by William King
A moment that Illidan had long dreaded and long planned for had finally arrived. He could not afford to let the Deceiver read his true thoughts. There were things he did not want Kil’jaeden to see, schemes the demon lord must not uncover until it was too late.
He felt the enormous force of Kil’jaeden’s will being brought to bear. The demon lord’s power crashed down on him like a tidal wave. He braced himself against it, held it in check, then allowed the outer walls of his mind’s defenses to collapse. Illidan reinforced the second layer of protection and slowly, carefully let it crumble as if it were beyond his strength to resist. As he did so he invoked the spells he had prepared for this moment. Subtly and near imperceptibly his secrets vanished, buried deep within the vaults of his mind. At the same time, he allowed Kil’jaeden’s probe to smash through the final barrier and invade what appeared to be his innermost thoughts.
He felt the colossal, intrusive presence of the demon lord. It riffled through his memories. It inspected the web of his recollections, searching, searching, searching…
Illidan kept parts of his mind sealed, as any sorcerer would. Everyone had dark secrets and longings that they wanted no one to see. Kil’jaeden understood such things, as he understood the weaknesses of all living beings. Illidan had left him some tempting morsels while shielding entire levels of his mind behind wards of misdirection.
The probe did not seek his hidden secrets. Instead it went directly to the memories of recent events. Images flickered through Illidan’s mind, pulled to the surface by Kil’jaeden’s curiosity.
Illidan once again entered the corrupted forest of Felwood, keen to prove to his brother he was no tool of the demons. He heard the ring of warglaive against ancient enchanted blade as he battled the human traitor Prince Arthas, servant of the Lich King, the being who led the undead army known as the Scourge. They fought to a standstill. Arthas tempted him with knowledge of the location of the Skull of Gul’dan. Illidan knew he had to seek it out…
He felt once more the surge of ecstatic power as he broke the seals on the skull and transformed into a demon. He used the artifact’s unleashed might to overcome the dreadlord Tichondrius—who had taken command of the Scourge—and his host, but even in the moment of victory, Illidan knew defeat, for his brother and Tyrande saw his transformation and turned from him. He understood again there was nothing left for him but exile.
He sensed Kil’jaeden’s malevolent amusement as Illidan relived his most recent meeting with the Deceiver. Kil’jaeden offered him a chance to rejoin the Legion if he would destroy the Frozen Throne and break the power of the rebellious Lich King. Malfurion thwarted Illidan’s attempt, dooming him to flee Kil’jaeden’s wrath. He felt Kil’jaeden pause as he assessed the sincerity of Illidan’s effort.
He relived his flight to Outland, only to be recaptured by Maiev. Luckily, aid came in the form of Kael’thas and Vashj. Even the triumph of this very day and his overthrow of Magtheridon were scrutinized. He knew this time that Kil’jaeden was with him, watching the pit lord’s defeat. The Deceiver did not care who ruled Outland, so long as they ruled in the Legion’s name.
As suddenly as it had begun, the contact broke. The demon lord withdrew from Illidan’s mind. He realized that what had felt like long hours passing had been the space between two heartbeats.
Illidan’s heart pounded against his ribs. He was instants from destruction. At this moment, not even he could stand against the might of Kil’jaeden. If he was slain here, all his schemes and sacrifices would come to naught. He searched for the right words—they were the only weapons that could save him now. He put the appropriate note of pleading into his voice, knowing it would flatter the demon’s vanity to think Illidan abased himself. “Kil’jaeden! I was merely set back. I am attempting to bolster my forces here. The Lich King will be destroyed, I promise you!”
The demon’s gaze turned from Illidan to Vashj and then settled on Prince Kael’thas. Illidan knew that all of their lives hung in the balance. There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch into an eternity before the demon spoke again. “Indeed? Still, these servitors you’ve gathered show some promise. I will give you one last chance, Illidan. Destroy the Frozen Throne, or face my eternal wrath!”
