The Last Guardian

12 Life in Wartime

It took only several days to put the library back in proper order. Most of the scattered books were at least near to where they needed to be, and the rarer, more magical, and trapped volumes were on the upper balcony and had been untouched by the fracas. Rebuilding some of the cases took time, however, and Garona and Khadgar turned the empty stables into a makeshift carpentry shop, and they tried to restore (and in some cases replace) the shattered cases.

Of the demon, there was no trace, save for the damage wrought. The claw marks remained in the table, and the pages of The Lineage of Azeroth’s Kings were badly mangled and torn, as if by massive jaws. Yet there was no body, no blood, no remains to drop at Medivh’s feet.

“Maybe it was rescued,” suggested Garona.

“It was pretty dead when we left it,” responded Khadgar, at the time trying to remember if he had put epic poetry on the shelf above or below romantic epics.

“Something rescued the body,” said Garona. “The same person who popped it in here would have popped him out.”

“And the blood as well,” reminded Khadgar.

“And blood as well,” repeated the half-orc. “Perhaps it was a tidy demon.”

“That’s not the way magic works,” said Khadgar.

“Perhaps not your magic, the magic you learned,” said Garona. “Other peoples could have other magics. The old shamans among the orcs had one way of magic, the warlocks that cast spells have different ones. Maybe it’s a spell you never heard of.”

“No,” said Khadgar simply. “It would have left some kind of a marker. A bit of the caster behind. Some residual energy that I could feel, even if I could not identify it. The only spellcasters active in the tower have been myself and the Magus. I know that through my own spells. And I checked the wards. Medivh was right—they were all operating. No one should have been able to break into the tower, magically or otherwise.”

Garona shrugged. “But there are odd things about this tower as well, correct? Could the old rules not apply here?”

It was Khadgar’s turn to shrug. “If that’s the case, we’re in a lot more trouble than I imagined.”

Khadgar’s relationship with the half-orc seemed to improve over the course of repairing the library, and when his back was to her, or she was in the stacks, her voice sounded almost human. Still, she remained guarded about whom she represented, and Khadgar for his part remained watchful. He kept track of what references she used and what questions she asked.

He also tried to keep track of any communications she made, to the point of wrapping the guest quarters with his own web of detection spells, to inform him if she had left the room or sent word out. If she had, her methods foiled even Khadgar’s detection, which made him more nervous as opposed to assuring him. If she was doing anything with the knowledge she had gained, she was keeping it to herself.

And true to her word, Garona began sharing her own knowledge about the orcs. Khadgar began to assemble a picture of how the orcs were ruled (by strength and warrior prowess) as well as the different clans within. Once she got rolling, the Emissary made very clear her opinion of the various clans, whose leaders she tended to think of as lumpen oafs who are only thinking of where their next battle is coming from. As she described the multi-clan orcish nation, the Horde, Khadgar quickly understood that the dynamics were ever-changing and fluid at best.

A large chunk of the Horde was the conservative Bleeding Hollow clan. A powerful group with a long history of conquest, the clan was less powerful in that its aged leader, Kilrogg Deadeye, had become more unwilling to throw lives away in combat. Garona explained that in orcish politics, older orcs become more pragmatic, which is often mistaken for cowardice by the younger generation. Kilrogg had killed three of his sons and two grandsons already who thought they could rule the clan better.

The clan known as the Blackrock appeared to have another large chunk of the Horde, its leader was Blackhand, who had as his chief recommendation for leader the ability to thump anyone else who wanted the title. A chunk of Blackrock had already splintered off, knocked out a tooth, and called themselves the Black Tooth Grin. Charming names.

There were other clans: Twilight’s Hammer, which reveled in destruction, and the Burning Blade, who seemed to have no leader, but rather served as an anarchic gathering within the chaos of the Horde. And smaller clans, like the Stormreavers, that were led by a warlock. Khadgar suspected that Garona was reporting to someone within the Stormreavers, if only because she had less to complain about with them than the others.

Khadgar took what notes he could, and assembled into reports for Lothar. A larger amount of communications was coming in from all points in Azeroth, and now it seemed that the Horde was spilling out of the Black Morass in all directions. The orcs that were considered mere rumors a year ago were now omnipresent, and Stormwind Keep was mobilizing to meet the threat. Khadgar kept the ever-worsening news from Garona, but fed to Lothar what details he could glean, down to clan rivalries and favorite colors (The Blackrock clan, for example, favored red for some reason).

