Illidan

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.

It was astonishing to see these peoples fighting alongside one another. Clearly the threat of Kruul’s forces had done much to unite them. It looked as if the Alliance and the Horde together were invading Outland.

Once the advance force of heroes was through, more and more troops emerged, marching in closely knit groups to secure the perimeter.

A massive wrathguard smashed through one human line, a mighty axe clutched in each hand, the demon’s body encased in gleaming armor.

A company of orcs rushed to intercept him. A lightning bolt crackled and the wrathguard halted for a moment. The orcs dragged him down. More and more Azerothian troops poured through the gate. Their casualties were appalling but still they fought. For every human or orc or troll dragged down, another stepped into place.

There must be a huge army assembled on the other side of the Dark Portal, Vandel thought, remembering the size of the Legion force that had passed through. All the kingdoms of the Alliance and all the realms of the Horde must have been stripped bare of combatants. The might of an entire world had been assembled to stand against the Burning Legion. Vandel could only pray that it would be enough.

In the center of the Legion camp, he could see Highlord Kruul shouting orders to his force. Did he relish the coming combat or did he regret shoving a stick into this hornet’s nest?

Illidan crouched down for a moment, wings spreading wide behind him. He tilted his head to one side. A puzzled expression flickered across his face. “Did Kruul expect this? Did he want it?”

His voice was soft, as if he was speaking to himself.

“Why would he want to provoke an attack from both the Horde and the Alliance?” Vandel asked.

Illidan’s gaze remained locked on the conflict. “To draw out the forces of Azeroth, perhaps. To lure them away from their home ground into a place where they can be more easily destroyed.”

“You think this is a trap, Lord Illidan?”

“It has the feel of one. The question is, for whom? There is something here that I dislike.”

Vandel understood. The feeling of satisfaction his own demon radiated was troubling. Was it reacting on some level to something it sensed about this situation? If that was the case for Vandel, how much greater must the disturbance be for Illidan, who was so much more powerful and experienced?

For a moment, Vandel felt something like guilt. As he watched a contingent of night elf combatants crash into the Burning Legion line, it struck him that he should be down there, fighting with them. He was a demon hunter, after all, and down there was one of the largest forces of demons ever assembled in Outland.

But what would the kaldorei say when they saw him, tattooed with the markings of Illidan, their ancient enemy? They would not greet him as a friend and companion. They were more likely to take him for one of the demons they fought.

He wondered if anyone he knew was riding with the army and if he was going to have to go out there and kill them. He was not sure what he would do if Illidan gave the order.

He was a demon hunter, loyal to the Betrayer, but his war was against the Burning Legion, not against folk who had once been his kin. He was not their enemy, even if they thought they were his.

What would he do, then?

The answer was simple. If he was ordered to, he would fight. If kaldorei attacked him, he would kill them. Otherwise he would try to avoid them.

More and more soldiers swept down the Stair of Destiny, a flood of armored flesh. A tidal wave of violence that carried all before it. Just for a moment, it looked as if the Burning Legion encampment might be overrun. Then Highlord Kruul entered the battle, and the offensive ground to a halt.

Step by step, the armies of Azeroth were driven back up the stairs. The melee was brutal and deadly. There was no space for ducking or weaving, just a quick, savage exchange of spells or blows amid the press of bodies. Eventually the two forces achieved balance, with neither able to gain or lose a step, and the combat continued with unabated fury.

Even as the battle teetered on the brink, a new threat to the armies of Azeroth emerged. A force of felguard, dreadlords, doomguard, and wrathguard had assembled on the far edge of the Legion camp and moved along the ridge below, keeping out of sight of the main conflict. Highlord Kruul himself led them, accompanied by his core hounds. His intent was clear: to crash into the Azerothian line by surprise from the flank.

Vandel was not sure how Kruul’s force was going to do that. Perhaps the doomguard intended to fly up the side of the Stair of Destiny. Some of his minions could use their wings as well, although they might lose the element of surprise. Most likely they intended to keep close to the steep side and stay out of sight until they rose to the attack. They could use sorcerous portals to bring in the rest of their force.

Illidan noticed the same thing. “If those demons can turn the orc flank, then the battle will be lost and the invaders will be sent back to Azeroth. The greater part of their force will be cut off and destroyed.”

There was a musing note to his voice, as if he was turning the possibilities over and over in his head, holding them up to the light to inspect them and see which was best for him.

“We cannot let that happen,” Vandel was surprised to hear his own voice say.

Illidan turned in his direction. He had the Betrayer’s attention. Illidan’s wings clung rigidly around his body, as if he were concealing it. His head tilted to one side, and he said, “Of course, you are correct, Vandel. Take a company and intercept the demons before they reach the stairs. Stop them.”

Vandel was not sure whether he was being rewarded or punished for speaking out. It had taken the power of the Betrayer himself to vanquish Kruul during their last encounter. Vandel did not have that kind of strength, nor did any of his companions. Perhaps, working together, they might overcome the Burning Legion’s field commander. He had been given a direct order, and he would obey, trusting that Illidan had some plan for victory. Vandel gestured to Elarisiel and a group of the others to follow him. Needle fell in by his side. They moved down the ridge, traveling as fast as they could to intercept Kruul’s force while remaining out of sight of the combatants on the Stair of Destiny above.

