"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.