The Last Guardian

7 Stormwind

Up until then, the greatest buildings that Khadgar had ever seen had been the Violet Citadel itself, on Cross Island outside the city of Dalaran. The majestic spires and great halls of the Kirin Tor, roofed by thick slate the color of lapis lazuli, which gave the citadel its name, had been a point of pride for Khadgar. In all his travels through Lordaeron and into Azeroth, nothing, not even Medivh’s Tower, came close to the ancient grandeur of the citadel of the Kirin Tor.

Until he came to Stormwind.

They had flown through the night, as before, and this time the young mage was convinced he had slept while guiding the gryphon through the chill night air. Whatever knowledge Medivh had placed in his mind was still operating, for he was sure with his ability to guide the winged predator with his knees, and felt quite at home. The part of his brain where the knowledge resided felt no pain this time, but rather a slight thrumming, like the mental tissue had healed over, leaving scar tissue, taking the knowledge within but still recognizing it as a separate part of him.

He woke as the sun crested the horizon behind him, and panicked momentarily, causing the great flier to bank slightly, dragging it away from following in Medivh’s wake. Ahead of him, sudden and brilliant in the morning sun, was Stormwind.

It was a citadel of gold and silver. The walls in the morning light seemed to glow with their own radiance, burnished like a chalice under a castellan’s cleaning. The roofs glittered as if crafted from silver, and for a moment Khadgar thought they were set with innumerable small gems.

The young mage blinked and shook his head. The golden walls became mere stone, though polished to a fine luster in some places, intricately carved in others. The roofs of silver were merely dark slate, and what he thought were gemstones merely collected dew rainbowing back the dawn.

And yet Khadgar was still astounded by the city’s size. As great if not greater than anything in Lordaeron, and seen from this great height, it spread out before him. He counted three full sets of walls ribboned around the central keep, and lesser barriers separating different wards. Everywhere he looked, there was more city beneath him.

Even now, in the dawn hours, there was activity. Smoke rose from morning fires, and already people were clotting in the open marketplaces and commons. Great wains were lumbered out of the main gates, loaded with farmers heading for the neat, ordered fields that spread out from the city’s walls like skirts, stretching almost to the horizon.

Khadgar could not identify half the buildings. Great towers could have been universities or granaries, as far as he could tell. A surging river cascade had been harnessed by massive waterwheels, but to what purpose he could not guess. There was a sudden flame far to his right, though whether from a foundry, a captive dragon, or some great accident was a mystery.

It was the greatest city he had ever seen, and at its heart was Llane’s castle.

It could be no other. Here the walls seemed to be truly made of gold, set with silver around the windows. The royal roof was shod with blue slate, as deep and luxurious as a sapphire’s, and from its myriad towers Khadgar could see pennants with the lion’s head of Azeroth, the sigil of King Llane’s household and symbol of the land.

The castle complex seemed to be a small city in itself, with innumerable side buildings, towers, and halls. Arching galleries spanned between buildings, at lengths that Khadgar thought impossible without magical aide.

Perhaps such a structure could only be crafted with magic, thought Khadgar, and realized that perhaps this was one reason Medivh was so valued here.

The older mage raised a hand and circled over one particular tower, its topmost floor a level parapet. Medivh pointed down—once, twice, a third time. He wanted Khadgar to land first.

Pulling from the scabbed-over memories, Khadgar brought the great gryphon down neatly. The great eagle-headed beast churned its wings backward like a great sail, slowing to a delicate landing.

There was a delegation already waiting for him. A group of retainers in blue livery surged forward to take the reins and fit the gryphon’s head with a heavy hood. The alien memories told Khadgar that this was similar to a falconer’s snood, restricting the raptor’s vision. Another had a bucket of warm cow guts, which were carefully presented before the gryphon’s snapping beak.

Khadgar slid from the gryphon’s back and was greeted warmly by Lord Lothar himself. The huge man seemed even larger in an ornate robe and cape, topped with a inscribed breastplate and filigreed mantle hanging on his shoulder.

“Apprentice!” said Lothar, swallowing Khadgar’s hand in his huge meaty paw. “Good to see you’re still employed!”

“My lord,” said Khadgar, trying not to wince from the pressure of the larger man’s grip. “We flew through the night to get here. I don’t…”

The rest of Khadgar’s statement was swept away in a flurry of wings and the panicked squawk of a gryphon. Medivh’s mount tumbled out of the sky, and the Magus was less graceful in his landing. The huge flier slid across the width of the turret and almost fell off the other side, and Medivh pulled hard on the reins. As it was, the gryphon’s great foreclaws clutched at the crenellated wall, and almost tipped the older mage over the side.