Fel energy surged. The blaze of light around Kil’jaeden intensified to the point of being unbearable, and when it faded, the demon lord was gone. Illidan exhaled a long breath. Had he done it? Had he concealed his true intentions from Kil’jaeden? Had he deceived the Deceiver? He supposed he would find out soon enough.
His fists clenched in rage at the thought of the way Kil’jaeden had treated him. Like a puppet. He fought his anger down. The time was coming when he would make his enemies pay for what they had done, even Kil’jaeden. Illidan just needed to wear the mask of obedience for a bit longer. To buy himself some time, he had to do what the Deceiver asked.
He glanced at his companions. They looked back at him with doubt in their eyes. Briefly he considered telling them of his plans, but he dismissed the idea. They, too, had been examined as he had been. They, too, had felt the demon lord’s threats and blandishments. Who knew how they had responded in their secret hearts?
Illidan said, “Perhaps hiding here was not the most prudent decision. Still, the quest lies before us. Will you follow me into the cold heart of death itself?”
Lady Vashj coiled her serpent body beneath her and stretched her torso to its full height. “The naga are yours to command, Lord Illidan. Where you go, we follow.”
Prince Kael’thas looked dazed, as was only natural after having caught the full attention of a demon lord. He pulled himself together and said, “The blood elves are yours as well, master. We will drive the Scourge before us and shatter the Frozen Throne as you command.”
“We have some time yet,” Illidan said. “There are things that I must do before we go. We must be prepared.”
Maiev Shadowsong studied the parched land, shielding her eyes from the blaze of the huge Outland sun with one gauntleted hand. Her gaze shifted from the dusty road to the hillside. She caught the scuttling movement of one of their alien pursuers as it ducked out of sight behind a boulder on the slope above them.
“I see our insectoid friends are still following us,” Anyndra said.
Maiev glanced at her second-in-command. Like all night elves, Anyndra was tall and slender. The sweat-stained tabard of a Watcher clung to her. A red scarf held her green hair from her eyes. Anyndra would not have been Maiev’s first choice as a lieutenant, but she had to work with what she had. The thirty troops strung out along the road behind her were the only survivors of the ambush that had ripped Illidan from her grasp mere weeks before. Lady Vashj and Prince Kael’thas would answer for the deaths they had caused freeing the Betrayer.
“The ravagers will not give up,” Maiev said. “They are hungry.”
“I have heard they take captives to feed to their hatchlings,” Anyndra said. It did not surprise Maiev. Outland was a hideous place inhabited by monstrous creatures. Even her spell-woven armor could not entirely neutralize the heat. She wished she could wipe away the perspiration trickling down her brow, but her full-face helm prevented that. Instead she squinted at the ridge again. There were more of the scuttlers up there, a lot of them. Their movements reminded her of gigantic spiders.
In the distance she heard the blaring foghorn roar of a fel reaver, one of the titanic war machines that thundered across these parched wastes with earth-shaking strides. Two days ago the Watchers had barely managed to escape one. It had threatened to reduce them to a bloody pulp beneath its enormous demon-metal feet.
Maiev’s nightsaber let out a fierce roar as if responding to the challenge. The other riding cats echoed the sound. Upslope, a ravager scuttled into view to investigate the source of the noise.
“I could put an arrow through that ravager’s eye,” said Anyndra, producing an arrow with her distinctive green-and-red fletching. She was proud of her skill with a bow and liked to display it ev
ery chance she got.
Maiev gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Why bother? There are thousands more of the creatures.” She nudged her nightsaber into its long, loping stride. “Let them follow us if they wish. If they attack, we will teach them the folly of their ways. Otherwise, do not waste precious arrows.”
The troops fell into line behind her, surveying their surroundings warily. Maiev knew she was going to have to keep a close watch on them. Back on Azeroth, she would never have doubted their commitment to the hunt, but here things were different. A few of her soldiers had had a wild look in their eyes ever since they had passed through the magical portal in pursuit of Illidan.
