Their young had no need of this sort of rest, of course, and even the oldest Endarkened could set the need for rest aside, for a time, without ill effects. But to forgo it altogether was to court first madness, then the loss of power.
It was best not to be foolish.
Without the lights in the sky of the Bright World to mark the passage of days, time passed in its own strange way in the World Without Sun, its course marked by the magic that was the very heartbeat of the Endarkened, and by the rhythms of the bones of the Deep Earth that was their place.
When the Queen went to her rest, so did her Court. In the World Without Sun, Queen Savilla was the Sun and the Moon, the dark radiance from which the world took its light.
Each rising, as her slaves dressed her hair, and buffed and gilded the talons on her hands and feet, Savilla heard gossip and petitions… first from Court favorites, then from the Ministers of her Realm.
All information was important to Savilla, and she despised no source of it.
The softbodied Brightworlders that could not adapt to life in the World Without Sun—and the absence of those Bright World lights— sickened and died. Fear and pain kept them healthy for a time, of course, but even the hardiest of Brightworlders were brief-lived and fragile.
It was always necessary to acquire more.
And that was a matter constantly in Queen Savilla's thoughts from her first waking moment, since for her plans to proceed against the Brightworlders required the constant expenditure of magic.
Not the great and terrible magics of days gone by, that had caused the Brightworlders to cringe and tremble and fear the power of the Endarkened… and to organize against them. No, Savilla's plans involved subtle webs of treachery, no less effective for that they went quite unnoticed by the soft stupid Brightworlders. Like the slow dripping of water that could wear away stone… or build mighty pillars beneath the earth, her magics worked unseen and unnoticed by their victims.
But magic required energy. Energy came from blood and pain. Blood and pain came from the torture of slaves… and where did the slaves come from?
Raids upon villages in the Wild Lands and the High Hills were simple enough to plan, but must be conducted with care, lest the Endarkened bring themselves to the attention of the Wildmages who lived there.
Isolated wanderers, whether travelers, traders, or outlaws, could always find themselves lured away from safety, whether by one of the Endarkened in disguise, or by one of their human agents. That was simple enough, and always entertaining, but the numbers of slaves gained were far too few for the purposes of Endarkened magic.
Slaves could certainly be bought outright, for not every land abhorred the concept of slavery—but again, the constant disappearance of slaves into the north might eventually attract unwelcome attention.
And there was something so spiritless, so unsporting, about simply buying one's prey!
She would have to consider the matter.
Carefully.
'—SO you see, my Queen, while it is not precisely a crisis, it is, perhaps, awkward,' Cerbael said charmingly.
Cerbael was Queen Savilla's Master of Revels, his business the orchestration of the public ceremonies and entertainments of the Endarkened Court. He was entertaining and inventive, and had never, in all his long centuries of service, first to her father, and then to her, sought any higher position. He was, as he had once told Savilla with as much honesty as any of their kind could summon, already king of the only realm he cared about, and no one could give him anything he wanted more than what she had already given him.
She would destroy him if he ever failed to amuse her, of course. And he would turn on her if she withdrew her favor and support. But until that time, they trusted one another… in their fashion.
'M'mn.' Savilla stroked the head of the goblin at her feet and did not reply directly. Its bulging silver eyes were closed to slits in the dim light of the chamber, and its blue-grey skin glistened with gold'infused oil. Erlaon had given the creature to her as a present, and Savilla had decided to be amused at the obvious and clumsy attempt to court her patronage.
One of her human servants approached the goblin too closely, and the little creature, startled, hissed and spat. Green venom spattered the slave's grub-pale skin, and the Brightworlder fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Moments later, its pale body stilled.
'There,' Savilla said in pleased tones. 'That should solve a few of your problems, Cerbael.' She put her hand
