by William King
“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.
—
THE ELEVATOR CARRIED MAIEV 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.
—
THE STREETS OF SHATTRATH’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.
Akama’s smile matched her own only for a moment. “Illidan may have found a new source of power.”
A chill of foreboding passed through Maiev. Perhaps the Betrayer had a trick to play yet. It would not be the first time. “What is it?”
“I am not certain, which is why I wanted to talk to you. They are recruited entirely from your people…”
“My people?”
“Elves. Desperate, ruthless elves, hardened fighters all, and all with a grudge against the Burning Legion, as far as I can tell. He takes them and he kills them.”
“What?”
“He infuses them with fel magic. Most of them die during the process, and those who live are changed, and not for the better.”
“What do you mean?”
“Their bodies are saturated with evil power, and there is something in them that reeks of the demonic.”
Horror twisted Maiev’s face. “He is transforming elves into demons.”
“Unless I miss my guess, he is remaking them in his own image. He works rituals upon them. He supervises as they receive tattoos like his. He teaches them magic, or at least so I gather from the rumors picked up by my agents. All of this takes place in sealed courtyards far from the everyday business of the temple.”
What new monstrousness is Illidan planning? Maiev wondered. Knowing him, it could not be anything good. “You must find out more of this.”
“I am doing my best, but it is difficult and dangerous. The Betrayer has taken great pains to hide his intentions for this new army. If I ask too many questions, I may be found out. If Illidan learns of our association, I am worse than dead. I must move cautiously.”
“Cautiously, cautiously, it is always cautiously with you.”
“That is easy for you to say. I am the one who will face the wrath of the Betrayer if things go wrong.” Akama paused and took a rasping breath. “You do not know what it is like. Every time I leave the Temple of Karabor, I must lie. I think already Illidan suspects something…I feel as if I am being watched.”
It came to Maiev that in her impatience, she was in danger of taking the wrong tack. Akama was clearly frightened, and not without good reason.
Akama took another deep breath and spoke in a more measured tone. “It is not the first time tattooed fighters have appeared around the temple. There have been others like this before, but only seen in ones or twos, and never for long before they went on their way. This time all of them are here, and he seems bent on creating many more like them.”
“The first of them could have been experiments, intended to test the magic used in creating these demon elves.”
“Such was my thought. Now there seem to be many more of them. Illidan spends lives like a drunken mercenary squanders ill-gotten silver in order to create them. For every ten who go into the hidden courts, perhaps one comes out.”
This news changed Maiev’s mood. Her earlier good humor about Kael’thas’s disappearance had evaporated. She knew in her heart of hearts that Illidan planned some new deviltry.
“I do not like this at all,” Maiev said.
Akama shrugged. “These new creatures are powerful. I have been called upon to heal them, and I sense strong, dark magic within them. Perhaps Illidan feels they will tip the scales back in his favor.”
“Do you think that is possible?”
“He seems determined to create hundreds of these creatures, if not thousands. If they are all as mighty as the ones I have seen, they could change the balance of power in Outland. All I know is that the Betrayer is in a frenzy to recruit as many of them as possible. I have sensed that he has a purpose in mind, and whatever it is, time is running out.”
“Time is certainly running out for him,” Maiev said, trying to re-create her earlier mood. “Without Kael’thas’s support, there is a chance to unseat him.”
“Indeed,” said Akama. “I will return to the Temple of Karabor and begin preparations. If we are to move, we must move quickly, before his new army is ready.”
Satisfaction filled Maiev’s mind. It was the first time the Broken had expressed a definite commitment to action. It seemed that he, just as much as the Betrayer, felt time was getting short.
—
AKAMA PASSED THROUGH THE portal and stepped into the Temple of Karabor. Despite all the corruption about him, it still felt like coming home. He rubbed his hands together, took a deep breath, and tried to push his worries away.
Confronting Maiev was always nerve racking. She was so full of rage and hate, and she was so determined to take Illidan to task for all his wrongdoing. She really did not seem to realize that she had turned herself into the Betrayer’s mirror image.
The Broken hurried through the corridors toward his chambers. One of the abominable eyeless soldiers glanced at him as he passed. It was eerie how those blind-seeming heads turned to track him as he went by.
All around, the temple buzzed with activity. Soldiers marched, magi wove spells. The defenses were being strengthened night and day.
