CHAPTER 11
Kel'Thuzad could not believe it—he wished not to believe it. How could things get out of control so awkwardly? Only a couple of days before everything seemed to be in its place: the Scourge had been saved from complete destruction in the most unexpected twist of fate, and, although changed, had a future. But who would have thought a day before that such tranquility was destined to last for only about a month?! Now it was evident that they had returned to the same point they once started from. Again the Lich King, but this time the new one, was weakened by some unknown bane, and experience had shown that it would only be a matter of time for the Scourge to start falling apart. He almost swore that a curse was flying above their heads. Again the great project he himself had dedicated years of his life—and undeath—to was in danger.
But no! He would not allow all these years to become wasted! He would not allow the scheme he had contributed so much in be cheerfully proclaimed a failed experiment by their enemies…by his enemies. Arthas' failure doomed the first Lich King, almost left the Scourge in ruins; the Lich could not repeat the same mistake. He was the only hope of the Scourge. No, not just the Scourge, all of Lord Illidan's forces. What could the likes of Prince Kael'Thas Sunstrider and the Naga Sea Witch Lady Vashj possibly do to improve the situation? Absolutely nothing. They were too pathetic; their involvement would just worsen everything. What could either of the two do that would help a being with such great power? Tell some Elven priest to heal him? Or perhaps leave him in the care of a group of Naga Sirens? Aside from that, it was obvious that while they held, to some extent, allegiance to Illidan, they would not have minded the disappearance of the hated Undead that had claimed the lives of so many of their people. For that matter, he, Kel'Thuzad, did not care about their goals, whatever those were.
Driven by his thoughts, the Lich did not notice that the grim buildings of the Undead encampment gave way to the more primitive, mostly wooden, but skillfully decorated with sea-themed bas-reliefs, structures of the Naga. The serpentine creatures that he encountered on his way were giving them—Kel'Thuzad and the three necromancers he had chosen to help him—a look of despise, thus hinting what opinion they had on the uneasy alliance, but the fallen Dalarani mage was not bothered by it. The weather was unkind, and the tempest, accompanied by its melancholic howl, comparable to that of a banshee, grew stronger around the traveling four, surrounding them, almost giving the impression that these dark spellcasters were its messengers, its heralds. But they did not feel it embracing them; the undead generally did not feel any of that. He could already see the giant tent he left to get aid several hours before, when the Master fell to the ground, loosing his senses. Soon they would be there…
…but the closer he got to his destination, the more it became obvious that certain 'changes' had been made. The entrance now was guarded by two rows of Blood Elven swordsmen by its sides, three in each.
"A quick reaction, Prince," thought Kel'Thuzad.
Swords in their hands, the guards stood silently, not moving a muscle, hidden under heavy armor, as though they were artificial…yet they were not, and when the Lich and his companions reached them, swords crossed before the visitors with a specific metallic noise, blocking the way in.
"What is this?!" said the Lich, both angered and surprised at the same time.
"Nobody is allowed to enter," replied the first swordsman in the left row, possibly the leader of the group.
"Nobody?" Kel'Thuzad hissed, "Do you know who I am? Now let me in!"
"Prince Kael'Thas has given us an order."
"Prince Kael'Thas?" the Undead released a short laugh, "Prince Kael'Thas has no authority over me."
But they did not grant him entry.
"Well then, Blood Elves!" the Lich proclaimed, sinking in rage, and pointed at his company, "I have three necromancers with me. But if I go away following the order of your beloved leader, I will return accompanied by 50 abominations and pave my road with your corpses!" he raised his skeleton hand and clenched his fist. "Now I am giving you the last chance…"
"We cannot," said the swordsman, interrupting him.
"You have left me no other choice."
"Let him in." just as Kel'Thuzad was about to turn around and head towards the Undead base, he heard a familiar voice addressing the guards. The voice was solid; one could not feel any notes of fear in it. One thing had always been unquestionable: Kael'Thas Sunstrider was not a person who would sacrifice everybody to prove his point, but, on the other hand, he would not shake in fear before a threat.
