Illidan

25

Illidan stood at the head of the great map table in the council chamber of the Black Temple. His advisers came and went, along with messengers bearing the latest news. The blood elves of his council argued with Akama and with Vandel and the other leaders of the demon hunters.

Illidan rubbed his temples just below the horns. He had almost recovered the strength the spirit journey to Argus had cost him, and he could not let up yet. He needed to keep pressing on, to take advantage of what he had found out. He needed to face Kil’jaeden, and soon, before the Deceiver got wind of his plans and made ready for him. He was so deep in thought that it took him some time to realize that Lady Malande was speaking to him.

“What is your command, Lord Illidan?” Malande was insistent. There was a note of urgency to her voice that demanded attention. Illidan turned his eyeless gaze on her in a way he knew to be discomfiting to those who lacked his spectral vision.

“Concerning what?” Illidan said. He allowed his irritation to show.

“About Coilfang Reservoir. The news is not good. Lady Vashj has been overthrown and the great pumps have been shut down.”

Coilfang Reservoir. Images of a vast pumping station full of magical engines leapt into his mind. He pictured miles of pipes running through gigantic underground caves. He thought about Vashj’s plan to gain control of all the waters in Outland. It had seemed important once, but with events racing ahead so quickly, it was hardly worth dealing with. He had more urgent things to worry about.

“What would you have us do, Lord Illidan?” Gathios the Shatterer asked. He stroked his chin with one gauntleted hand. “The Alliance and Horde have established bridgeheads in Hellfire Peninsula. They have sacked Hellfire Citadel and destroyed Magtheridon. Should we strike back?”

Illidan considered the paladin’s question—what was there to do? The Azerothians had done more than engage the Burning Legion. They had taken one of the greatest Illidari fortresses. It was just the latest in a long string of setbacks. This one would cost him dearly in the long run. Without the pit lord’s blood, there would be no more fel orcs for his legions.

Except the long run no longer mattered. Things would be settled soon, and they would not be settled in Outland but on Argus. He had the true location of Kil’jaeden’s homeworld, but he had found it in spirit form. Now he needed to be able to transport an army there in the flesh. It would take power to open such a portal, vast amounts of power. Only one source of such was available to him. He would need to use souls, and far more of those than had been used to open the way to Nathreza.

Gathios loomed at his full height. He banged his chest plate with one mighty fist. “Lord Illidan, what should we do? The Alliance and the Horde are expanding on all fronts. They engage our forces as well as the Burning Legion’s. Should we withdraw to the Black Temple? Should we stand firm and throw them back?”

It seemed that Illidan’s hope that the Azerothians would focus on the Burning Legion had been a deluded one. Their hatred for him was so great they were prepared to ignore the larger threat. Kruul must have known they were as vengeance-crazed as Maiev Shadowsong when he lured them into invading Outland. Well, Illidan had made the doomguard pay for that. Someday soon he must visit Maiev and show her exactly how unhappy he was with her, too.

But he did not have time for any of this now. The fate of existence rested on his shoulders.

“Do what is necessary,” Illidan told Gathios. He scattered the tokens on the map with a sweep of his claw. “Other matters demand my attention.”

An appalled silence filled the council chamber. All gazes turned to him, expecting leadership. He had made a mistake. He still needed his people to have faith in him, to follow him to the final battle. Illidan leaned on the map table and looked at each one in turn—the demon hunter leaders, Akama, Gathios, the rest of his council, all of the others.

“We are fighting a war to preserve all existence from the fury of the Burning Legion,” he said. “It does not matter whether we hold Outland for a few more years. Once the Legion regroups, it can bring overwhelming force against us. What happens here and now is no longer important save as it bears upon the true struggle.”

The silence deepened. The demon hunters nodded. They had shared his vision. They knew what the Burning Legion truly was. They understood the magnitude of the threat it represented. The others looked unsure. Fury filled Illidan’s heart. He wanted to lash out, to strike their uncomprehending faces.

He drew himself back from the brink, tried to look at things as they might. They saw only the fiefdoms they ruled, the power they held, slipping from their grasp. They feared for their lives, as if those lives could have any meaning in the face of the cosmic threat of the Legion. They did not understand that victory here on Outland merely preserved their lives for a few more months or years. The end was coming for them all, unless Kil’jaeden was defeated, unless the Burning Legion was destroyed.

