Chapter 71 |
Krivax hid behind his golem as the Galak centaur tribe unleashed a tempest of cutting wind in his direction.
If his first encounter with the centaur had given him any illusions that they could do nothing to stop him and his golem, the Galak tribe had thoroughly taught him otherwise. The centaur had been attacking the slow moving caravan relentlessly from the moment the tauren, with the help of Krivax, pushed west into their ancestral territory in the plains of Mulgore.
The Galak now considered these lands to be their own, and the centaur tribe leaders had gathered all of their magic users and their most potent artifacts to defend it. They preferred to fight by conjuring powerful storms around their enemies while the Galak warriors circled and harassed them. The combination of cutting winds, skilled archers, and constant charges made them a deadly enemy.
There were only a few centaur formidable enough to threaten Krivax individually, but their numbers, clever tactics, and ruthlessness were more than enough to level the playing field.
“Krivax! Watch out!”
Reflexively heeding the warning, Krivax instantly created a barrier of arcane magic that blocked a barrage of conjured lightning that arced around his golem as if it were alive. Given that the Galak tribe primarily used shamanic magic to commune with air elementals, it very well might be.
Continuing to maintain the barrier, Krivax waved his hand and created an inferno of Life-infused flames that streaked across the battlefield. Unfortunately, the centaurs were deceptively agile and had long since learned to dodge his fire at all cost. It was still enough to disrupt their attack and force them to reposition.
“Thanks!” Krivax called out to Falstad, who was currently fighting on the ground alongside Swiftwing. The centaur’s command of the weather had made it impossible for the griffin to fly around without being struck down by the raging tempest.
Instead, he was helping guard the rest of the caravan from centaur harassment. As a normally nomadic people, the tauren possessed few defensive settlements that could safely protect their civilians, so they were generally forced to move together. Otherwise, the centaur would simply run around the tauren warriors, or Braves as they tauren referred to them, and attack far more vulnerable targets.
Given how hard they were fighting, the Galak tribe understood the importance of controlling the lake and had no intention of letting the tauren secure it peacefully.
From his position at the front of the caravan, Krivax launched a stream of fire at a group of centaurs charging toward a vulnerable point in the tauren defensive line. The centaurs reeled back, screeching in pain as the flames licked their bodies. The Braves seized the moment and charged forward with bursts of surprising speed.
Krivax could feel the shamanic magic held within the large totems they used as weapons enhancing them, granting them increased speed and stamina. The centaurs were dispatched quickly and the Braves immediately tried to return to their positions. Volley of arrows and lightning bolts rained down on them until they managed to retreat. The tauren shamans were able to calm the storm around the caravan and protect against the lightning, while a wall of towering nerubian silk shields were enough to shelter them from arrows.
Creating enough shields for every tauren who wanted one was a trivial expense for a kingdom as large as Azjol-Nerub, especially for the diplomatic promises they’d been given in return. The tauren were surprisingly adept in making use of the new equipment provided to them, and were using them to great effect against their ancestral enemies.
“Braves! Stand your ground! Thunderhooves, now!” Cairne Bloodhoof bellowed, his voice carrying over the tumultuous battlefield by means of magic.
The caravan stopped as one at their high chieftain’s command and a group of tauren emerged from its center carrying large rifles designed specifically for them by the Circle of Viziers. There were not many of them, as Azjol-Nerub’s foundries were not yet fit for making these oversized rifles in bulk, but what few they had was already enough to change the tides of battle.
Soon after the Thunderhooves appeared, the sounds of gunshots boomed across the battlefield like thunder as the rifles fired in quick succession. Each of the Thunderhooves had been recruited from the most skilled tauren hunters, so their aim was near impeccable and centaur all around the caravan fell to their precise shots. Unlike arrows, the bullets had no problem passing through the conjured storm and were only deflected by the strongest of elemental shields.
“Forward once more! The Shu’halo will reclaim their land!” Cairne’s voice rang out again, rallying the tauren to continue moving as the Thunderhooves retreated back into the center of the caravan to reload.
If someone was to watch from above, the tauren caravan would appear like a large tortoise marching inexorably through a storm. For generations, they had been pushed from their lands by an enemy that they could not effectively counter. Now they had been given the tools and help they needed to defend themselves, and nothing would keep them from their goal.
