Illidan

28

Maiev looked up to see Akama standing in the doorway of her cage once more.

“Have you come to dangle vain promises before me again?” she asked. It was difficult to keep the bitterness from her voice. Akama limped closer, tilted his head to one side, and gazed up into her face. Such was his intensity that she grew uncomfortable, although she refused to show it.

“No,” he said. His tone revealed both his weariness and his fear. “How are you feeling? Strong?”

“Let me out of this cage and I will show you.” Maiev had spent the previous months conserving her strength. She was sure she had never been mightier, but still the spells binding her held.

“Do you remember how to hold a blade?” Akama asked. Maiev was about to pour scorn on his head, but something in his manner stopped her.

“That is not something I could ever forget.”

“I hope so,” said Akama.

“Why are you here?”

“The Horde and the Alliance besiege the Temple of Karabor. They have made common cause with the Aldor and the Scryers. Even some of the naaru are present.”

There was a sense of finality. “Has the Betrayer sent you to kill me? Does he lack the courage to do it himself?”

Akama raised a stubby finger to his lips. The Ashtongue leader considered his words and, just for a moment, allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. “You are not that important to him. Even as his empire descends into fire and ruin, he appears more concerned with other things. Fortunately for you and for me.”

Maiev allowed herself to hope. She kept her features absolutely calm and cold. She did not want to give her enemies the satisfaction of seeing that they had gotten to her. “You think he will be brought down, then?”

“Who knows? Even now he is the mightiest being in Outland, surrounded by lieutenants of near-equal power. The temple is a fortress unparalleled in this world. He might hold out there for years. His enemies might fall out among themselves. I have known him for too long to think his downfall will be easy.”

“And yet you think he might be overthrown.”

“A small force of sufficient power could infiltrate the temple, if they were given the appropriate aid.”

“And of course you are in a position to give such aid. Forgive me if I have some trouble believing you. I seem to have heard a story like this before. Last time this tale did not turn out so well for me or those with me. Or your people, either, if my memory serves me correctly.”

Akama had the grace to look ashamed, but he still met her gaze. “This time, one way or another, there will be a different ending.”

“I do not believe you.”

“I can convince you.”

“How?” Maiev put all the scorn she could muster into her voice, but she could not help but feel hope rising in her breast.

“Stand back,” Akama said. He waited for her to do so and then invoked a powerful stream of magic. The locking spells fell away. Unable to quite believe what she was seeing, Maiev pushed the door of her cell. It swung open.

She was tempted to spring on Akama and wring his treacherous neck, but she was unarmed and he was still powerful. She did not doubt that he had bodyguards within call.

“If you are playing with me, ancient one, I will kill you.” The words escaped her lips before she could stop them.

“You might find that difficult to do without weapons and armor,” Akama said.

“I trust you are going to rectify that immediately.”

“You trust correctly. This time.”

Maiev pulled on her gauntlets, then raised her helm and placed it on her head as if it were a crown. A complex weave of protective magic sprang into being around her. She breathed a sigh of relief. She had power now, and she was not going to let herself be imprisoned again. This time, if it was a trap, she would force them to kill her.

Akama stood nearby in the guardroom, holding her umbra crescent. Maiev had noticed the demon corpses on the way. All that remained of her jailors were Ashtongue. The demons were dead. That was a pity. She would have liked to kill the abominations herself.

She held out her hand in an imperious gesture, demanding her weapon. Akama looked down at it, as if guessing what the first thing she would do when she got it in her hands would be.

“Are you frightened I am going to kill you?”

“I am frightened you are going to try.”

“And why should I not?”

“Because you are not stupid. Let us not play games with each other, Maiev Shadowsong. You are free because I have set you free. You can indulge a childish thirst for revenge or you can help me overthrow our true enemy.”

“I can do both.”

“No. You cannot. I alone can get you into the Temple of Karabor. I alone can guide you to the Betrayer. Decide now whom you wish to kill. Me or him. That is your choice.”

“Why should I believe you this time?”

“Because I am risking more than my life to free you. I am risking my soul and my people. I have kept you alive for a purpose, Maiev Shadowsong. I have hoarded your life as if it were my greatest treasure. Follow me this day and you will face Illidan and perhaps conquer him. Kill me and you can walk free, but you may never get another chance to slay the Betrayer. Which is it going to be?”

Without saying another word, Akama thrust the blade into her hand. He stood watchful and ready. Maiev felt the weight of the weapon. She turned it over and over. If any spells booby-trapped it, she could not see them. She was tempted for a moment to stab Akama in his treacherous heart, but she restrained herself.

“You may have your life. I will have justice from Illidan.”

“No,” said Akama. “You will have vengeance on him. I think that will give you more satisfaction.”

Illidan looked out from the battlements. A seething ocean of armored flesh broke against the walls of the Black Temple. Spells surged toward the defensive wards. Thousands of soldiers pressed forward to do battle with his demons.

He sensed the presence of more than just mortals down there. He discerned the pulsing of naaru. So much for the promises the elder naaru had made back on Argus. It looked as if only one of them had faith in his destiny. The beings down there were certainly against him.