It was not their fault that they saw only the smallest details of the overall picture. He had never really troubled himself to convince them otherwise. He had relied on their ambitions, their greed, the things he could offer them to keep them loyal. It was time he let the others know how things stood.

“We need to take the war to Kil’jaeden,” he said.

“You have said this before, Lord,” said Akama, “and of course we all agree.” His tone and the looks of the advisers scattered around the room made it clear that they did anything but agree. “But surely we must keep our bases secure so that we can launch our great attack.”

Illidan shook his head, and he knew he had their complete focused attention now. “We need keep our bases secure only so long as it takes to open the way to Argus.”

Akama looked at him as if caught somewhere between horror and awe. “You are ready to reclaim the original home of my people?”

“I am. I wish to see the ones defiling it dead, finally and forever,” Illidan said. “And I know how to do that.”

“My people fled from there millennia ago. It fell to those who allied with Sargeras, to the followers of Archimonde and Kil’jaeden. It must lie a thousand worlds in the distance, through a thousand portals.”

High Nethermancer Zerevor smirked as if he already knew the answer. Veras Darkshadow listened in silence. Illidan sensed growing excitement among his demon hunters.

“If we followed the paths along which the draenei fled, that would be true,” said Illidan. “I propose a more direct route.”

“You plan on opening a portal through the Twisting Nether all the way to Argus? Forgive me for saying so, Lord, but that is impossible.”

“Not impossible, Akama, merely extremely difficult. I can open the way there. Anything is possible using magic when you have a sufficient concentration of power and knowledge.”

Akama appeared to be doing a quick calculation in his head. “There is no such concentration of power except the sort you used to get to Nathreza.”

Illidan nodded, encouraging Akama to continue with his line of thought.

Vandel surprised Illidan by speaking up. “Is it worth it, Lord? Can we truly end the Burning Legion’s threat?”

Illidan glanced from face to face. The truth was that he did not know. He was only making a leap in the dark. Perhaps the Legion was invincible. Perhaps killing Kil’jaeden would make no difference. Of one thing he was certain, though.

“I have dwelled on that question for ten thousand years and more, Vandel,” he said. “Since first I made contact with Sargeras, since the first time I truly understood what the Burning Legion was.”

He paused for a moment, recollecting that. He had been shown the same vision he had shared with the demon hunters, only a hundred times more vividly. It had been meant to convince him that the Legion was invincible, that it was pointless to oppose the will of Sargeras, that the best and only thing he could do was join the Legion and have a say in the remaking of the universe.

His mind had not crumbled, though. He had remained who he was. He had taken what he had seen and used it to motivate himself through all the long centuries of opposition. He had had plenty of time to dwell on such things, he thought bitterly.

“I was imprisoned for ten thousand years. In those ten millennia I was not idle. I considered everything I had learned about the Legion. I ran through every possible way of opposing it. All the ways anyone could oppose it. That was why I had joined the Legion. I sought to learn all that I could about it. I gave up everything for that knowledge. I know more about the Burning Legion than any living creature save perhaps its rulers, if you wish to count them among the living. I learned many things but they all boil down to one stark and terrible fact.

“I learned that there is no way that the Legion can be defeated by simply waiting for it to come to you.

“The Legion is too strong. If you turn it back once, it will return. If you turn it back a thousand times, it will return. And every time, it will be stronger. Its commanders will have learned from their mistakes. Its generals will be prepared for your strategies.

“They are immortal. Their souls cannot be destroyed in most places. They can be merely thrown back into the Twisting Nether. Eventually they are reborn there, with all the knowledge of their previous lives. Imagine fighting a warrior who, every time you kill him, comes back. And this warrior remembers the trick you used to defeat him previously, and returns prepared for it. Eventually you run out of tricks. You run out of luck. That is why the Legion cannot be beaten on Azeroth. The spirits of demons can only be destroyed in the Twisting Nether, in places where it bleeds into the world of mortals, or in places utterly saturated with the demonic energies of the Burning Legion. Nathreza was one such place. Argus is another.

“There have been those who thought they had defeated the Burning Legion. Dreadlords stride through the ashes of their worlds. Infernals desecrate the tombs of their children. You cannot beat the Legion by fighting it on its terms. In the end you can only lose.

