The Last Guardian

14 Flight

They had made it several miles when the gryphon began to misbehave. Only a single beast had answered Khadgar’s summons, and bridled as Garona approached it. Only by sheer strength of will did the young mage get the gryphon to accept the half-orc’s presence. They could hear Medivh screaming and cursing long after they have left the circle of hills. They tilted the gryphon toward Stormwind, and Khadgar dug his heels deeply into the gryphon’s haunches.

They had made good speed, but now the gryphon bucked beneath him, trying to tear at the reins, trying to turn back toward the mountains. Khadgar tried to break the beast, to keep it to its course, but it became increasingly agitated.

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Garona over his shoulder.

“Medivh is calling it back,” said Khadgar. “It wants to go back to Karazhan.”

Khadgar wrestled with the reins, even tried the whistle, but at last had to admit defeat. He brought the gryphon down on a low, bare tor, and slid from its back after Garona had climbed off. As soon as he touched ground, the gryphon was aloft again, beating its heavy wings against the darkening air, climbing to return the call of its master.

“Think he will follow?” asked Garona.

“I don’t know,” said Khadgar. “But I don’t want to be here if he does. We’ll make for Stormwind.”

They stumbled about for most of the evening and night, finding a dirt track, then following it in the general direction of Stormwind. There was no immediate pursuit nor strange lights in the sky, and before dawn the pair rested briefly, huddling beneath a great cedar.

They saw no one alive during the next day. There were houses burned to the foundations, and clumps of newly hummocked earth that marked buried families. Overturned and smashed carts were common, as were great burned circles heaped with ash. Garona noted that this was how the orcs dealt with their dead, after the bodies had been looted.

The only animals they saw were dead—disemboweled pigs by a shattered farmhouse, the skeletal remains of a horse, consumed save for the frightened, twisted head. They moved in silence through one despoiled farmstead after another.

“Your people have been thorough,” Khadgar said at last.

“They pride themselves on such matters,” said Garona, grimly.

“Pride?” said Khadgar, looking around him. “Pride in destruction? In despoiling? No human army, no human nation would burn down everything in its path, or kill animals without purpose.”

Garona nodded. “It is the orc way—do not leave enough standing that their foes could use against them. If they could not use it immediately—as fodder, as quarters, as plunder, then it should be put to the torch. The borders of orc clans are often desolate places, as each side seeks to deny the other resources.”

Khadgar shook his head. “These are not resources,” he said hotly. “These are lives. This land was once green and verdant, with fields and forests. Now it’s a wasteland. Look at this! Can there be any peace between humans and orcs?”

Garona said nothing. They continued in on silence that day, and camped in the shambles of an inn. They slept in separate rooms, he in the wreckage of the common room, she moving farther back to the kitchen. He didn’t suggest they stay together, and neither did she.

Khadgar was awakened by the growls of his stomach. They had fled the tower with little but what they had on their backs, and save for some foraged berries and ground nuts, they had not eaten in over a day.

The young mage extricated himself from the raindamp straw tic that made his bed, his joints protesting. He had not camped in the open since his arrival at Karazhan, and he felt out of shape. The fear of the previous day had ebbed entirely, and he wondered about his next move.

Stormwind was their stated target, but how would he get someone like Garona into the city? Maybe find something to disguise her. Or did she even want to come? Now that she was free of the tower, maybe it would be better for her to rejoin Gul’dan and the Stormreaver clan.

Something moved along the wrecked side of the building. Probably Garona. She had to be as hungry as Khadgar. She hadn’t complained, but he assumed from the wreckage left behind that orcs required a lot of food to keep them in top fighting form.

Khadgar stood up, shook the cobwebs from his mind, and leaned out the remains of a window to ask her if there was anything left in the kitchen.

And was faced with one edge of a huge double-bladed ax, leveled at his neck.

