Illidan (17 page)

Here and there he came upon hubs where the ways split and the paths of conquest led onward across multiple routes to multiple worlds. Always his spell guided him, his spirit questing through infinite worlds, seeking, seeking, seeking…

He lost all track of time. He had no idea whether a hundred seconds or a hundred years had passed back upon the world where his body waited. Perhaps he was already dead and his spirit was doomed to wander these infinite wastelands, a spectral witness to the doom of countless worlds.

He passed through another gate, despairing, hopeless, certain that he had miscalculated. This one was an odd place, a collection of rocks imbued with potent magic, floating amid the infinite void of the Twisting Nether. A tiny sun orbited it every few minutes. Dozens of miniature glowing moons followed it. Bits of rock floated in the air, held aloft by the power of magic. Potent energies saturated this place, were sunk into the very fabric of the world, and they were not the only thing here. In the distance, amid the rocks, he sensed the presence of demons of a very specific sort: nathrezim.

Was it possible he had finally found what he was looking for: Nathreza, the home of the dreadlords?

H
UNDREDS OF DREADLORDS WERE
certainly here, and thousands of their servants. Cautiously he advanced. The nathrezim were creatures of power, with a near-unparalleled capacity for working magic. They would have no difficulty detecting his spirit form unless he was very, very careful. Even now Illidan thought he sensed something watching. He froze. Nothing happened. The dreadlords did not respond to his presence. Perhaps it was nothing, merely his own too-wary mind.

His bodiless state prevented him from feeling any of the physical expressions of excitement. His heart did not race. His mouth did not go dry. A cold feeling of triumph filled him. He had found it. The place he had always suspected existed was here.

Do not be too certain,
he cautioned himself.
You do not know that yet. You need confirmation.
He drifted closer to the presence of the dreadlords, following the lay of the land and the pattern of the rocks, weaving spells of concealment and misdirection around himself. His spirit was strong but not as strong as it was when it occupied his body. There were beings here who could end his existence if they spotted him.

He searched for any spells that might alert the inhabitants to his presence. A city of basalt towers lit by the flare of green fel lanterns stood before him. Disks of basalt rose up the sides of buildings. Huge dreadlords flapped across the skies. It was odd to see so many sentient beings after passing across so many dead worlds.

He saw palaces where nathrezim planned the destruction of worlds, the enslavement of civilizations, where the end of all existence was plotted by beings sworn to the service of Sargeras. Servitors guided odd machines on unguessable errands. In the center of it all stood one gigantic windowless tower amid a grid of energy flows. Baleful green runes lit up its sides. Legions of servitors came and went. No doubt about it; he had found what he sought. Gul'dan's visions had not lied.

He made careful calculations of the position and pattern of the gates that had carried him here, studying the astrological significance of the stars that glittered in the sky; then, when he was certain he had fixed in his mind all the information he had come here to find, he terminated the spell of spirit walking. The silver cord tightened and drew him with unimaginable speed back to his body.

Heavy flesh and dense bone imprisoned him once more. Air thundered back into his lungs. He stretched, reveling in the feel of muscles answering the commands of his will. He took a deep breath, identifying the scents. A smile flickered across his face.

Now he would take the war to the Burning Legion. Now he would make his enemies pay. All of them.

M
aiev ducked the ogre's blow and sliced his stomach open with the return stroke of her blade. The creature gave an idiotic chuckle and clutched at his intestines with one meaty hand, trying to hold them in. With his free hand, he brought his massive club swinging back. She jumped over the tree-trunk-sized weapon. There were times when she thought it was true what they said about ogres, that the creatures felt no pain.

Anyndra threw herself out of the way, but tripped over a clutching root and stumbled back into the murky water. Sarius growled. His cat form emerged from the shadows and pounced on the ogre's back. Claws raked, drawing blood. Maiev focused her power, blinked through the intervening space. She aimed a blow at the jugular. Blood sprayed. This time the ogre fell. Anyndra rolled clear of the tumbling corpse and stood. Algae-discolored water streamed from her hair and turned her tunic a muddy brown.

Maiev glanced around. Her troops were finishing off the ogres. She could not guess what foolishness had made the huge brutes ambush them. They had grown more and more aggressive toward travelers on the roads through Zangarmarsh in the past few months. It seemed they had forged an alliance with Vashj's naga. Whatever spell engines the serpent folk were building neared completion. Maiev's efforts to sabotage them had met with failure. All she had managed to do was free some Broken slaves, useless as recruits to her forces.