For what felt like hours, the caravan continued onwards with Krivax and his golem clearing out the path ahead while the tauren Braves, Thunderhooves, and shamans defended their flanks and rear. Their advance was painstakingly slow yet determined as they made progress through the unrelenting onslaught of the Galak tribe.
Eventually, their persistence was rewarded as the waters of Stonebull Lake came into view as the Galak grew progressively more frenzied in their efforts to stall the tauren.
“Shamans! Form our defenses! Braves and Thunderhooves, protect them!” Cairne commanded.
Upon his order, the tauren shamans moved with practiced ease as they began establishing an array of elemental totems around the caravan that healed the tauren and protected against hostile magic. Several of them also called on the power of the earth to swiftly create defensive walls of stone around the Thunderhooves, giving them ample cover to reload without worrying about retaliation.
Understanding that he couldn’t allow this to continue, the centaur Khan personally took to the field alongside his most skilled warriors and began harassing the caravan’s flank. The Khan was significantly larger and more muscle-bound than any of the other Galak warriors, and his spear created powerful gales of wind with every swing.
He used this to great effect by driving the tauren Braves off their feet and killing them while they were vulnerable. The wind itself seemed to swirl around the Khan, granting him immense speed as he galloped across the field in a blur of motion.
Before Krivax could even consider repositioning to assist the Braves, he once again found himself being attacked by a barrage of lightning that arced around his golem. This attack was far stronger than before, forcing him to hastily reinforce his barriers and focus on the enemy ahead.
Krivax could see the figure of Skycaller Vrakthris through the surrounding storm, clutching a wood staff that sparked with lightning. He was also flanked by two swirling air elementals that added to the shaman’s attacks by launching concentrated gusts of cutting wind at Krivax.
He had fought the Galak tribe’s head shaman several times over the past month, but this was the first time the centaur seemed intent on facing him directly and not running away. It showed clearly how desperate the Galak tribe had become.
Krivax didn’t hesitate to retaliate against the shaman with streams of fire and spears of ice, but Vrakthris stayed far away and so he had little trouble avoiding the spells. The centaur shaman was clearly used to exploiting the speed of lightning compared to other elements to his advantage. Not only that, but Vrakthris also skillfully rotated his attacks with the air elementals by his side, not leaving any moments when his enemies weren’t being attacked.
Krivax let out a grunt of annoyance as the lightning threatened to break through his barrier. He doubted that the centaur’s magic would be enough to overwhelm his other defenses or his regeneration, but it certainly wouldn’t feel pleasant. Fortunately, there was absolutely no need for Krivax to fight alone.
“Some help would be appreciated,” Krivax said with a strained voice to his traveling companions.
“All you had to do was ask,” said Rhonin, interrupting the series of arcane missiles he had been launching at the circling centaur. Understanding Krivax’s intentions, the mage focused his gaze on Vrakthris and began casting a spatial spell. “Just give me a few moments.”
Vereesa chuckled and released an arrow that flew cleanly through the air and struck a centaur archer who had been harassing them for the past few minutes. “I’ll give you all the time you need, dear. That’s fifteen now, Sentinel Starsong. Do you think you can keep up?”
The night elf stoically ignored Vereesa’s challenge, although Krivax noticed that the night elf was firing her arrows a bit quicker than before.
Between them, Krivax’s personal guard, and his golem, the centaur had little hope of successfully attacking the caravan from the front. Krivax calmly continued to trade spells with Skycaller Vrakthris, not allowing the centaur shaman the chance to notice that anything was out of place. It wasn’t long before Rhonin finished his spell, and Krivax’s golem disappeared in a flash of spatial magic.
The look on the centaur shaman’s face when the four-armed silk behemoth appeared next to him was worth every moment of anticipation. This was not a tactic that they had revealed to the Galak tribe before, and so the centaurs guarding the shaman were caught completely off guard. Vrakthris barely had time to react before the golem reached out and caught him in its grip and crushed him. The air elementals attempted to intervene, but they dissipated before the centaur’s mangled body even hit the ground.
