William King - Illidan

He heard someone shout, “Another one. Get Akama!”

Then he passed out.

Vandel woke to the awareness of power all around him. It was soothing. The areas he had cut felt numb. They tingled, but the sensation was almost pleasant. Someone stood over him. He smelled like a Broken. His aura blazed with magic.

“You are Akama?” Vandel’s voice was weak and his throat felt parched.

“Yes. You are Vandel.” It was not a question. “You clearly impressed Lord Illidan. He asked me to look after you personally.”

“You are a healer?”

“I am. I do what I can to help the sick and the wounded.”

“Which am I?”

“A bit of both, I would say, and something else as well. There is a taint in you that I mislike.”

“Whatever it is, I thank you for your help.”

“You are welcome, and you are also lucky the guards found you in time. You are the fifth of the new recruits to have attempted suicide in the past two days. You are the only one who has lived.”

“I did not attempt suicide.”

“What else would you call it? You hacked at your own flesh until you almost bled to death. You would have, if you had hit an artery. What has been done to you?”

There was a note below the natural curiosity in Akama’s voice that made Vandel wary. “You do not know?”

“I know only that Lord Illidan takes many of your people into that courtyard, and only a few come out, and those altered almost beyond recognition. If he is trying to create an army, he has chosen a funny way of doing so. Killing recruits rarely leads to a large force.”

“If you do not know what is going on, it would perhaps be better not to ask. Lord Illidan has his reasons, and if he wants you to know them, he will share them with you.”

Akama made a tut-tutting sound. “As you say. There is a good deal that goes on here in the temple that it is best not to be curious about.”

As if to echo this, a mighty bellow sounded from deep belowground. The stones seemed to vibrate in time to the roaring.

“Another monster bound in the temple’s defense,” said Akama.

Vandel ignored the Broken. A jolt of memory passed through him. Four others had killed themselves. He recalled Illidan’s words. It was possible that fewer than one in five of the recruits was going to survive the transformation. Vandel had thought the Betrayer had been talking only about the ritual, but it occurred to him now that he had also meant its aftermath.

He felt a sudden certainty that things were just beginning and that the worst still lay ahead.

Illidan strode into the council chamber. Akama followed at his heels like a faithful dog. The Broken seemed to be doing everything possible to look like a loyal servant. Perhaps he suspected that Veras Darkshadow’s agents were watching him, and had been ever since his mysterious disappearances from the Black Temple had become numerous enough to attract Veras’s attention. It was possible that Darkshadow simply wanted to discredit a rival, but his claims had aroused Illidan’s curiosity.

All eyes turned to look at him. There was fear in every gaze. The Burning Legion had struck hard. Prince Kael’thas had been missing for weeks, ever since he had set out in command of an expeditionary force to the Netherstorm. Everyone present knew that the war was not going well, and they expected to feel Illidan’s wrath because of it. It did not matter. All was going according to plan as long as his demon hunters were coming along.

Illidan stalked over to the great map table. Massive gems carved to represent demonic transporters marred a dozen locations. They glittered like plague boils on the face of the world. They dotted Nagrand and Hellfire Peninsula, the Netherstorm and the Blade’s Edge Mountains. It seemed that almost every province of Outland held at least one, sometimes more.

“Each of these marks a new forge camp, Lord Illidan,” said Gathios the Shatterer, a little too quickly. He had risen from his carved throne as soon as Illidan entered, and he stood there as if called to attention by a commanding officer. “The Burning Legion has set up bases there and fortified them. I have been putting together contingency plans to assault them and throw the demons back.”

“Have you, Gathios?” Illidan kept his voice deceptively mild. “And how exactly do you intend to do that? Each of those forge camps contains a transporter. They can be reinforced by demons at a moment’s notice.”

“Lord Illidan, we closed Magtheridon’s portals with your aid. Surely we can close these.”

Illidan studied the map. “Every time we close a portal, another appears. Kil’jaeden can draw upon near-infinite forces. He toys with us.”

Lady Malande gave a nervous giggle. This was obviously not what she had expected Illidan to say. “You will lead us to victory, Lord. I have every faith in you. These new soldiers you have been forging—if they are all as strong as Varedis and Netharel and Alandien—will surely be able to slaughter the demons.”

Illidan stared at her. She seemed particularly well informed about the demon hunters. Had she been spying on them? Of course she had. All of his council had. They were curious about anything that shifted the balance of power within the Black Temple. It might well affect their own stations. How much had Malande uncovered? The demon hunters represented the most important part of his plan to strike back at the Burning Legion. Secrecy was critical. He could not take any chances of the nathrezim finding out what he was up to until he was ready to launch his attack. He had told no one of his ultimate goal—but he might have let something slip, left some clue from which a mind as keen and suspicious as Malande’s would be able to deduce his intentions.

Illidan wished that Lady Vashj were here. She was at least straightforward, easy to understand, and utterly loyal. Alas, she was in Zangarmarsh, supervising the draining of the marshland as part of the first stage of the plan to take control of all the waters of Outland and, through them, all its people. Thirst and drought were mighty weapons.

Illidan gazed at Veras Darkshadow. “Have your agents found out anything concerning Kael’thas’s fate?”

Veras shook his head. “They found the last camp of his army, but then nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing significant, Lord. Traces of campfires, refuse, little more.”

“No sign of a struggle?”

“None, Lord. It is as if the prince simply opened a portal and vanished. It seems he does not want to be found.”

Veras was implying that Kael’thas was planning some treachery. Illidan did not discount the possibility. Kil’jaeden had shown particular interest in the blood elf prince the day the Black Temple had fallen. On consideration, Illidan had decided that the Deceiver had been trying to sow seeds of dissension between him and his allies. Perhaps the demon lord had done more than that, but now was not the time to say so. If Kael’thas had turned, he might well have left spies behind. Illidan would not make them wary. “Let us not jump to any conclusions, Veras. Just find Kael’thas.”

“As you wish, Lord,” said Veras. “So shall it be.”

He looked as if he wanted to speak more in private. His eyes flashed to Akama. Illidan said, “All of you are dismissed. Except you, Darkshadow. I want to have words with you concerning the whereabouts of Maiev Shadowsong.”

The other council members filed out. Akama paused in the doorway as if he was about to say something, thought the better of it, and departed.

The elevator carried Maiev and Anyndra up the side of Aldor Rise. It was a low, flat platform, and nothing visible supported it as it lifted itself into the sky. Powerful magic was at work here. Maiev’s nightsaber growled and stayed away from the edge. The big cat had an excellent sense of balance, but it was taking no chances of a fall from this height.