise over Klarn."

Aevlyn rubbed her face against his throat. She whispered, "I love you, Flane. Together we may bring order out of chaos. Somehow. You are still my Keeper."

"Listen, darling," she went on, raising her glowing face to his. "I swear fealty to the bearer of the sun-starred sword, for he shall be my Keeper. By the grip that plunges home the blade, by the hand that is turned away, by the--"

She broke off alarmed.

Her brown eyes sought Flane's face, read it--saw hope struggling to rise through bitterness. His green eyes danced. His lips grew slack. He hugged her to him; kissed lips, and cheeks and chin.

"That's it! That's _it_!" he shouted.

He leaped for the Temple interior, and Aevlyn had to run to keep up with him. Half-laughing and half-crying, she sobbed, "What is it, Flane?"

"The way the sword goes home! I was a fool not to have realized it."

"You're going to try the Machine again, with the sword? But it doesn't work! You saw that."

Flane laughed, "No harm to try once more, is there?" He came before the Machine and picked up the sword where he had dropped it in his despair. To the star-friezes in the wall he came and held out the sword to Aevlyn.

"In holding the hilt of a sword in combat, you usually grasp it with the ends of the fingers toward you, as in a parry in _tierce_. Now suppose I turn the hand away, like this, so that the fingertips are away from me, and the back of my hand is toward me. By the grip that plunges home the blade, by the hand that is _turned away_--"

With the back of his hand toward him, Flane slammed in the sword.

The five tiny stars imbedded in the star-guard began to glow weirdly in their blue transparent envelope. Dully they shone at first, then grew more brilliant until they blazed. Like tiny suns they twinkled, fitted over the star-shaped frieze in the wall of the Machine. Flane stared at them.

He knew, suddenly, and laughed aloud.

"It isn't the blade that does it," he cried in his delight. "There is no key--not a key such as we know. The Machine operates via those lights in the star-shaped guard of the sword, Aevlyn. They must be bits of that white powder stored in the prism. They are solar energy! Look how they shine in the Machine!"

They shimmered magically inside the blue stuff, glowing and pulsating with white fire.

Aevlyn cried out, a hand lifted, pointing. The lights were going on, all over Klarn.

One by one they came into being, glimmering fitfully as long-unused filaments surged with flooded power. Whitely they shone, then grew bright and still brighter. A pale halo of reflection lifted from street and house and rooftop, bathing the city in its dim aura.

From the houses came the cries and screams of men and women. The screams deepened, grew into a roar, a bellow of sheer, unbelievable joy, of incredulous happiness. Flane and Aevlyn heard the triumphal peal of it, the hope become reality in its tones. They shivered in delight, laughing.

Flane drew her, an arm about her lissome waist, out with him onto the balcony. Beneath them the city was aflame with brilliance.

Aevlyn whispered, "You turned another failure into your biggest success, Flane. You made the Machine work. If you hadn't--" she shuddered and crept closer in his arms. Her voice was dreamy as she went on, "Now your word will be law on all Klarn. The Darksiders under Besl will see to that. You are their champion. The _dulars_ will be so happy to have their lights and heat again that they will acknowledge you, too. And the _mekniks_--well, they are heavily outnumbered, and when they see what the machine will do for them, they'll agree. Their power will fade as night when the lights went on."

Dawn was breaking all over Klarn.