Khadgar did not wait for comment from Lord Lothar, but bolted forward, followed by the host of blue-clad retainers, and Lothar lumbering up behind them.

Medivh had already dismounted by the time they had reached him, and handed the reigns to the first of the retainers. “Blasted crosswind!” said the older mage irritably. “I told you this was the precisely wrong spot for an aviary, but no one listens to the mage around here. Good landing, lad,” he added as an afterthought, as the servants swarmed over his gryphon, trying to calm it down.

“Med,” said Lothar, holding out a hand in greeting. “It is good you could come.”

Medivh just scowled. “I came as soon as I could,” the wizard snapped, responding to some affront that passed Khadgar by entirely. “You have to get along without me sometimes, you know.”

If Lothar was surprised by Medivh’s attitude, he said nothing of it. “Good to see you anyway. His Majesty…”

“Will have to wait,” finished Medivh. “Take me to the chamber in question, now. No, I know the way myself. You said it was Huglar and Hugarin. This way, then.” And with that the Magus was off, toward the side stairs that spiraled into the tower proper. “Five levels down, then a cross bridge, then three levels up! Horrible place for an aviary!”

Khadgar looked at Lothar. The larger man rubbed his beefy hand up over his balding pate, and shook his head. Then he started after the man, Khadgar in tow.

Medivh was gone by the time they reached the bottom of the spiral, though a litany of complaints and the occasional curse could be heard up ahead, diminishing fast.

“He’s in a fine mood,” said Lothar, “Let me walk you to the mage-chambers. We’ll find him there.”

“He was very agitated last night,” said Khadgar, by way of apology. “He had been gone, and apparently your summons reached Karazhan shortly after he had returned.”

“Has he told you what all this is about, Apprentice?” asked Lothar. Khadgar had to shake his head.

Champion Anduin Lothar frowned deeply. “Two of the great sorcerers of Azeroth are dead, their bodies burned almost beyond recognition, their heart pulled from their very chests. Dead in their chambers. And there is evidence—” Lord Lothar hesitated for a moment, as if trying to choose the right words. “There is evidence of demonic activity. Which is why I sent the fastest messenger to fetch the Magus. Perhaps he can tell us what happened.”

“Where are the bodies?” shouted Medivh, as Lothar and Khadgar finally caught up with him. They were near the top of another of the spires of the castle, the city spread out before them in a great open bay window opposite the door.

The room was a shambles, and looked like it had been searched by orcs, and sloppy orcs at that. Every book had been pulled from the shelves, and every scroll unrolled, and in many cases shredded. Alchemic devices were smashed, powders and poultices scattered about in a fine dusting, and even the furniture broken.

In the center of the room was a ring of power, an inscription carved into the floor itself. The ring was two concentric circles, incised with words of power between them. The incisions in the floor were deep and filled with a sticky dark liquid. There were two scorch marks on the floor, each man-sized, situated between the circle and the window.

Such incised rings had only one purpose to them, as far as Khadgar knew. The librarian in the Violet Citadel was always warning about them.

“Where are the bodies?” repeated Medivh, and Khadgar was glad that he was not expected to provide the answers. “Where are the remains of Huglar and Hugarin?”

“They were removed soon after they were found,” said Lothar calmly. “It was unseemly to leave them here. We didn’t know when you would arrive.”

“You didn’t know if I would arrive, you mean,” snapped Medivh. “All right. All right. We can still salvage something. Who has come into this room?”

“The Conjurer-Lords Huglar and Hugarin,” began Lothar.

“Well, of course,” said Medivh sharply. “They had to be here if they died here. Who else?”

“One of their servants found them,” continued Lothar. “And I was called. And I brought several guardsmen to move the bodies. They have not been interred yet, if you wish to examine them.”

Medivh was already deeply in thought. “Hmmm? The bodies, or the guardsmen? No matter, we can take care of that later. So that’s a servant, yourself, and about four guards, would you say? And now myself and my apprentice. No one else?”

“No one I can think of,” said Lothar.

The Magus closed his eyes and muttered a few words under his breath. It might have been either a curse or a spell. His eyes flew open. “Interesting. Young Trust!”

Khadgar took a deep breath. “Lord Magus.”

“I need your youth and inexperience. My jaded eyes may see what I’m expecting to see. I need fresh eyes. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, now. Come here and stand in the center of the room. No, don’t cross the circle itself. We don’t know if it has any lingering enchantments on it. Stand here. Now. What do you sense?”

“I see the wrecked room,” started Khadgar.

“I didn’t say see,” said Medivh sharply. “I said sense.”

