Tears of the Valar

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the Original Characters and their adventures. Everything else belongs to JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema/Peter Jackson, et. al. This was done purely for entertainment and as an exercise in creativity.
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The pakra looked at the pattern of blood from the week’s sacrifice and frowned. He did not wish to give Lastharos this news, but the Khandun leader was close enough to see his demeanor. Maintaining his calm expression, the holy man turned from where the slave’s body was being taken out to be disposed of and faced his leader.

Lastharos was standing to the side watching closely. He had caught a flicker in the pakra’s eye and knew the news would not be good. His hand tightened on the leash attached to the collar of the slave who knelt at his feet, the woman emitting a soft whimper as the sharp spikes on the inside of the leather harness dug into her flesh.

“What do you see?” Lastharos asked quietly.

The pakra turned and faced his leader. Bowing he spoke calmly.

“The new sun now rises in the sky. The first rays of its light have already touched the land and the tears of the Valar flow freely. They will bring nourishment to the arid wasteland as the garden of Khand withers under the light of two suns---one rising and one setting.”

Lastharos’ expression did not change though his grip on the slave’s leash tightened more and blood began to trickle from the slave’s tender breasts, back, shoulders and throat where the harness encased her flesh. She grunted with the discomfort but knew worse pain was to come. Lastharos was quite angry and likely she would die soon.

“He is in Khand?” Lastharos’ voice was tight.

“Great Lord, we do not know that it refers to one man or many.”

Lastharos ignored the pakra’s words as his mind began to race. Jerking the leash as he turned, he moved quickly from the temple, the slave struggling to keep up as she ran behind his long strides.

He entered his private audience chamber and flung the slave to the floor beside his throne as he began to pace about the room.

“A new sun. It is obviously a man. A man is leading a rebellion against me. The fool; how dare he.” He poured himself a goblet of strong alcohol and drained it then poured another. Looking at the terrified slave he smiled evilly. “You would rejoice if such were true would you not?”

She shook her head. “N-no, Mighty Lord.”

He laughed. “Yes you would. You expect to go back to Crasthion’s bed when he returns, but I do not think I will allow that. He has been to lax with you. He does not even whip you does he?”

She did not know how to answer except truthfully.

“No, Great One. I have tried very hard not to give him cause to beat me.”

Lastharos’ lip turned up in a sneer.

“Cause? He needs no cause. You are his slave and live and die at his will. You should know the taste of his lash; should learn to love and fear it. He is obviously not much of a Khandun---.” His words were cut off as a thought occurred to him.

“Crasthion was born in a city to the northwest,” he mused, almost to himself. “He is far too soft with his slaves and has shown mercy to those in the path of the army. Such actions might endear him to the hearts of the people. And he controls sizeable legions. Vetoran and Peforio defer to him even though he is younger.” His heart felt cold. “Would Crasthion rebel against me?”

The slave shook her head vehemently. “He loves and honors you, Mighty Lord; he would never do anything to undermine you. He is your loyal servant.”

The Khandun leader’s cold gaze fixed on the woman, who shrank back against his throne.

“You would say that, of course. You wish to see him spared and yourself as well. You know what happens to the slaves of traitors.”

“He is not a traitor, O Light of the East. He has ever been loyal to you.” She did indeed fear for her life and those of her fellow slaves. As soon as Crasthion had departed, she had been taken to Lastharos’ palace and all of the years of training had done nothing to prepare her for the Supreme Ruler’s ‘tender’ attentions. She had even prayed for death, but the death of a traitor’s slave … it was horrible and she did not wish to see it happen to those who shared service with her in Crasthion’s house.

She was afraid the most, however, of what would happen to her lord. He was kind and did not treat his slaves as many did. He was firm, but fair and did not seem to take pleasure in the pain and humiliation of others.

“It is his Rhunian blood,” Lastharos spat. “They are beautiful but weak.” He smiled to himself as he remembered Crasthion’s father. He had been a man of Rhun with black hair and vivid green eyes, and fair golden skin. His temperament had been similar to his son’s though he seemed to laugh more than Crasthion. Lastharos had taken the Rhunian to his bed as well as the man’s wife, a half Rhunian herself. She and her husband looked enough alike to be brother and sister, a thought that had aroused Lastharos as he had shared his bed with them.

They had been strong and able to endure his attentions. He knew they had found some of the things he did to them and forced them to do objectionable, but they did not complain and their skills were quite remarkable. Combined with their great beauty, he had kept them longer than any lovers he had ever had. When the woman became heavy with child, he had uncharacteristically allowed her respite from his bed, though her husband had no such reprieve. When Crasthion was born, she came back to Lastharos still weak from the birthing bed. He had never spilled inside of her womb and so knew the child was not his, but could deny himself no longer. He had taken great pleasure in taking her over and over while her husband watched and even joined with them. Her bearing of her husband’s child had aroused jealousy in Lastharos and he was determined to wash away any trace of the man’s spawn from her body.

Shortly thereafter, however, she had once again found herself with child, this one undeniably Lastharos’. He allowed her to bring the child to term but in delivering the babe, she died. Too much abuse from the Butcher of Khand had damaged her to the point where her babe tore her and she lost too much blood to live.

Lastharos ordered the child killed, giving the order to Crasthion’s father to carry out personally. He did not doubt the task would be an easy one---after all, it had killed the man’s beloved wife.

