Illidan

  With a mighty heave of his muscles, he tore the disk from the tower. The stack tottered but did not fall. He spoke the words of another spell, and the disk floated in the air behind him, slowly orbiting his form, the runes on its surface glowing with sinister greenish-yellow light.

  A grim smile twisted Illidan’s lips. He would give the nathrezim something to remember him by. He drew on all his strength and scoured the tower of records with one of the Warglaives of Azzinoth. The smell of ozone and brimstone filled the air as sparks of magical energy discharged.

  Rising into the air, Illidan defaced the pillars, damaging the weaving of spells, smashing the records of which the dreadlords were so proud. Demonic glee pulsed through his mind at the thought of their fury. Part of him mourned the loss of so much knowledge. Part of him believed that no record of the dreadlords should be allowed to remain. They deserved no monument.

  From the entrance came the sounds of fighting as his demon hunters sought to keep their resurgent enemy at bay. He swooped down into the combat, landed on the back of one dreadlord, and parted the demon’s head from his shoulders with a single blow.

  “To me, my soldiers!” he shouted. “It is time to leave this foul place. We have gotten what we came for.”

  —

  THEY BATTLED THEIR WAY back to the portal. All around, Illidan sensed the opening of more gateways as the hosts of the Burning Legion poured reinforcements in. It seemed they had not yet realized what was happening, and were responding piecemeal. Sometime soon a leader would take charge, and then things would become difficult. They needed to leave this world before that happened.

  Vandel slashed at a demonic mo’arg servitor as the creature aimed a blast of flame from some engine he wore on his back. Companies of imps poured fire down on them from on high. They occupied the ridgelines.

  “Varedis, take a company and clear those ridges,” Illidan ordered.

  The demon hunter nodded and gestured, and he and his forces bounded up the hillside, cartwheeling and somersaulting through the gouts of flame. The demons shrieked and gibbered foul insults in their tongue and then turned to flee.

  Ahead loomed a pack of voidwalkers, floating over the battlefield, legless, armored, and gleaming black. They were tough but slow. “Go around them,” Illidan ordered. “Make your way to the portal.”

  He paused to glance around. His force had taken casualties during the battle in the archive, and even now attrition stalked them. He saw Elarisiel go down and hacked his way to her side. Vandel was already there, helping her to her feet.

  Illidan nodded his approval. He wanted no one left behind if possible. The wounded could be healed. Those too wounded to be moved he put out of their misery.

  Ahead of them the portal to Outland blazed. There were signs of conflict there. The Legion’s forces had moved to secure the gate, intending to cut off their retreat. In accordance with his orders, his own army on Outland had not moved through but remained in place to guard the way out.

  “Form up into a wedge,” he ordered. “We are going to cut our way free.”

  His demon hunters shouted their approval and charged. In battle they looked every bit as demonic as their foes—lithe tattooed forms marked by scars and mutations, some surrounded by integuments of shadow, some wielding fel magic as easily as any spawn of the Twisting Nether.

  For a moment, the demons held. Then they were down and the portal was ahead of Illidan’s forces. He ordered them through and then turned. In the distance, the glare of gigantic gateways opening filled the darkness. Over the ridges poured demonic fighter after demonic fighter. He looked at them and laughed.

  Let them come. He had found what he was looking for. They were too late to stop him.

  He stepped through the portal. Already the demon hunters were racing clear of it to join the rest of his army on Outland. Illidan took one last look at the battleground in Nathreza, sensed none of his troops alive out there, and spoke the words of unbinding. The gateway unraveled in a furious discharge of energy, all the backblast directed into the nathrezim homeworld. It was his final gift to them, a surge of explosive energy that could tear apart a continent. He prayed that on the other side of the gate, the dreadlord commanders were assembled.

  He had inflicted the greatest defeat that the Burning Legion had suffered in millennia, and he was pleased.

  —

  ILLIDAN WATCHED THE LAST remnants of the portal’s energies collapse behind him. He looked at his army and wondered if there were any spies among it. Almost certainly it was the case. He considered the events of the day, and his mouth twisted into a wide grin.

  Today had been the first unalloyed triumph he had experienced in many a long century. He had captured Maiev. He had invaded the realm of the dreadlords and acquired their most closely kept secret. He had destroyed the armies they had sent to protect their homeworld. If his calculations were correct, he had shattered Nathreza as Ner’zhul’s magic had shattered Draenor.

  He gazed upon the watchful, expectant faces of his troops. His magically amplified voice boomed out over the ranks of assembled fighters. “Today we have struck a blow against the Burning Legion the like of which has not been felt in ten thousand years. We have slaughtered dreadlords and ravaged their world. We have shown them that they are not immune to our vengeance. That they will be brought to justice and made to atone for their deeds.”

  Approval rippled through the ranks of the demon hunters as the realization of what they had done settled into their minds. They had been concentrating only on fighting and survival. Now they began to feel their triumph in their bones. Smiles appeared on faces whose owners had never expected to smile again. For a moment demonic rage vanished, to be replaced with something almost like calm.