“There is only one way of winning: to assault the Burning Legion where it can be destroyed. It is a slim chance, but it is our only one. We do not have a choice. All we can do is stand and wait to die, or we can take the war to Sargeras and his minions. We will destroy the lieutenants who motivate the Legion’s forces. We will slay Kil’jaeden, and Archimonde, too, if he has been reborn. Sargeras needs commanders to control his soldiers. Without them, the eredar will fall to fighting among one another, and piecemeal may be destroyed.”

Akama and most of Illidan’s other advisers stared, in horror and in wonder. The demon hunters merely nodded. “I will take this war to Argus. You!” Illidan swept his arm about the room, gesturing to the assembled tattooed fighters. “All of you claimed you wanted to take your vengeance on the Burning Legion. I am offering you the greatest chance anyone has ever had to do that. We will take demon lives as a reaper takes wheat, and we will kill their commanders in a place from which they cannot return. All of you have proved yourselves worthy to accompany me.”

He let that sink in. He was not asking them to accompany him. He was telling them that they were worthy, and it was the truth. He saw them, one by one, nod their agreement.

“Go now. Tell the others. Prepare for the opening of the way to Argus.”

“Where are you going?” Akama asked. His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. He tugged at the tendrils on his chin, appalled.

“To a place where there are many souls waiting for dissolution. To Auchindoun.”

“The mausoleum of the draenei, Lord? But it is sacred.”

Illidan focused his attention on Akama. Had there been a note of rebelliousness in his voice? “Not to me, faithful Akama.”

Akama lowered his head slowly. His shoulders slumped. Illidan knew he did not like what was going on, but for the sake of his own soul and those of his people, he would have to accept it. “As you say, Lord.”

Illidan spread his arms and wings wide. “Go now, all of you. You will all have parts to play before the end.”

Vandel watched the others depart from the room. He took a last glance at the great map board with its counters representing scattered armies. It looked like a toy now, a child’s puzzle that had nothing to do with the business they were undertaking.

As he followed the others out of the council chamber, he thought about Illidan’s words and the vision Vandel had seen when he consumed the demon’s flesh.

He did not for a moment doubt that what Illidan had said was true. The Burning Legion was invincible when opposed by any normal means. There was no defensive strategy that could defeat an army that had unlimited resources and immortal soldiers. The real question was whether Illidan’s plan made any difference. For the past few months the Betrayer had seemed even less sane than ever. And now Vandel understood why. All his schemes were nearing a climax.

Illidan did not care about Outland. He did not care about Hellfire Citadel or Coilfang Reservoir. None of it meant anything to him. None of it ever had, save as a stepping-stone to his ultimate destination.

Vandel saw what many of the other advisers did not. Illidan had no plan beyond this point. He was standing on the edge of a great abyss, planning on a long leap into darkness. Everything that happened—the taking of citadels, the coming of the Alliance and the Horde—was a sideshow to him. Vandel knew that come what may, all of this was going to go to pieces within the next few months. None of them were going to live much longer. Whether they followed Illidan to Argus or remained here to fight against the Legion or the Alliance and the Horde, it made no difference. They were all going to die.

The question then became what gave their deaths the greatest meaning. If what Illidan had said was in the slightest true, there was only one thing to be done. Vandel touched the amulet he had made for Khariel so long ago. He had come here with a purpose in mind. To oppose the Burning Legion and take vengeance if he could. He would see that through to the bitter end.

He glanced around at the other demon hunters and saw that they had come to a similar conclusion. The blood elves, as always, looked as if they were thinking of some way to take advantage of the situation.

Vandel knew that whatever happened, he would follow Illidan. He glanced over his shoulder into the council chamber. The Betrayer was still there, shoulders slumped, wings wrapped forlornly around them. He paced nine steps and then turned. As if sensing he was watched, Illidan stood taller, flexed his wings, and crossed his arms upon his chest. As the doors slid silently shut, Vandel knew that even their leader was consumed by doubt.

Illidan considered the silent war room. Emptiness made the giant chamber larger. The lack of living sounds turned the place dead. He walked over to the map table and considered the fallen fortresses of his Outland empire. Each of those overturned models and carved blocks represented thousands of deaths, lakes of blood spilled. The thought occurred to him that he had long ago ceased to care about such things. In the game he played, tens of thousands of lost lives were a negligible cost.

