Illidan

31

Wearily Illidan emerged into his council chamber. The demon hunters were away. He had done all he could. He wished he could have gone with them, but he had needed to remain behind as one mystical pole of the portal, to hold the way open.

Now it was only a matter of waiting. Holding open that portal had taken almost all his strength and all the power within the soul siphon.

Lady Malande looked at him. “The Ashtongue have betrayed us. Our servants have turned against us. The gates are open.”

“They must have planned this all along,” said Gathios the Shatterer.

Illidan reached out with his sorcerous senses. The binding spell he had maintained on Akama’s shade was gone. Akama had freed himself and, in doing so, had freed his people. The old Broken had been more cunning than he thought. One more miscalculation. Illidan had been too busy with the portal to Argus and his demon hunters to pay attention to Akama. Still, he would find a way to make the leader of the Broken pay.

“I sensed a portal opening,” said High Nethermancer Zerevor. “I thought you had escaped, oh lord.”

His expression held a complex mix of emotions: gladness that his overlord was still there, puzzlement as to why. If he wanted an explanation, he was doomed to disappointment.

Illidan sensed events closing in all around him. Things were unwinding. He was trapped by fate, his plans half complete. He thought of the vision the naaru had shown him. He doubted now that the creature was of the Light. Perhaps it had been part of the trap Kil’jaeden set for him. It had lulled him into a false sense of security at a critical time. Everything he had worked for so long to achieve had come undone.

Perhaps his demon hunters would fail. Perhaps he had only sent them to their doom. He resigned himself to the fact that he would never know. All he could do now was stand his ground. He would not give his enemies the satisfaction of his surrender. He would never be imprisoned again.

He regarded his councilors. They still looked to him for leadership. “Defend this place,” he said. “Guard the way into the summit of the temple. There is a spell I will cast. It may turn the battle our way. We will yet overthrow our enemies. We are not defeated yet.”

Akama stepped over the corpse of High Nethermancer Zerevor. Ahead of him loomed the sealed gateway to the summit of the temple. It had been a swift, hard-fought battle to get to this point. They had left a trail of broken bodies and shattered sentinels through the perfumed gardens and palatial apartments the blood elves occupied. Now ahead of him lay the great black door beyond which Illidan worked his evil magic. What new fiendish spell was he casting?

The adventurers from Azeroth waited to see what he would do.

Akama said, “This door is all that stands between us and the Betrayer. Stand aside, friends.”

He studied the spell sealing the way to the summit. It was a thing of fantastic intricacy, composed over multiple interlocking weaves of force. It would take a sorcerer a lifetime to unravel it. Fortunately, he did not need to do so. He merely needed to shatter it.

He drew upon all his strength and launched it at the doorway. Somehow that fragile-looking structure resisted. He increased the amount of power, his spell rending and clawing at the seal with all the energies he commanded. It was still not enough. His shoulders slumped. He had come so far, risked so much.

“I cannot do this alone…” Frustration forced the words from Akama’s lips.

He sensed the presence of others of his people. Powerful spirits, familiar and mighty ghosts, unleashed to stalk through the Temple of Karabor by the events of the day.

“You are not alone, Akama,” said one of the spirits. It wore the form of his onetime companion, the seer Udalo.

“Your people will always be with you!” The other spirit had taken the shape of Seer Olum. Akama was struck with awe.

I had not thought to see you so soon, old friend. The seer had been one of Akama’s closest allies, until Vashj’s naga discovered that Olum was plotting to depose the Betrayer. Olum had asked Akama to slay him in order to keep up the appearance that the Ashtongue were loyal to Illidan. Akama had sadly complied.

The spirits added their strength to his own. Slowly at first, the binding spell began to come apart, shredded by the torrent of power thrown at it, power backed by the will of an entire people freed from chains.

The spell collapsed. The ghosts began to fade. Akama said, “I thank you for your aid, brothers. Our people will be redeemed!”

Had Akama the time to reflect, he would have wept with joy. Olum’s sacrifice had allowed him to get to this door, and his spirit had returned to help him open it. It was a good omen. But triumph warred with dread within Akama’s soul. Soon he and his allies would have to face the Betrayer. Even after all this time, all his scheming, and all his planning, Akama was not certain that he was prepared for that.

