Illidan (14 page)

The feel of rough sheets beneath his fingers told him that it was not. He was blind. He had blinded himself so he wouldn't see the terrible truth, that the whole universe was doomed, like his wife and child had been. There was nothing he or anyone else could do to stop the Burning Legion. Anyone who thought otherwise was as deluded as the Betrayer.

Such delusions were easy to have, sitting in a fortress like the Black Temple, surrounded by troops. The truth was that no one was safe. No place was safe. When the Burning Legion exerted its strength, the Black Temple would fall like a child's sand castle kicked by a giant. All those fighters practicing arms outside would die when the dreadlords came to claim the Legion's possession. Great Sargeras, the titan who would topple the universe, would ultimately triumph. He had been the first to see the truth.

Vandel stopped. Where had that come from? He had seen the fallen titan in his vision. That must be it. Some part of Illidan's original vision had been transferred to him during the ritual. He knew that. But sometimes it felt as if Vandel wasn't in control of his thoughts.

The tattoos bound the demon within him. It could not escape now. He traced the ink with his fingers, feeling the lines of power that scarred his body. His hand touched something else, something cold and hard.

At first he thought it was a piece of metal, but then he realized that it was set in his skin. He fumbled at his face and found it was there, too. He paused, chilled by the realization that his flesh had been transformed. He felt one hand with the other, and it slowly dawned on him what had happened. Every place on his skin that had been touched by demon blood had been altered. He had acquired scales of some sort.

This might just be the start of the process. He was certain that while he lay in the hospital, his skin had been normal. Perhaps this was only the first stage of the transformation. Perhaps he was turning into a demon.

It seemed entirely possible. After all, he had no idea what had really been done to him. Illidan might well be lying. He certainly would if it suited his purposes. The change had begun after the demon had been chained by the mystical tattoos. It must have. He had not been changed when he got up this morning. He was certain of that. Perhaps since the demon was unable to affect his mind, it was starting to affect his body.

He rubbed his fingers against his palms. He felt the fingertips of his left hand with those of his right. The nails were long and sharp and dense, like the claws of a hunting cat.

His gums hurt, and he fumbled at his mouth. Yes. His canines jutted out, large and sharp. He had acquired fangs.

Black depression settled on him. He had sought the power to fight demons. Instead he was being transformed into one. He was turning into the thing he hated. How long would it be before he was out there, killing other elves' children? He had felt the unnatural rage the demon had given him. He understood its strength. Who was he to try to contain that?

Perhaps the best thing he could do was to kill himself before that happened. He sat up and reached out to the small table beside his bed. His rune-woven knife lay there, along with the charm he had made for Khariel. He picked that up and thought about his dead son. How would Khariel feel if he saw his father now? He would see only a monster, a creature on its way to becoming the thing that had murdered him.

He told himself he was not thinking clearly, that something was affecting his mind. Perhaps it was the aftereffects from the tattoo sorcery.

No. You are seeing clearly, for the first time in a long while. You are seeing yourself as you are. A hollow thing that has allowed itself to be changed into that which it hates, in search of a vengeance impossible to get. Illidan is mad. You are mad.

The truth of that thought was incontestable. He was insane, and had been for a very long time. He had always suspected it, and now all his suspicions were confirmed.

Hatred filled him, turned this time on himself. He took the knife, tested its blade on his thumb. It was still magically sharp. He took the point and inserted it under the edge of one of the scales. He pulled it free. It hurt, but the pain lent him energy. If he could cut out all the scales, he could stop the transformation, like a surgeon cutting out a patch of gangrene.

The thought drove him to cut again and again until he was covered in his own blood and patches of his skin lay on the floor. He felt weak and dizzy. It occurred to him that he was losing blood and that he might die here in this cell.

Something in his head laughed at that, and it came to him that the demon was not as trapped as he had believed, and certainly not as weak. It had just turned to a new form of attack, twisting his thoughts, toying with his emotions. It had tapped into all of his dark thoughts and self-hatred. It had access to all of his feelings and all of his shame. In a way, it
was
him.