She counted fallen combatants. Two draenei corpses lay in the water, heads submerged in a way that told her they would not be getting up. Sarius had already begun healing the wounded. She felt the surge of druidic power as he set an arm broken by an ogre's club.

Anyndra shook her head, sending drops of water splashing down into the murk. Maiev wiped sweat from her brow, then swatted a huge insect that had landed on the back of her hand. Its blood-bloated body burst, staining her hand crimson. By Elune, there were times when she hated those little monsters more than she hated those who abused magic.

“I think we have taught them not to attack us again,” Anyndra said. She studied the body of the fallen ogre. He must have weighed as much as ten elves even though he was only half again as tall. He was so broad as to seem almost squat, and a thick layer of fat overlaid his swollen muscles. Red and brown mingled in the water around him. A water-walking insect had its feet stained red. A large fish broke the surface and took it down in one gulp.

“They are too stupid to learn that lesson,” Maiev said. She squatted down and washed her hands in the water. She could not get them truly clean, but at least the blood came off. “No matter how many of them we kill, they will insist on fighting.”

“What do you think the naga are up to?” Anyndra asked. Maiev shook her head. Her lieutenant persisted in questioning her as if she had an answer for everything.

“I do not know. But if Illidan wants it done, we must see that it is not.”

Anyndra looked away as if the answer had disappointed her. Maiev wished she had a better one. She wished she could think of some way of taking the war to Illidan, but the Betrayer had not stirred from his fortress in the weeks since Akama had reported Kael'thas's disappearance. No doubt Illidan felt vulnerable without the blood elf prince's aid against the Burning Legion, but Kael'thas's absence had not helped her cause any.

She pushed the thought away. It was too easy to give in to despair. She would find a way of bringing Illidan to justice. She just needed to keep trying and the way would open. She was a night elf, and she was used to thinking she had all the time in the world. Of course, since the devastation of the World Tree Nordrassil and the loss of the night elves' immortality, that was no longer true, but old habits died hard.

A tingling sensation started at her right side. She stepped into a patch of shadow. She took the stone Akama had given her out of her pouch and focused her thoughts on it. The image of the leader of the Ashtongue appeared in her mind. The Broken looked even more shriveled with age. His eyes were tiny pinpricks. There were deep lines on his face that had not been there before.

“What is it?” Maiev asked, knowing her voice would be heard by no one but Akama and herself.

“Meet me in Orebor Harborage. Things move swiftly. The time for our vengeance has arrived.” Akama sounded tired and listless. His voice was feeble in a way she could not ever recall it sounding before. Perhaps something was interfering with the spell, she told herself. Perhaps it was just her imagination.

“What? How?”

“Meet me where we first met. I have much to tell you, and it is best we be prepared to move at an instant's notice. Make sure your people are ready to fight.”

“What is going on?”

“I do not have time to explain. I must go, and go now. Meet me and be ready.”

Abruptly the contact was cut. Maiev wondered what was going on. Had the long-awaited hour finally arrived?

She put the stone away and stepped out into the light once again. “Mount up,” she said. “We are going to Orebor Harborage.”

Some of the troops groaned. They had been expecting a rest after the battle. The urgency of Akama's summons was going to deny them that. Having a chance to capture the Betrayer, at long last, far outweighed their desire or any good they might do here destroying the naga's spell engines.

“We ride,” Maiev said.

Her followers leapt into their saddles. They left the corpses of their foes behind them as food for the denizens of the great marsh.

M
AIEV PACED IMPATIENTLY INSIDE
the hut Akama maintained for their meetings in Orebor Harborage. Her troops watched her closely through the windows. They had learned to step warily when she was in this mood. Where was that damn Broken? He had communicated urgency, but now he could not even be bothered to show up.

She put her hands by her sides and smoothed the seam of her tabard. It did not do to reveal too much impatience in front of the troops. They looked to her for leadership. She slowed her stride, measured her pacing, and turned her thoughts inward.

It was not like Akama to be late. The Broken never missed a meeting. He usually turned up early for them. She hoped nothing had happened to him. It would mean the loss of a highly placed spy if the Betrayer had slain him for treason.

That would never happen. Akama had eluded Illidan's gaze for years, and that spoke of a far greater-than-average ability to hide things. He had deceived even Illidan. All he had to do was continue to do so for a bit longer.