The guards put their swords back into the scabbards. The way was finally free.
"Lieutenant, take your men to our base—there is no need for them here." The Prince continued.
"After me, men," the lieutenant turned to the needed direction and left his post, the others behind him.
"Wait here," Kel'Thuzad told the necromancers and flew into the tent.
The picture that appeared in front of him could have made him think that he really had telepathic abilities. There in the middle of the tent lay the mighty Illidan Stormrage on some old red Elven cloak, attended by a priest. He saw the Naga Sea Witch beside to him. Next to her stood the Prince himself. Both were looking at the newcomer. The healer was standing on his knees before the supreme leader, slowly making mysterious gestures with his hands over his numb body. The scene of Illidan's treatment caught his attention. Healing, an art in its own right, was a sacred knowledge which had been passed thorough the centuries...just like necromancy. Both of these two sciences had the same goal: they were supposed to help avoid a person's demise, only via different methods...
But healing was not a method that was needed to be used in that specific case!
"What is this?!" the Lich proclaimed, moving closer, "You, go away!" he told the priest.
The moment the priest stood up he was pushed aside by the Undead with such strength that he would have fallen backwards if had not caught by his shoulder by the Blood Mage.
"What is the meaning of this…" started Kael'Thas, giving the Lich a burning look and releasing the priest who had regained ground. How dare that freak show such disrespect to his subjects in his presence!
"You have assigned a priest to cure Lord Illidan?! Curses, Kael'Thas, where is your common sense?! He is not some Paladin or an Archmage—he is the Lich King himself; you cannot simply heal him with a power that has the Holy Light in its basis!" Kel'Thuzad interrupted, feeling as if anger was squeezing his essence out of the remains of his body. "What do you think you are trying to achieve? The bane he is suffering from is not a cold, a wound, or food poisoning! This is far more complicated, and you will need more adroit help in order to treat him."
"And what are you going to suggest?" the Prince hid his hands behind his back.
"Enlist the help of the Cult of the Damned," Kel'Thuzad turned to the entrance, "Allow me to summon them," with that he flew out of the tent just to return seconds later behind the three shadowy figures of the necromancers.
"Make way. This trio will carry out a ritual that would enable them to contact Lord Illidan and bring him back to his senses," the Lich explained calmly, "make way," he repeated since nobody did so when he first said it.
The priest, Kael, and Vashj did so. The necromancers surrounded the comatose body of their overlord, forming a triangle around him. One of them, the one closest to the entrance, began chanting words in some unknown language, words which, when merged, reminded some twisted song or poem performed in a slow, whispering, even creepy, way. The other two sorcerers followed the top necromancer's action—a grotesque parody of a miniature choir performing a carol. Then they simultaneously pulled their hands forward.
For Kael'Thas the ritual was something that not any spoken or dead language, even the one the dark spellcasters were using at the moment, could ever describe. Disgusting, gruesome, malevolent—he could find the adjectives, but not the nouns.
The necromancers clad in long dark robes and crowned with deer skulls had incredibly pale, dried out faces, their long beards resembling moss; a disturbing image, but, to make things completely unbearable, it was supported by the enchantment that sounded like a union of all the grim noises of the Great Dark. It even seemed that this ritual was consuming the dull light that was coming from outside. Yet the Blood Mage was not surprised; on the contrary, it had always been obvious to him that an organization as horrifying as the Scourge would have such eye burning ceremonies.
But the longer the Prince looked at this unholy act the better he was able to find a way of ultimately sorting everything that had happened since that fateful battle at the footsteps of the Icecrown. That day he bravely led his swordsmen and priests, archers and spellbreakers, in fight against the dreaded Scourge. That day he slew a number of the Undead with the help of the magic of fire that he wielded so adeptly. That day he once again met face to face with his old archnemesis and barely avoided demise by his cursed sword. But on that day fate itself fought under their banners, and they defeated the Lich King's army in what seemed to be the final battle. That day the spirits of Quel'Thalas were destined to enjoy vengeance…but did not. The Scourge continued to exist without Ner'zhul and Arthas, but virtually unchanged. Only a fool would suffer from the delusion of a 'friendlier' Scourge! That lot would never change! But instead of summoning a Phoenix and turning the trio—as well as the Lich—into ashes, the Blood Elf had to stand witness to this, this show.
