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!"