Zerevor flinched at the mockery. “As certain as anyone can ever be when dealing with the magic of the Burning Legion.”
Lady Malande’s laughter tinkled around the council chamber. “And, as ever, you try to cover yourself in case of error, Zerevor.”
Gathios the Shatterer, resplendent in his gleaming paladin armor, opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, then shut it again. He rarely spoke when matters were not concerned with warfare. Instead he exchanged a knowing glance with Veras Darkshadow. The lean assassin smiled in acknowledgment. Had they been plotting against their companions again?
Impatience curled Illidan’s fist. “Let him finish, Malande.”
The lovely priestess shot him a hurt look. Her beauty had driven many an elf to distraction. She seemed to regard his own indifference as a challenge.
A cold smile flickered across Zerevor’s face. “It could be used to steer us through the Burning Legion’s network of portals and gateways. It could guide us all the way back to Kil’jaeden and legendary Argus.”
“I know this,” Illidan said. “I have always known this. Why do you bring it up now? What is your point?”
The high nethermancer looked over at the schemata spread on the trestle table. They represented Illidan’s masterwork, but clearly something about them had Zerevor worried. “We could use their own gateways to reach Argus. There is no need for this new portal of yours, Lord. It is a work of genius, but why reinvent the wheel? With but the simplest modification, you could use your spell to tap into the Legion’s system of portals.”
“Because if we use the Legion’s network, we will need to pass through multiple portals, giving the demons an opportunity to block us every step of the way. This gateway will take us to Argus in one jump. It will let us attack by surprise. It will ensure our lines of communication are short and can be easily maintained.”
The other three councilors nodded as if they agreed with every word. Zerevor persisted in his questioning. “If it works, Lord. You are taking a titanic risk. The expenditure of energy needed will be on a scale unlike anything we have ever used before. Would it not be simpler to take advantage of what already exists?”
“Simpler but far more dangerous. The Legion outnumbers us by a factor of thousands. Its forces are dispersed, but if we give them time to assemble, they will crush us.”
Zerevor held up the seal to eye level, as if by doing so, he could conceal his expression from Illidan’s perceptions. “And attempting to open this gateway could shatter the world again as Ner’zhul shattered Draenor. If the spell is not perfectly cast. If there are any mistakes in the calculations.”
Illidan reached out and took the seal from his grasp. “There are no mistakes in the calculations. The spell will be perfectly cast. I will do it myself.”
“And if you are wrong, Lord?”
“I am not wrong.” Illidan focused his attention completely on his councilor. He loomed over him, letting him feel the breeze from his slowly moving wings.
Zerevor looked away, shoulders slumped, palms open. “As you say, Lord. As you say.”
Then the high nethermancer’s face went pale. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He closed his eyes and frowned in concentration.
“What is it?” Illidan demanded.
“The warding spells I set over the Dark Portal have just been tripped. The gateway has become fully operational. Someone has opened a pathway between Outland and Azeroth so wide that you could bring an army through. And that appears to be exactly what is happening.”
23
From the ridge, they had a fine view of the Dark Portal, and a demoralizing one, Vandel thought. The gateway to Azeroth glowed darkly within a mighty arch, reached by the titanic steps of the Stair of Destiny. It was not the sight of it that depressed him. It was the army surrounding it.
Since the confrontation with Highlord Kruul, the Burning Legion had rushed armies into Outland so quickly they could not be contained. Most of them seemed to be down there now, in the valley and along the road leading to the Dark Portal. Thousands of demons and tens of thousands of their worshippers camped out. They had come through scores of portals, all opened simultaneously in such numbers that not all could be closed. It seemed as if they were intent on proving to Lord Illidan how futile his plans for opposing them were.
More and more of the Legion’s troops marched along the road from Zangarmarsh into Hellfire Peninsula. The Legion’s forces were moving with a terrible purpose, and that could only be a new invasion of Azeroth. The way to his homeworld was open again, and for days now the Legion had poured forces through.
So many and yet so few. All those soldiers and demons and war engines down there looked imposing, but recollecting the vision he had during the ritual of transformation, Vandel knew that they were but the tiniest fraction of what the Burning Legion could bring to bear.
Every day more and more of them arrived. He tried to imagine the uncountable distance they covered to reach this place, the vast gulfs between worlds they had passed through, and he could not.
The Dark Portal itself was daunting enough. The two robed stone giants on either side of the titanic arch reminded him of similar sculpted figures within the Black Temple. They leaned on blades large enough to smash the walls of Stormwind City. Lights shimmered within the portal, glittering like trapped stars.
Another convoy moved along the road to deliver its cargo of soldiers and munitions to the vast encampment in the portal’s shadow. The Illidari had tried to stop the convoys from getting through. They had set ambushes, attacked head-on, but it was pointless. Their enemies were too numerous and too powerful, and they were merely throwing away resources that would be needed to defend the Black Temple when the final attack came.
Illidan’s boast that he was going to take the war to Kil’jaeden also seemed pointless now, no more threatening than a child dressing up in his father’s armor and waving his father’s sword would be to a veteran soldier.
Vandel looked from face to face. Illidan’s wore a sneer, as if this whole vast army was beneath his contempt. Needle’s face twisted in a mad grin that stretched the seams stitched in his lips. Elarisiel looked quite frankly afraid, and Vandel wondered whether her demon was taking over her mind and manipulating it.
His own inner demon radiated a sense of satisfaction. This demonstration of strength by the Burning Legion pleased it. It would be welcome down there among that mighty force. He could join its invincible ranks at any time and have worlds as his playthings until the universe fell into ruin and was reborn.
Why are we here? Vandel wondered. Had Illidan brought them here merely to depress them? Such was not his way. There must be a purpose to it.
Vandel remembered what the Betrayer had done to the portal to Nathreza. Perhaps he planned the same thing here—a suicidal charge at the gate, a spell of destruction to make it explode, and then that whole army down there would be gone.
As would the demon hunters. The Burning Legion could always find more troops. Who would be left to oppose it once Illidan’s forces were in their graves?
Why should it be opposed? his inner demon whispered. Why should you even try? You belong to it. You always have.
Even as the thought occurred to him, the flow of power around the gate increased a thousandfold. Troops surged through the portal, coming from Azeroth. Orcs moved alongside humans, night elves beside blood elves. Gryphons soared into the sky above the gateway. Wyverns flew beside them.
Spells shimmered in the air. Magical weapons cleaved through demon hide. A squad of felguard moved to block the Stair of Destiny, but a huge orc armed with a mighty hammer smashed his way through them. Beside him a human carrying a shield watched his back.