The Last Guardian

13 The Second Shadow

“No!” shouted Khadgar, and the vision ebbed at once. They were alone in the dining hall once more, at the center of an ornate pattern made of crushed agates and rose quartz.

His ears tingled and the corners of his vision seemed to close in on him. He had sunk to one knee, but was unaware that he had even moved. Above him and to his right, Garona’s voice sounded hushed, almost strangled.

“Medivh,” she said quietly. “The Old Man. It couldn’t be.”

“It can be,” said Khadgar. His stomach felt like knotted snakes were churning within his flesh. His mind was already racing, and though he fervently wished to deny it, he knew its destination.

“No,” said Garona, grimly. “It must be a misfire. A false vision. We went looking for one thing and found something else. You said that’s happened before.”

“Not like this,” said Khadgar. “We may not be shown what we want, but we are always shown the truth.”

“Perhaps its just a warning,” said the half-orc.

“It makes sense,” said Khadgar, and there was the sound of rust and regret in his voice. “Think about it. That’s why the wards were still intact after we were attacked. He was already within the wards, and summoned the demon within.”

“It didn’t seem like him,” said Garona. “Perhaps it was an illusion, some magical fakery. It didn’t seem like him.”

“It was him,” said the apprentice, rising now. “I know the master’s voice. I know the master’s face. In all his moods and manners.”

“But it was like someone else was wearing that face,” said Garona. “Something false. Like he was a set of clothes, or a suit of armor, that someone else was wearing.”

Khadgar looked at the half-orc. Her voice was tremulous, and tears pooled in the corners of her wide eyes. She wanted to believe. She truly wanted to believe.

Khadgar wanted to believe as well. He nodded slowly. “It could be a trick. It still could be him. He could be tricking that orc, convincing him to come here. Maybe a vision of the future?”

Now it was Garona’s turn to shake her head. “No. That was Gul’dan. He’s here already. He herded us through the portal. This was in the past, this was their first meeting. But why would Medivh want to bring the orcs to Azeroth?”

“It explains why he hasn’t done much to oppose them,” said Khadgar. He shook his head, trying to loosen the thoughts that were lodged there. So many things suddenly made more sense. Odd disappearances. Little interest in the increasing number of orcs. Even bringing a half-orc into the castle.

He regarded Garona and wondered how deeply she was involved in the plot. She seemed completely taken aback by the news, yet was she a conspirator, or another pawn in the shadowplay that Medivh seemed to be running?

“We need to find out,” he said simply. “We need to know why he was there. What he was doing. He is the Guardian—we should not condemn him on a single vision.”

Garona nodded slowly. “So we ask him. How?”

Khadgar opened his mouth to respond, but another voice sounded through the halls.

“What’s all this brouhaha?” said Medivh, rounding the corner at the dining hall’s entrance.

Khadgar’s throat constricted and went dry.

The Magus stood in the doorway, and Khadgar looked at him, hunting for something in his walk, his appearance, his voice. Anything to betray his presence. There was nothing. This was Medivh.

“What are you children up to?” said the Magus, his gray brows furrowing.

Khadgar struggled for an answer, but Garona said, “The Apprentice was showing me a spell he was working on.” Her voice fluttered.

Medivh grunted. “Another of your visions, Young Trust? They’re bad enough around here, without you calling up the past. Come out of there at once—we have work to do. And you as well, Emissary.”

His voice was measured and understanding, but firm. The stern voice of the wise mentor. Khadgar took a step forward, but Garona grabbed him by the arm.

“Shadows,” she hissed.

Khadgar blinked, and looked at the Magus again. Impatience showed on his face now, and disapproval. His shoulders were still broad, he held himself upright despite the pressures on him. He was dressed in robes Khadgar had seen him wear often before.

And behind him trailed two shadows. One directly away from the torch, and the other, equally dark, at an odd angle.

Khadgar hesitated, and Medivh’s disapproval deepened, a storm gathering on his face. “What is the matter, Young Trust?”

“We should clean up our mess,” said Khadgar, trying to be light. “Don’t want to make Moroes work too hard. We will catch up.”

“Negotiation is not part of an apprentice’s duties,” said Medivh. “Now come here at once.”

No one moved. Garona said, “Why doesn’t he come into the room?”

Why indeed, thought Khadgar. Instead he said, “One question, Master?”

“What now?” grunted the master mage.

“Why did you visit the orc Gul’dan’s dreams?” said Khadgar, feeling his throat tighten as he asked, “Why did you show the orcs how to come to this world?”

Medivh’s glare shifted to Garona. “I was unaware Gul’dan told you of me. He didn’t strike me as being unwise, or a chatterbox.”

Garona took a step back, but this time Khadgar restrained her. She said, “I didn’t know. Until now.”

Medivh snorted. “It matters little. Now come here. Both of you.”

“Why did you show the orcs the way here?” repeated Khadgar.

“You do not negotiate with your betters!” snapped the mage.

“Why did you bring the orcs to Azeroth?” asked Khadgar, pleading now.