At the opposite end of the ax was the jade-green face of an orc. A real orc. Khadgar had not realized until now how accustomed to Garona’s face he had become, such that the heavy jaw and sloped brow were a shock to him.

The orc growled, “Wuzzat?”

Khadgar slowly raised both hands, all the while calling up in his mind the magical energy. A simple spell, enough to knock the creature aside, to get Garona and get away.

Unless Garona had brought them here, he suddenly realized.

He hesitated, and that was enough. He heard something behind him, but did not get to turn as something large and heavy came down on the back of his neck.

He could not have been out long—long enough for a half-dozen orcs to spill into the room and start pushing through the rubble with their axes. They wore green armbands. Bleeding Hollow clan, his memory told him. He stirred, and the first orc, the one with the double-bladed ax, spun on him again.

“Wharsyurstuth?” said the orc. “Wharyuhidit?”

“What?” asked Khadgar, wondering if it was the orc’s voice or his own ears that were mangling the language.

“Your stuff,” said the orc, slower. “Your gear. You gots nothing. Where did you hide it?”

Khadgar spoke without thinking. “No stuff. Lost it earlier. No stuff.”

The orc snorted. “Then you die,” he snarled, and raised his blade.

“No!” shouted Garona from the ruined doorway. She looked like she had spent a bad night, but had a brace of hares on a leather thong hanging from her belt. She had been out hunting. Khadgar felt mildly embarrassed for his earlier thoughts.

“Git out, half-breed,” snapped the orc. “None of your business.”

“You’re killing my property, that makes it my business,” said Garona.

Property? thought Khadgar, but held his tongue.

“Prop’ty?” lisped the orc. “Who’s you to have prop’ty?”

“I am Garona Halforcen,” snarled the woman, twisting her face into a mask of rage. “I serve Gul’dan, warlock of the Stormreaver clan. Damage my property and you’ll have to deal with him!”

The orc snorted again. “Stormreavers? Pah! I hear they are a weak clan, pushed around by their warlock!”

Garona gave him a steely glare. “What I hear was that Bleeding Hollow failed to support the Twilight Hollow clan in the recent attack on Stormwind, and that both clans were thrown back. I hear that humans beat you in a fair fight. Is that true?”

“Dat’s beside the point,” said the Bleeding Hollow orc. “Dey had horses.”

“Maybe I can…” said Khadgar, trying to rise to his feet.

“Down, slave!” shouted Garona, cuffing him hard and sending him backward. “You speak when spoken to, and not before!”

The lead orc took the opportunity to take a step forward, but as soon as Garona had finished she wheeled again, and a long-bladed dagger was pointed at the orc’s midsection. The other orcs backed away from the brewing fight.

“Do you dispute my ownership?” snarled Garona, fire in her eyes and her muscles tensed to drive the blade through the leather armor.

There was silence for a moment. The Bleeding Hollow orc looked at Garona, looked at the sprawled Khadgar, and looked at Garona again. He snorted and said, “Go get something worth fighting for, first, half-breed!”

And with that the orc leader backed away. The others relaxed, and started to file out of the ruined common room.

One of his subordinates asked him as they left the building, “What duz she have a use for human slave anyway?”

The orc leader said something that Khadgar could not hear. The subordinate shouted from outside, “Dat’s disgusting!”

Khadgar tried to stand, but Garona waved her hand for him to stay down. Despite himself, Khadgar flinched.

Garona moved to the empty window, watched for a moment, then returned to where Khadgar had propped himself up against the wall.

“I think they’re gone,” she said at last. “I was afraid they might double back to even the score. Their leader is probably going to be challenged tonight by his subordinates.”

Khadgar touched the tender side of his face. “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

Garona shook her head. “You idiot of a paleskin! If I hadn’t knocked you down, the orc leader would have killed you outright, and then turned on me because I couldn’t keep you in line.”

Khadgar sighed deeply. “Sorry. You’re right.”

