The Last Guardian

4 Battle and Aftermath

The air rushed out of Khadgar’s lungs as he struck the ground. The earth was gritty beneath his fingers, and he realized he must have landed on a low dune of sandy debris collected along one side of the ridge.

Uneasily the young mage rose to his feet. From the air the ridge looked like a forest fire. From the ground it looked like an opening to hell itself.

The wagons were almost completely consumed by fire now, their contents scattered and blazing along the ridge. Bolts of cloth had been unwound in the dirt, barrels staved and leaking, and food despoiled and mashed into the earth. Around him were bodies as well, human forms dressed in light armor. There was an occasional gleam of a helmet or a sword. Those would be the caravan guards, who failed their task.

Khadgar shrugged a painful shoulder, but it felt bruised as opposed to broken. Even given the sand, he should have landed harder. He shook his head, hard. Whatever ache was left from Medivh’s spell was outweighed by greater aches elsewhere.

There was movement among the wreckage, and Khadgar crouched. Voices barked back and forth in an unfamiliar tongue, a language to Khadgar’s ears both guttural and blasphemous. They were searching for him. They had seen him topple from his mount and now they were searching for him. As he watched, stooped figures shambled through the wreckage, forming hunched silhouettes where they passed before the flames.

Something tickled the back of Khadgar’s brain, but he could not place it. Instead he started to back out of the clearing, hoping the darkness would keep him hidden from the creatures.

Such was not to be. Behind him, a branch snapped or a booted foot found a chuckhole covered by leaves, or leather armor was tangled briefly in some brush. In any event, Khadgar knew he was not alone, and he turned at once to see…

A monstrosity from his vision. A mockery of humanity in green and black.

It was not as large as the creature of his vision, nor as wide, but it was still a nightmare creature. Its heavy jaw was dominated by fangs that jutted upward, its other features small and sinister. For the first time Khadgar realized it had large, upright ears. It probably heard him before it saw him.

Its armor was dark, but it was leather and not the metal of his dream. The creature bore a torch in one hand that caught the deep features of its face, making it all the more monstrous. In its other hand the creature carried a spear decorated with a string of small white objects. With a start Khadgar realized the objects were human ears, trophies of the massacre around them.

All this came to Khadgar in an instant, in the moment’s meeting of man and monster. The beast pointed the grisly-decorated spear at the youth and let out a bellowing challenge.

The challenge was cut short as the young mage muttered a word of power, raised a hand, and unleashed a small bolt of power through the creature’s midsection. The beast slumped in on itself, its bellow cut short.

One part of his mind was stunned by what he had just done, the other knew that he had seen what these creatures could do, in the vision in Karazhan.

The creature had warned the other members of its unit, and now there were war-howls in return around the encampment. Two, four, a dozen such travesties, all converging on his location. Worse yet, there were other howls from the swamp itself.

Khadgar knew he did not have the power to repulse all of them. Summoning the mystic bolt was enough to weaken him. Another would put him in dire danger of fainting. Perhaps he should try to flee?

But these monsters probably knew the dark fen that surrounded them better than he did. If he kept to the sandy ridge, they would find him. If he fled into the swamp, not even Medivh would be able to locate him.

Khadgar looked up into the sky, but there was no sign of either the Magus or the gryphons. Had Medivh landed somewhere, and was sneaking up on the monsters? Or had he returned to the human force to the south, to bring them here?

Or, thought Khadgar grimly, had Medivh’s quicksilver mood changed once again and he had forgotten he had someone with him on this flight?

Khadgar looked quickly out into the darkness, then back toward the site of the ambush itself. There were more shadows moving around the fire, and more howling.

Khadgar picked up the grisly trophy-spear, and strode purposely toward the fire. He might not be able to fire off more than a mystic bolt or two, but the monsters didn’t know that.

Perhaps they were as dumb as they looked. And as inexperienced with wizards as he was with them.

He did surprise them, for what it was worth. The last thing they expected was their prey, the victim they had unseated from its flying mount, suddenly to manifest at the edge of the campfire’s light, bearing the trophy-spear of one of their guards.

Khadgar tossed the spear sideways on the fire, and it sent up a shower of sparks as it landed.

The young mage summoned a bit of flame, a small ball, and held it in his hand. He hoped that it limned his features as seriously as the torch had lit the guard’s. It had better.

“Leave this place,” Khadgar bellowed, praying that his strained voice would not crack. “Leave this place or die.”

One of the larger brutes took two steps forward and Khadgar muttered a word of power. The mystic energies congealed around his flaming hand and blasted the green nonhuman full in the face. The brute had enough time to raise a clawed hand to its ruined features before it toppled.