There had been a time, long ago, when those deaths would have troubled him. He knew that intellectually, but he no longer felt the emotion, could not even begin to remember what it would have been like, and that bothered him. He had spent so long armoring himself against doubt, forcing himself only to ask questions that were relevant to his struggle. Now, in this empty chamber, he could hear only the echoes of voices no longer speaking.

Both Vandel’s doubts and Akama’s were justified. It was possible he was wrong. It was possible that he was as insane as he had often been accused of being. He picked up one of the pieces—an orc warrior carved from clefthoof ivory—and turned it over and over in his fingers. How many fel orcs had he sent to their deaths without a second thought? He could calculate the number if he wished. His sorcerously trained mind was capable of remembering all of the orders of battle and supply lists. That was not the point.

He thought about the demon hunters. They were his own people. He shared a kinship with the elves that he shared with no others, but even that seemed a remote thing. He had walked paths that separated him from even them. He had spent ten thousand years in isolation, with only Maiev and her Watchers for company, and they were mostly distant presences. Ten thousand years alone, with nothing but his thoughts and his plans and his visions. Ten thousand years of dark dreams and testing bonds that could not be broken until finally Tyrande had freed him. He considered visiting Maiev and inflicting a fraction of the punishment she deserved. The chess piece crumbled in his grip.

He threw the fragments back down onto the map. There was no time to get distracted now. He had a war to win. Doubts rose to torment him. What if he was wrong? What if he had miscalculated? His visions were not infallible. Perhaps there was another way and he had not seen it. Perhaps he was blind to a possibility that might win this war without all the sacrifices. He had searched and searched for one and had not found it, but that did not mean it was not there.

Betrayer. That was what they called him. That was how they would remember him. If they were lucky enough to survive and remember anything, it would be because he had saved them, and they would never know. That thought gave him a moment of dour pleasure.

He squared his shoulders, flexed his wings, and strode from the chamber without looking back. It was time to go to Auchindoun and face the spirits of the restless dead.

Akama stood beside Maiev’s cage. He had dismissed the guards. She had listened to the tale of Akama’s last encounter with Illidan, her face becoming ever paler. He was running an awful risk coming here at this time, but he needed to talk with someone who shared his burning hatred of Illidan.

Sick horror filled the Broken’s heart. The Betrayer planned yet another desecration of a draenei holy place. There was nothing he would not do. Not even the greatest cemetery of Akama’s people was safe from Illidan’s towering madness. Whatever happened, at whatever cost, Illidan must be stopped. Akama knew that now, felt it with every fiber of his being. Even if it meant risking his soul, it was time to begin his last desperate plan.

“He is mad,” Maiev said. “He has always been mad. But this is the most insane scheme I have ever heard of. Opening a way to Argus! Are you sure he does not mean to summon reinforcements from there to let him defeat the Alliance and the Horde?”

Akama shook his head. “You were not present. You did not hear him speak. He believes in what he says utterly. He plans on going ahead with this scheme. He no longer cares about anything else. For the past few weeks, he has neglected his realm and worked feverishly on this solitary goal, to create this gateway of his. He has woven spell after spell, created astromantic chart after astromantic chart. He has done nothing else, even as his empire crumbled.”

“Perhaps he plans on using the gateway to escape,” Maiev said. A note of worry appeared in her voice, as if she still seriously believed she had a chance of hunting down her prey unaided. “Perhaps he hopes to open a way to some refuge far from here. You should understand that. Your own people did the same.”

“Illidan is not the sort to flee. I believe he really and truthfully plans to seek out Kil’jaeden and fight him to the death.”

Maiev’s mocking laughter rang out. “He will lose. And all his efforts will go for naught. All your efforts will go for naught as well. Your precious temple will fall to the Alliance or the Horde. Free me. At least if the temple falls to the Alliance, I will be able to intercede for you and see that it is returned to your people.”

Akama looked at her and smiled. “There is no need for you to worry on that score. I have made my own plans. All you need do is be patient.”

“Is that why you have visited me so often, Broken one? Do you still think to use me in your schemes?”

“What if I do? What if I could release you from this place and set you on the path to vengeance?”

“You have made such promises before.”

“Ah, but the time was not right then. It is now.”

Akama walked away, enjoying the thoughtful silence as Maiev considered the implications of his words. In the distance the earth shook as the Hand of Gul’dan erupted. It had been doing that a lot of late. It was an evil omen.