“You’re right I’m right,” said Garona. “They kept you alive long enough for me to get back only because they thought you’d hidden something in the inn. That you wouldn’t be dumb enough to be out in the middle of a war zone without equipment.”

“Did you have to hit that hard?” asked Khadgar.

“To convince them? Yes. Not that I didn’t enjoy it.” She threw the hares at him. “Here, skin these and get the water boiling. There’re still pots and some tubers left in the kitchen.”

“Despite what you’re telling your friends,” said Khadgar, “I am not your slave.”

Garona chuckled. “Of course. But I caught breakfast. You get to cook it!”

Breakfast was a hearty stew of rabbit and potato, seasoned with herbs Khadgar found in the remains of the kitchen garden and mushrooms Garona picked in the wilderness. Khadgar checked the mushrooms to see if any of them were poisonous. None of them were.

“Orcs use their young as taste-testers,” said Garona. “If they survive, they know its good for the community.”

They set out on the road again, heading for Stormwind. Once more, the woods were eerily quiet, and all they encountered was the remains of war.

About midday, they came upon the Bleeding Hollow orcs once more. They were in a wide clear space around a shattered watchtower, all facedown. Something large, heavy, and sharp had torn through their back armor, and several were missing their heads.

Garona quickly moved from body to body, pulling salvageable gear from them. Khadgar scanned the horizon.

Garona shouted over, “Are you going to help?”

“In a moment,” said Khadgar. “I want to make sure that whatever killed our friends is not still around.”

Garona scanned the edges of the clearing, then looked skyward. Nothing was overhead but low, ink-spattered clouds.

“Well?” she said. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Neither did the orcs, until it was too late,” said Khadgar, joining her at the orc leader’s body. “They were hit in the back, while running, and from an attacker taller than they were.” He pointed at hoof prints in the dust. They were those of iron-shod, heavy horses. “Cavalry. Human cavalry.”

Garona nodded. “So we’re getting close, at least. Take what you can from them. We can use their rations—they’re nasty but nutritious. And take a weapon, at least a knife.”

Khadgar looked at Garona. “I’ve been thinking.”

Garona laughed. “I wonder how many human disasters start with that line.”

“We’re within range of Stormwind patrols,” said Khadgar. “I don’t think Medivh is following us, at least not directly. So maybe we should split up.”

“Thought of that,” said Garona, rummaging through one of the orc’s packs, and pulling out first a cloak, and then a small cloth-wrapped parcel. She opened the parcel to find a flint and steel and a vial of oily liquid. “Fire-starting kit,” she explained. “Orcs love fire, and this is a quick starter.”

“So you think we should split up,” said Khadgar.

“No,” said Garona. “I said I thought about it. The trouble is that no one is in control of this area, human or orc. You might walk fifty yards away and hit another patrol of the Bleeding Hollow clan, and I might get ambushed by your cavalry buddies. If the two of us are together, there’s a better chance of survival. One is the other’s slave.”

“Prisoner,” said Khadgar. “Humans don’t take slaves.”

“Sure you do,” said Garona. “You just call them something else. So we should stay together.”

“And that’s it?” said Khadgar.

“Mostly,” said Garona. “Plus there is the little fact that I haven’t reported in to Gul’dan for some time. If and when we do run into him, I will explain that I was held prisoner at Karazhan, and he should have shown more wisdom than to send one of his followers into a trap.”

“You think he’d believe that?” asked Khadgar.

“I am uncertain that he would,” said Garona. “Which is another good reason to stay with you.”

“You could buy yourself a lot of influence with what you’ve learned,” said Khadgar.

Garona nodded. “Yeah. If I don’t get an ax through my brain before I get to tell anyone. No, for the moment I’ll take my chances with the paleskins. Now, I need one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I need to gather the bodies together, and heap some brush and tinder over them. We can cache what we don’t need, but we need to burn the bodies. It’s the least we can do.”

Khadgar frowned. “If the heavy horse are still in the area, a plume of smoke will bring them at once.”