That worked better than I expected, Krivax thought as he sighed in relief. That’s good. Vrakthris would have been impossible for me to catch otherwise.
Krivax glanced back towards where he had last spotted the Khan and saw him and Cairne locked in a savage confrontation. Their battle must have been going on for a while, as the tauren high chieftain was covered in gashes and wounds while the Khan was only able to wield his spear with a single arm. Unfortunately for the centaur Khan, the winds that enhanced his speed began to fade, likely having been summoned by Vrakthris.
It only took a single stumble of surprise for Cairne to knock the Khan onto the ground with a great stomp that shook the earth. The tauren chieftain didn’t let this opportunity go to waste and quickly delivered the finishing blow with a single thrust of his ancestral spear.
A part of Krivax expected something drastic to happen once the centaur leader was killed, but the battlefield was so chaotic that it took several minutes for the other centaur to realize what had happened. However, once the sudden deaths of both their leader and shaman sunk in, the Galak tribe had the reaction that Krivax was hoping to see. Several of the centaur leaders blew on horns to signal a retreat, while the rest uselessly tried to prevent a complete rout.
Without a recognized Khan to keep them in check, the brutal centaur lacked the ability to act in unison, and it wasn’t long before their forces were scattered and the conjured storm disappeared. Immediately after the centaur began to retreat, Cairne Bloodhoof held the fallen Khan’s spear high into the air and let out a bellow of victory that was soon echoed by the rest of the caravan.
Krivax couldn’t help but cheer as he felt the intense relief and joy that passed through everyone around him. It had been a long few months of planning and hard work to reach this point, but the tauren had finally established a presence in their ancestral lands.
After being told by Malygos about what had happened to the Wandering Isle… this was a victory that Krivax had needed.
Unfortunately, there was still much to do, so celebrations would have to wait. The Braves and Thunderhooves were soon set out to hunt down the fleeing centaur and establish a defensive perimeter, while the shamans set out to heal the injured and calm the elements.
Accustomed by now to handling the aftermath of battles, Krivax ordered his personal guards to help the tauren set up fortifications while he went to help heal the wounded. Out of all the abilities bestowed onto him by Alexstrasza, his healing was Krivax's favorite.
Krivax soon found himself falling into a trance as he healed the injuries of tauren men, women, and children. The tauren looked at him with a reverence that he still hadn't quite gotten used to, but he did his best to ignore it.
"Ambassador Krivax, I believe you've done enough for now."
Krivax was only pulled out of his trance when Cairne Bloodhoof walked into the small tent set aside for healing and placed a hand on his arm.
A quick glance to the setting sun revealed to him that it had likely been several hours since he had started. As a nomadic people, the tauren were masters of quickly unloading the kodos and setting up camps, so a makeshift settlement filled with tents was already beginning to take shape next to Stonebull Lake.
"You know by now that I don't need to rest, Chieftain," Krivax said as he turned to Cairne. "There's still a lot that I can do to help."
"While your body may not need rest, it is clear to me that your mind has become exhausted," Cairne said firmly, refusing to back down. "The aid provided by you and Azjol-Nerub will be remembered for generations to come, but that does not mean that you must carry this all on your shoulders."
Krivax could tell from Cairne's expression that he wouldn't be taking no for an answer, so he sighed and nodded toward the Chieftain.
"Excellent, then I hope you don't mind keeping an old Chieftain company as he attends to his duties," said Cairne, smiling in satisfaction.
It was obvious that the Chieftain just wanted to ensure that Krivax would take a break, but he was grateful for the distraction. With a polite nod, he fell in step behind Cairne as they made their way through the rapidly growing settlement. Many of the tauren greeted them as they passed by but otherwise didn’t bother them.
After following Cairne for nearly half an hour, he couldn’t help but feel surprised with how little the Chieftain actually needed to do. Despite the recent battle and the injuries sustained, the atmosphere buzzed with a sense of purpose and camaraderie. Braves who were off duty were quickly put to work setting up tents or feeding the kodo, while children were running around with food and water for the workers.
Krivax could feel his mood lift slightly as a young tauren girl eagerly ran up to the two of them with a bowl of warm stew in her hands. He actually was quite hungry, so Krivax and Cairne soon found themselves sitting around a campfire and eating the food that had been provided to them.