She took in another breath of the dry air. She had been places on Azeroth that were just as parched, but something about Hellfire Peninsula made her feel thirstier than she had been even in the desert of Tanaris. At least there, she had known the ocean was near. So far they had found no evidence that this place had a sea. As far as she could tell, Outland floated in a great void. Water was scarce.
“He will not escape us, Warden,” said Anyndra.
Maiev shook her head, clearing it of her musings. She refocused on her lieutenant and the task at hand. “Of course he will not. I have not crossed the gap between worlds to let the Betrayer elude justice.”
“He has powerful allies here.” Anyndra’s voice was soft and held a hint of doubt. The other members of the company had fallen silent. They were listening to hear what Maiev had to say.
“No matter how powerful his allies are, he will not get away,” Maiev said. She decided to address her troops’ unspoken questions head-on. “We captured Illidan once. We will capture him again.”
Anyndra’s face froze into a mask. She glanced toward the ridge as if seeking to hide from her leader any doubts she might feel. The scuttling ravagers still kept pace with them. Maiev looked to the right. Scores of the insect-like beasts carpeted the other slope, flanking the road. If there were more ravagers ahead, Maiev and her people were riding into a trap. It would not be the first one they had fallen into here.
“He was not with Kael’thas or Lady Vashj when we first captured him,” Anyndra said. Clearly the way the two powerful sorcerers had rescued Illidan and slaughtered her fellow Watchers was on her mind.
Maiev said, “Prince Kael’thas is a treacherous renegade. Lady Vashj is a twisted abomination. If they get in our way, we will kill them.”
Maiev was not entirely sure how she would make good on that threat. She pushed that thought aside as a distraction. The blood elf prince and the naga matron were not important. Illidan was. She had not spent ten thousand years of her life making sure his evil was contained just so he could take the opportunity to work his wickedness now.
“You think this Broken sage will be able to help us against them? This Akama?” Anyndra asked.
“I do not know, Anyndra,” she said. “He may be of use to us. He may not. In the long run, it does not matter. We will triumph. We always have. We always will.”
Anyndra looked away. Maiev let the silence hold and gave her attention to their surroundings once more. The landscape of Outland had been torn apart by magic. It was a terrible warning of what dealing with those forces could unleash. She had seen its like before.
—
ALTHOUGH IT HAD HAPPENED more than ten thousand years ago, Maiev remembered it as if it were yesterday. No, as if it had happened only hours ago…the day when she had first seen the Burning Legion. Her memories of that terrible time were as fresh as they had been when newly minted.
No one had understood what they faced back then, not really. They had thought the Legion was merely a temporary threat spawned by uncontrolled magic. They had thought Illidan was merely a misguided sorcerer. At least the others had. She had always known different.
The ozone scent in the Outland air brought back the memory of her first encounter with an infernal. She recalled the stench of the near-mindless thing as vividly as the night blossoms blooming amid the pavilions of Darnassus. It had seemed too big and too filled with magic to be opposed. The leaves shriveled as it passed, turned autumn-sere by the backwash of its blazing body. She called on the power of Elune, and the moon goddess destroyed the demon, shattering it into scorching fragments, leaving Maiev free to heal the seared flesh of its victims.
That had been only one of a thousand skirmishes. She had witnessed horrors during the War of the Ancients. Forests had burned and nations had died. It had taught her that there could be no compromise with those who sought power through the use of perverted magic. They needed to be stamped out, crushed, slain before they could unleash destruction upon the innocent, before they could corrupt all that was natural and good.
Maiev had seen that from the very beginning. It was a pity that others had not shared her clarity of vision. If only they had heeded her back then, there would be no need for this hunt now. If they had slain Illidan when his wickedness had first been revealed, countless innocent lives would have been saved.
Instead they had followed the counsel of Illidan’s twin, Malfurion, and Tyrande Whisperwind. Time and again the pair had spared his life, even after his wickedness was plain for all to see. At the end of the War of the Ancients, when Maiev was set to end the Betrayer’s life, had they not granted him mercy and argued for his imprisonment rather than his death?