Khadgar also tried to communicate what he had learned to Medivh, but the Magus was surprisingly disinterested. Indeed, the Magus’s conversations with Garona were not as common as they once were, and on several occasions Khadgar discovered that Medivh had left the tower without informing him. Even when he was present, Medivh seemed more distant. More than once Khadgar had come upon him, seated in one of his chairs in the observatory, staring out into the Azerothean night. He seemed moodier now, quicker to disagree, and less willing to listen than before.

His disaffected mood was clear to the others as well. Moroes would give Khadgar a painful, long-suffering look as he left the master’s chambers. And Garona herself brought up the subject as they reviewed the maps of the known world (which were made in Stormwind, and as such woefully incomplete even when talking about Lordaeron).

“Is he always like this?” she asked.

Khadgar responded stoically, “He has many moods.”

“Yes, but when I first encountered him, he seemed alive, engaged, and positive. Now he seems more…”

“Distracted?”

“Addled,” said Garona, twisting her lips in disgust.

Khadgar could not disagree. Later that evening, Khadgar reported to the Magus a slew of new message translations, all with the purple seal, all begging for aid against the orcs.

“The orcs are not demons,” said Medivh. “They are flesh and blood, and as such the worry of warriors, not wizards.”

“The messages are quite dire,” said Khadgar. “It sounds like the lands closest to the Black Morass are being abandoned, and refugees flooding into Stormwind and the other cities of Azeroth. They are pressed thin.”

“And so they depend on the Guardian to ride to their rescue. Bad enough I must guard the watchtowers on the Twisting Nether to watch for demons, and to hunt down the mistakes of these amateurs. Now I must rescue them against other nations? Will I be asked to support Azeroth in a trade dispute with Lordaeron next? Such matters should not be our worry.”

“There may not be an Azeroth without your help. Lothar is…”

“Lothar is a fool,” muttered Medivh. “An old mother hen that sees threats everywhere. And Llane is little better, seeing nothing that could break his walls. And the Order, all the mighty mages, they have quarreled and argued and spat among themselves so now they don’t have the power to repel a new invader. No, Young Trust, this is the little stuff. Even if the orcs succeeded in Azeroth, they would need a Guardian, and I would be here for them.”

“Master, that’s…”

“Sacrilege? Blasphemy? Betrayal?” The Magus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps. But I am a man made old before my time, and I have paid a great price for my unwanted power. Permit me to rail against the clockworks that rule my life. Go now. I’ll return to your tales of woe in the morning.”

As he was closing the door, Khadgar heard Medivh add, “I am so tired of worrying about everything. When can I worry about myself?”

“The orcs have attacked Stormwind,” said Khadgar. It was three weeks later. He laid the missive on the table between him and Garona.

The half-orc stared at the red-sealed envelope like it was a venomous snake. “I am sorry,” she said at last. “They will not as a rule take prisoners.”

“The orc forces were repelled this time,” said Khadgar. “Thrown back before they reached the gates by Llane’s troops. From the descriptions, it sounds like Kilrogg’s Bleeding Hollow and the Twilight’s Hammer clans. There seemed to be a lack of coordination between the major forces.”

Garona gave a bulldog-sneeze grunt and said, “The Twilight’s Hammer should have never be put on an assault in a siege situation. Kilrogg likely was trying to decimate a rival, and use Stormwind as his anvil to do so.”

“So even in the midst of an attack, they continue to brawl and betray each other,” said Khadgar. He wondered if his own reports to Lothar had given them the information they needed to break the assault.

Garona shrugged, “Very much like humans.” She motioned to the books piled high on the study table. “In your histories, there are continual justifications for all manner of hellish actions. Claims of nobility and heritage and honor to cover up every bit of genocide, assassination, and massacre. At least the Horde is honest in their naked lust for power.” She was silent for a moment, then added, “I don’t think I could have helped them.”

“The orcs, or Stormwind?” asked Khadgar.

“Either,” said Garona. “I did not know about any attack on Stormwind, if that’s what you’re hinting at, though anyone with half an ounce of sense would know that a Horde would strike against the biggest target as soon as possible. You know that from our discussions. You also know that they’ll pull back, regroup, kill a few leaders, and then come back in greater numbers.”

“I can guess, yes,” said Khadgar.