Khadgar took a deep breath and cast a minor spell, one that sharpened the senses and helped find lost articles. It was a simple divination, one he had used hundreds of times in the Violet Citadel. It was particularly good for finding things that others wanted to keep hidden.

But even upon the first intoned words, Khadgar could feel it was different. There was a sluggishness to the magic in this room. Often magic had a feel of lightness and energy, but this felt more viscous, almost liquid in nature. Khadgar had never felt it before, and wondered if it was because of the circles of power, or powers and cantrips of the late mages themselves.

It was a thick feeling, like stale air in a room that had been shuttered for years. Khadgar tried to pull the energies together, but they seemed to resist, to follow his desires with only the greatest reluctance.

Khadgar’s face grew stern as he tried to pull more of the power of the room, of the magical energies, into himself. This was a simple spell. If anything, it should be easier in a place where such castings would be commonplace.

And suddenly the young mage was inundated with the thick fetid feel of the magic. It was suddenly upon him and surrounding him, as if he had pulled the bottom-most stone out and brought down a wall upon himself. The force of the dark, heavy magic fell upon him in a thick blanket, crushing the spell beneath him and driving him physically to his knees. Despite himself, he cried out.

Medivh was at his side at once, helping the young mage to his feet. “There, there,” said the Magus, “I didn’t expect you to succeed even that well. Good try. Excellent work.”

“What is it?” managed Khadgar, suddenly able to breath again. “It was like nothing I’ve felt before. Heavy. Resistant. Smothering.”

“That’s good news for you, then,” said Medivh. “Good that you sensed it. Good that you carried through. The magic has been particularly twisted here, a remnant of what occurred earlier.”

“You mean like a haunting?” said Khadgar. “Even in Karazhan, I never…”

“No, not like that,” said Medivh. “Something much worse. The two dead mages here were summoning demons. It’s that taint that you feel here, that heaviness of magic. A demon was here. That is what killed Huglar and Hugarin, the poor, powerful idiots.”

There was a silence of a moment, then Lothar said, “Demons? In the king’s towers? I cannot believe…”

“Oh, believe,” said Medivh. “No matter how learned and knowledgeable, how wise and wonderful, how powerful and puissant, there is always one more sliver of power, one more bit of knowledge, one more secret to be learned by any mage. I think these two fell into that trap, and called upon forces from beyond the Great Dark Beyond, and paid the price for it. Idiots. They were friends and colleagues, and they were idiots.”

“But how?” said Lothar. “Surely there were to be protections. Wards. This is a mystic circle of power.”

“Easily breached, easy broken,” said Medivh, leaning over the ring the glimmered with the dried blood of the two mages. He reached down and produced a thin straw that had laid over the cooling stones. “A-hah! A simple broom straw. If this was here when they began their summonings, all the adjurations and phylacteries in the world would not protect them. The demon would consider the circle to be no more than an arch, a gateway into this world. He would come out, hellfire blazing, and attack the poor fools who brought him into this world. I’ve seen it before.”

Khadgar shook his head. The thick darkness that seemed to press in on all sides of him seemed to lift somewhat, and he gathered his wits about him. He looked around the room. It was already a disaster area—the demon had torn everything apart in its assault. If there was a broom straw breaking the circle, then it surely should have been moved elsewhere during the battle.

“How were the bodies found?” asked Khadgar.

“What?” said Medivh, with a sharpness that almost made Khadgar jump.

“I’m sorry,” Khadgar responded quickly. “You said I should ask questions.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Medivh, cooling his harsh tone only a notch. To the King’s Champion he said, “Well, Anduin Lothar, how were the bodies found?”

“When I came in, they were on the ground. The servant had not moved them,” said Lothar.

“Faceup or facedown, sir?” said Khadgar, as calmly as he could. He could feel the icy stare of the elder mage. “Heads toward the circle or toward the window?”

Lothar’s face clouded in memory. “Toward the circle. And facedown. Yes, definitely. They were badly scorched all over, and we had to turn them over to make sure it was Huglar and Hugarin.”

“What are you driving at, Young Trust?” said the Magus, now seated by the open window, stroking his beard.

Khadgar looked at the two scorch marks between the malfunctioned protective circle and the window, and tried to think of them both as bodies and not think of them as once-living mages. “If you hit someone from the front, they fall backward. If you hit someone from the back, they fall forward. Was the window open when you arrived?”

Lothar looked at the open bay window, the great city beyond forgotten for the moment. “Yes. No. Yes, I think it was. But it could have been opened by the servant. There was a horrible stench—that’s what brought attention to it in the first place. I can ask.”

“No need,” said Medivh. “The window was likely open when your servant entered.” The Magus rose and walked to where the scorch marks were. “So you think, Young Trust,” he said, “that Huglar and Hugarin were standing here, watching the magic circle, and something came in the window and hit them from the back.” For effect he smacked himself against the back of the head with an open palm. “They fell forward, and were burned in that position.”