“I know,” said Garona, looking around at the fragments of the patrol. “But it’s the right thing to do. If you found human soldiers killed in an ambush, wouldn’t you want to bury them?”

Khadgar’s mouth made a grim line, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he went to grab the farthest orc and drag him back to the remains of the watchtower. Within an hour, they had stripped the bodies and set the remains ablaze.

“Now we should go,” said Khadgar, as Garona watched the smoke spiral upward.

“Won’t this call the horsemen?” said Garona.

“Yes,” said Khadgar. “And it will also send a message—there are orcs here. Orcs who feel secure enough to burn the bodies of their comrades. I’d rather have a chance to explain ourselves at close range than facing a charging warhorse, thank you very much.”

Garona nodded, and, stolen cloaks flapping behind them, they left the burning watchtower.

Garona spoke truly, in that the orc version of field rations were a nasty concoction of hardened syrup, nuts, and what Khadgar swore was boiled rat. Still, it kept them going, and they made good time.

A day and a day passed and the country opened up now into sprawling fields that rippled with growing crops. The land was no less desolate, though, the stables empty and the houses already collapsed in on themselves. They found several more burned spots of orc funerals, and an increasing number of hummocks marking the passing of human families and patrols.

Still, they kept to the brush and fence lines as much as possible. The more open terrain made it easier to see any other units, but left them more exposed. They holed up in a mostly intact farmhouse while a small army of orcs moved along the ridgeline.

Khadgar watched the line of units surge forward. Grunts, cavalry mounted on great wolves, and catapults done up in fanciful decorations of skulls and dragons. Beside him, Garona watched the procession and said, “Idiots.”

Khadgar shot her a questioning glance.

“They could not be more exposed,” she explained. “We can see them, and the paleskins can see them as well. This lot doesn’t have an objective—they’re just rolling through the countryside, looking for a fight. Looking for a noble death in battle.” She shook her head.

“You don’t think much of your people,” said Khadgar.

“I don’t think much of any people, right now,” said Garona. “The orcs disown me, the humans will kill me. And the only human I really trusted turned out to be a demon.”

“Well, there’s me,” said Khadgar, trying not to sound hurt.

Garona winced. “Yes, there is you. You are human, and I trust you. But I thought, I really thought, that Medivh was going to make a difference. Powerful, important, and willing to talk. Unprejudiced. But I deceived myself. He’s just another madman. Maybe that’s just my place—working for madmen. Maybe I’m just another pawn in the game. What did Medivh call it? The unforgiving clockwork of the universe?”

“Your role,” said Khadgar, “is whatever you choose it to be. Medivh always wanted that as well.”

“You think he was sane when he said that?” asked the half-orc.

Khadgar shrugged. “As sane as he ever was. I believe he was. And it sounds like you want to believe that as well.”

“Ayep,” drawled Garona. “It was all so simple, when I was working for Gul’dan. His little eyes and ears. Now I don’t know who’s right and who’s wrong. Which people are my people? Either of them? At least you don’t have to worry about divided loyalties.”

Khadgar didn’t say anything, but looked out into the gathering dusk. Somewhere, over the horizon, the orc army had run into something. There was the low glow of a false dawn along the edge of the world in that direction, marked with the reflection of sudden flashes off the low clouds, and the echoes of war drums and death sounded like distant thunder.

Another day and a day passed. Now they moved through abandoned towns and marketplaces. The buildings were more whole now, but still abandoned. There were signs of recent inhabitation, both by human and orc troops, but now the only inhabitants were ghosts and memories.

Khadgar broke into a likely-looking shop, and while its shelves had been stripped bare, the hearth still had wood in the hopper and there were potatoes and onions in a small bin in the basement. Anything would be an improvement after the orc’s iron rations.

Khadgar laid the fire and Garona took a cauldron to the nearby well. Khadgar thought about the next step. Medivh was a danger, perhaps a greater danger than the orcs. Could he be reasoned with, now? Convinced to shut the portal? Or was it too late?