He reached the sanctuary of his people. His bodyguard gave him a warning sign, and as he passed the entrance, he understood why. Illidan waited within the chamber. In his hand, he had a precious crystal statue that Akama had preserved from the destruction of the temple. He held it up to the light, turning it this way and that.
He did not look around as the Broken entered. He just said, “Ah, Akama, you have been hard to find today.”
There had been a time when this simple trick would have disconcerted Akama, but he was used to it now. “I went traveling to Orebor Harborage. I had much to think about, and it helps clear my head.”
“You have been doing that a lot over the past few years.”
Akama’s stomach lurched. Did the Betrayer suspect what was going on? Had he seen through the deceptions?
Illidan walked over and placed an arm around Akama’s shoulder. The tips of his talons dug gently into the cloth of the Broken’s tunic. “Walk with me to the refectory. It has been some time since we talked. I would learn more of these jaunts of yours.”
With irresistible strength, he guided Akama through the exit that led into the temple’s Sanctuary of Shadows. Demons moved into position all around him. Akama glanced at the great chains hanging from the darkened pillars that rose so high above. They seemed like a dark omen.
Soon screams rang out as if from someone whose soul was being ripped from his body.
Vandel leapt through the blazing ring, hit the ground rolling, ducked under the swinging blade. It passed him by a hair’s breadth. He rose, sprang forward over the flame pit. He was first again. He had passed through all the obstacles without taking a scratch.
Cyana was just behind him, not even breathing hard. She smiled at him, but he sensed that she was piqued that he had beaten her again. She was very competitive. Ravael was next, lithe and swift. The others filtered in one after another.
In the weeks after the ritual, there had been many losses. Mavelith and Seladan and Isteth had hurled themselves from the battlements, unable to bear what they had become. Mavelith and Seladan had grown progressively more monstrous looking as the days dragged into weeks, but Isteth still had the beauty that Vandel had noticed during the first days. It was her mind that had been twisted. He hoped she was at peace now, joined at last with her dead children.
Any hope that the ritual had winnowed out those who could not face the consequences of their choices was gone. Over half of those transformed had died in the process. Their hearts had stopped, or their minds had cracked and they had needed to be put down. More had gone mad in the aftermath, unable to bear the visions they witnessed or to live with the things resident inside them.
Vandel had no doubt that their demons had pushed them over the edge. The thing within h
im made its presence felt every day, and he was by no means certain that he would win this struggle in the long run. There were days when depression and self-loathing made his life unbearable. There were times when he was so filled with rage that he could barely restrain himself from running through the temple and slashing elves with his blades until the guards dragged him down.
Selenis had gone out that way, and Balambor and Turanis. They had taken a lot of others with them. All of the survivors of the ritual understood what they had felt. Vandel had come within a hair’s breadth of doing it himself. He sometimes wondered if the difference between him and the berserkers was just that he had not quite reached the brink yet. He clutched the amulet he had made for Khariel tight in his hand, a talisman of protection against the possibility, a reminder to himself of why he fought with his demon every day. Vengeance, Son. One day you will have vengeance.
Something at the back of his mind mocked him, but for today, at least he could ignore it.
Things had gotten worse since the supernatural part of the training started. Their instructors, Varedis, Alandien, and Netharel, taught them how to tap the fel powers of the demons within them, how to channel the darkest energies in creation.
In a way it was thrilling. Vandel knew now how to augment his strength and speed manyfold. He could drive the blade of his dagger into a boulder and rip it free. He had cast bolts of fel energy capable of burning through the strongest of armor. He could heal himself by draining the souls of his fallen victims.
He had battled summoned demons, learning how to kill them. At first the aspirants had fought in groups, but as the weeks passed, they had been trained how to win in single combat. Scores had died during that period, and one night a felguard had broken free and rampaged through the corridors of the ruins of Karabor until Varedis had brought him down. Vandel fingered the long scar down his right side that the demon had given him. The felguard’s axe had ripped through the inking of his tattoos, distorting them and making it hard to draw on fel energies when he tried to cast certain spells.
He had learned an enormous amount in a very brief time, but it seemed no matter how much he grasped, his instructors always wanted him to try harder, master more. They were as driven as Illidan, and he could not help but feel there was some great purpose behind this, that the day was coming when all he had learned would be put to use in the Betrayer’s service. There was an urgency about this process, and a desperation. Every day the great ritual was performed. Every day more and more candidates were fed into the hungry maw of the training process. A few of them survived to be threshed through a system that often seemed intended as much to kill the weak as to teach the strong.