There was a sense of shared responsibility and togetherness that permeated the camp and made them highly efficient workers.
Krivax watched the bustling activity around them and felt a sense of nostalgia for his first night at the tuskarr village.
“I’ve always found that it is best to share heavy thoughts rather than dwelling on them,” said Cairne, his deep voice pulling Krivax back to the present. “I can tell that something bothers you, Ambassador.”
For a moment, Krivax faltered. He had been feeling rather worried recently, but he hadn’t realized that he’d been so transparent. Still, he wasn’t sure if he was all that ready to share.
“Your people remind me a lot of the first race that I ever met after leaving Azjol-Nerub,” said Krivax, deciding to be somewhat honest. “There is a similar sense of… compassion and community that I haven’t seen in many other places. It makes me wish for times when my life was a bit simpler than it is now.”
Cairne turned to look at him with a thoughtful gaze. “It is good to hear that you’ve been enjoying our presence, but I can tell that is not all that concerns you. For the past few weeks, you have been surprisingly withdrawn and inattentive to your surroundings. That was not the case when you first arrived.”
Krivax winced. He couldn’t deny the truth of Cairne’s words. He had been moving somewhat in a daze recently and hadn’t spoken with his companions as much as he used to. Krivax had mostly been focused on simply taking care of his responsibilities and had let himself go on autopilot. He wasn’t depressed or unhappy, not really, but he had been feeling a tad bit… upset since he last spoke to Malygos.
He obviously couldn’t share the exact reason for this with Cairne, but there was probably no harm in being vague.
“I received some disturbing news recently,” Krivax spoke hesitantly, carefully choosing each word as he stared into the fireplace. “I was recently told that something very bad happened as a result of decisions that I’ve made. This isn’t the first time that something like this has happened, and I thought that I had already accepted that not everything is going to turn out perfect. But… this hit me a bit harder than I expected.”
Cairne was silent for a moment as he digested Krivax’s words before eventually responding. “As someone who has been a leader for many decades, I wish that I could tell you that the burden of responsibility gets easier to carry with time. However, the truth is that it does not.”
That wasn’t exactly the great wisdom that Krivax had been hoping to hear, but it was an honest answer, and he appreciated that.
“The decisions of those with power, whether those decisions are good or bad, are inevitably more significant than those without power,” Cairne continued with a sympathetic voice. “And such decisions can have implications that reach farther than we ever imagine. You are very powerful and have seen this truth firsthand. The best we can do is make the best decisions we can with the information available to us at the time and leave the rest to the Earthmother.”
Krivax took a moment to Cairne’s words. Even if he didn’t find them to be very satisfying, it still brought him a sense of comfort to speak to someone else who could understand how he felt.
“What you say is true, but I still sometimes wonder if someone else would be a better fit in my position,” Krivax admitted.
“Perhaps they would be, but they are not here,” Cairne said, shrugging as his eyes drifted searchingly toward the area where the tauren children were gathered to help with the work. After a moment, the Chieftain pointed to a particular child who seemed to be the focus of attention. “You see that calf there, the one who has others following him around and doing as he says? He’s my son, and the reason I wake up and continue to make the hard decisions.”
Krivax nodded as he watched the young Baine Bloodhoof direct the other children in their efforts. The boy had clearly inherited his father’s charisma and was a natural born leader.
“I don’t know what decisions you made before, but the decisions you’ve made since arriving here have been the right ones,” Cairne said, his voice filled with conviction. “You have brought us strength when we needed it, allies we never could have imagined, and hope that I had once thought gone. Because of you, my son has the chance to live in a future where his people do not slowly disappear. That is no small thing, Ambassador. Appreciate the good that comes from your actions, even if you must also bear the burden of the negatives.”
His words were comforting, and it made Krivax feel a bit better to hear someone put things into perspective.
“Thank you, Cairne. I needed to hear that,” Krivax replied earnestly.
Cairne nodded, and the two of them spent the next few minutes in companionable silence. Eventually, the Chieftain was forced to return to his duties and Krivax decided to make his way to the large tent that had been set up specifically for him. Now that he was in a better mood, Krivax recalled that he should probably make contact with his superiors and update them on what had happened.