Since then, Tyrande had gone even further, slaying the Watchers guarding Illidan’s prison. She claimed she had freed him in order to gain his aid in the fight against the Burning Legion. At first it seemed that she had been right. Illidan had aided them, but then his true nature had revealed itself. He had absorbed the power of the Skull of Gul’dan and transformed himself into a demon, his body mutated to mirror the inner monstrousness of his soul. Even then, his brother had only banished him from the forests rather than striking him dead.
Maiev snorted. Illidan was but a tool of the Burning Legion. He always had been and always would be. Because of those fools, Maiev had spent ten thousand years guarding the wretched sorcerer.
And for what?
Maiev ground her teeth in fury. Tyrande should have spent the long centuries imprisoned beside Illidan. She had proved that when, with a folly exceeded only by her arrogance, she had freed him. She had made a mockery of all the oaths that Maiev had sworn. She had turned ten thousand years of vigilance into a cruel joke. Even if she was now the ruler of the night elves, she had no right to do that.
A sound from the right drew Maiev’s attention. The ravagers were edging closer. They held their bodies low as they moved along on all fours, taking advantage of the undulations of the land to keep out of the line of fire from ranged weapons and magic. Perhaps they were more intelligent than Maiev had thought.
Given their numbers, it would not really matter. If they got close enough, they would pull down what remained of her force. She did not have enough troops left to be able to afford the loss of one. She raised her hand and gave the signal to ride at double time. With impeccable discipline, the Watchers’ pace increased. Their great cat mounts stretched their long limbs and raced forward.
Anyndra rode up alongside Maiev, a questioning look on her face. She was wondering if Maiev would give the order to turn and fight. Now was not the time to senselessly throw away lives, not when the trail of the Betrayer lay before them and they had the scent of their prey in their nostrils.
Maiev thought about Illidan—he was no longer an elf. She shuddered when she recalled what he had become. Horned and hoofed and batwinged, as much a demon as the eredar he had worshipped and then betrayed.
If he really had betrayed them…
That was the eternal problem with trying to comprehend the mind of Illidan. No sane individual could. Who knew what that maniac truly thought? His mind was so twisted by the dark forces of the magic he lusted after that his reasoning was impossible to follow. And that was a problem, for a hunter needed to understand her prey. It was the one sure way of trapping it.
It troubled Maiev sometimes.
She had heard the whispers. She knew what was said behind her back. There were those who claimed that she had become as warped as the foe she had spent so long guarding. She laughed at the bitter humor of it.
Weaklings! All of them. They were not prepared to deal with the evil that had taken root so deeply among them. They feared those who had the strength to do what needed to be done. They made compromises with the demons that would destroy them, and fooled themselves into believing it was wisdom. Well, she knew better. She would never compromise. She would not rest until Illidan was dead or once again bound within his prison. She knew her duty. She would keep her oaths. She did not care what others thought of her. She would not be distracted from her quest.
“Warden Shadowsong!” Anyndra’s voice broke into her reverie.
“What is it?”
Her second-in-command flinched at the coldness in Maiev’s tone. “There!”
Maiev’s gaze followed Anyndra’s pointing finger. A host of ravagers lined the hillsides above them. The Watchers rode over the rise and looked down the long valley through which the road wound. Ahead of them, more of the four-legged monsters blocked their path. Maiev had not noticed the trap quickly enough, lost in her musings on Illidan. She cursed the Betrayer once again.
“Prepare for battle!” Maiev shouted.
—
MAIEV AND HER WATCHERS drew themselves up in line abreast. The warden studied her people, noting whose glances darted around in panic and who stared at the enemy with cold, killing calm. It made her proud that far more eyes held the latter emotion. The night elves were surrounded and outnumbered. Even facing hundreds of the alien monsters, they were not afraid.
Some of them produced their bows and glaives. Responding to the mood of their riders, the nightsabers roared defiance. The druid Sarius dismounted and transformed into a monstrous bear, his fur branded with mystical markings. Maiev considered her options.
To stand and fight was to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of the ravagers. Something had clearly stirred up the creatures.