He pulled himself upright, and the demon went silent as if it had realized its mistake. He reeled toward the door. Blood stuck to his bare feet and made them sticky. He prayed that the cell door was not locked as he threw his strength against it. The door opened and he fumbled his way out into the corridor, staggering from side to side so that he grazed the walls.

He heard someone shout, “Another one. Get Akama!”

Then he passed out.

V
ANDEL WOKE TO THE
awareness of power all around him. It was soothing. The areas he had cut felt numb. They tingled, but the sensation was almost pleasant. Someone stood over him. He smelled like a Broken. His aura blazed with magic.

“You are Akama?” Vandel's voice was weak and his throat felt parched.

“Yes. You are Vandel.” It was not a question. “You clearly impressed Lord Illidan. He asked me to look after you personally.”

“You are a healer?”

“I am. I do what I can to help the sick and the wounded.”

“Which am I?”

“A bit of both, I would say, and something else as well. There is a taint in you that I mislike.”

“Whatever it is, I thank you for your help.”

“You are welcome, and you are also lucky the guards found you in time. You are the fifth of the new recruits to have attempted suicide in the past two days. You are the only one who has lived.”

“I did not attempt suicide.”

“What else would you call it? You hacked at your own flesh until you almost bled to death. You would have, if you had hit an artery. What has been done to you?”

There was a note below the natural curiosity in Akama's voice that made Vandel wary. “You do not know?”

“I know only that Lord Illidan takes many of your people into that courtyard, and only a few come out, and those altered almost beyond recognition. If he is trying to create an army, he has chosen a funny way of doing so. Killing recruits rarely leads to a large force.”

“If you do not know what is going on, it would perhaps be better not to ask. Lord Illidan has his reasons, and if he wants you to know them, he will share them with you.”

Akama made a tut-tutting sound. “As you say. There is a good deal that goes on here in the temple that it is best not to be curious about.”

As if to echo this, a mighty bellow sounded from deep belowground. The stones seemed to vibrate in time to the roaring.

“Another monster bound in the temple's defense,” said Akama.

Vandel ignored the Broken. A jolt of memory passed through him. Four others had killed themselves. He recalled Illidan's words. It was possible that fewer than one in five of the recruits was going to survive the transformation. Vandel had thought the Betrayer had been talking only about the ritual, but it occurred to him now that he had also meant its aftermath.

He felt a sudden certainty that things were just beginning and that the worst still lay ahead.

I
llidan strode into the council chamber. Akama followed at his heels like a faithful dog. The Broken seemed to be doing everything possible to look like a loyal servant. Perhaps he suspected that Veras Darkshadow's agents were watching him, and had been ever since his mysterious disappearances from the Black Temple had become numerous enough to attract Veras's attention. It was possible that Darkshadow simply wanted to discredit a rival, but his claims had aroused Illidan's curiosity.

All eyes turned to look at him. There was fear in every gaze. The Burning Legion had struck hard. Prince Kael'thas had been missing for weeks, ever since he had set out in command of an expeditionary force to the Netherstorm. Everyone present knew that the war was not going well, and they expected to feel Illidan's wrath because of it. It did not matter. All was going according to plan as long as his demon hunters were coming along.

Illidan stalked over to the great map table. Massive gems carved to represent demonic transporters marred a dozen locations. They glittered like plague boils on the face of the world. They dotted Nagrand and Hellfire Peninsula, the Netherstorm and the Blade's Edge Mountains. It seemed that almost every province of Outland held at least one, sometimes more.

“Each of these marks a new forge camp, Lord Illidan,” said Gathios the Shatterer, a little too quickly. He had risen from his carved throne as soon as Illidan entered, and he stood there as if called to attention by a commanding officer. “The Burning Legion has set up bases there and fortified them. I have been putting together contingency plans to assault them and throw the demons back.”

“Have you, Gathios?” Illidan kept his voice deceptively mild. “And how exactly do you intend to do that? Each of those forge camps contains a transporter. They can be reinforced by demons at a moment's notice.”

“Lord Illidan, we closed Magtheridon's portals with your aid. Surely we can close these.”

Illidan studied the map. “Every time we close a portal, another appears. Kil'jaeden can draw upon near-infinite forces. He toys with us.”