The High King had not intended for Krivax to stay on Kalimdor for as long as he had. Azjol-Nerub’s immediate priorities for the continent had already been secured. Initial diplomatic contact with the night elves had been successfully made, the outpost near Ahn’Qiraj was currently under construction, and the portal network had been expanded.
After Malygos had discovered that the Lich King had landed on the Wandering Isle, he hadn’t hesitated to share that information with the leadership of the Alliance. Now that Azjol-Nerub knew that the threat wouldn’t be coming from Kalimdor, Krivax expected the High King to pay much less attention to the continent.
So long as nothing unexpected happened, it probably wouldn’t be long until Krivax was reassigned to the Eastern Kingdoms.
As he neared his destination, Krivax could hear the sounds of his traveling companions laughing and relaxing after the long battle coming from the tent next to his own. He hadn’t joined them in any celebrations recently, so Krivax promised himself to do so after he finished his meeting.
The moment that he entered his tent, Krivax cast a privacy ward and retrieved the specialized scrying crystal that had been provided to him by Azjol-Nerub. The crystal relied on the connection created by the portal network to work over such long distances, and cost more than he cared to imagine. Seeing no reason to delay, Krivax placed the crystal on a stand in the middle of his tent and cast the spell to activate it.
Moments later, Krivax was greeted by the familiar sight of Elder Nadox appearing on the crystal’s surface.
“Greetings, Elder Nadox,” Krivax said in nerubian, somewhat glad he no longer had to speak a foreign language or rely on the awkwardness of translation magic. “I am making contact to report on my efforts in Kalimdor and receive further orders from the High King.”
He knew that Nadox, like most nerubians, was not one for wasting time on pleasantries. Sure enough, Elder Nadox’s next words were brief and straightforward. “Continue, Vizier Krivax.”
“As expected, the aid that we have provided to the tauren has been enough for them to secure a foothold in Mulgore,” Krivax dutifully reported. “The guns were invaluable in ensuring their victory. Given that they lack the means to produce the weapons or the necessary ammunition in meaningful numbers, the tauren will be reliant on our trade for the foreseeable future.”
Even if Krivax just wanted to help the tauren because it was the good thing to do, the High King and his Council had a much more practical perspective.
“Good,” said Elder Nadox, his mandibles clicking together in satisfaction. “Given the arrogance and belligerent nature of the kaldorei, the tauren will likely be much more willing allies. Assisting the primitives in establishing a permanent settlement will only make them more useful. Their totems have also been useful in improving the nerubian worker’s efficiency and health. Given the recent news coming from the Seers in relation to Kalimdor, this is good news.”
…What news?
“If I may ask, what have the Seers been saying about Kalimdor, Elder Nadox?” Krivax asked, already feeling a hint of dread creep up within him. As far as he knew, Seers rarely had anything positive to say.
“Oh? I had forgotten how isolated you are from any news outside of Kalimdor,” Elder Nadox replied, his tone calm. “The Seers are saying the same things that they always say. Delivering portents of doom and destruction waiting around every corner, this time originating from Kalimdor. I personally do not pay much mind to their predictions, but it cannot hurt to keep a few close eyes on that continent. After all, they were correct on the threat posed by the Lich King, if Malygos is to be believed.”
Krivax really didn’t like the sound of that. The Seers weren’t omniscient. They generally only saw things that had the potential to eventually affect Azjol-Nerub. Anything on Kalimdor that could one day reach Northrend must be a truly terrible threat.
Krivax was suddenly very glad that he had spilled the beans to the Aspects. Knowing there was a group of godlike dragons prepared to deal with whatever nonsense was about to happen was the only thing stopping Krivax from panicking.
“I see, does that mean that I will be staying on Kalimdor longer than expected?” Krivax asked curiously, not too worried in either case. He wouldn’t mind staying to help the tauren a little bit longer, but he also wouldn’t mind returning to the Eastern Kingdoms.
“It does,” Elder Nadox confirmed. “The Seers have given us a much more definitive timeline than usual. You should begin seeing signs of whatever threat this is very soon. The High King has prepared a response team that is ready to travel to Kalimdor and assist you if necessary.”
