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to him than Falia.” He held out a hand, and Danarion lifted the necklet and gave it to him. For a moment he fondled it, sighing, then rose and, walking to Falia’s empty seat, reached over and placed the necklet gently on the table. A long silence followed. Ghakazian moved his weight from one foot to the other impatiently.
    â€œFalia should have chosen to go with the Messenger,” he said. “Surely it is better to face a final judgment, take a last chance, than to be immured forever behind a closed Gate.”
    â€œPerhaps,” Janthis answered. “Others have chosen that way. But great courage is needed to face the emissaries of the Lawmaker.”
    â€œThe Lawmaker!” Ghakazian scoffed. “I am beginning to wonder if he exists at all. None of us has ever seen him. We have only the Worldmaker’s word that the Law has sentience and unlimited powers, and I for one am not prepared to take the Worldmaker’s word on anything anymore.”
    â€œHe told us so before his fall,” Janthis reminded him, “and the first chapters of all the Annals were written in the dawning, when mortal life was still only in his mind. He made me first. I am the firstborn of all the sun-people, and I believe him when he spoke of the Law as personality.”
    â€œThen why does the Lawmaker not help us?” Ghakazian pressed. “Why doesn’t he reverse his laws?”
    â€œHe cannot reverse a law without changing his own nature,” Janthis answered patiently. “You know that, Ghakazian.”
    â€œWhat really happened between Lawmaker and Worldmaker, Janthis?” Sholia asked. “What was it that caused the Worldmaker to turn against us? How can a Maker cease to love what he has made?”
    â€œHe still loves us”—Janthis was smiling wryly—“but with the blind, selfish love that demands an eating up, a complete possession of the made. He knows that he was told to make, and that though he could love what he made, he could never own it, and it was this that festered in him. To make without ownership, to weave, blend, intricately create only for the Lawmaker drove him in the end to stand apart, to claim all the worlds of making as his property. He wishes to deform it all because no matter what he says or does, no matter what power he displays, it will never belong to him. He disfigures so that the inheritance of the Lawmaker may be worthless.”
    â€œAnd also because of the pain his love has brought to him,” Danarion added quietly.
    For a moment they all sat in silence; then Janthis straightened. He resumed his seat, and as always his hands went out to enfold his lifeless sun-ball.
    â€œOnce again we have had a loss,” he went on. “What are we to do? It seems that each Gate-closing comes too late, but I am loath to order you and the other sun-people to close all your Gates. Such a brutal ending is not, I think, permitted, unless we are so hard pressed as to be faced with the final dissolution of the All as we knew it.”
    â€œHe knows all our weaknesses,” Danarion said. “Falia was kindly, and knew only good. How did she fall? What was it that crept through her Gate unchallenged? I do not see …”
    With one accord they turned to look at Ixelion. He still sat with chin cupped in his hands, eyes fixed on the table, unseeing.
    â€œIxelion,” Janthis prodded him gently. “What did Falia say to you? Did you bring the records?”
    Ixelion blinked, then sat back heavily and brought up from his lap the haeli wood box. His hands shook as he laid it before Janthis, and Danarion gave him a sharp glance. Something was worrying Ixelion.
    â€œThey are here,” Ixelion said. “I have read them. It seems that a Trader brought something precious to Falia to give to the council, but instead of bringing it to Danar, she kept it for herself. So she fell.”
    â€œWhat precious thing?” Sholia asked loudly.