CHAPTER 21

Many of those who saw could not tear their eyes from the magnificent show of the skies. The numerous colors gave the impression of dancing. The tones of red moved next to the purple clouds, in a way, slowly spinning like a vase on a potter's work circle. Then they got pierced by a bolt which almost resembled lightning in many features except the color, for its color was green. Then some other shade would emerge from them—yellow, or blue, or grey. Many other marvels would illuminate the heavens that night, giving the thought that the endless sky burned with magical fires.

It was undoubtedly an omen, but how could it be correctly interpreted? Did it mean that the Horde had left its dark times and could now live in peace? Did it mean that the native races of the Barrens were destined to push the new colonists, whether the green-skinned Orcs or the armor-clad Humans, back from whence they came? Perhaps backup was on its way from the Eastern Kingdom to the survivors of Daelin Proudmoore's failed expedition, so that they could put an end to the Horde menace together, and end the old tale of Alliance-Horde confrontations. Perhaps it meant something else? In Orgrimmar, Tiragarde Keep, and any native settlement wise men and "smart guys" alike gave their own interpretations and shared their speculations with their comrades.

As the skies above burned, a lonely peon was on his way to the new capital of the Horde. No other Orc walked beside him; he led a kodo by the reins, a large grey beast of the steppes that the Orcs had domesticated, following the example set by their Tauren allies many years before, and used to transport weapons and supplies. The peon used it for the same purpose; the kodo pulled a cart full with goods. Having avoided meeting Centaurs or Quilboars, the peon and his pet reached the city gates.

"Who goes here?" asked one of the guards that sentinelled the entrance. Though the guards had also gazed on the celestial miracle, it was not enough for them to forget their duties.

"Lok-tar, warriors," he greeted them, "a lonely peon has arrived to the fine city of Orgrimmar bringing goods to sell on the market," he threw his hand in the direction of the cart.

The guard came closer to the cart—it was fully packed with local fruit, no free place left.

"This country is mostly barren. So the tropical fruit that can be gathered in the few oases are the grain of these lands, so there will always be a need in them on the market," the potential trader explained.

"Fresh, I see," said the guard, admiring the condition of the crop.

"Indeed they are. I only finished gathering them today, and it had taken me several days to collect what you see before your eyes. Unfortunately, those accursed Harpy wenches are always on their hunt at day, and captured one from my village ad he was on his trek to this city, so I have to travel at night."

"Ok, you may move on," said the guard.

"Thank you," the peon bowed his head, "but perhaps the warriors before me are interested in buying anything I offer?" he smiled.

"No thanks, it is too luxurious for us," followed a reply.

"As you wish," said the peon and entered the city, his pet following him.

They made their way amidst the wooden huts, mostly small and sometimes bigger, that housed the common Orc families. The kodo seldom made noises similar to those made by the mounts of the Humans, horses. Yet the big animal his was not his only companion…

The peon heard a quiet laugh—there were residents on the street—men, women, and children looking at the illuminated heavens with awe—yet not close to him.

In the shadows of a pass between the walls of two huts where nobody would notice, the other companion once again revealed himself.

"Stop for a moment," the voice ordered.

The peon did so unquestionably. Out of the thin night air appeared a Lich that was the first in hierarchy among his kind. Though he had mastered necromancy, experience had shown time and time again that one needed to get some magical items from the Goblins…like those that grant the ability to turn invisible for a while. Getting into the city turned out to be easier than he had originally thought.

Kel'Thuzad looked at the night sky, which could have seemed mad to some, once again. He, like many others, had his own view on it.

"Fate is with us," he addressed his companion, the same peon who had been possessed by a banshee under his order back at an oasis after being abducted by the Naga.

"Indeed, Lord Kel'Thuzad," the reply came, lacking all possible emotions.

Symbols were symbols, but entering the city was just the first task.

"Forward," whispered the dark sorcerer to the possessed minion before once again disappearing in the shadows, "we must reach your hut," he added.

There he would find shelter for the time being. The guards had foolishly believed them.

All the lines the peon had said had originally been made up by the Lich. Especially he liked the statement "the grain of these lands."

True, they had to act fast in this case, but, nevertheless, their methods of achieving their goal were diverse. Like a skilled fisherman, the Illidari elite were always ready to strike with a harpoon, yet at the same time throwing a net into the water a bit further could help trap the salmon if it escapes the first strike or even avoiding the unnecessary action. Moreover, their creativity and ingenuity was endless. They would not just throw one net, but put a number of them of different kinds in different places, and in the end they would get what they came for.

Tropical fruit are the grain of these barren lands, he laughed.

Well, it was grain that brought the Plague to Lordaeron…

——————

The Warchief of the Horde watched the astronomical spectacle as well. He stood at the balcony of Grommash Hold. The air, as it had always been at night in the area, was cool, a sharp contrast to its day-time counterpart. Yet Thrall felt not it, so consumed he was by the thoughts, the dance of which in his head would have rivaled those of the sky fires. If he did not think about one problematic topic, another one sprang to his mind. Some were linked to each other like in marriage; some were not, yet still shared a type of bond.