Nadox went on to detail the reinforcements that Azjol-Nerub was willing to send if things started to get out of hand on Kalimdor. This included several Viziers, Spiderlords, and members of the secretive Project Emberscales that had recently been successfully completed.
Krivax wasn’t an idiot. There were enough context clues to conclude that Project Emberscales was probably an effort to create a new caste of nerubians from the biological material that the Queens had harvested from him. However, he hadn’t been told anything more than that, and Krivax was very curious to see what the Queens had come up with.
If the project was apparently successful enough that they had moved beyond testing stages and were willing to send these new nerubians to the surface, then it was a great accomplishment.
Elder Nadox finished by explaining that he should see signs of whatever threat had emerged within the next few weeks. The Seers couldn’t actually agree on what those signs were, other than it would be obvious.
How predictably unhelpful.
“Very well, then I will prepare myself to stay on Kalimdor for a few more weeks,” Krivax said before suddenly remembering something else that he needed to ask. “You mentioned during our previous meeting that the Dragonflights have shared information on the necromancer that the Seers were previously concerned about. How has the Alliance reacted since then?”
Elder Nadox snorted in derision before responding. “Predictably. The short-lived races care only for threats that are immediately obvious. There are some perfunctory preparations being made, but the nations of the Eastern Kingdoms are more concerned with their petty politics. Quel’Thalas… has been uncharacteristically proactive in their preparations.”
That last part was said with a reluctance that made it clear Nadox wished he could say something worse about the high elves. When Krivax had left the Eastern Kingdoms, there had been many signs that Quel’Thalas was beginning to view Azjol-Nerub as a legitimate threat to their influence.
That the high elves were beginning to take a more proactive stance in their foreign politics was a natural consequence of that.
With the most important topics covered Krivax and Elder Nadox moved on to more mundane topics, such trade between Azjol-Nerub and the tauren tribes. There wasn’t much that the tauren could provide them, but the Circle of Viziers had shown great interest in purchasing their totems. Their conversation continued for several more minutes until they finished and the scrying spell ended.
Standing alone in his tent, Krivax found his thoughts wandering to whatever calamity the Seers were foreseeing. Malygos had long since predicted that the Burning Legion would start spreading chaos throughout Azeroth in order to protect the Lich King and weaken the world’s defenses, so this was likely a consequence of that.
However, Krivax couldn’t even begin to predict what they might have come up with.
Just as his thoughts were starting to sink into a spiral of worry and anxiety, Krivax was distracted by the distinct sound of Trixie cackling wildly in the nearby tent. Deciding that there was nothing he could do for now, Krivax decided to make his way over to his traveling companions.
Cairne was right. Krivax needed to take the time to enjoy victories while he could. After all, there were already plenty of powerful and smart people working to protect Azeroth nowadays, so it made little sense for him to worry about everything.
Even if this threat was particularly bad, Krivax was sure that the Aspects and heroes would rise up against it.
Illidan Stormrage, once considered a hero and now reviled by his people as a traitor, let out a grunt of frustration as he closed the book that detailed historical events that occurred during his imprisonment.
Illidan stood up from his seat and returned the worthless book to the bookshelf. Tyrande had been kind enough to provide him with entertainment, but there was little that could be learned from his people’s attempts to record history.
It was becoming clear to him that the kaldorei had retained the worst parts of their culture since before the War of the Ancients. For all of his faults, Illidan was at least aware of his own arrogance.
Ten thousand years of solitude left a person little to do except look back on their life with introspection. Illidan was aware of his flaws, but it seemed like his people were blind to their own. The history book he had been provided with contained only what the kaldorei believed was worth noting, which was disappointingly little.
It went into great detail of the so-called War of the Satyr and the War of the Shifting Sands, but the rest of the text could be summarized as ‘the brave and noble kaldorei continued to stand watch over Azeroth.’
The only parts of the book of actual interest to Illidan were the ones that discussed himself. His people had gone into great detail in casting him as ‘the Betrayer,’ and for what? All Illidan had done was attempt to preserve the greatest source of arcane magic in Azeroth! The very foundation of their former empire!