Illidan felt the seal give way on the gateway to the Black Temple’s summit. Akama had grown powerful indeed to tear it down so quickly. He had learned a great deal during his time within Illidan’s service, including how to work counterspells against his master’s magic. Illidan remained crouched down, wings wrapped around his body, taking these last few moments to draw what power he could to himself before the final conflict of his life was upon him.

Filled with trepidation, Akama entered the summit. Even now victory was far from certain. The Betrayer might find some way of turning things around even as Akama’s people threw the gates of the temple open to welcome the Aldor and the Scryers and their allies.

Illidan crouched down on the far side of the summit. In the center was a great grill, shielding a central well that went all the way down into the heart of the Temple of Karabor. The Betrayer held a skull in his hands as if contemplating a reminder of his own mortality. He was utterly still, immobile as one dead. Surely he could not have taken his own life.

Akama studied the aura swirling around his former master. No. He yet lived. Titanic swells of energy rose within him. He was merely gathering his strength.

All around, Akama’s allies checked their weapons nervously. Illidan seemed to be waiting for all his enemies to enter. It was as if he wanted them all in one place and had no fear of their superior numbers. Given the powers on which he could call, Akama thought his lack of concern might be justified.

Where are his mutated soldiers? Akama wondered. All through the battle in the temple, Akama had looked for the demon hunters to appear, but there was no sign of their presence. Nor was there any sign of the great portal Akama had sensed being opened. He had expected Illidan to flee through it. In truth he would have half welcomed it, because it would have averted this final, likely fatal confrontation.

It spoke volumes of the Betrayer’s confidence that he gave the intruders time to prepare themselves. Akama pushed the thoughts aside and began to draw on his own powers.

Illidan studied the forces arrayed against him. It felt strange to see so many enemies within the heart of the Black Temple. It was even stranger in its way to see Akama standing beside them. He still could not believe the old Broken had the nerve to do such a thing. He had eluded all the traps and escaped all the shackles Illidan had prepared for him. And now he was here, surrounded by these outsiders he had brought to fight for him.

Anger filled Illidan’s heart. He stared hard at Akama, letting his contempt show on his face. “Akama. Your duplicity is hardly surprising. I should have slaughtered you and your malformed brethren long ago.”

Akama recoiled from the venom in Illidan’s voice. He took a moment to gather himself and said, “We have come to end your reign, Illidan. My people and all of Outland shall be free!”

“Boldly said. But I remain…unconvinced.”

“The time has come! The moment is at hand!”

Illidan glared at the Broken and his pathetic allies. “You are not prepared.”

A massive warrior emerged from the pack, garbed in heavy plate, protective spells woven around him. Illidan saw the network of defensive magic that connected him to the Azerothian casters.

Illidan leapt forward and struck a powerful blow with his warglaive. The warrior raised a shield to block it. Illidan took advantage of the opening to slash at his neck with the left-hand blade. Blood spurted from the warrior’s throat, but healing magic surged in, drawing the blood back and knitting torn flesh and severed veins.

Illidan summoned a parasitic shadowfiend to him. The creature slithered out of the Twisting Nether and into reality, racing toward the spellcaster who had done the healing. Unless the shadowfiend was stopped, it would soon spawn more.

A hail of spells smashed into Illidan’s defenses but did not overcome them. For mortals, these casters were potent, but he would show them they were no match for the lord of Outland.

Illidan spread his arms wide and summoned fire. A great swath of it blazed all around him, scorching his attackers. One of them screamed and fell, his skin blackened, his eyeballs popping from the heat. Illidan laughed. The sorcerers among his host of enemies frantically redirected their spells to protect themselves.

Illidan sensed a presence behind him, a shadow figure bearing two blades. The poison coating the swords made his nostrils twitch. He turned just as his assailant was about to drive the weapons into his back. With one hand he caught him by the throat. With a word of power, he ignited his foe’s flesh with persistent fire and cast him aside to burn down to blackened bones.

An arrow flashed toward Illidan’s head. He turned so it glanced off his horn. A gigantic hunting beast bounded right at him. He summoned a wall of shadows that began to drain away the life of the beast and all the attackers close by. Their energy flooded into him, fueling his spells. He blocked another thrust, chopped down his attacker.