Now this added itself to their company. The far seer did not need to communicate with the spirits to understand what the blaze before his eyes stood for. It was an omen, but an omen to who or what? Did it symbolize some event that would shape the future of many Orcs or somebody else? Perhaps he was simply overestimating the darker features of this phenomenon? Maybe that night, in Orgrimmar or one of the Orc villages, a child was or was about to be born; a child that was fated to become a great warrior or a powerful skilled shaman? He hoped the latter was the case—there were and had been enough things to worry about. At the same time, the hypothetical newborn might lead the Horde back to its dark ways…

Thrall gripped the handles of the balcony. More thoughts like that, and he would take a boat and sail the seas of madness along with his awkward guest, the "Prophet's emissary." From the beginning, he wanted to find out more about the old man's motives and ways of action, but that "emissary" managed to present a story that even if it was indeed true, seemed warped. Like illusions of a lunatic…

Perhaps the Prophet never visited the young Human, and the knight had simply imaged the meeting with him. That meant that in his madness he had simply made his way across the vast landscapes of Kalimdor just to raise a storm in a teacup. Thrall did have arguments to back his claim. Moreover, maybe in reality that the one named Illidan never even assumed the mantle of the Lich King, and the Human, after all that had happened to him created his own world in the caverns of his mind, where he was the hero and the fate of all rested on his shoulders? Now this felt more realistic than it had done before. Surely, the Prophet, who in times of a dark crisis had come to the Warchief, would have done the same if an imminent threat emerged again.

Still, perhaps he had really to spoken…but to someone else. This speculation made him unwillingly step back, so unexpected it was. Had somebody—or something—intentionally led the Human astray? Was that a work of a shapeshifter? Medivh could turn into a crow, but some could take the guise of both the crow and the Prophet…Demons could shapeshift; that was not even under debate. Dragons had the same ability. Was that the work of a Blue, Black, or who-knows-what sort of Dragon? If there was another force was at play here, whose side was it on? What aim were they trying to achieve? Everything was getting thicker and thicker with no light coming through the mist, and the Warchief once more began to attempt to assess the true amount of his guest's sanity. He wanted to talk to the Human again, but after what happened to him during the battle with the Quilboars that would be unlikely…

Making a deep breath, the Orc left the balcony, his hands behind his back. If he was incapable of talking to the man, he would chat with another person about everything that had happened. He threw a final look outside, where the distant fires bothered not to even think of fading away. Thrall smirked; he hoped the person he was soon about to visit also watched those illuminations.

—————————

With time, the fires of the heavens faded into nothing, and the night gave way to sunlight. A new day began, and the burning heat, as if made by celestial flames but late, came down on the harsh land. Again the area would go in its ordinary ways, mostly. Still the nighttime miracle would not pass the Barrens and Durotar.

Like birds of prey the Harpies circled around them, releasing their loud, specific shrieks that were a bane for the ears of many races. Yet not everyone was irritated by those sounds. From the above the half-bird women sent deadly bolts to strike the intruders.

A bow played its melody, and one of the Harpies fell to the ground, its chest speared by an arrow. Immediately, Lady Vashj withdrew another one and gazed above to choose the next target. The night before Illidan came to Kalimdor with backup, and a new tactic was of operation was now needed; in the mountainous part of Durotar, south from Orgrimmar they set up an encampment, yet unfortunately—it remained to be seen whose misfortune it really was—their camp was founded near the nests of one of the Harpy groups. It did not take the flying hybrids with bright plumage to attack the newcomers, and carry several Mur'gul slaves of the Naga to their nests as a meal. Their raids were constant, though they had suffered losses themselves, so the Sea Witch led a squad to eradicate the nuisance at its source.

The Harpies bolted into different directions, each choosing a victim. Vashj fired another arrow with the hope of taking down their flame-feathered matriarch, the biggest in the flock. The Harpy dashed aside in time, and the arrow continued its fly up the endless sky.

"Accursed Highborne," the matriarch cried and threw another bolt at her.

Vashj followed her adversary's example and simply moved out of the bolt's way; it hit the fertile ground. The Sea Witch smiled at the irony—according to one of the legends, the female hybrids were once Night Elves who were cursed for betraying Queen Azshara. That would mean they and the Naga were natural enemies. Yet the winged fury failed to understand was that over the years the Highborne had made new allies. In this mission the Sea Witch and Naga Siren were accompanied by the reptilian snap dragons and the undead crypt fiends. Together they would show the feathered freaks their superiority.