And for that, they had thrown Illidan into a dark pit for ten millennia and forgotten him. They had placed him in a cell that could not be escaped from by any means, including death. Spells healed any harm he might inflict on himself while magic kept him alive without the need for food or drink.
When Illidan learned that the remaining Highborne had been exiled and had also created a font of magic similar to the Well of Eternity, he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had raged at the injustice. Exile was a sentence far kinder than the one he had been given, and for a nearly identical crime!
Illidan could feel the Fel within him surge with his anger and forced himself to keep a tight grip of control on the demonic magic. His people quailed at the Burning Legion’s magic like children, but it merely needed a firm hand and a strong will to guide and wield it.
With every calming breath he took, Illidan could feel the wards around his newest prison cell flare in response. They were not nearly as restrictive as the ones he had grown used to over the millennia, but it would still take Illidan some time to dismantle them. Time enough for the Sentinels posted outside of the building to kill him.
While Tyrande’s subordinates were not as cruel as Maiev’s, they hated him all the same and wouldn’t hesitate to do their duty. Still, his current circumstances were so much better than his prior ones that Illidan could hardly believe it at times…
Just as Illidan began to calm down and reestablish control over the Fel within him, he sensed the presence of an unexpected figure approaching the secure building that Tyrande had transferred him to. Despite the enchantments that covered this place, Illidan’s Fel enhanced eyes allowed him to easily see the potent nature magic of his brother Malfurion as he approached.
Illidan watched as Malfurion stopped to speak to the guards around the building. Tyrande had placed him in an isolated location within the depths of some forest, far away from any prying eyes.
It was smart. Illidan knew without a shadow of a doubt that Maiev would not rest until he was either dead or returned to his cell. The Warden was wise enough to say otherwise when confronted by Tyrande, Malfurion, or Cenarius, but she would merely keep her true intentions hidden and bide her time.
This meant that Illidan had not had any visitors since Tyrande had freed him, other than herself and Cenarius. Even Tyrande could not come by very often, as most of her time recently was dedicated to handling the political fallout of freeing him.
The fact that Malfurion had finally decided to visit him was a surprise.
Illidan waited patiently as his brother entered the building and stopped in the first room, presumably to take in the Betrayer’s newest prison. Although Tyrande had ensured that the building was secure and well guarded, it was still surprisingly comfortable.
The first room contained a small kitchen and dining area, as well as a supply of several types of food that were unrecognizable to Illidan. Tyrande claimed that they were all standard fare for the kaldorei in modern times, but to him they were completely foreign. He had not been present while the kaldorei remade their culture from the ground up, so there were times that he barely recognized his own people.
Still, for someone who had not eaten in ten millennia, any food that he was given tasted blissful.
Illidan continued to track Malfurion’s magic as he slowly made his way through the building, stopping briefly at the bedroom.
He wondered what his brother was thinking when he saw it. Perhaps that a monster like Illidan didn’t deserve something as simple as a bed? That Tyrande had shown him far too much mercy? He was unsure, but he wouldn’t have to wait long to find out. After a moment, Malfurion finally reached the door to the study where Illidan was waiting and opened it without any preamble.
Malfurion looked just like he remembered him, despite them not having seen each other in a millennia. The silver eyes, those ridiculous antlers that crowned his head, his wild mane of hair… all reminiscent of the last time Malfurion had visited him. Like Cenarius, he radiated nature magic so potent that it nearly felt oppressive, and Illidan couldn’t help the sharp pang of envy that it made him feel.
It was Illidan who had sacrificed everything for power, but there was no doubt in his mind that his brother had grown stronger than him. Malfurion in turn was studying him as well, completely silent as he stood in the doorway and assessed Illidan with a look of intense scrutiny.
Illidan knew that Malfurion would not be the first to speak, always far more patient than himself. With an annoyed huff, Illidan decided to break the silence. “Malfurion, I had not expected to see you. The last time we spoke, I believe you claimed that you had given up on me. Has that conviction disappeared the moment I was transferred to a less tortuous prison?”
