“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.
11
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.”
Remembering the march of the Burning Legion through countless devastated worlds, Vandel understood the bitter humor of the Betrayer’s words. “I know.”
“Then you also know what we fight. And why.” There was an arrogant certainty in Illidan’s tone that Vandel resented. There was a challenge, too.
The demonic thing within him stirred, responding to Illidan’s presence with something like hunger. It lent Vandel strength and goaded him to speak. “How can you fight against what I saw? It is impossible.”
Impossible, impossible, impossible, whispered the voice in the back of his head. It still sounded like his own, only clotted with hatred. The felhound had grafted itself to his soul, and its spirit seemed able to use his mind and his memories now.
“Be quiet,” Vandel told it.
He heard the creak of wings as Illidan moved. The Betrayer ignored his words as if he sensed to whom Vandel was speaking. “We must fight. Countless worlds have fallen to the Legion, and ours will be next unless we stop it.”
Fragments of apocalyptic visions swirled through Vandel’s mind. He saw worlds burning and nations dying, and through it all he saw the Legion marching, its victory as inevitable as death. The thing at the back of his mind snickered. “Be quiet,” he repeated, but it ignored him.
“Stand up,” Illidan commanded, and there was no disobeying that voice. Even the thing in Vandel’s mind quailed. He lurched to his feet and stood there, swaying. His stomach heaved. The world spun once more. A clawed hand dug into his shoulder and held him upright. Writhing worms of light shimmered beside him, slithering away from the point of contact.
“I cannot see,” Vandel said.
“You can see everything.”
Vandel’s head spun faster. Lights flickered all around him.
He lashed out with his hand, seeking to strike at the lights. They moved away. Rage surged within him. The worms of light were everywhere, covering everything. They filled the space surrounding him. He heard a whimpering sound from a mass of sickly green, knew it was a feverish elf.
He twisted to where Illidan stood, and he saw a blaze of light. If he looked closely, it appeared to be a winged shape.
“You tricked me, Betrayer. You told me you would give me the power to fight demons, to avenge my family.” His anger was a bonfire as bright as Illidan’s aura. It gave him strength. Hatred tasted like bile in his mouth. He wanted to smash his fists into Illidan’s face and beat him till the bones broke. He wanted to drink his blood and eat his heart and be filled with the power that burned before him.
The dizziness was gone now. He had no trouble moving. He wished he had his blades.
“I have given you all that and more.” The blaze of Illidan’s aura moved. Vandel turned his head, tracking it, and he realized that he was also tracking the source of the voice. This did not make him less angry. Frustration built up in him. He wanted to rend and tear. He bit his lip until blood flowed. He was going to kill the Betrayer. He was going to supplant him.