“It is none of your business, child. You will come here! Now!” The Magus’s face was livid and twisted.

“With respect, sir,” said Khadgar, and his words felt like dagger-thrusts, “no, I will not.”

Medivh thundered in rage. “Child, I will have you…” and as he spoke, he stepped into the room.

Sparks flew up at once, bathing the older mage in a shower of light. The Magus staggered back a step, then raised his hands, and muttered a curse.

“What?” began Garona.

“Circle of Warding,” snapped Khadgar. “To keep summoned demons at bay. The Magus cannot cross it.”

“But if it only affects demons, why not? Unless…” Garona, looked at Khadgar. “No,” she said. “Can the circle hold him back?”

Khadgar thought of jackstraw laid across the wards in the tower at Stormwind, and at the energy blossoming by the doorway. He shook his head.

Instead he shouted at the Magus, “Is this what you did to Huglar and Hugarin? And Guzbah? And the others? Did they figure things out?”

“They were further from the truth than you were, child,” said the illuminated Magus through gritted teeth, “But I had to be careful. I forgave your curiosity for your youth, and thought that loyalty—” He grunted now as the protective wards resisted him. “—I thought that loyalty still mattered in this world.”

The protective wards blazed as Medivh moved into them, and Khadgar could see the fields distorting around the Magus’s outstretched palms. The flickering of the sparks seemed to catch Medivh’s beard on fire, and smoke curled up like horns from his forehead.

And then Khadgar’s heart sank, for he realized that what he was seeing was another image, this one laid over the image of the beloved mage. The image that belonged to the second shadow.

“He’s going to get through,” said Garona.

Khadgar gritted his teeth, “Eventually. He’s pouring huge amounts of power into breaking the circle.”

“Can he do that?” asked the half-orc.

“He’s the Guardian of Tirisfal,” said Khadgar. “He can do whatever he wants. It just takes time.”

“Well, can we get out of here?” Garona sounded panicked now.

“Only way out is past him,” said Khadgar.

Garona looked around. “Blow out a wall, then. New exit.”

Khadgar looked at the stonework of the tower, but shook his head.

“Well, try something!”

“I’ll try this,” said Khadgar. Before them, the figure of Medivh, taller now and wreathed in lightning, loomed up in the smoke.

Calming himself, he pulled the magical energies into himself. He made the motions he had made only minutes before, and intoned the words lost to mortal men, and when he had compressed the energies into a single ball of light, he released it.

“Bring me a vision,” said Khadgar, “of one who has fought this beast before!”

There was a brief bit of disorientation, and for a moment Khadgar thought the spell had misfired and transported them to the observatory atop the tower. But no, it was now night around them, and an imperious, angry female voice split the air.

“You dare strike your own mother?” shouted Aegwynn, her own face livid with rage.

Aegwynn stood at one end of the observatory deck, Medivh at the other. It was Medivh as he knew him—tall, proud, and apparently worried. Neither she nor the past-Medivh paid any attention to either Khadgar or Garona. With a start, Khadgar realized that the present incarnation of Medivh was present as well, sparkling along one wall. The pair from the past ignored him as well, but the present-Medivh was watching the spectacle played out before them.

“Mother, I thought you were being hysterical,” said the past-Medivh.

“So a mystic bolt would bring me to my senses?” snapped the previous Guardian. Khadgar saw that she was much older now. Her blond hair was now white, and there were tight wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Still, she held the presence of the earlier forms he had seen. “Now,” she said, “answer my question.”

“Mother, you’re not seeing things right,” said the past-Medivh.

“Answer,” snapped Aegwynn sternly. “Why did you bring the orcs to Azeroth?”

“No wonder he was so testy when you asked him that,” said Garona. Khadgar shushed her, and kept an eye on the present-Medivh. The present incarnation had ceased to press against the walls of the wards, and his face seemed to have lost its emotion.

“Mother?” said the present-Medivh. His face looked credulous.

“You don’t HAVE an answer, do you?” said Aegwynn. “This is some little game you’re playing. Some challenge for Llane and Lothar to amuse themselves with? The power of the Tirisfalen is no game, child. There are more orcs coming in all the time, and I am hearing of caravans being raided near the Black Morass. A novice could track back to your Portal, but only your mother would be able to taste the power that wrapped it. Again, child, how do you account for yourself?”

Khadgar wilted under the older woman’s invective, and half-expected the past-Medivh to flee the room. Instead, Medivh surprised him. He laughed deeply.

“Does your mother’s disproval amuse you, child?” said Aegwynn sternly.

“No,” said Medivh, flashing a deep, predatory grin. “But my mother’s stupidity does.”

Khadgar looked across the room, and saw the present-Medivh flinch at the sound of his past incarnation’s words.

“You dare,” thundered Aegwynn, raising her hand. A sphere of blazing-white light erupted from her palm and lanced toward the past-Medivh. The Magus raised a hand and turned it aside with ease.

“I do, Mother,” said the phantom of the past. “And I have the power for it. The power that you invested me with at my conception, a power that I did not want or request.” The phantom-Medivh gestured, and the topmost floor was alight with a blazing bolt. Aegwynn caught the energy herself, but Khadgar noted that she had to raise both hands, and still was staggered back.