Malfurion’s last visit had predictably resulted in an argument, though one different from the others due to its intensity. Illidan had simply lost patience that day with his brother’s self-righteousness and levied every hurtful accusation and bitter truth he could muster. Once he began speaking of Tyrande, Malfurion had finally snapped, and the resulting shouting match was likely loud enough to be heard throughout the entire prison.
Malfurion sighed heavily and looked at him with an inscrutable expression. “I’ve not come here to fight, Illidan. I simply wished to learn if I could recognize what Tyrande and Cenarius see in you that they would push for you to be freed.”
That was something that Illidan also wanted to know. As much as he still cared for her, Tyrande had not seen fit to visit him once during his imprisonment, and Cenarius had only done so for the first few centuries. When Tyrande first came for him, Illidan had assumed that he was only being freed to be used as a weapon against some manner of threat, but that had not been the case.
Now, Illidan found himself bereft of purpose in a world that he barely understood, but that was not something he could say to his brother.
“I have no interest in listening to your judgments, brother,” Illidan asked, unable to suppress the bitterness in his voice. “I’m surprised that you even managed to leave the Emerald Dream long enough to come here. From what I can tell, you spend all of your time there rather than with Tyrande.”
Malfurion scoffed as he shaped the wooden floor into a chair and took a seat on the other side of the study. “I can see that you haven’t lost your sharp tongue, at least.”
“When you neglect the only person in these worthless lands that actually matters, you should expect me to mention it,” Illidan said, genuinely angered by his brother’s choices. “Tyrande is hardly the same woman that I remember. There’s a hardness to her that she never should have needed to develop. Did you not swear to me that you would be there for her?”
A part of Illidan understood that he was being needlessly antagonistic, but he couldn’t stop himself. When he saw Malfurion, it was like every instinct he had insisted on picking a fight.
“It would not be necessary for her to bear such heavy burdens if you could be trusted,” Malfurion said, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. “We were supposed to work together, Illidan. I should have been able to depend on you to help me lead our people, both here and in the Emerald Dream. Instead, you lacked the patience to learn what Cenarius wished to teach you and became obsessed with the same magic that doomed our people.”
Malfurion’s words were ones that he had heard many times already. His brother often spoke of what life could have looked like if Illidan were to help rule by their side. If he was to become a druid like Malfurion and use his power in service to the kaldorei.
It was a pretty dream, but not one that Illidan particularly liked. After ten thousand years of imprisonment, he did not know how much he cared about the wellbeing of his so-called people. The kaldorei had moved on without him. Now, the only thing that Illidan could envision caring about was Tyrande and proving himself right about the Burning Legion.
He and Malfurion fell into the motions of trading familiar insults and accusations, but neither of their hearts were in it. Illidan’s release from prison had not changed any of their fundamental differences. He still did not regret his actions, and Malfurion continued to be as self-righteous as ever. Everything that needed to be said between them had already been said a hundred times over.
“Leave, Malfurion,” said Illidan, dispirited as he realized the futility of their conversation. “I’m sure there are more important matters that require your attention. Your time here is wasted.”
Malfurion seemed to realize the truth of his words, because he merely sighed once more before rising from his seat. “I suppose you’re not wrong when you say that I have much to do. Ysera has sent me to investigate a change within the Emerald Dream that she finds worrying. It would not do to delay any longer.”
“Then go,” Illidan replied curtly.
Unless it involved the Burning Legion, Illidan doubted that he would care about anything related to the Emerald Dream.
As he was leaving, Malfurion paused at the door for a moment before glancing back with uncharacteristic hesitance. “I… will come and see you again in the future, Illidan.”
Without waiting for a response, Malfurion finally left, the quiet rustle of leaves and the soft pad of his footsteps growing fainter until they disappeared completely. Illidan stared blankly at the closed door for several minutes, lost in thought as he remembered a time when he and Malfurion could speak amicably to one another for more than a few minutes at a time.
Eventually, Illidan pushed away these memories and once again attempted to finish reading through the kaldorei ‘history’ book. Tyrande and Cenarius had both promised him that his imprisonment here would not last forever, and that they would discuss the matter sometime in the near future.
Illidan’s reputation was simply too abysmal in kaldorei society, so he was personally expecting some manner of exile. Regardless of their promises, Illidan would find a way to secure his freedom, one way or another.