Lady Malande gave a nervous giggle. This was obviously not what she had expected Illidan to say. “You will lead us to victory, Lord. I have every faith in you. These new soldiers you have been forging—if they are all as strong as Varedis and Netharel and Alandien—will surely be able to slaughter the demons.”

Illidan stared at her. She seemed particularly well informed about the demon hunters. Had she been spying on them? Of course she had. All of his council had. They were curious about anything that shifted the balance of power within the Black Temple. It might well affect their own stations. How much had Malande uncovered? The demon hunters represented the most important part of his plan to strike back at the Burning Legion. Secrecy was critical. He could not take any chances of the nathrezim finding out what he was up to until he was ready to launch his attack. He had told no one of his ultimate goal—but he might have let something slip, left some clue from which a mind as keen and suspicious as Malande's would be able to deduce his intentions.

Illidan wished that Lady Vashj were here. She was at least straightforward, easy to understand, and utterly loyal. Alas, she was in Zangarmarsh, supervising the draining of the marshland as part of the first stage of the plan to take control of all the waters of Outland and, through them, all its people. Thirst and drought were mighty weapons.

Illidan gazed at Veras Darkshadow. “Have your agents found out anything concerning Kael'thas's fate?”

Veras shook his head. “They found the last camp of his army, but then nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing significant, Lord. Traces of campfires, refuse, little more.”

“No sign of a struggle?”

“None, Lord. It is as if the prince simply opened a portal and vanished. It seems he does not want to be found.”

Veras was implying that Kael'thas was planning some treachery. Illidan did not discount the possibility. Kil'jaeden had shown particular interest in the blood elf prince the day the Black Temple had fallen. On consideration, Illidan had decided that the Deceiver had been trying to sow seeds of dissension between him and his allies. Perhaps the demon lord had done more than that, but now was not the time to say so. If Kael'thas had turned, he might well have left spies behind. Illidan would not make them wary. “Let us not jump to any conclusions, Veras. Just find Kael'thas.”

“As you wish, Lord,” said Veras. “So shall it be.”

He looked as if he wanted to speak more in private. His eyes flashed to Akama. Illidan said, “All of you are dismissed. Except you, Darkshadow. I want to have words with you concerning the whereabouts of Maiev Shadowsong.”

The other council members filed out. Akama paused in the doorway as if he was about to say something, thought the better of it, and departed.

T
HE ELEVATOR CARRIED
M
AIEV
and Anyndra up the side of Aldor Rise. It was a low, flat platform, and nothing visible supported it as it lifted itself into the sky. Powerful magic was at work here. Maiev's nightsaber growled and stayed away from the edge. The big cat had an excellent sense of balance, but it was taking no chances of a fall from this height.

Maiev had a tremendous view of the rooftops of the city and the great tower that housed the Terrace of Light. It was so tall, it threatened to touch the sky. Inside it, she felt the power of the naaru. It galled her that they had not agreed to help. With their aid, she would have had a much better chance of bringing Illidan to justice.

Sarius soared along beside the elevator, wearing the form of a storm crow. Maiev recognized him by his distinctive plumage. He was there to watch and observe. She did not expect these Aldor to prove treacherous, but she never ruled out the possibility with anyone. Traitors could be found in the most surprising places.

Anyndra said, “They say that sometimes the Broken ride this elevator just so they can throw themselves off at the top. You would think the sentries would prevent that.”

“Maybe they think they are performing an act of mercy,” said Maiev.

She was wondering whether she should have brought more guards. They would be outnumbered atop Aldor Rise, but at least their presence would have spoken of Maiev's importance. In the end, she had decided that it would be better to appear as a petitioner.

The platform glided to a stop. She took one last glance down at the city and thought about those sad Broken making the long drop to the stones below.

Above them, two stone islets hovered in the sky. They had been curved after the fashion of draenei architecture, and lights glowed in their sides to leave the viewer in no doubt as to their magical provenance. It was clear that visitors were meant to be overawed by this display of magic.

Great crystals studded the sides of the buildings atop the rise. At night their glow could be seen in the sky above the city, a reminder to all of the purity of the Aldor and the Light they served. Maiev sniffed at the thought.