“Flee,” shouted Khadgar, trying to pitch his voice as deeply as he could, “Flee or face the same fate.” His stomach felt like ice, and he tried not to stare at the burning creature.

A spear launched out of the darkness, and with the last of his energy Khadgar summoned a bit of air, just enough to push it clearly aside. As he did he felt faint. That was the last he could do. He was well and truly tapped out. It would be a good time for his bluff to work.

The surrounding creatures, about a dozen visible, took a step back, then another. One more shout, Khadgar reckoned, and they would flee back into the swamp, and give him enough time to flee himself. He had already decided he would flee south, toward the army encampment.

Instead there was a high, cackling laugh that froze Khadgar’s blood. The ranks of the green warriors parted and another figure shambled forward. It was thinner and more hunched than the others, and wore a robe the color of curdled blood. The color of the sky of Khadgar’s vision. Its features were as green and misshapened as the others, but this one has a gleam of feral intelligence in its eyes.

It held out its hand, palm upward, and took a dagger and pierced its palm with the tip. Reddish blood pooled in the clawed palm.

The robed beast spoke a word that Khadgar had never heard, a word that hurt the ears, and the blood burst into flame.

“Human wants to play?” said the robed monster, roughly matching the human language. “Wants to play at spells? Nothgrin can play!”

“Leave now,” tried Khadgar. “Leave now or die!”

But the young mage’s voice wavered now, and the robed mockery merely laughed. Khadgar scanned the area around him, looking for the best place to run, wondering if he could grab one of the guard’s swords laying on ground. He wondered if this Nothgrin was bluffing as much as Khadgar had been.

Nothgrin took a step toward Khadgar, and two of the brutes to the spellcaster’s right suddenly screamed and burst into flame. It happened with a suddenness that shocked everyone, including Khadgar. Nothgrin wheeled toward the immolated creatures, to see two more join them, bursting into flame like dry sticks. They screamed as well, their knees buckling, and they toppled to the ground.

In the place where the creatures had been now stood Medivh. He seemed to glow of his own volition, diminishing the main fire, the burning wagons, and the burning corpses on the ground, sucking their light into himself. He seemed radiant and relaxed. He smiled at the collected creatures, and it was a savage, brutal smile.

“My apprentice told you to leave,” said Medivh, “You should have followed his orders.”

One of the beasts let out a bellow, and the rogue magus silenced it with a wave of his hand. Something hard and invisible struck the beast square in the face, and there was a shattering crack as its head came loose of its body and rolled backward, striking the ground only moments before the creature’s body struck the sand.

The rest of the creatures staggered backward a step, then fled entirely into the night. Only the leader, the robed Nothgrin, held its ground, and its overwide jaw flapped open in surprise.

“Nothgrin knows you, human,” he hissed. “You are the one….”

Anything else the creature said disappeared in a scream as Medivh waved a hand and the creature was pulled off its feet by a burst of air and fire. It was swept upward, screaming, until at last its lungs collapsed from the stress and remains of its burned body drifted down like black snowflakes.

Khadgar looked at Medivh, and the wizard had a toothy, self-satisfied smile. The smile faded when he looked at Khadgar’s ashen face.

“Are you all right, lad?” he asked.

“Fine,” said Khadgar, feeling the weight of his exhaustion sweeping over him. He tried to sit but ended up just collapsing to his knees, his mind worn and empty.

Medivh was at his side in a moment, passing a palm over the lad’s forehead. Khadgar tried to move the hand away, but found that he lacked the energy.

“Rest,” said Medivh. “Recover your strength. The worst is over.”

Khadgar nodded, blinking. He looked at the bodies around the fire. Medivh could have slain him as easily, in the library. What stayed his hand, then? Some recognition of Khadgar? Some bit of memory or of humanity?

The young mage managed, “Those things.” His voice sounded slurred, “What were…”

“Orcs,” said the Magus. “Those were orcs. Now no more questions for the moment.”

To the east, the sky was lightening. To the south, there was the sound of bright horns and powerful hooves.

“The cavalry at last,” said Medivh with a sigh. “Too loud and too late, but don’t tell them that. They can pick up the stragglers. Now rest.”

The patrol swept through the camp, half of them dismounting, the remainder pressing up along the road. The horsemen began checking the bodies. A detail was assigned to bury the members of the caravan. The few dead orcs that Medivh had not set on fire were gathered and put on the main fire, their bodies charring as their flesh turned to ash.

Khadgar didn’t remember Medivh leaving him, but he did return with the patrol’s commander. The commander was a stocky, older man, his face weathered by combat and campaign. His beard was already more salt than pepper, and his hairline had receded to the back of his head. He was a huge man, made all the more imposing by his plate armor and greatcape. Over one shoulder Khadgar could see the hilt of a huge sword, the crosspiece huge and jeweled.