Wild joy flowed through his veins. He exulted in every death he caused, feeding on it. Every fallen foe filled him with glee and an urge to scream his triumph to the skies. They had come to slay him, had they? Well, they would find out he did not die so easily.

In battle the Betrayer was awesome. Akama had to admit it. The Broken’s allies were among the greatest fighters of Azeroth, and he was aiding them as best he could, but one by one they were going down. Attacking Illidan now was like attacking a wounded rabid wolf. It was clear that he intended to drag as many down into death with him as he could. Worse, his unrelenting savagery might yet lead to his victory. If he triumphed here, he might leave this place and rally the defenders of the Black Temple. Then things would look black indeed for Akama’s people.

Where is Maiev? Akama wondered. Her presence at this juncture could turn the whole course of the battle.

“Come, my minions!” Illidan bellowed. “Deal with this traitor as he deserves!”

Akama sensed the approach of reinforcements loyal to the Betrayer. If they should arrive and flank Illidan’s attackers…

Akama shouted, “I will deal with these mongrels! Strike now, friends! Strike at the Betrayer!”

He turned away from the fight to confront the onrushing sentries. His allies were on their own.

The massive form of the sentinel golem loomed over Maiev, reaching out for her with its enormous metal hands. Maiev dispatched the blood elven construct with a blow and glanced around. All through the vast area of the pleasure gardens, she had found signs of conflict. Dead concubines sprawled on the flowering swards, poisoned blades clutched in their hands. The severed limbs and heads of sin’dorei sorcerers lay beside them. Akama and his allies had left a trail of destruction that was easy to follow.

She raced up the stairs. Somewhere above her she sensed titanic energies being unleashed. She recognized them as being wielded by the Betrayer. It looked as if the final battle had started without her. She raced on toward the conflict, praying to Elune that she would not be too late to mete judgment.

The paladin brought her gleaming hammer crashing down. It hit the ground in front of Illidan, splintering the stonework. He leapt into the air, wings beating powerfully, and surveyed his attackers. He spread his arms wide and called once more upon the power of flames. A huge fireball blasted down in the midst of his enemies. A warrior raced from the firestorm, burning cloak blazing behind him like the tail of a comet.

Illidan focused his gaze on the ground before him, summoning blue demon fire. A druid rushed into it. It clung to her form, burning her even as she rolled on the floor in an attempt to extinguish the flames.

Lightning bolts smashed up at Illidan from the ground. The air turned cold as one particularly bold wizard attempted to draw on the strength of ice to neutralize his power. Illidan sent a barrage of shadowy bolts raining down on him. The mage howled as they ravaged his flesh.

Now it was time to show these fools the true meaning of power.

He tossed his warglaives to the ground and then called upon the power within them. “I will not be touched by rabble such as you! Behold the flames of Azzinoth.”

Twin flame elementals leapt forth in answer to his call. A line of fire linked them. They swarmed toward his attackers, who moved into a defensive circle.

The Betrayer took advantage of this distraction to rest. Beneath him the invaders lashed at his summonings with enchanted weapons and a barrage of spells. Another pair fell before they could overcome the burning elementals.

Illidan marshaled the last of his strength, determined to slay as many of his foes as he could before death had a chance to claim him.

He plunged down amid his attackers, drawing once more upon his fel power. It encased his form, transforming him into something gigantic, demonic, unstoppable. He lashed out with bursts of flame, incinerating his foes, burning flesh and blood and spirit.

A warlock cloaked with spells of protection charged at him, staff raised high. Illidan struck at her, but the wards surrounding the warlock neutralized some of the power of his blow. More and more spells hammered at him. He felt corruption seeded within his flesh. It started to rot. He imbued the shadows surrounding his body with a fragment of his will and then separated them off to bedevil his attackers. He did this again and again as his opponents attacked.

He sent waves of hellish fire sweeping over them. It was getting harder to kill his foes, either because he was weaker than at the start of the fight or because all the easiest enemies to slay were down. The constant hammering of the magical bolts was draining his strength. The enemy attacks reached a crescendo as his foes desperately tried to bring him down.

Then came a moment of calm. He had ridden out the storm. He stood upright, glared at his opponents, and said, “Is this it, mortals? Is this all the fury you can muster?”

A cold, familiar voice echoed across the summit. “Their fury pales before mine, Illidan. We have some unsettled business between us.”

