William King: Illidan

She had thought Hellfire Peninsula was a terrible place, but this was worse. The entranceway to Outland was a desert hell filled with fel orcs and hideous creatures, but Zangarmarsh was something darker and stranger. It was hot and humid and dank. Huge mushroom trees, larger than the towering oaks of Ashenvale, blocked out the sun. Manta-like flyers flitted through their shadows, and things part jellyfish, part alien monster floated through the air.

True, there were fewer orcs, but there were other menaces. After smashing through the host of ravagers, the Watchers had been attacked by a giant ambulatory fungus. They had been ambushed by ogres and swarmed by huge stinging insects. She had lost Kolea to tiny grubs that had emerged from her flesh after she had been stung, the vermin eating her eyes and her brain. Another death that ultimately could be laid at the feet of Illidan.

Maiev longed to look upon the beauty of Darnassus once more. She would have given ten centuries of her life just to breathe its clean air and walk through its airy plazas, to listen to its bards and singers. She suppressed the feeling, despising her own weakness. There was no sense in longing for what she could not have.

Orebor Harborage looked like the ruins of what once might have passed for civilization in these parts. Now there were only tumbledown huts built on what had been the marble base of some formerly great plaza. Stagnant, stinking water surrounded the huge plinth. Jagged ridges of towering mountains loomed over it.

All around, Broken hobbled. They stared at the night elves as if they had never seen their like before. One or two of them reached out with empty palms, begging for alms, but most averted their eyes with tired, defeated gazes. Maiev felt that they would not raise their hands even to protect themselves. They were not the stuff of which suitable allies were made.

Not all of them were like that. Some carried weapons and watched her warily. She rode up to one now, looked at him, and said, “Akama! Where is he?”

The Broken studied her and then her followers. At first, she thought he was not going to answer, but then he jerked a thumb in the direction of the town center.

From some of the huts came the sound of weeping. Her nostrils dilated as she caught the scent of rotting flesh. Wounds turned bad very easily here. Sometimes the spores got into the cuts and clung to ruined flesh like mold to old bread. An ancient Broken crone hobbled past, her hooves splashing through deep puddles in the shattered stonework. She kept her eyes down and paid no attention to the strangers or her surroundings. She seemed too wrapped in her own misery to look beyond it.

“What do these people live on?” Anyndra sounded upset. The sight of the Broken had clearly triggered some instinct for compassion within her.

“Mold and whatever insects they can catch, I have no doubt,” Maiev said. It was what her people had been living on for days. The flora and fauna might be alien, but they were edible. At least they had not been poisoned so far. It was always possible that their foodstuffs contained slow toxins whose effects they had not felt yet, but Maiev’s spells had found no taint in them. “There are fish in those lakes we saw on the way here, and other things.”

“Yes,” said Anyndra, no doubt remembering the massive reptilian hydras that had attacked them. “I suppose so. You really think this Akama will be able to help us?” She gestured at their surroundings. “It does not look as if he can even help his own people.”

Maiev agreed, but she did not want to say so aloud. Her people did not need another blow to their morale. Ahead, another Broken sentry loomed.

“Akama,” she said. The soldier gestured toward a small hut on the edge of the plaza. A group of guards robed in ash gray stood there, gazing in her direction. They did not look hostile, but they did not look friendly, either.

Maiev rode closer and said, “I seek Akama.” For a moment, the Broken gave no sign of having heard her; then, as if at a silent signal, they stood aside and left the way into the hut’s interior clear.

The warden dismounted, and Anyndra and the others stalked behind her. As they approached, the guards lowered their pikes, blocking the way.

“Just you,” said the one who had the insignia of some sort of officer. “If you are the one called Maiev Shadowsong.”

Tension crackled in the air. Her Watchers did not want to leave her. She might be stepping into a trap. On the other hand, if these were potential allies, she did not want to make trouble. She was capable of looking after herself, as anyone who tried to take her would find out.

“Wait here,” she told the Watchers. Sarius looked directly at her, and she nodded. The druid detached himself from the group and moved into the shadow of a rubble pile. He did not reemerge in his own form, but a large bird hopped on top and looked around with bright beady eyes.

The guards stood impassive. Maiev stepped into the hut and was immediately aware of the whimpering of a small Broken child.

In the center of the chamber, beside a fire, a gnarled, oddly altered Broken leaned forward and touched the child’s brow. He muttered something, and Maiev sensed the flow of energy—not the corrupt taint of fel magic, not the twisted flows of the arcane, but something else. She did not relax her guard. There were many ways of hiding the evil in magic.

The child quieted and the Broken whispered something in her ear. More power flowed. The whimpering ceased, replaced by the sound of regular breathing and tiny, inelegant snores.

The Broken rose and turned toward Maier. His voice wheezed with more than age. He seemed to have to force his words out, as if the very act of speaking was painful to him. “I thought I might be able to do some small good while I waited for you.” He paused as if he needed a rest. His breathing was labored. “Rosaria had lung rot fever, but I think I have burned it from her. If she is kept warm and dry, she should make a full recovery.”

“You are Akama,” Maiev said.

“I am Akama, leader of the Ashtongue.”

“Your message said you wanted to talk with me,” she said.

“You are Maiev Shadowsong?”

“I am curious as to how you came to know my name.”

“He has mentioned it.”

“He?”

“The one you call the Betrayer.”

Maiev reached for her crescent blade. Akama made no response. He held his hands wide, showing he had no weapon. Not that it made much difference. He had already shown he knew how to wield magic.

“What do you know of the Betrayer?” Maiev asked.

“Alas, far too much, to my cost. Walk with me. We have much to talk about, you and I.” He gestured toward the rear entrance of the hut. Perhaps this was just a ruse to separate her from her troops. If so, Sarius would be watching in his shapeshifted form. And she was not without the means to defend herself.

“After you,” she said, making a gracious gesture toward the door. Akama nodded and hobbled forward, putting his back to her, as if he wanted to show that he did not fear treachery from her.

They emerged behind the building. Toppled houses surrounded them. Garbage lay strewn around the half-ruined structure. Mold clung to it, as it clung to everything here. Glittering insects buzzed around it, feasting hungrily. Maiev wrinkled her nose.

Akama said, “It was not always like this. Once, Orebor Harborage was a beautiful place.”

“I will need to take your word for that.”

“You should. The world has changed since Ner’zhul wrought his destruction. Once, this was a center of civilization, a place of learning, a hub of trade.”

“That is hard to believe.”

“You should have seen this place when tens of thousands of my people walked here, admiring the statues, looking upon the gracious homes.”