  “We have slain thousands and lured their armies into a trap that killed a hundred times that number, and we have this!” He brandished the disk he had taken from the archives, held it aloft with both hands so that it caught the light and sparkled. The demon hunters and the sorcerers present could all see the power it contained. The sensitive among them could catch a faint whiff of the auras permeating it, even at the distance they stood from him.

  There might be spies present, he told himself, but glee loosened his tongue.

  “We have found the key to the homeworld of Kil’jaeden and Archimonde, to a place where the Legion’s commanders can be finally slain. We have uncovered the location of Argus.

  “The Legion has destroyed world after world, enslaved and massacred nation after nation. Now it will reap what it has sown. Today we have slaughtered the nathrezim, and that is only the first step. Today we put our feet on the path to ultimate victory. Today we found the means to cut off the head that guides our foe. We are taking the war to Kil’jaeden. We are going to teach him the meaning of defeat.”

  Let there be spies present, Illidan thought. Let them report that to the Burning Legion. Let them think about what I have done this day and tremble.

  Maiev woke. She ached as she had every one of the days since she had found herself in this place. She was somewhere deep underground. Nearby she could hear water drip. The air held the brimstone taint of demons, and the unwashed smell of Broken.

  She rose to her feet and tested the bars of her cage once more. They had not become any weaker since the previous day. They had been forged to hold something with the power of a pit lord, and then they had been reinforced with layers of runes and spells.

  She inspected the runes about her. There were spells of nourishment and restoration. She could not starve herself to death. Any wounds she inflicted on her own body were healed as swiftly as she might make them. She well knew this type of spell. It was similar to the ones used to imprison Illidan. She had discovered this when she had attempted to batter her way out with her bare hands. She had struck the blows in impatient fury, the pain goading her on even as her bones healed, knitting back together as quickly as her flesh had rent.

  She suspected that the spells would bring her back fr
om death if she found some way of killing herself. Her spirit was bound here. There was no way to set it free unless her captors willed it.

  At first she had expected the Betrayer to appear at any moment to begin tormenting her, but he had not done so. He was too busy to claim his vengeance, or more likely he was just allowing her horror to mount in anticipation of his arrival. He was certainly capable of such mental cruelty.

  There had been no shortage of petty torments from her guards. She had been spat upon, poked with sharp sticks, and given food in which the Ashtongue had urinated. Demons had mocked her with words that flayed like knives. A spectacularly arrogant dreadlord named Vagath had explained in great detail exactly what tortures he was going to inflict on her when the order came. She had endured all the slights with calm, unwilling to give her tormentors any satisfaction. So far it seemed they had been ordered against any worse abuse by Illidan himself. He wanted no one taking vengeance before he did.

  There were other torments. Hot days on which she went without water. Days when she had been given no food and her stomach had growled like an angry nightsaber. The spells kept her going, would not allow her to die, but they did not relieve her from thirst or hunger.

  And she inflicted worse torments on herself. She had led those who had trusted her to their doom. In seeking her vengeance on Illidan, she had caused the deaths of Anyndra and Sarius and all the others who had placed their faith in her leadership.

  She told herself they had done so voluntarily, but it did not help. When she lay awake, she could see their faces, and they gave her looks full of reproach. In her dreams she saw them die again and again. She cursed all of those who had refused to help: the naaru, the Aldor, Arechron in Telaar. If they had listened to her, none of this would have happened, and the Betrayer would be where he deserved to be, imprisoned once more or in his grave.

  It gave her no relief.

  She knew whose will it was that had driven the crusade against the Betrayer. She knew whom the others had put their faith in. She had let them down. She could try to blame whomever she liked, but at the end of the day, she had to take responsibility for her own failure.

  Perhaps that was the worst injury of all. She had failed. Illidan was not only free but stronger than he had ever been. It galled her worse than poison, worse than hunger, worse than torture. Illidan was free and there was nothing she could do about it. She was doomed to stay in this cage, helpless, until he chose to take her life. It was being made clear to her that she lived or died entirely at his whim.

  Now he was ignoring her, letting her know how insignificant she was in the great scheme of things.

  There were times when she hoped that some of her force had escaped and would come free her, and there were times when she despaired of it. Even if a few had made it clear of the ambush, why would they come back for the leader who had led their comrades to their deaths? She had filled their heads with tales of victory and glory, and their reward had been defeat. She knew, though, that no one was coming. All her troops were dead. She had seen them fall.

  She cursed Akama once more. She had believed in the faithless leader of the Ashtongue faction. He had convinced her that he hated Illidan as much as she did, and that he had as much reason to want the Betrayer’s downfall. How he must be laughing now, at the way he had deceived her, at the way in which she had believed his lies. She cursed the memory of their every meeting.

  When had the betrayal started and why had she not spotted it? Had he planned this from the beginning, back when they first met in Orebor Harborage? Even then were he and Illidan laughing at the way she was being led to her doom? She refused to believe that she could be so easily gulled. Akama must have meant some of what he said. His resentment of what the Betrayer had done to the Temple of Karabor was real enough.