Garona added, “And you already sent a letter to the Champion at Stormwind just to that affect.”

Khadgar thought he kept his face passive, but the orc emissary gave a wide smile. “Yes, you did.”

Khadgar now felt his face turn flush, but pressed his point. “Actually, the question I have is, Why haven’t you been reporting to your masters?”

The green-fleshed woman leaned back in her seat. “Who’s to say I haven’t?”

“I do,” said Khadgar. “Unless you’re a better mage that I am.”

A small tic at the corner of Garona’s mouth betrayed her. “You haven’t been reporting in at all, have you?” asked Khadgar.

Garona was silent for a moment, and Khadgar let the silence fill the library. At length she said, “Let’s just say I’ve been having a problem with divided loyalties.”

“I thought you had no allegiances,” said Khadgar.

Garona ignored him. “I was sent here, ordered here, by a warlock named Gul’dan. Spellcaster. Leader of the Stormreavers. Very influential in the Horde. Very interested in the mages of your world.”

“And the orcs have the tendency to strike the biggest target first. Medivh,” said Khadgar.

“Gul’dan said Medivh was special. From which secret divination or spice-fueled meditation he used to come to that conclusion, I don’t know.” Garona avoided Khadgar’s glance. “I met several times with Medivh in the field, then agreed to come to the tower here as an emissary. I was supposed to trade basic information and report back to Gul’dan as much as I could about Medivh’s strengths. So you were right from the start—I was here as a spy.”

Khadgar sat down across from her. “You wouldn’t have been the first,” he said. “So why didn’t you report back?”

Garona was silent for a moment. “Medivh…” she started, then stopped. “The Old Man…” another pause. “He saw through it all at once, of course, and he still told me what I wanted to know. Most of it, at least.”

“I know,” said Khadgar. “He had the same affect on me.”

Garona nodded. “At first I thought he was just being pompous, sure in his power, like some orc chieftains I’ve known. But there’s something else. It’s as if he feels that by giving me the knowledge, he knew I would be changed by it, and would not betray his trust.”

“Trust,” said Khadgar. “That’s a big thing for Medivh. He seems to exude it. Standing next to him, you feel he knows what he’s doing.”

“Right,” said Garona, “and orcs are drawn to power naturally. I figured I could tell Gul’dan that I was held prisoner, unable to respond, and so I learned more, and eventually…”

“You didn’t want to see him hurt,” finished Khadgar.

“As Moroes would say, ‘ayep’,” said Garona. “He put a lot of trust in me, and he puts it in you, too. After watching your vision-power thing, I told him about it. I figured that might have brought the demon down on us. He said he knew and it didn’t bother him. That you were naturally curious, and it served you well. He stands by his people.”

“And you can’t hurt someone like that,” said Khadgar.

“Ayep. He made me feel human. And I haven’t felt human in a long, long time. The Old Man, Magus Medivh, seems to have a dream of more than one force battling another for domination. With his power, he could have destroyed us all, yet he does not. I think he believes in something better. I want to believe his dream as well.”

The two sat there for a while in silence. Somewhere in the distance, Moroes or Cook moved along the hallway.

“And recently…” said Garona. “Has he ever been like this before?”

She sounded like Lothar—trying to ask without seeming too concerned. Khadgar shook his head. “He’s always been erratic. Eccentric. But I’ve never seen him this…depressed.”

“Brooding,” added Garona. “Neutral. Up to now I’ve always assumed he would be on the side of the Kingdom of Azeroth. But if Stormwind itself is attacked and still he does nothing…”

“It may be his own training,” said Khadgar, choosing his words carefully. He did not want to reveal the Order to Garona, regardless of her current feelings. “He has to take a very long view on things. It sometimes cuts him off from others.”

“Which is why he takes in strays, I suppose,” said Garona. Another silence, then she added, “I am not sorry that Stormwind repelled the invaders. You don’t destroy something like that from without. You have to do something within to weaken the walls first.”

“I’m glad you’re not there as a general,” said Khadgar.

“Chieftain,” said Garona. “Like I’d get a chance.”

“There is something,” said Khadgar, then stopped. Garona tilted her heavily mawed head toward him.

“You sound like someone looking for a favor,” she said.

“I have never asked you about troop strengths, and positions….”

“About obvious spy stuff.”

