Front matter (continued 2)

"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.