Everything here was designed to reinforce the simple lessons that were the basis of the lives of slaves: submission, pain, despair. The ceilings were low, the passageways narrow and stark, the cells bare and cold. All was dim to Brightworlder eyes. Families had been carefully separated, lest they give comfort and strength to one another. The youngest children had already been taken away to be raised in Endarkened creches deeper in the Palace. When they were grown, they would be the best and most trustworthy slaves of all, for they would have known no other way of life than that of the World Without Sun, and fed from childhood upon the fruit of the Tree of Night.
But taming the wild-caught adults could be most rewarding…
She heard a groan of pain from one of the cells, and paused to glance in. A male Centaur was being shod by an Endarkened farrier. He'd already had his tail docked short and been gelded; his haunches were spattered with rusty streaks of blood.
Savilla nodded her approval. Centaurs were useful beasts of burden, but took care and patience to tame, and the males were particularly unruly. Once he'd been shod, walking would be agony, and without the constant attention that only his new masters could provide, he would be permanently crippled, his hooves split and festering. Still, the big chestnut was a magnificent beast, and Savilla had rarely seen this method of bringing the creatures under Endarkened control fail. It was a great deal of trouble, but worth it in the end.
Savilla moved on.
SHE found Goraide in one of the main Training Chambers, with half a dozen of the more promising young human males. Their skins were still an odd parti-color—brown where they had been burned by the sun, lighter where they had been covered by their clothing—but in time it would all fade to the proper pale shade of slaves who lived their whole lives in the World Without Sun. Not as pale as that of the Elvenkind, but it had been long—too long—since the Endarkened had enjoyed the pleasure of entertaining one of the Elves.
Soon, perhaps, that time would come again. If the Elves could be forced to abandon their cities, they might be as easily caught as these creatures had been. And then the halls of the Heart of Darkness would echo with an eternity of rare feasting and sport, as a thousand past injuries were repaid to the last full measure…
The humans stank of terror—as well they should, for since their capture, every experience they'd had was carefully planned by their masters to cause them to despair. They hardly realized it, but even now Goraide was subtly manipulating their minds, undercutting their will and imagination so that soon they would be unable to see any other possibility than blind unthinking obedience to their new masters.
And the best of it was, he was using their own fears, their own anger, to fuel his spells. When anger was gone, and only fear and unreasoning despair remained, a slave's training was complete.
They cowered back as Savilla entered the room.
'Did I say you could move?' Goraide asked gently. 'Who moved first? Tell me, and the rest of you will not be punished.'
Savilla watched with interest. The lad had good instincts. Were the humans ready to betray their own already?
There was a moment of indecision.
'He did—it was him. Cadin moved first,' one of the males said. He was a well-built, dark-haired creature; the slaves Goraide was seeing to were intended to serve the Royal Court, and thus were the most comely and vigorous of the captives.
'No! It was you! Not me! Dairt lies!' Cadin lunged for Dairt, but stopped when Goraide spread his wings with a snap. All of them froze where they stood, staring at the young Endarkened Prince in helpless terror.
'Well,' Goraide said, regarding his slaves pleasantly. 'You cannot seem to agree. Perhaps you are not as obedient as I had hoped. I will give you some time to reconsider. Now, kneel to your Queen.' He folded his wings and turned his back on them, walking over to where Savilla stood as the six slaves all dropped to their knees.
'Your Majesty,' he greeted her respectfully, bowing his head. Behind him the slaves were arguing in low vehement hisses that they thought their masters could not hear. There would be time enough to awaken them to the folly of that assumption later.
'Nephew,' Savilla said warmly, spreading her wings to enfold him in a silken caress. 'You're bringing them along very well—turning on one another already? How lovely.'
Goraide smiled. 'They blame one another for their capture, Aunt Savilla, and I have encouraged them to hate and distrust one another even further. Despite that, they know that if all of them do not please me, none of them eat—and I keep their rations short.'
'An excellent plan,' Savilla agreed. 'And I have delightful news for you to share with them.' She lowered her voice to a whisper only Goraide could hear. 'They have fled from their homes and into our hands for nothing. Armethalieh has just renounced all claim to the Western Hills and withdrawn to the City gates. Had they only stayed where they were, they would be safe in their own beds today.'
Goraide's yellow eyes gleamed with pleasure. 'All this—for nothing? Oh, they'll be so pleased to hear it!' His tail lashed back and forth with glee. He turned back to the slaves.
