Free Stargate by Pauline Gedge Page A

last page and was all at once aware that Sillix stood before him, hands twined together, eyes big and full of fear.
    â€œWhat do you want?” Ixelion snapped, not looking up, and Sillix ran to him, falling to his knees and putting his hands on Ixelion’s arm.
    â€œForgive me for coming here,” Sillix said in his high treble. “I would not have done so, but, sun-lord, you must help us! It is all wrong, all terrible. We can no longer rest in the ocean for it is thick and murky and hurts us. There are no fish that we may eat. Help us, Ixelion!”
    Rage overcame Ixelion instantly. “Get up, Sillix!” he shouted, pushing him away and rising himself. “Can’t you see that I am engaged in important matters? Get away from here. Eat the flowers. Sleep in the rivers. But do not come to me again!”
    Sillix recovered his balance and rose, shocked and bewildered. “But I love you, sun-lord,” he faltered, the response of a hurt child, and Ixelion went rigid. Light blazed from him, and Sillix saw that the flames dancing around him were tipped in black.
    â€œI do not want your love, mortal!” Ixelion screamed. “I only want your obedience! I am the master here!” He shook the Book at Sillix. “I will outwit her! She shall not come here and take Ixel from me. It is mine. You are mine! You poor, craven little creatures. Don’t you know that your Maker is evil, evil, and he will come with Sholia, and they will try to enslave you? Get out of my sight. I want to be alone.”
    Blinded and stunned, Sillix half-stumbled, half-ran out of the room, scorched by the fires that coiled after him. Ixelion slumped and with a last scream flung the Book into a corner, where it lay open, the pages trembling in the breath of the running waters. He began to weep, great sobs that Sillix could hear as he sped horrified through the hall and out into the forest. Ixelion staggered under the arch into his chamber and fell into the pool, still crying. The water hissed as he sank, and a steam boiled up to fill the room.

4
    Sholia, Danarion, Ghakazian, and Janthis sat at the council table, waiting. Three summers of Danar-time had come and gone since Danarion had talked with Storn the corion under the spring-sweet haeli trees, but to the lords who sat quietly staring into the smooth blackness on which their hands rested, the time had been as nothing. Now winter visited Danar. The haeli trees stood blue and leafless, their knees hidden in the golden flurry of the autumn’s accolade. The corions had withdrawn from the presence of men, back into their tunnels at the foot of the hills that rose behind forests and city, where they slept curled together and dreamed of sunshine and summer stars. The mortals kindled fires on their small hearths, for this was the season of companionship and sociability. It was not a cold season but a season of rest for the natural world, when the trees’ sap ran slow and thin, the grass stopped growing, and the birds flew into the city to rain brilliantly hued feathers on the populace.
    Within the council hall the late-afternoon shadows lay long and dim across the starred floor, and none had called the sun to dismiss them. Wind wove in and out of the high windows, found a voice within the stone, and called softly down to the four clustered at the end of the table, but it was not heeded. Ghakazian ruffled his wings.
    â€œCall him again, Janthis,” he said quietly, and Janthis rose, a small silver hammer in his hand, and went to the sun-disc that swept from wall to wall behind him. He walked slowly, knowing in his heart that this call too would go unheeded. He struck the disc with the hammer, and immediately a low swell of sound began, throbbing in their ears, echoing above them in the copper dome, spreading out to seek the Gate, and when it ceased, they knew that far away on Ixel it resounded to Ixelion’s hearing. Over the hum of its dying Janthis