One of the Harpies threw herself at the snap dragon, ready tear him apart with her claws, but received a splash of acid-poison right in her face as she neared the creature. She fell on her back, and the reptilian jumped at her, sinking its teeth into her throat. The undead spiders knew useful tricks as well; four winged creatures were brought to the ground by the nets they were capable of making like ordinary arachnids made web. This made the easiest of targets for the Illidari squad, and they found their dooms either by paws of the crypt fiends or wrath of the Naga. The last servant of the matriarch was virtually torn apart by the dark magic of the Siren.

With her flock annihilated, the matriarch unleashed a spell that shattered the ability of her foes to concentrate, yet she did not use this as an opportunity to fight—all the advantages were on the enemy's side—but to flee, abandoning the nest and eggs. Chance, however, played its unique role; as she started to retreat, an arrow struck her in the back, sending the matriarch to the ground with an agonizing cry.

"Raze the nest!" the Sea Witch ordered.

At her command, three snap dragons, hissing, ran to the giant nests, eager to feast on the eggs.

Triumphantly, Vashj crawled to her defeated foe. The Harpy was able to roll her head slightly, and the Naga was met by her dying gaze.

"The loyal ones will always be superior to your kind," the Sea Witch said and the snakes that replaced her hair ten thousand years before hissed in unison in agreement..

—————————

He had grown accustomed to this new way of life. He had spent countless hours in this condition, plunged in a self-induced coma so to avoid the pain that tormented his body and soul in the material world. He could even consider it his own Emerald Dream, even though he was actually locked in the deeps of his own mind—a bizarre characteristic for the many, yet his scale of understanding of the complicated was above any other living being. Time and time again he would return to this stasis, sailing the dark spaces, sometimes encountering shadows of the past and present. Or perhaps everything was vice versa? He could not tell.

At some point later—whether minutes or hours, mattered not—he was approached by three figures at the same time. Quite a rare event, but sometimes he had indeed been visited by several at once. They stood motionless like guards before a palace. Blind on Azeroth, he could see when here. All three strongly resembled him…

One of the visitors had the built and features of an ordinary Night Elf, a black bandana hid his eyes and body art on him served as marks of distinction. That was Illidan the Night Elf.

The one next to him looked exactly like him in the material world. Unlike the previous one, this version had hooves for feet, giant leathery wings attached to his back and horns on his head. That was Illidan the Half-Demon.

The third one…He was like a reflection in the mirror to his predecessor in looks, yet still different in sense. One could feel that difference just be looking at them both. That was Illidan the Lich King.

Illidan Stormrage was not a person—he was a phenomenon. What many thought as one was in reality three personas always in the presence of each other. That was one of the symbolic of his glory! All three had their distinctions, but he had created a bond between them like a skilled artisan. Who else could accomplish a feat like this?!

The trio was Illidan Stormrage, and Illidan Stormrage was that trio. That is why he suffered for the last weeks. There was an easier way of overcoming the illness that had befallen him. In a dark ritual, he could tear his chest open and rip his own heart out, becoming Undead and getting the chance to use his newly-gotten necromantic powers to full extent. Yet, if he did this, he would destroy Illidan the Night Elf. That, in turn, would destroy the existing balance within him, not to mention a part of himself, and he could not predict the result…and, moreover, he simply did not want that. That is why he needed to consume the speck of power that still remained in the accursed runeblade.

Due to his illness he had temporary lost the ability to telepathically link his consciousness to his undead minions, so to see and here via some of them what was far from him. Yet even in his condition, he was still able to communicate with one, though it did cause him problems, and he could feel him reaching his thoughts out to his leader.

"Even the heavens above acknowledge the greatness of Illidan Stormrage!" he heard his voice proclaim.

The trio disappeared—a replacement had been found.

"I thank you for your compliment, Lord Kel'Thuzad," Illidan replied calmly, "it is a pity we were unable to meet when I returned to Kalimdor."

"But the skies let me know of your upcoming arrival,"

"Have you succeeded in getting into the city?" the leader of the Illidari asked.

"Indeed. I am currently within the city. At this moment everything goes the way it was planned. At the moment, I am in the hut of the possessed peon, and those who live in the city are unaware of my presence."

"So there were no setbacks?"

"No. When is everything expected to be ready outside?" Kel'Thuzad asked. After all, he was responsible for only one part.

"It is not yet the time," followed the sharp reply, "the area is secured; you and Lady Vashj have made sure of this. Just in case, any flying device that leaves the city will be brought down when it loses the city out of sight and "checked". Any peculiar caravan leaving the city will get a similar treatment. The rest will come to its places within days."

The Demon Hunter could not wait to finally be over with this nonsense.

"We only need to wait a couple of more days," he repeated, now calmly, "I suppose you do remember why exactly you are inside?"

"When am I to act?"

"For now, make the preparations. I will contact you when the time comes, although you will undoubtedly notice the first hint. This is all for now."

"Yes, Lord Illidan," said the Lich before the link between the two melted.

Once again, Illidan was left alone in complete darkness. Yet he did not care—he had grown accustomed to this way of life…