He looked at Illidan with a sorry expression on his face. The Scourge was not able to change itself, yet it had a long experience of changing others. Illidan Stormrage, a figure most vulnerable to twisting influences, would unquestionably be affected—he had begun to be. He turned his gaze to Kel'Thuzad. His former colleague had become this skeletal monstrosity that was now floating in mid-air steps from him. The former mage had messed too much with the powers he could hardly understand…just like Illidan…just like Kael'Thas…the Blood Mage felt as if a frost bolt had gone through his body. Could something like that happen to him too? The mental image of himself in a similar form of a Lich, but with green orbs floating around him instead of chains, consumed his thoughts.
Kael shook his head, the image dissolving.
No, I cannot allow it! I will not allow it to happen!
For his people's sake, for his own sake, the alliance with Illidan, with the Scourge, had to be shattered while it was still not too late. He would burry it himself, but it all was not so simple: he would have to wait, to find the best way and hour to become free from the true curse of the Blood Elves…
"Lord Kel'Thuzad, we have made contact with the Master," Kael heard the voice of the top necromancer.
"Excellent!" was the response, "Now locate the origins of his illness!"
"It will be done." The necromancers raised their hands pronouncing the words louder.
"Master, it is…" the necromancer started.
The three Illidari leaders gave him a curious look, prepared to finally find the truth behind the enigma. Their hopes, however, were not fated to be fulfilled: in a blink of an eye, the dark spellcasters were thrown back by some unknown force with the strength of an Ogre.
"What has happened?" asked Kel'Thuzad.
And then they saw a remarkable and equally horrid scene. The necromancers, in unison, unleashed an agonizing cry that would have made their earlier enchantment resemble a celebration hymn. The skin on their bodies literary began to melt, puddles of the new liquid and blood forming around each of them. Words could not describe it. The priest who stood by Kael's side all this side closed his eyes and ears, hoping not to witness any of it. The Prince himself was about to throw up. But the nightmare ended, and in the place of the necromancers now stood three skeletons in the same tortured poses, their dresses stained with melted skin and muscles.
"Unbelievable," Kel'Thuzad, the only one who had not lost speech, broke the silence.
But for the Blood Mage it was not just unbelievable, the stench of left by the results of the ritual. Lowering his head, he stormed out of the room. Luckily for him, the tempest had vanished, replaced by chilly, but still desired calmness. Once outside, he made a deep breath as though it would help him forget the carnage. The priest exited the tent. Vashj followed, and, after her, Kel'Thuzad.
"My Prince, how may I help you?" he asked.
"I'm fine." With a gesture of a hand he ordered the priest to leave. With a bow, the healer did so.
"What…was…that?" wondered the Prince when he found himself again.
"Something went wrong, the necromancers have failed their objective," was the reply.
"And what about Lord Illidan?" it was Vashj's turn to ask.
"Now we can only guess what is really happening to him, although I have a theory."
"And your…" the Blood Elf made a stop in his statement in order to highline the central word, "…theory…is?"
"Though he holds the title of the Lich King, Illidan is a living being. The power he wields is too strong for him, so it has a negative effect on his body and mind. Although even I cannot be certain."
"Is there a cure?" sounded Vashj's specific voice.
"I believe there are two ways to bring Illidan to his full potential. He can merge his essence with that of a powerful Undead being…"
"Ha!" Kael had to admit that the Lich's statement was amusing and weird. "And who is he supposed to merge souls with? You?!"
"I was just saying what I think. And the second option…" the Lich made a short pause, "he becomes Undead."
"Out of the question." The trio heard a familiar voice behind them.
They turned around and indeed saw the tall, winged figure of Illidan Stormrage, his face twisted in a grimace which hinted that his pain had not gone away.
"There is a third option," he made several steps towards them, clumsily, balance broken.