William King - Illidan

“That hardly seems like a recommendation to trust him.”

“The Sha’tar do.”

“I fear I cannot.”

“Then it is probably just as well that he is no longer in the city. The naaru have dispatched him to the Netherstorm—or so I have heard. To investigate some strange appearances there.”

“You are uncommonly well informed, Alexius.”

“I am an innkeeper. We hear things, particularly when we keep our ears to the ground.”

“I am glad that you have done so. Of course, I would be displeased to discover that you had been talking about my business with anyone else.”

Alexius looked wounded. “You were sent here by my cousin. It would be a betrayal of all the laws of kinship and hospitality for me to do so.”

“Of course. I just wanted to make sure we understood each other.”

“Now you sound like my cousin. I can see why he liked you.”

So this is the Terrace of Light, Maiev thought. It was impressive in its odd way. The air shimmered. Crystalline notes sounded. Huge glowing blue crystals descended from the roof of the vast circular chamber. The scent of incense twitched her nostrils. At the center, over a massive stone dais, hovered a glowing entity of enormous power. The naaru. Its shape shifted constantly from one geometric form to another, but it returned most often to an outline that resembled that of a star.

Hundreds of petitioners came and went, along with priestly servants who no doubt belonged to the Aldor. Robed blood elves, wearing the tabard of the Scryers, stared at her. They did not look hostile, but they did not look friendly, either. They seemed to be wondering what she was going to do.

She made her way through the crowd, studying her surroundings. Above her the giant domed roof of the terrace echoed back the sounds of prayers and petitions.

It was some time before she confronted the naaru. She was grateful. It gave her a chance to become accustomed to its awesome presence. A’dal shimmered like a chained sun. Unleashed, the naaru’s power might destroy cities or level mountains. The full blast of its attention focused on her when she stepped forward to greet it. It was all she could do to prevent herself from kneeling. She kept her head high and glanced straight into its light. Maiev felt as if the naaru was able to read her the way she might read an unfurled scroll. There was something about this being that made her feel like little more than a child.

“Greetings, Warden Shadowsong,” A’dal said. The naaru radiated serenity. Its calm, pleasant voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Perhaps it was speaking inside her mind. “I am A’dal.”

“Elune shines on the moment of our meeting,” Maiev said.

A’dal said, “How can I aid you?”

“You know who I am?”

“Yes.”

“You know what I do?”

“Yes.”

“I have come to Outland in search of Illidan. I mean to return him to his place of incarceration.”

“An ambitious goal. Illidan styles himself the lord of Outland now. He has the power to make good on that claim. Who are you to oppose him?”

“One who held him bound for ten times a thousand years.”

“A blink in the eye of eternity.”

Maiev’s smile was rueful. “It seemed long enough to me.”

“As you mortals measure time, it was, no doubt.”

“But not as the naaru do?”

“We see these things differently from you. We have no bodies to age. We are beings of Light.”

“Then you know Illidan must be opposed.”

“It is a task you seem admirably suited to.”

“It is the work of my life.”

“I can see that, and it makes me regret all the more that we have no aid to give you at this time.”

“What?” The word burst from her lips before she could stop it.

“Alas, we, too, have a mission in this place. We oppose the Burning Legion. This is a task that takes all our resources.”

“But Illidan serves the Legion. Opposing him can only aid you.”

“At this moment Illidan opposes the Legion. He is its enemy. We take advantage of this to gather our strength.”

“At this moment he opposes the demons. While it suits him. When it no longer does so, he will crawl back to his masters on his belly, as he always has.”

“Your hatred blinds you.”

“It is not hatred. I seek justice for those he has killed, for those he has betrayed, for those he will murder. You cannot tell me that you believe that Illidan is any better than the Burning Legion.”

“You have no concept of the true nature of the Burning Legion, Warden Shadowsong.”

“And you do?”

“We have opposed it for a thousand times your lifetime. We shall oppose it until the end of all that is.”

“I need more than fine words if I am to bring Illidan to justice.”

“Unfortunately, words are all I have for you now. You must find your own path. You are not without allies here, even if you cannot see that. You can find more if you make the attempt. The chief magister of the Scryers waits to speak with you.”

“A blood elf?”

“One of your people.”

“The blood elves are not my people. They turned their back on my people long ago. We have nothing in common.”

“Save perhaps an enemy.”

“I will have nothing to do with those heretics.”

“That would be your choice.”

Maiev reined in her fury. She bowed and turned on her heel without waiting for A’dal to terminate the audience. She heard gasps from nearby blood elves, which gave her some satisfaction. A tall blood elf in the tabard of a Scryer moved toward her. He was most likely the one A’dal had mentioned. She swept by him without giving him the opportunity to speak.

It seemed that she still had some principles. There were those with whom she would not consider a pact. Even to bring down the Betrayer.

Vandel moaned and tried to sit up. His head spun. He stretched out his hands, trying to maintain his balance, but that just made things worse. He crashed back to the hard floor, smacking his head. His forehead felt wet beneath his questing fingers. He had cut himself again. Blood matted his hair from his previous attempts at rising.

He dry heaved. The demon meat in his stomach was fighting its way free. The thought sickened him, and yet it also made his mouth water.

All around, he could hear screams and groans and babbling. Sometimes he recognized the voices of his fellow aspirants. Sometimes, he thought it was all his imagination, that he was trapped in a private hell of his own making. The air stank of rotting flesh, gangrene, pus, and excrement.

At regular intervals, the hooves of Broken servants clattered on the stone floor as they cleaned the chambers and washed the sick. Twice they had swabbed him with sponges, and he had tried to force them away. All he wanted was to be left alone.

Glowworms of color writhed across his field of vision. At first they had given him hope that he might be starting to see again, but now he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, pretending to see things whenever he heard others near.

“Broken moon, demon moon, blood moon!” He knew that shouting voice from somewhere, but he was not sure from where. “Demons approach. A demon approaches.”

Leathery wings snapped. Displaced air swirled around his face.

“On your feet,” Illidan’s voice said. “You have rested long enough.”

It was the first time Vandel had heard the Betrayer’s voice since the ritual. He felt his lips tighten into a sneer. “What is the point? I cannot see.”

“I thought the same thing once. But now I can see to the end of the universe. It is closer than most think.”