Just the knowledge that there was a portal would be good news. If the humans could locate it, even shut it, it would strand the orcs on this world. Deny them reinforcements from Draenor.

The apprentice was pulled from his thoughts by the commotion outside. The clash of metal on metal. Human voices, bellowing.

“Garona,” muttered Khadgar, and headed for the door.

He found them by the well. A patrol of about ten footmen, dressed in the blue livery of Azeroth, swords drawn. One of them was cradling a bleeding arm, but another pair had Garona in their grip, one restraining each arm. Her long-bladed dagger was on the ground. As Khadgar rounded the corner, the sergeant backhanded her across the face with a mailed glove.

“Where are the others?” he snarled. The half-orc’s mouth leaked blackish-purple blood.

“Leave her alone!” shouted Khadgar. Without thinking, he pulled the energies into his mind and released a quick spell.

A brilliant light blossomed around Garona’s head, a miniature sun that caught the humans unaware. The two footmen holding Garona let go of her, and she slid to the ground. The sergeant raised a hand to protect his eyes, and the remainder of the patrol was sufficiently surprised, so that Khadgar was among them and at Garona’s side in a matter of moments.

“S’prised,” muttered Garona through a split lip. “Lemme get my wind back.”

“Stay down,” said Khadgar softly. To the blinking sergeant he barked, “Are you in charge of this rabble?”

By now most of the footmen had recovered, and had their swords level. The two next to Garona had backed up a pace, but they were watching her, not Khadgar.

The sergeant spat, “Who are you to interfere with the military? Get him out of the way, boys!”

“Hold!” said Khadgar, and the soldiers, having experienced his spells once, only advanced a single pace. “I am Khadgar, apprentice to Medivh the Magus, friend and ally to your King Llane. I have business with him. Take us at once to Stormwind.”

The sergeant just chuckled. “Sure you are, and I am Lord Lothar. Medivh doesn’t take apprentices. Even I know that. And who is your sweetheart, there, then?”

“She is…” Khadgar hesitated for a moment. “She is my prisoner. I am taking her to Stormwind for questioning.”

“Huh,” grunted the sergeant. “Well, boyo, we found your prisoner out here, armed, with you nowhere in sight. I’d say your prisoner escaped. Pity the orc would rather die than surrender.”

“Don’t touch her!” said Khadgar, and he raised his hand. Flames danced within his curled fingers.

“You’re flirting with your own death,” snarled the sergeant. In the distance, Khadgar could hear the heavy footfalls of horses. Reinforcements. But would they be any more willing to listen to a half-orc and a spellcaster than this lot were?

“You’re making a horrible mistake, sir,” said Khadgar, keeping his voice level.

“Stay out of this, boy,” commanded the sergeant. “Take the orc. Kill her if she resists!”

The footmen took another step forward, those closest to Garona bending down to grab her again. She tried to squirm away and one kicked her with a heavy boot.

Khadgar bit back tears and unleashed the spell against the sergeant. The ball of flame slammed into his knee. The sergeant howled and dropped to the ground.

“Now stop this,” hissed Khadgar.

“Kill them!” shouted the sergeant, his eyes wide in pain. “Kill them both!”

“Hold!” came another voice, darker and deeper, muffled by a great helm. The horsemen had arrived in the town square. About twenty riders, and Khadgar’s heart sank. More here than even Garona could take care of. Their leader was in full armor, with a visored helm. Khadgar could not see his face.

The young apprentice rushed forward. “Sir,” he said. “Call off these men. I am the apprentice to Magus Medivh.”

“I know who you are,” said the commander. “Stand down!” he ordered. “Keep the orc guarded, but let her go!”

Khadgar gulped and continued. “I have a prisoner and important information for King Llane. I need to see Lord Lothar, at once!”

The commander lifted his visor. “So you shall, lad,” said Lothar. “So you shall.”