Illidan turned his head. An all-too-familiar armored figure stood there, weapon at the ready. At first he wondered if it was an illusion, a specter summoned from the depths of his imagination by some spell. His spectral sight told him otherwise. The figure had weight and mass and presence. He knew that armor well. He knew that blade. He recognized the arrogant superiority of the voice and stance. No doubt about it. Warden Maiev was here.

Rage boiled within him. He struggled to speak. All this time, he had her within his grasp and had not killed her. Now she was here. Memories of his long imprisonment flooded back. “Maiev…” How was it even possible?

But he already knew the answer. Akama. He had been responsible for her imprisonment.

Akama’s cohorts drew themselves up in a new battle line. They seemed to have gained strength and confidence from Maiev’s presence and his discomfiture.

Illidan could almost see the cruel smile curving Maiev’s lips beneath her helmet. “Ah, my long hunt is finally over,” she said. “Today, justice will be done.”

Maiev launched herself forward, blade swirling in her hand. Illidan tried to stop her. Evil shadows clawed at her. Waves of fire swept over her. Yet her armor protected her as she closed the distance. She lashed out at the Betrayer. He parried. They stood for a moment, breast-to-breast, close as lovers. She sensed the blazing fury in him, the pent-up hatred and energy.

She unleashed the spell she had brooded on during her months of imprisonment. The enchantment glittered on the ground before her and she stepped back from it. The Betrayer pounced, activating the spell. Bonds of energy lashed out from the trap, draining power from him. His face twisted as he realized what was happening.

Akama’s allies rushed into the fray, weapons bared, spells glittering in the air. Weapons thundered home. Illidan slashed at them, twisting to avoid their blows, countering their spells, but he had lost some of his fury. He stumbled forward into another trap Maiev had unleashed. The Azerothians pursued him as he reeled under the impact of the magic.

Maiev had eyes only for her ancient enemy. She knew, as surely as he did, that this would be their final meeting. One of them was not going to walk away from this. She thought of Anyndra, Sarius, and all the others who had died along the road to this moment. She thought about her own imprisonment. It had sharpened her hunger for justice. Her entire life had been leading up to this.

Maiev’s and Illidan’s weapons flickered too fast for the eye to follow. Blade parried blade. Ward countered destructive spell. Whatever Illidan threw at her, she neutralized. Victory rode on her every stroke. She was going to win. She could tell from his expression that Illidan understood this, too.

More spells smashed into him. She wanted to tell the others to stop. She wished to defeat him one-on-one, to enjoy a solitary triumph, but it was too late for that. She would have to settle for seeing justice executed.

The ending came suddenly. A flicker of steel and spells blurred the air and her blade bit home, passing through ribs, biting into flesh, seeking the heart that still beat in Illidan’s demonically mutated chest.

For a moment, he attempted to strike back. His lips twisted into an arrogant sneer. He looked as if he was about to utter another spell, but then the realization of what happened hit him, along with the pain, and he crumpled to his knees.

Illidan looked up in disbelief. His gaze met Maiev’s. Her eyes glared down coldly at him. Her stare belonged to a predator that had finally dragged down its prey. There was satisfaction there, and madness, and something else. She had killed him, but she did not realize what she had done.

“It is finished,” she said. “You are beaten.”

Feeling the pain exploding in his chest, he knew the truth of her words. His time had finally run out. All those long years of study, of fighting, of imprisonment were done. He looked at her and felt a fleeting moment of sympathy for her. She did not understand that it was over for her, too. He forced the words from his lips. “You have won…Maiev. But the huntress…is nothing without the hunt. You…are nothing…without me.”

Blackness swept over him. Just for a moment he had a vision of a sigil, the same one the naaru had placed on his forehead. It blazed in lines of golden light for an instant, and then the universe went dark.

Maiev stood over the corpse of Illidan. Her eyes narrowed as she studied her prey to make sure he was dead.

She was not certain what exactly she was waiting for. The exultation of triumph. The pleasure of a victory long delayed. Nothing came.

His corpse looked merely shabby in death. All the power, all the magnificence, had drained out of it. Here lay just another monster who had proved fodder to her blade. Looking at Illidan’s body, she thought, This is what I spent all the long millennia of my life trying to achieve? It did not seem to be enough for the expenditure of all those years and all those lives.