“But,” said Khadgar, “they were amazed by the huge numbers of orc warriors on the field. They fought them back, but were surprised that the swamps of the Black Morass could hold that many soldiers. Even now they’re worried about the forces that could be hiding within the marshlands.”

“I know nothing of troop dispositions,” said Garona. “I have been here, spying on you, remember?”

“True,” said Khadgar. “But I also know you talked of your homeland. How did you get from there to here? Was it some spell?”

Garona sat quietly for a moment, as if trying to resolve something in her mind. Khadgar expected a flip comment, or a redirection of the subject, or even another question in response. Instead she said, “We call our world Draenor. It is a savage world, filled with badlands and bluffs and hardscrabble vegetation. Inhospitable and stormy…”

“And it has a red sky,” added Khadgar.

Garona looked at the young mage. “You have spoken with other orcs? Prisoners, perhaps? I was unaware the humans took orc prisoners.”

“No, a vision,” said Khadgar. The memory seemed half a lifetime away. “Much like you saw the first time we met. It was the first time I had seen orcs. I remember there were huge numbers of them.”

Garona let out a bulldog snort. “Your visions probably reveal more than you say, but you have a good picture. Orcs are fecund, and large litters are common, because so many die before they reach a warrior’s age.

“It was a hard life, and only the strong, the powerful, and the smart survived. I was in the third group, but still I was a near-outcast, surviving as best I could at the fringes of the clan. That would be the Stormreavers, at the time, at least when the order went out.”

“Order?”

“We were put on the march, every warrior and every capable hand. Grunt labor and swordsmen, all ordered to pack up their weapons, tools, and belongings, and head for the Hellfire Peninsula. There a great portal had been erected by Gul’dan and other powerful warlocks. A portal that broke through the space between the worlds.”

Garona sucked on a fang, remembering. “It was a great set of standing stones, hauled there to frame a rip in space itself. Within the rip were the colors of darkness, a swirl like oil on the surface of a polluted pool. I got the feeling that rip had been forged by greater hands, and the warlocks had just contained it.

“Many of the most hardened warriors feared the space between the pillars, but the chieftains and underchiefs made passionate speeches about what was to be found on the other side. A world of riches. A world of plenty. A world of soft creatures who would be easily dominated. All this they promised.

“Some still resisted. Some were slain, and others were forced through with axes resting against their backs. I was caught with a large group of laborers and shoved into the space between the pillars.”

Garona fell silent for a moment. “It’s called the Twisting Nether, and it was both instantaneous and eternal. I fell forever, and when I emerged into the strange light, I was in a mad new world.”

Khadgar added, “After promises of paradise, the Black Morass would be quite a letdown.”

Garona shook her head. “It was a shock. I remember quailing at the first sight of the blue, hostile sky. And the land, covered with vegetation as far as the eye could see. Some could not take it and went mad. Many joined the Burning Blade, the chaos orcs thronging beneath their fire-orange pennant, that day.”

Garona stroked her heavy chin. “I feared, but I survived. And I found my half-breed life gave me insight on these humans. I was part of an ambush party that attacked Medivh. He killed everyone else, but left me alive, and sent me with a message back to the Warlock Gul’dan. And after a while, Gul’dan sent me as his spy, but I found I had…difficulty…betraying the Old Man’s secrets.”

“Divided loyalties,” commented Khadgar.

“But to answer your question,” said Garona, “no, I don’t know how many clans have poured through the Dark Portal from Draenor. And I don’t know how long it will take for them to recover. And I don’t know where the portal came from. But you, Khadgar, can find out.”

Khadgar blinked. “Me?”

“Your visions,” said Garona. “You seem to be able to summon up the ghosts of the past, even of faraway. I watched you call up a vision of Medivh’s mother when I first met you. That was Stormwind we were at?”

“Yes,” said Khadgar. “And that’s why I still think the demon in the library was real—there was no background to the vision.”

Garona waved off his comment. “But you can call up these visions. You can summon up the moment when the rift was first created. You can find out who brought the orcs through to Azeroth.”

“Aye,” said Khadgar. “And I bet it’s the same mage or warlock that has been unleashing demons. It makes sense, that the two be linked.” He looked at Garona. “You know, that would not be a question I would have thought of.”

“I will provide the questions,” said Garona, looking very pleased with herself, “if you provide the answers.”