Aldor guards, clad in heavy armor and wearing the purple tabard of their faction, greeted her. They were not hostile, but they made it very clear that she was under observation. She stated her business, and they led her to the so-called Shrine of Unending Light.

A tall, beautiful female draenei, garbed in robes of blue and white moved to greet her. Maiev inclined her head to accept her benediction.

“Blessings of the Light upon you, Warden Shadowsong,” said the draenei. “I am Ishanah, high priestess of the Aldor. I have been told that you would have words with me.”

Maiev detected a subtle note of hostility in the high priestess's tone. “I have come seeking the aid of those who follow the Light.”

“I have been told that a number of those already follow you.”

“I meant the Aldor.”

“You seek to slay the one called the Betrayer?”

“Or imprison him once more.”

“Why?”

Maiev's jaw fell open. “Because he is evil.”

“We do not have such strength that we can afford to throw it away assaulting the Black Temple. It is all we can do to hold our ground. And we serve other functions.”

Maiev let her eyes dwell on Ishanah's rich robes, then let them slide to their beautiful surroundings. “I can see that.”

“We do not all have to enter the darkness to fight against it.”

“Sometimes, defeating evil means getting your hands dirty.”

“And sometimes, getting your hands dirty turns you to evil.” Ishanah's smile seemed mocking. “In order to work with the Light, you must be pure of heart.”

“And you think I am not?” Maiev's anger simmered in her voice.

“I think you do what you believe is right.”

Maiev frowned at that hairsplitting distinction. “What I do
is
right.”

“No doubt. No doubt.”

“You will not aid me?”

“At this moment, I cannot.”

“Cannot or will not?”

“There are other struggles than your own, Warden Shadowsong. Some of them are more important.”

“Nothing is more important than the overthrow of Illidan.”

“Perhaps to you. We Aldor have different priorities and limited resources. We need time to gather our strength.”

Frustration filled the warden. Why was it so difficult to get the people of Outland to see the importance of her mission? She felt a tingling against her breast. It was from the stone Akama had given her. This was not the usual time they had set for their meetings. Something urgent must have come up. Perhaps it was just as well. She did not want to continue this fruitless circular argument with Ishanah anyway.

“I thank you for your time,” Maiev said, “and ask your permission to depart.”

Without waiting for it, she turned and strode back to the elevator, followed by Anyndra.

She needed a quiet place to communicate with Akama. She hoped that he would prove less useless than the Aldor.

T
HE STREETS OF
S
HATTRATH'S
lower terrace seemed more crowded every day. More and more refugees flooded into the city, fleeing from Illidan's wars of conquest and the aftermath of his losing battles with the Legion. They seemed determined to place themselves under the protection of the Sha'tar.

Maiev glanced over her shoulder. A blood elf hurried through the street behind her, face cowled, a scarf wound over her lower jaw. There was something in her manner that was familiar. Perhaps she was spying on Maiev. It did not matter. Sarius was out there in the crowd, watching her back. Perhaps sometime, she would order him to capture one of those who dogged her steps. At the moment, she had other matters to consider.

She stepped into the courtyard of the Refuge of the Broken. The usual wretches looked up from their sour watered wine, or stared at the ceiling in a numbed stupor. The air stank of the rough tobacco they smoked. It reeked of their unwashed bodies. She made her way to the chamber in which she had previously met with Akama, and she was unsurprised to find him there. Two of the Ashtongue guards who had watched over him before minded the door and let her pass without comment.

The Broken rose and bowed to her in greeting. At least he showed her some respect. Over the last few years, they had reached an understanding of sorts. She inclined her head regally in acknowledgment.

“What news?” Maiev asked. She hoped it was better than their last meeting, which had concerned only some minor victory in Illidan's war against the Legion.

“Great news,” Akama said. The excitement in his voice communicated itself to her. “Prince Kael'thas is missing, along with some of his army. It is likely that he has abandoned the Betrayer.”

Maiev could not keep the smile of triumph from her face. “If that is true, then Illidan has lost one of the great props to his power.” She let the words hang in the air. In the past, Akama had refused to commit his people because Illidan was supported by Kael'thas and Lady Vashj.