  Looking back, she could see there was a moment when he had changed. At their last meeting in Orebor Harborage, he had seemed even more aged, weaker, and listless. Perhaps he had been finally unmasked, captured, tortured. Perhaps Illidan had used some powerful binding spell on him.

  Or perhaps Illidan had simply made him a better offer, promised him something his venal soul could not resist. The Betrayer could be persuasive and cloak his malice in honeyed words. What could he possibly have offered the Broken?

  No. Unless she was much mistaken, Akama had been as surprised as she was at what had happened during the opening of the gate. He had spoken out against the ritual destruction of the Broken’s souls even at risk to his own life. Things were not quite as simple as she feared in the depths of her despair.

  It took her moments to realize that her guards had gone silent. Looking up, she saw why. Limping toward her, looking older and more tired than ever, was Akama.

  “Treacherous oath-breaking dog,” she said as soon as the Broken was within earshot.

  “I swore no oaths to you, Maiev Shadowsong,” he said, his voice weary. “Nor you to me.”

  The guards listened intently. Akama gestured for them to stand back as he approached the cage. They did so, clearly daunted by his presence.

  “So you have managed to worm your way back into the Betrayer’s favor.”

  “I am alive.”

  “That is more than many of your people can claim.”

  Akama winced and said, “Or yours.”

  Maiev kept her guilt from her face. “They died for the cause of bringing Illidan to justice. As I will.”

  Akama gestured at the cage. His magic made the wards and spells shimmer in the air, visible. “Look at where all your passion, hatred, and anger have brought you. Do you enjoy the view?”

  “At least I did not stand by and watch my own people being slaughtered.”

  Akama considered his words for a moment and then said, “But slaughtered they were. Because of where you led them.”

  It was Maiev’s turn to flinch. She could not control her movements perfectly. Imprisonment was affecting her. “They gave their lives for what they believed in. Will anyone ever be able to say the same of you?”

  “I was given a hard choice. I will live with it. You of all people should know how that is.”

  “You chose to spare your own life and give away the lives of those who trusted you.” Maiev could not keep the bitterness from her voice.

  “You have no idea what was done to me. Illidan ripped part of my soul from my body and bound it with magic. If he chooses to, he can unleash it, and it will devour me.”

  Maiev wondered if that was true. If it was, it would explain much. Perhaps it was just another lie. “I do not need to hear your self-pity.”

  Akama remained silent for many heartbeats. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. “It was not just my life that was at risk. All of my people’s lives were as well. The Betrayer is as ruthless as he is powerful.”

  “So you chose to throw away our chance of overthrowing him.”

  “We never had a chance, not then.”

  “So you think you have a better chance now?”

  Akama paused. His mouth opened. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something; then he licked his lips and shook his head almost imperceptibly. “You have no conception of how strong Illidan has become. I saw him work sorcery that I would not have believed possible for anyone less than a god. He opened a portal clear across the cosmos.”

  Maiev thought she detected an off note in Akama’s voice. He was afraid of being overheard. Were they being watched? She would have to assume that they were. Was it possible he still schemed against the Betrayer and somehow believed that she had a place in those schemes?

  “And why do you think he did this?”

  “He has returned, having slaughtered an army of demons, perhaps killed a world full of them. So he claimed when he came back through the portal.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “I believe that Illidan truly hates the nathrezim, that he hates all of the Burning Legion.”

  Did she hear doubt in his voice? Was Akama merely an actor mouthing a script
in order to avoid having suspicion fall on him? “Why are you here? Did you come to gloat?”

  “I am here to make sure you are well. Lord Illidan wants to be certain of that. He has plans for you.”

  Maiev’s mouth went dry and her heart hammered within her chest. She could imagine exactly what sort of plans the Betrayer had for her. She was being kept alive and in good health for a reason, and it was not a pleasant one. Illidan intended to make her pay for his long imprisonment. She forced the thought down. She would face any torture when it came. She would not give her captors the satisfaction of seeing her afraid.

  “And he is testing you,” she said. This time she allowed mockery to show in her voice. “He does not trust you.”

  “I doubt he trusts anybody,” Akama said. “If you were he, would you?”

  “I would never be like him.”

  “You are more like him than you can possibly know. You are just as ruthless and just as obsessed. You sacrificed your friends without a second thought when it suited your purpose. You sacrificed the lives of all your followers.”

  Maiev wanted to strike him but the bars restrained her. She glared at his lined face and said, “I do not accept your judgments, Akama. I have learned not to trust anything you say.”

  “You can tell yourself that if you like, but look into your heart and you will see my words are true.”

  She grasped the bars as if she could somehow twist them out of shape and make her way through to him.

  Akama laughed. “You are still strong. That is good. You will need that strength in the days to come.”

  “I am not frightened by your threats, old one.”

  “You think that was a threat? Consider this, Maiev Shadowsong—Lord Illidan is not the only one who has plans for you.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I, too, have plans.” Once again there was an ambiguous note in Akama’s voice. Was this a veiled threat, or was it meant to sound like one while communicating something else?