She thought about the strangeness of it all. Her strongest ally in Outland was a mutated aberration who served her greatest enemy. He had proved more reliable than any of the so-called leaders of the forces of Light. She told herself she should have more faith, but she struggled with that. It was not easy to let go of things, to pass control to someone else.

The air shimmered. A way opened. Akama stepped through. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were downcast. His steps dragged even more than usual.

“Greetings,” he said. “I bring grave news.”

He looked up at her, and his eyes seemed sunken, their glow dimmed.

“Let us hope that it brings us a little closer to victory than your last tidings. Prince Kael'thas may be a deserter, but that has done us no good.”

Akama stumbled over to a table and poured himself a goblet of wine. He seemed to have aged significantly since the last time they had met. His hand shook as he put the jug down.

“You look as if you have seen better days,” Maiev said.

Akama shrugged and spread his arms wide. “The Betrayer has had me working magic day and night since last we spoke. It has drained me. His schemes come to a head. And I believe I know what he is up to.”

“Tell me!”

“Give me a moment,” the Broken said. He took out a small flask of magical elixir and stirred it into the wine. He raised the mixture to his lips and downed it in one gulp. Within heartbeats, he stood taller and some of the weariness faded from his frame. Maiev's eyes narrowed. She had never seen him like this before. She had never suspected he needed unnatural stimulants to maintain his strength.

“Are you all right?”

Akama's head bobbed slowly up and down. He seemed to want to reassure her but appeared incapable of it. His movements were still slow and pained. He looked as if he was very ill. Perhaps the strain of his long subterfuge was taking a toll on his health.

“The Betrayer has finally revealed his hand. He plans on opening a new gateway.”

“Can you be more specific than that?”

“I know only the rumors that I have heard around the temple. And I have managed to take a look around his sanctum, and I have found clues that he plans to perform some sort of mighty ritual.”

Disappointment lent anger to Maiev's tone. “None of this is of any great help to us. If he remains within the Black Temple, there is nothing we can do. He is too well guarded.”

At this point Akama smiled. It was like watching a cold moon emerge from behind dark clouds. A strange glint entered his eyes. “To perform this ritual, he is going to have to leave the temple.”

“What do you mean?”

“The portal can only be opened at a specific time and place. And that place is not within the Temple of Karabor.”

“How can you be so certain of this?”

“I managed to get a glimpse at the scrolls he has prepared. Some of them contained maps.”

Is it really possible?
Maiev wondered. Was she finally about to get the opportunity she had waited so long for? “Maps of where?”

“The Hand of Gul'dan.”

“The volcano in Shadowmoon Valley? Why there?”

“It is a location upon which enormous powers are focused. Gul'dan severed the orcish people's connection with the elemental spirits there.”

“Illidan will be well guarded,” Maiev said.

Once again Akama gave that strange, cold smile. He shook his head. “All of the signs point to the fact that he plans to move in great secrecy. He is assembling supplies for only a few.”

“How do you know this?”

“One of the advantages of being a Broken is that almost all the slaves and servants in the temple speak my language, belong to my people. Few notice the lowly Broken, but we see many things. There is little that is done there that I do not have some inkling about.”

“You think he is planning on performing the ritual in secret.”

“He has talked to me about needing to make a trip in the utmost secrecy within the next few days.”

“Why has he talked to you about this?” Maiev was suddenly suspicious.

“Since the prince of the blood elves vanished, Illidan has taken me more and more into his confidence. He needs someone to take charge within the temple while he is away, and the Illidari Council members are all blood elves. He thinks me too lacking in ambition to plot behind his back.”

Bitterness tinged Akama's speech.

“Then he is definitely going,” Maiev said.

“I have never seen him like this before. He is consumed with excitement. It is as if a plan that he has held for a very long time is coming to fruition. I strongly suspect that it has something to do with all the elves he has been training.”

Curiosity tugged at Maiev. She had long wondered about the tattooed demonic fighters. “Is he taking them with him?”

Akama shook his head. “Their leaders have been told to stand ready to move at a moment's notice. I think the order will come if the ritual proves to be successful. I do not think he wants to risk them beyond the temple if it is not.”

“He values them so highly?”

“They are the apple of his eye. He spends more time with them than he does planning the defense of his empire. It is puzzling. They represent something very important to him but I cannot work out what it is. I believe that it will be revealed within the next few days.”

“Who will accompany him for the ritual?”