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!"