She thought about his words. Had there been a spell woven into them, a last curse from the fallen lord of Outland? She inspected the weave of defensive spells around her and found them intact. If Illidan had cursed her, it was with greater subtlety than any mage in history.

No. There was no magic in his words. Only truth. She had dedicated so much of her life to hunting the Betrayer that now she felt lost. She was hollow.

“He is right,” she said softly. “I feel nothing. I am nothing.” She looked at Akama’s allies. Were they responsible for this? Had they robbed her of her triumph by their presence? In a moment of near madness, she considered attacking them, but she pushed the thought from her mind.

“Farewell, champions,” she said. She barely glanced at the returning Akama as she swept from the summit.

Akama watched Maiev leave. The Broken had driven off the Betrayer’s reinforcements to give his allies time to slay Illidan, and slay him they had, with the help of the mighty night elf. He would have liked to thank her, but he was relieved she was gone. There was no telling what one so violent, impulsive, and powerful would do under these circumstances. She had reason to hate him. He was glad she had not tried to take vengeance on him as well.

Akama looked down on the body of his former master. It looked smaller now, and when he bent to lift it, it felt lighter than that of a child, as if all weight had left it with the spirit of its owner. There was still a mystery here. Where were the demon hunters? Why had they not entered the fray? He had sensed the portal Illidan had opened. If they had gone through it, where did it lead? Had they really gone to Argus? He pushed the thoughts aside. These were problems for another day. Now he must deal with the consequences of victory.

The summit looked as if demons had made war in it. Stone had melted and flowed like lava. Patches of shadow clung where no shadow should have been.

This place would need to be purified, he thought. Shrines would need to be built, services for the fallen to be held. There was a lot of work to be done here. But his people could do it. They were whole once more, and together there was nothing they could not achieve.

“The Light will fill these dismal halls once again,” he said. “I swear it.”

Then he turned and limped away from where the lord of Outland had fallen.

Vandel woke, if it could be called waking. His arm was scarred where Maiev’s blade had bit into it. His wounds had knit together, but he felt weak. His skull ached from a huge gash.

Glancing around, he saw that the training grounds were full of Aldor and Scryer fighters. They chanted victory songs, swigged from one another’s canteens, slapped one another on the back. All the rivalries between the two factions seemed to be forgotten.

Among the soldiers were the Ashtongue. There was a new confidence about the Broken. They moved with purpose, not listlessness. They eyed their surroundings with the air of owners who had newly come into their heritage.

Vandel tested his limbs. They still worked. He crawled into a patch of shadow and willed himself invisible.

“The Betrayer is dead!” shouted a blood elf triumphantly. The announcement was greeted with cheers. He could hear them echo around the vast courtyard where once the Dragonmaw had gathered their mighty steeds and demons sworn to the service of Illidan had walked.

Could it be true? Looking at the aftermath of the carnage, Vandel could not see how it could not be. He thought about the threat of the Burning Legion. What would happen now that the only leader who had ever understood its true magnitude was gone? Where were Vandel’s fellows?

He reached out with his senses, stretching them to the limits as he tried to find another demon hunter. They were all vanished, as if they had never been. Could they all be dead? Was he the last? Was Illidan’s great war finished before it had even begun?

Black despair swept over him. In the midst of the songs of triumph, he felt like weeping. These would-be heroes had no understanding of the damage they had done.

All was lost. There was nothing more to do here. He could throw himself into their midst, striking right and left until he was cut down for certain this time. He looked at the amulet he had made for Khariel so long ago. There would be no vengeance. He rose to attack, drew on the fel energies that would let him slay and slay.

Then he heard it, Illidan’s familiar voice, a whisper so faint that it might have come from the far edge of the universe or the other side of death, or from the deepest recesses of his memory.

You must be prepared.

He paused for a moment, restraining the urge to violence. The voice sounded too real to be a mere memory. It was as if the Betrayer was speaking to him as when he had summoned him for the final time. Was it possible that some remnant of his spirit survived?

There would be time to think about such things later. Now there was still work to be done. Demons to be slain. Revenge to be taken. Perhaps he could pass on the message, train others, try to be ready for the final days, when the Burning Legion reappeared seeking ultimate victory.

He drew upon his demon’s energies, stepped deeper into shadow, and vanished into the night.