“But why did you let the orcs into Azeroth?” hissed the older woman. “There is no need. You put entire populations at risk, and to what end?”

“To break the cycle, of course,” said the past-Medivh. “To smash the clockwork universe that you have built for me. Everything in its place, including your child. If you could not continue on as Guardian, your hand-picked, born and groomed successor would, but would be locked into his script as tightly as any of your other pawns.”

The present-Medivh had sunk to his knees, his eyes locked on the tableaux before him. He was mouthing the words that his past-self had spoken.

Garona tugged on Khadgar’s sleeve, and he nodded. The pair left the heart of the wards, and began to edge around the room, trying to ease behind the present incarnation of the Magus.

“But, the risk, child…” said Aegwynn.

“Risk?” said Medivh. “Risk to whom? Not to me, not with the power of the Tirisfalen at my command. To the rest of the Order? They worry more about internal politics than demons. To the human nations? Fat and happy, protected from dangers that they do not even know about? Is anyone important really at risk?”

“You’re playing with forces greater than yourself, Son,” said Aegwynn. Khadgar and Garona were nearly to the door, but the present-Medivh was held rapt by the vision.

“Oh, of course,” said the Magus’s past with a snarl. “Thinking that I could handle powers like that would be the sin of Pride. Sort of like thinking you could match wits with a demon lord and come out on top.”

They were behind Medivh now, and Garona reached for the knife inside her blouse. Khadgar stopped her hand and shook his head. They slipped behind Medivh. Tears were starting to form at the old man’s eyes.

“What happens if these orcs succeed?” said Aegwynn. “They worship dark gods and shadows. Why would you give Azeroth to them?”

“When they succeed,” said the past Medivh, “they will make me their leader. They respect strength, Mother, unlike you or the rest of this sorry world. And thanks to you, I am the strongest thing in this world. And I will have broken the shackles that you and others have placed on me, and I will rule.”

There was a silence in the vision, and Khadgar and Garona froze, holding their breath. Would the present Medivh notice them in the silence?

Aegwynn, speaking from the years past, held his attention. “You are not my son,” she said.

The present Medivh put his face in his hands. His past version said, “No. I have never been your son. Never truly yours, in any case.”

And the past Magus laughed. It was a deep, thundering laugh that Khadgar had heard before, on the icy steppes, when last these two battled.

Aegwynn looked shocked, “Sargeras?” she spat, in final recognition. “I killed you.”

“You killed a body, witch. You only killed my physical form!” snarled the Medivh of the past, and already Khadgar could see the overlay of the second being, the alternate shadow, that consumed him. A creature of shadow and flame, with a beard of fire and great ebon horns. “Killed it and hid it away in a tomb beneath the sea. But I was willing to sacrifice it to gain a greater prize.”

Despite herself, Aegwynn put a hand over her stomach.

“Yes, Mother dear,” said the past Medivh, the flames licking at his beard, the horns forming out of smoke before his brows. He was Medivh, but Sargeras as well. “I hid in your womb, and passed into the slumbering cells of your unformed child. A cancer, a blight, a birth defect that you would never surmise. Killing you was impossible, seducing you unlikely. So I made myself your heir.”

Aegwynn shouted a curse and lurched her hands upward, her anger wrapped around words not made for human voices. A bolt of scintillating rainbow energy struck the Medivh/Sargeras creature full in the chest.

The phantom of the past staggered back one step, then two, then raised a single hand and caught the energy cast at him. The room smelled of cooking meat, and the Sargeras/Medivh snarled and spat. He invoked a spell of his own, and Aegwynn was flung across the room.

“I cannot kill you, Mother,” snapped the demonic form. “Some part of me keeps me from doing that. But I will break you. Break you and banish you, and by the time you’ve healed, by the time you’ve walked back from where I will send you, this land will be mine. This land, and the power of the Order of Tirisfal!”

In the present day, Medivh let out the howl of a lost soul, screaming to the heavens for forgiveness that will never be forthcoming.

“That’s our cue,” said Garona, pulling on Khadgar’s robe. “Let’s get while the getting is good.”

Khadgar hesitated for a moment, then followed her to the stairs.

They tumbled down the stone stairs three at a time, almost slamming into Moroes.

“Excited,” he noted calmly. “Problem?”

Garona hurdled down past the castellan, but Khadgar grabbed the older man and said, “The master has gone mad.”

“More than usual?” replied Moroes.

“It’s not a joke,” said Khadgar, then his eyes lit up. “Do you have the whistle to summon gryphons?”

The servant raised a rune-carved piece of metal. “Wish me to summon…”

“I’ll do it,” said Khadgar, grabbing the item from his hands, and hurtling after Garona. “He’ll be after us, but you had better run as well. Take Cook and flee as far as you can.”

And with that Khadgar was lost to view.

“Flee?” said Moroes to the apprentice’s retreating form; then he snorted. “Wherever would I go?”