“Khadgar, this is Lord Anduin Lothar,” said Medivh, “Lothar, this is my apprentice, Khadgar of the Kirin Tor.”

Khadgar’s mind spun and caught first on the name. Lord Lothar. The King’s Champion, boyhood companion of both King Llane and Medivh. The blade on his back had to be the Great Royal Sword, pledged to defend Azeroth, and…

Did Medivh just say Khadgar was his apprentice?

Lothar dropped to one knee to bring himself level with the young man, and looked at him, smiling. “So you finally got an apprentice. Had to go to the Violet Citadel to find one, eh, Med?”

“Find one of suitable merit, yes,” said Medivh.

“And if it ties the local hedge wizards’ undies in a bundle, so much the better, eh? Oh, don’t look at me like that, Medivh. What has this one done to impress you?”

“Oh, the usual,” said Medivh, showing his teeth in a feral grin in response. “Organized my library. Tamed a gryphon on the first try. Took on these orcs single-handed, including a warlock.”

Lothar let out a low whistle, “He organized your library? I am impressed.” A smile flashed beneath his graying moustache.

“Lord Lothar,” managed Khadgar finally. “Your skill is known even in Dalaran.”

“You rest, lad,” said Lothar, putting a heavy gauntlet on the young mage’s shoulder. “We’ll get the rest of those creatures.”

Khadgar shook his head. “You won’t. Not if you stay on the road.”

The King’s Champion blinked in surprise, and Khadgar was not sure if it was because of his presumption or his words.

“The lad’s right, I’m afraid,” said Medivh. “The orcs have taken to the swamp. They seem to know the Black Morass better than we do, and that’s what makes them so effective here. We stay on the roads, and they can run circles around us.”

Lothar rubbed the back of his head with his gauntlet. “Maybe we could borrow some of those gryphons of yours to scout.”

“The dwarves that trained them may have their opinions about loaning out their gryphons,” said Medivh. “But you might want to talk to them, and to the gnomes as well. They have a few whirligigs and sky-engines that might be more suitable for scouting.”

Lothar nodded, and rubbed his chin. “How did you know they were here?”

“I encountered one of their advance scouts near my domain,” said Medivh, as calmly as if he was discussing the weather. “I managed to squeeze out of him that there was a large party looking to raid along the Morass Road. I had hoped to arrive in time to warn them.” He looked at the devastation around them.

The sunlight did little to help the appearance of the area. The smaller fires had burned out, and the air smelled of burning orcflesh. A pallid cloud hung over the site of the ambush.

A young soldier, little more than Khadgar’s age, ran up to them. They had found a survivor, one that was pretty badly chewed up, but alive. Could the Magus come at once?

“Stay with the lad,” said Medivh, “He’s still a little woozy from everything.” And with that the master mage strode across the scorched and bloody ground, his long robes trailing him like a banner.

Khadgar tried to rise and follow him, but the King’s Champion put his heavy gauntlet on his shoulder and held him down. Khadgar struggled only for a moment, then returned to a seated position.

Lothar regarded Khadgar with a smile. “So the old coot finally took on an assistant.”

“Apprentice,” said Khadgar weakly, though he felt the pride rising in his chest. The feeling brought a new strength to his mind and limbs. “He’s had many assistants. They didn’t last. Or so I heard.”

“Uh-huh,” said Lothar. “I recommended a few of those assistants, and they came back with tales of a haunted tower and a crazy, demanding mage. What do you think of him?”

Khadgar blinked for moment. In the past twelve hours, Medivh had attacked him, shoved knowledge into his head, dragged him across the country on gryphon-back, and let him face off a handful of orcs before swooping in for the rescue. On the other hand, he had made Khadgar his apprentice. His student.

Khadgar coughed and said, “He is more than I expected.”

Lothar smiled again and there was genuine warmth in the smile. “He is more than anyone expected. That’s one of his good points.” Lothar thought for a moment and said, “That is a very politic and polite response.”

Khadgar managed a weak smile. “Lordaeron is a very politic and polite land.”

“So I’ve noticed in the King’s Council. ‘Dalaran ambassadors can say both yes and no at the same time, and say nothing as well.’ No insult intended.”

“None taken, my lord,” said Khadgar.

Lothar looked at the lad. “How old are you, lad?”

Khadgar looked at the older man. “Seventeen. Why?”

Lothar shook his head and grunted, “That might make sense.”

“Make sense how?”

“Med, I mean Lord Magus Medivh, was a young man, several years younger than yourself, when he fell ill. As a result, he never dealt much with someone of your age.”

