~ City of Angkhor ~ ( South Western Harad )

[Raithen Anar]

Situated in the far south west of Harad, Angkhor is an ancient city, built on even more ancient trade routes, for spices, gold, and slaves, arising around a great oasis, with huge aqueducts carrying water into the great merchants houses behind their high walls, it is the most distant major city of Far Harad, and the most inward-looking, isolated by its position, and ruled for centuries, by the Nawani tribe, their Satraps becoming wealthier by the year. Their main wealth was from a heavy concentration of silver in the hills beyond the city, and these lodes showed no sign yet of failing.

[Raithen Anar]

The march to Angkhor had been just as Raithen calculated it would be, although the roads laid across Harad could cross swampland, the malarial air took its toll on his forces. He had reckoned on loosing a third, and so he did, - but remained untouched , at the head of the army, in gold-glass armour and cloak, oblivious to heat, disease and discomfort, untiring.
As the deep jungles failed, and opened into dry savanna land, the first assaults from Angkhor began, pinpricks, mounted soldiers on swift horses who appeared, to fire arrows into the ranks of the army and then vanished with ululating victory cries.
The General sent up request after request from his captains to retaliate and Raithen refused, the main army would be gathered on the plain east of Angkhor, and they would hold together until then. They marched on, in formation, already weary and many sick, until Raithens far sighted eyes saw the towers of Angkhor and the army drawn up before its gates and reined in, calling up the General and his captains.
He kept the Eagles with him, in the center, sending the Ninth and the Gold out with clipped orders, the foot-soldiers coming behind the cavalry. Raithen might have planned this differently had he not been here in person, but he was, and he knew what he could do, of himself. Turning slightly he spoke curt orders to the general, and riders went along the ranks of the cavalry and foot soldiers, who, having practiced this before, and some knowing why, drew black scarves from their breastplates and covered their eyes, and those of their horses.
From the defending army came a gathering roar of puzzled, mocking laughter.
Raithens face was chiseled stone, he wished this to be fast, over quickly, an example made of this Clan, and news of it to spread over all this region .
He could see the eyes, under the spiked helms and turbans of the opposing men, hard, fierce, fanatic.He identified their Force Leader, not only by his more impressive armour, but by his mind. Almost casually, he rode his great black war stallion out, alone, watching as the archers bent their bows.

You he said to the leader, come, fight me he dismounted with a lithe leap and stood, his double scimitars still sheathed, his body encased in a strange armour, which looked like gold tinted glass, which was almost, but not quite, what it was. Like laen it was super-hard, but in Aman, where he had not wasted his time, working with Aule and his people, he had devised ( rather Aule had ) of making it somewhat flexible, able to be molded, poured, before hardening. It was called Vitredur, and its making was a close-held secret but to a few.
The Force Leader horse squealed, fighting the bit, rolling a furious red-rimmed eye back at its rider who had cursed and pulled on the reins when hearing the voice in his head. The copper skin flushed red and the white teeth flashed in a grim smile as he rode out to meet this gold haired Lightloth.
His horse reached into a gallop, and Raithen simply stood, relaxed, as it bore down on him, the Leaders sword poised to come down on him, the thunder of the hooves shaking the dusty ground, the sun tangling on the raised blade as it swept down in a stroke which should have sheered through Raithen from shoulder to hips.
But suddenly, he was not there, his movement was so fast it blurred, as he ducked under the descending blow, drew his swords, and spinning , jumping cut the leader in two, through armor bone and sinew. Blood sprayed, and the terrified horse, the lower half still in the saddle mad with the scent of blood, bolted, as the torso thudded to the ground. A silence fell, just for a moment, before the Leaders second-in-command, let out a scream, and the wave of his cavalry propelled themselves toward the attackers.
Raithens whole body suddenly detonated into blinding white light, an earthbound solar flare , light exploding into the eyes of the horses and men before him , who crashed into screaming confusion.
Raising a hand , as he muted the glow, he heard the Eagles moving up behind him , controlled and he negligently stepped into the battle, on foot and began killing.
It was over so very quickly. the city was still closed to them, but the arrogance of the Satrap had left him without a viable army, save for those who manned the walls.
In his great command tent, Raithen shucked off his blood soaked armour and called in his captains, looking over maps, and plans, - but from the inner citadel he could feel the raging grief of the Satrap, - as Raithen had killed his eldest son. he would make more mistakes now, unhinged by sorrow, and his people , as they looked out onto the huge, burning pyre where the bodies fell to ash, were stricken numb - the ministers of the Satrap were already discussing terms of surrender in the ornate passages of the palace.

' they will surrender, ' Raithens voice was calm, chill, ' they will betray him if he holds out, I will give it two days at the most. ' In his black body armour he walked out to where the prisoners were roped together. behind them, soldiers hammered , erecting death wheels, and the prisoners blenched, watching , as the first one was raised onto the wheel, his wrists and ankles tightly bound.
Raithen climbed the ladder, and looked down at the man,- man? he was a boy, eighteen perhaps, the seventh, and favorite son of the Satrap, and no coward, although his eyes were wild now, pleading, though he permitted no pleas to escape his lips.
Raithen drew a slim dagger, making a crosswise cut across the mans abdomen, then slicing up, drawing out his steaming entrails, as the death-birds began to circle overhead.

' Sorry old lad, ' Raithen said, looking at him with the blazing white gold eyes, his bloodstained fingers drew lightly down the young mans cheek ' you rather backed the wrong horse did you not? '
Like a child licking honey from a sweetmeat from his fingers, Raithen tasted the blood, feeling its youth and strength, hints of wine, and the dregs of the narcotic herbs he had probably taken to dull his fear before battle.
He jumped lightly down from the ladder and the soldiers commenced with the mass execution. From the city walls, came wails and cries, and curses. Hearing them as he walked back to lave his hands and drink wine, Raithen allowed himself a catlike smile.

[Raithen Anar]

The streets were silent as Raithen and the Eagles, entered on horseback, in perfect formation. Women bowed veiled heads, ashes scattered upon them to signify mourning, men looked hollow and afraid and blazingly angry, but uttered no word as the warriors rode through the streets to the palace.
The Satraps guards bowed their heads and a man in rich robes and a aigrette of emeralds on he turban touched his head to the floor, before Raithens gesture brought him up and hurrying through ornate halls to the private rooms of the Satrap.

The body, dripping excreta and urine, swung gently from a marble arch, the face black, the protruding tongue bloated and Raithen nodded, turning to the Adviser.

' Clean this place and have it prepared for me, remove that and have his head set over the main gate, - he was a traitor the the Sun King, ' He spun on his heel and went to oversee his troops. there would be no rapine, no pillage, not in his land or under his rule, he wanted the wealth of these city states, not scorched earth, plundered women, murdered husbands and babies, that was useless to him. The Satrap and his family were dead, all his sons, their wives would be brought to Raithen for his ' mercy ' or otherwise, depending on how attractive he found them to be.
He spoke to his captains, ordered them, and brought in wine and women for those soldiers not on duty, then returned to the palace and sat upon the Ivory Throne, to wait for the wives of the Satrap and princes to be brought before him .