The empty dining room again. The ever-diligent Moroes had swept up the earlier casting circle, and Khadgar had to recast it with streams of crushed rose quartz and amethyst. Garona fit lit torches into the wall sconces, then stood in the center of the pattern, next to him.

“I’ll warn you,” he said to the half-orc. “This may not work.”

“You’ll do well,” replied Garona. “I’ve seen you do it before.”

“I’ll probably get something,” said Khadgar. “I just don’t know what.” He made the motions with his hands, and intoned the words. With Garona watching, he wanted to get everything just right. At last he released the mystical energy from the cage within his mind and shouted, “Show me the origin of the rift between Draenor and Azeroth!”

There was a change in the pressure, in the very weight of the air around them. It was warm, and night, but the night sky outside their window (for there was a window now in these quarters) was a deep red, the color of old, dried blood, and only a few weak stars pierced the envelope.

It was someone’s quarters, likely an orc leader. There were fur rugs on the floor and a large platform that would serve as a bed. A low fire pit burned in the center of the room. Weapons hung on the stone walls, and there were a plethora of cabinets as well. One was open, showing a line of preserved things, some of which might have once belonged to human or humanish creatures.

The figure in the bed tossed, turned, and then sat up suddenly, as awakening from a bad dream. He stared into the darkness, and his savaged, war-torn face was clear. Even by orc standards, he was an ugly representative of his race.

Garona let out a sharp gasp, and said, “Gul’dan.”

Khadgar nodded and said, “He should not see you.” This, then, was the warlock that had sent Garona to spy. He looked about as trustworthy as a bent gold piece. For the moment, he wrapped himself in his furs, and spoke.

“I can still see you,” he said. “Even though I think I am awake. Perhaps I dream I am awake. Come forth, dream creature.”

Garona gripped Khadgar’s shoulder, and he could feel her sharp fingernails dig into his flesh. But Gul’dan was not speaking to them. Instead a new specter wafted into view.

It was tall and broad-shouldered, taller than any of the other three. It was translucent, as if it did not belong here either. It was hooded, and its voice reedy and distant. Though the only light was from the fire pit, the figure cast two shadows—one directly back from the flames, the other to one side, as if lit by a different source.

“Gul’dan,” said the figure. “I want your people. I want your armies. I want your power to aid me.”

“I have called upon my spirit protectors, creature,” said Gul’dan, and Khadgar could hear a tremor in the orc’s voice. “I have called upon my warlocks and they have quailed before you. I have called upon my mystic master and he has failed to stop you. You haunt my dreams, and now you come, a dream-creature, into my world. Who and what are you, truly?”

“You fear me,” said the tall figure, and at the sound of his voice, Khadgar felt a cold hand run down his spine, “for you do not understand me. See my world and understand your fear. Then fear no more.”

And with that the tall hooded figure shaped a ball out of the air, as light and clear as a soap bubble. It floated, about a foot in diameter, and within it showed a tableau of a land with blue sky and green fields.

The cloaked figure was showing him Azeroth.

Another bubble followed, and then another, and then a fourth. The sun-dappled fields of summer grain. The swamps of the Black Morass. The ice fields of the north. The shining towers of Stormwind Keep.

And a bubble that contained a lonely tower cradled within a crater of hills, lit by clear moonlight. He was showing the orc spellcaster Karazhan.

And there was another bubble, a fleeting one, that showed some dark scene far beneath the waves. It seemed an errant thought, one that was quickly eradicated. Yet Khadgar got the feeling of power. There was a grave beneath the waves, a crypt, one that surged with power like a heartbeat. It was there for an instant, and then gone.

“Gather your forces,” said the cloaked figure. “Gather your armies and warriors and laborers and allies, and prepare them for a journey through the Twisting Nether. Prepare them well, for all this will be yours when you succeed.”

Khadgar shook his head. The voice stung at him like an errant gnat. Then he realized who it was and his heart quailed.

Gul’dan was up on his knees, his hands clasped before him. “I shall do so, for yours in power most supreme. But who are you truly, and how will we reach this world?”

The figure raised his hands to his hood, and Khadgar shook his head. He didn’t want to see it. He knew but he did not want to see it.

A deeply lined face. Graying brows. Green eyes that sparkled with hidden knowledge and something dangerous. Next to him, Garona let out a gasp.

“I am the Guardian,” said Medivh to the orc warlock. “I will open the way for you. I will smash the cycle and be free.”