Illidan shrugged his shoulders. His wings rose, emphasizing the gesture. “It matters not.”

His councilors looked shocked. One or two of them smiled and tried to put a brave face on things, as if they believed that he had a plan that could save them. “We trust in your judgment, Lord,” said Gathios the Shatterer.

“Trust in the walls of the Black Temple,” Illidan replied, “and in your own spells and blades. Go below and prepare for battle. I do not think our new guests will be leaving anytime soon, and we should ready a proper reception for them.”

Illidan considered ordering that Maiev be executed before she could be rescued. It would be a small morsel of vengeance, perhaps the only one he would get. Who would do it? Akama, perhaps. Where was the Broken? Illidan invoked the spell he had used upon the leader of the Ashtongue. It was still in place. The shade was bound and could be unleashed if it should prove necessary. There was a certain satisfaction to be had in knowing it was so. No. He would not kill Maiev yet, not while there was still a chance she could be made to suffer.

A group of draenei paladins in the tabard of the Alliance charged down the road toward the gates of the Black Temple. Of course, those sanctimonious oafs would be leading the charge. They believed in opposing evil wherever they found it, and he fit into their simple-minded view of what evil was. To them he even looked the part. A mass of his demonic guardians raced to meet them. Magical hammers clashed against fel weapons. It was difficult to see who had won amid the swirling melee; then the Alliance soldiers were thrown back.

A company of brutish-looking Horde trolls moved to reinforce the paladins. Among them flitted shadowy figures who struck with astonishing power and deadliness when the demons’ backs were turned. Illidan could see the shimmer of spells concealing them. Apparently his demonic allies could not.

It looked as if the attackers would prevail—but then a shower of meteors crashed into the ground around the combat and broke asunder, revealing themselves to be infernals. One of the warlocks within the temple had taken a hand.

Illidan took stock of the situation. The temple was well supplied, and the sorcerers within it could summon demonic aid almost indefinitely. But there were magi out there among the attackers, and others who could counter his warlocks.

Plumes of dust in the distance announced the arrival of reinforcements for the attackers. They had the advantage of numbers, and that was only likely to keep growing. The Alliance and the Horde had the resources of a world to draw on, and armies that had been honed in endless battles. Their presence beyond his walls showed exactly how strong they had grown.

He studied his own defenses. In the training grounds, the Dragonmaw clan orcs had gathered. Overhead their dragons flew in formation. Their armies mustered in companies around the siege engines. At the entrance to the Sanctuary of Shadows, Supremus stood. The abyssal loomed over even the gigantic Illidari fearbringers who stalked through the courtyard, wings flapping, weapons held at the ready.

Any attacker who got beyond Supremus would have to enter the Sanctuary of Shadows and face more bound demons and sorcerers. And beyond them, layer after layer of defenses waited.

Illidan returned to contemplating the assaulting army. A huge disturbance loomed around the gates. Enormous battering rams rolled forward, propelled by sorcery. Wave after wave of Aldor and Scryer troops did battle with his demonic defenders.

It did not matter how strong his defenses were. Enough force was being brought to bear that the temple would eventually fall.

Deceiver, they called Kil’jaeden. It seemed he had deceived them all once again. He had not committed his own forces here because he knew he did not have to. His enemies could only be weakened by fighting each other. When this battle was over, the Legion would intervene and destroy them. By defending the temple strongly, Illidan was only doing Kil’jaeden’s work for him.

But what else could he do? Surrender would serve no purpose. His enemies were sworn to slay him. He just needed to hold on until the portal was complete, and then…

Illidan had made a mistake, concentrating all his attention on the Burning Legion and the quest for Argus. His wings curled tightly around his form for a moment until he forced them to relax.

This was a sideshow. The Black Temple was the greatest fortress in Outland. He had time to complete the creation of the gateway to Argus. He needed to make a start now.

Illidan returned to his casting chamber. His head ached. His body felt weak. Doubts assailed him from every side. Did he really have enough time to complete the gate? What if the forces besieging his citadel found a weak spot in the defenses? What if he had miscalculated even that? There was still the way in through the sewers. He should reinforce High Warlord Naj’entus with more naga and elementals.

He studied the half-complete pattern. It would have been his masterpiece. He picked up the Skull of Gul’dan and turned it over and over in his hands. Is this how you felt at the end, old orc? Defeated before you could even start?

He walked to the edge of the pattern, studied symbols inscribed in his own blood, read the messages of power there that were almost ready to spring to life and open a passage across the entire face of the universe.

He had thought he had factored everything into his plan. He had thought he had time. He turned the skull so that he looked into its empty eye sockets. Its death’s-head grin mocked him.

He remembered the vision the naaru had given him. Was that a mockery, too? He tightened his grip on the skull, almost ready to crush it into tiny pieces.

This was not over. He would rally the defenses of the Black Temple. If need be, he could provide an anchor for the gateway himself. He could hold a way open by pure force of will if he had to. He was not going to fail now at this final hurdle.

He would strike at the heart of the Burning Legion, no matter what it cost.