The demon hunters covered the ground with the agility of panthers. Kruul’s troops, as Vandel had suspected they would, had taken up position in the shadow of the stairs. The winged ones were already starting to fly up the side. The demons were a small force but a powerful one, and they might turn the course of the battle if they arrived in time.

Vandel screamed a war cry. The demons turned to look in his direction. Their burning gazes fell on him. He aimed a fel bolt at the nearest, searing into the creature’s monstrous armored body. Moments later he was amid the demons, cleaving and striking, ducking and rolling, evading the blasts the wrathguard unleashed from the strange weapons mounted in their chests.

Highlord Kruul looked directly at Vandel. He lashed out with one of his deadly shadow bolts. Vandel leapt over it and closed with the giant demon.

“Ah, little one, does your master fear to face me himself?” Kruul boomed.

“No. He thinks I am a match for you,” said Vandel.

He stepped aside as Kruul’s gigantic blade bit into the ground next to him. Chips of shattered rock drew blood from Vandel’s side. He stabbed the highlord’s tree-trunk-sized leg, aiming for a point behind the greave, and his blade recoiled from Kruul’s protective aura. He rolled forward, hoping to put himself behind the doomguard and out of his line of sight.

A brutal melee had erupted in the shadow of the vast stairs, hidden from the eyes of the combatants above. Vandel’s roll took him into the middle of it. He twisted his head and saw that Kruul was already engaged with more demon hunters. One of them fell, cleaved in twain by that battering-ram-sized blade, and then the doomguard sent a volley of magical bolts ripping through his other attackers. The great core hounds snarled by his side. Vandel aimed himself at Kruul’s back, but before he could leap, demons swarmed him.

It took all his concentration just to remain alive. He killed first one felguard and then another, but for every one he chopped down, another moved into place.

His limbs grew sluggish, and even his magical dagger blades began to dull and lose their edges. He fought amid a pile of bodies, elf and demon. Killing and killing until he had no more power left to draw on and even the gibbering demon voice in his head was silenced.

He knew now that he was going to die, and he did not really care. He would sell his life dearly, taking as many demons into death with him as he could. For the first time in months, he felt like a mortal elf, weary and slow. The demons came on relentless, unstoppable. The tide of battle carried him back toward the doomguard. Once more he found himself face-to-face with Kruul.

Vandel ducked the swing of the highlord’s massive blade, and then he stumbled. The demon’s huge weapon passed through the spot where his head had been.

He tried to pull himself to his feet but found he could not. Kruul stood over him, sword raised, and Vandel knew his last moment had come. The blade caught the bloody light of the Outland sun and then began its descent.

Vandel refused to look away. He raised both daggers in a last, desperate attempt to parry. Kruul’s chest exploded, leaving only a gaping hole through which Vandel could see Illidan, warglaives in hand, lightning swirling around them, the backwash of his shattering bolt of energy. The doomguard toppled. Vandel rolled aside as the demon’s massive form smashed into the ground beside him. Once again Illidan had used a slow-building spell of awesome power to smite the highlord. Vandel and his companions had been a distraction.

“You killed him,” Vandel said.

Illidan’s smile was enigmatic. “Perhaps.”

All around he heard the sounds of battle. A score of demon hunters emerged to confront the demons, taking them in the flank as they had intended to do to the Azerothian forces.

Off guard, leaderless, and facing an unknown number of foes, the demons broke into small groups and were destroyed piecemeal.

Vandel pulled himself TO his feet. The demons of Kruul’s force were all dead. Still the hunger burned in him. He could kill a thousand of the Legion’s minions and it would never be enough. He could obliterate a world of them and still be barely started.

He recognized that impulse as the same one that drove the Legion itself, and at that moment he did not care. He just wanted to go on killing and killing.

His lips twisted into a snarl, and he made ready to seek out prey once more.

Illidan placed a hand on his shoulder. “No more. Now is not the time. We have work elsewhere.”

For a moment Vandel considered striking the lord of Outland, but he restrained himself, and slowly the thirst for vengeance sank back to something he could control. He exhaled, and it seemed part of the rage left him with his breath.

“We have saved the Alliance and the Horde here this day, and they will never know,” Vandel said at last.

“They do not need to know. It is enough that they are here.” Illidan’s smile showed the depth of his satisfaction. “They will keep the Burning Legion occupied while we engineer its defeat. The enemy of my enemy…”

The demon hunters pulled away from the battle, heading back up the slopes toward their initial vantage point. Vandel turned to gaze back at the conflict. More troops had marched through from the Azerothian side, a colossal wave of melee fighters and spellcasters. They fanned out to guard the flanks of their force, then began the work of clearing the stairs against their foes. The tide of battle had turned in their favor once more. It looked as if the forces of Azeroth had established a permanent foothold in Outland.

Illidan flexed his wings triumphantly. “Now we must seek the Throne of Kil’jaeden.”