“Ill?” said Khadgar. “The Magus was ill?”

“Seriously,” said Lothar. “He fell into a deep sleep, a coma they called it. Llane and I kept him at Northshire Abbey, and the holy brothers there fed him broth to keep him from wasting away. For years he was like that, then, snap, he woke up, right as rain. Or almost.”

“Almost?” asked Khadgar.

“Well, he missed a large piece of his teenage years, and a few additional decades as well. He fell asleep a teenager and woke up a grown man. I always worry that it affected him.”

Khadgar thought about the master mage’s mercurial temperament, his sudden mood swings, and the childlike delight with which he approached battling the orcs. Were Medivh a younger man, would his actions make more sense?

“His coma,” said Lothar, and shook his head at the memory. “It was unnatural. Med calls it a ‘nap,’ like it was perfectly reasonable. But we never found out why it happened. The Magus might have puzzled it out, but he’s shown no interest in the matter, even when I’ve asked.”

“I am Medivh’s apprentice,” said Khadgar simply. “Why are you telling me this?”

Lothar sighed deeply and looked out over the battle-scarred ridge. Khadgar realized that the King’s Champion was a basically honest individual, who would not last a day and a half in Dalaran. His emotions were plain on his weathered, open face.

Lothar sucked on his teeth, and said, “To be honest, I worry about him. He’s all alone in his tower….”

“He has a castellan. And there’s Cook,” put in Khadgar.

“…with all of his magic,” continued Lothar. “He just seems alone. Tucked up there in the mountains. I worry about him.”

Khadgar nodded, and added to himself, and that is why you tried to get apprentices from Azeroth in there. To spy on your friend. You worry about him, but you worry about his power as well. Aloud, Khadgar said, “You worry if he’s all right.”

Lothar gave a shrug, revealing both how much he did worry and how much he was willing to pretend otherwise.

“What can I do to help?” asked Khadgar. “Help him. Help you.”

“Keep an eye on him,” said Lothar. “If you’re an apprentice, he should spend more time with you. I don’t want him to…”

“Fall into another coma?” suggested Khadgar. At a time when these orcs are suddenly everywhere. For his part, Lothar rewarded him with another shrug.

Khadgar gave the best smile he could manage, “I would be honored to help you both, Lord Lothar. Know that my loyalty must be to the master mage first, but if there is anything a friend would need to know, I will pass it along.”

Another heavy pat of the gauntlet. Khadgar marveled at how badly Lothar concealed his concerns. Were all the natives of Azeroth this open and guileless? Even now, Khadgar could see there was something else Lothar wanted to speak of.

“There’s something else,” said Lothar. Khadgar just nodded politely.

“Has the Lord Magus spoken of the Guardian to you?” he asked.

Khadgar thought of pretending to know more than he did, to draw out more from this older, honest man. But as the thought passed through his head, he discarded it. Best to hold to the truth.

“I have heard the name from Medivh’s lips,” said Khadgar. “But I know nothing of the details.”

“Ah,” said Lothar. “Then let it be as if I said nothing to you.”

“I’m sure we will talk of it in due course,” added Khadgar.

“Undoubtedly,” said Lothar. “You seem like a trustworthy sort.”

“After all, I’ve only been his apprentice for a few days,” said Khadgar lazily.

Lothar’s eyebrows raised, “A few days? Exactly how long have you been Medivh’s apprentice?”

“Counting until dawn tomorrow?” said Khadgar, and allowed himself a smile. “That would be one.”

Medivh chose that moment to return, looking more haggard than before. Lothar raised his eyebrows in a hopeful question, but the Magus merely shook his head. Lothar frowned deeply, and after exchanging a few pleasantries, left to oversee the rest of salvage and clean-up. The half of the patrol that had moved ahead along the road had returned, but had found nothing.

“Are you up for travel?” asked Medivh.

Khadgar pulled himself to his feet, and the sandy ridge in the middle of the Black Morass seemed like a ship pitching on a rough sea.

“Well enough,” he said. “I don’t know if I can handle a gryphon, though, even with…” he let his voice trail off, but touched his forehead.

“It’s just as well,” said Medivh. “Your mount got spooked by the arrows, and headed for the high country. We’ll have to double up.” He raised the rune-carved whistle to his lips and let out a series of short, sharp blasts. Far above, there was the shriek of a gryphon on the wing, circling high above them.

Khadgar looked up and said, “So, I’m your apprentice.”

“Yes,” said Medivh, his face a calm mask.

“I passed your tests,” said the youth.

“Yes,” said Medivh.

“I’m honored, sir,” said Khadgar.

“I’m glad you are,” said Medivh, and a ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Because now starts the hard part.”