Crasthion’s father remained Lastharos’ bedmate---one might even call him a lover, if Lastharos had been capable of such an emotion---for many years, his strength and beauty never diminishing. Looking back, Lastharos found it odd that the man had not become old and decrepit as his brethren did. He had finally died when an assassin had tried to kill Lastharos and had slaughtered all around the Leader in an effort to get to him.

Out of memory of the pleasure he had received from Crasthion’s parents, Lastharos had given the boy command of his own squad at a very early age. The youth had not disappointed any in his actions and proved a fierce and fearless fighter. He had risen through the ranks quickly and now was one of Lastharos’ most trusted commanders. At least until now.

“He spared the lives of those I ordered killed,” Lastharos told the slave. “He seems reluctant to carry out his duty as do the others. His parents were from the northwest and he was born in a city not far from the Rhunian border. He is already in this land so the rays of the sun are already touching Khand.” As he thought on the idea, it began to take on a life of its own. Crasthion was a traitor.

Lastharos called for a messenger.

“What is your name?” he asked the slave.

“S-sui, Great One.”

He scrawled something on a parchment, putting his seal on it and handing it to the vampire who appeared in the chamber. The creature glared at the slave with cold, hungry eyes, her blood pungent and tempting.

“Take this to Crasthion,” Lastharos told it in its own language. “You may remain with the Dark Force and hunt and feed. They should be near Rhun by now. And you know what to bring me if you find it.”

The Vampire bowed then took another longing look at the female before swirling its wings which hung as a cape about its body and leaving as quickly and silently as it had arrived.

Lastharos watched it go then turned to the cowering slave.

“Now, let us see if he is what he claims to be.”


“For you, General.”

Crasthion took the parchment from the guard absently as he and his fellow officers planned their next assault. The largest, best fortified city in the northwest of Khand was within a few weeks’ march, then they would be in Rhun. None were enamored of the idea of attacking Rhun, but the Supreme Ruler had ordered it.

“This city will be our greatest test so far,” Peferio told the others. “It is large and can withstand a siege. I do not know if they will surrender to us---they have Rhunians mixed in their citizenry.”

“Your mother was from this city, was she not?” Vetoran asked Crasthion who nodded.

“I was born there,” he replied quietly. “I have not seen it since. My parents took me back to Lastharos’ court in Fwaban and that is where I grew up.”

“Are those new orders?” Peferio broke the uncomfortable silence, nodding to the rolled parchment in Crasthion’s hand.

The man looked down in surprise. He had forgotten it was there. Breaking Lastharos’ seal he unrolled the document and read quickly, his face losing color.

The others noted how pale he became and exchanged worried looks. What new torments had Lastharos devised that he wished carried out?

“We are to take no more prisoners and spare no more lives. Those who the Dark Force do not slaughter are to be put to death.”

“That is what he has already ordered, is it not?” one of the other officers asked. Why should such a repetition of orders cause the General to become so agitated?

“No more slaves are to be taken. Everyone is to be killed.” Crasthion did not tell them the rest of the contents of the letter. His heart had suddenly frozen in his chest and he did not trust himself to speak further.

There was murmuring among the gathered officers which Vetoran ordered silenced.

“We have our orders. Now go and prepare.” He had seen Crasthion’s reaction and wanted to know what the young man saw that had him clearly upset. When the tent was empty, he turned to his friend. “Now, what is it that takes the color from your face?”

Crasthion took a deep breath. “Lastharos … is holding my slaves, preparing them for the death of traitors if his orders are not followed to the letter. Sui is being held particularly close to him.”

The other two knew Crasthion’s fondness for his slaves, especially his most recent bed slave. But … traitors?

“Surely he does not think you will betray him,” Peferio gasped, having finally found his voice.

“He is testing you,” Vetoran mused. “What else does he say?”

“The prophecy has changed. He says it now tells that the new sun has already begun to rise and its rays are even now touching the land. That the old sun is setting as a new one rises and their light will burn away what is in Khand. He reminds me I was born in the northwest of Khand and … He believes I am this new sun!”

The tent was silent as each pondered the repercussions of this new development. Crasthion’s life was probably already forfeit; his slaves’ certainly were.

It was Vetoran who finally spoke.

“Are you?”

Crasthion stared at him, aghast.

“NO! I have never desired … I am a loyal servant of Khand!” His mind was racing with possibilities. He could not abandon his slaves to certain death---and very unpleasant and painful deaths at that.

“Then it appears you will have to prove that loyalty,” Vetoran sighed.

“Lastharos grows suspicious of everyone,” Peferio murmured. “I fear we will all be killed before this is over. Perhaps it will be a blessing to attack Rhun. They will make our ends swift.”

“Only by carrying out Lastharos’ orders to the letter will we be spared and will our people and lands be spared his retribution,” Vetoran said unhappily. “No matter how we try to be merciful, he will not allow it.”

Crasthion nodded slowly. “We are damned no matter what we do.”

“Then why should we do anything for him?” Peferio asked suddenly. “We could go to Rhun, release our soldiers---“

“To certain death,” Vetoran snapped. “Why do you think the Dark Force is here? They will kill us all if we demonstrate so much as an inkling of disloyalty. Lastharos did not send them out of concern for their lack of hunting opportunities. They are watching us.”

“And you forget, our households---wives, children, servants, slaves---are within his grasp,” Crasthion added. “We would abandon them to torment and death as well.”

The three men were silent once more. They had no true choice in the matter. Lastharos wanted utter slaughter and they would give it to him.