“Yes, sir,” said Khadgar. “I mean, it’s a theory.”

“A good one,” said Medivh. “But wrong, I’m afraid. In the first place, the two mages would be standing there, facing nothing at all, unless they were looking at the magic circle. Therefore they were summoning a demon. Such a circle would not be used otherwise.”

“But…” started Khadgar, and the Magus froze his words in his throat with a harsh glance.

“And,” continued Medivh, “while that would work with a single attacker with a sap or a club, it does not function as well for the dark energies of demons. Had the beast breathed fire, it could have caught both men standing, killed them, and only after being set alight, the bodies fell forward. You said the bodies were burned front and back?” He put that question to Lothar.

“Yes,” said the King’s Champion.

Medivh held a palm up in front of him. “Demon breathes fire. Burns the front. Huglar (or Hugarin) falls forward, flames spread to the back. Unless the demon hit Hugarin (or Huglar) in the back, then turned them over to make sure the front was burned, then turned them over again. Hardly likely—demons are not that methodical.”

Khadgar felt his face warm from embarrassment. “I’m sorry. It was just a theory.”

“And a good one,” said Medivh quickly. “Just in error, that’s all. You’re right, the window would be open, because that was how the demon left the tower. It is at large in the city right now.”

Lothar cut short a curse, and said, “Are you sure?”

Medivh nodded. “Completely. But it will probably be laying low for the moment. Even killing two fools like Huglar and Hugarin by surprise would tax any but the most powerful creature’s abilities.”

“I can organize search parties within the hour,” said Lothar.

“No,” said Medivh. “I want to do this myself. No use throwing away good lives after bad. I’ll want to see the remains, of course. That will tell me what we’re dealing with here.”

“We moved them to a cool room in the wine cellar,” said Lothar. “I can take you there.”

“In a moment,” said Medivh. “I want to look about here for a moment. Will you grant me and my apprentice a moment or ten alone?”

Lothar hesitated for a moment, then said, “Of course. I will be right outside.” As he said the last he looked at Khadgar sharply, then left.

The door’s latch clicked shut and there was silence in the room. Medivh moved from table to table, pawing through the shredded tomes and torn papers. He held up a piece of correspondence with a purple seal, and shook his head. Slowly, he crumbled the piece of paper in his hand.

“In civilized countries,” he said, his voice slightly strained, “apprentices don’t disagree with their masters. At least in public.” He turned toward Khadgar and the youth saw the older man’s face was a mass of storm clouds.

“I am sorry,” said Khadgar. “You said I should ask questions, and the position of the bodies did not seem right at the time, but now that you mention how the bodies were burned…”

Medivh held up a hand and Khadgar silenced himself. He paused a moment, then let out a slow exhalation. “Enough. You did the right thing, no more or less than asked by me. And if you hadn’t spoken up, I wouldn’t have realized the demon probably skittered down the tower itself, and wasted more time searching the castle complex. But, you asked questions because you don’t know much about demons, and that is ignorance. And ignorance I will not tolerate.”

The elder Magus looked at Khadgar, but there was a smile at the corner of his lips. Khadgar, sure that the storm had passed, lowered himself onto a stool. Despite himself, he still said, “Lothar…”

“Will wait,” said Medivh, nodding. “He waits well, that Anduin Lothar. Now, what did you learn of demons in your time at the Violet Citadel?”

“I’ve heard the legends,” said Khadgar. “In the First Days, there were demons in the land, and great heroes arose to drive them out.” He thought of the image of Medivh’s mother blasting the demons to bits, and facing down their Lord, but said nothing. No need to make Medivh angry again now that he’d calmed down.

“That’s the basics,” said Medivh. “What we tell the hoi polloi. What do you know in addition?”

Khadgar took a deep breath. “The official teachings in the Violet Citadel, in Kirin Tor, is that demonology is to be eschewed, avoided, and abjured. Any attempt to summon demons are to be found out and stopped at once, and those involved are to be expelled. Or worse. There were stories, among the young students, when I was growing up.”

“Stories grounded in fact,” said Medivh. “But you’re a curious lad, you know more, I assume?”

Khadgar tilted his head in thought, choosing words carefully. “Korrigan, our academic librarian, had an extensive collection of…material at his disposal.”

“And needed someone to help organize it,” said Medivh dryly. Khadgar must have jumped, because Medivh added, “That was a guess, only, Young Trust.”

“The material is mostly folk legends and the reports of the local authorities involving demon worshipers. Most of it was along the lines of individuals committing foul acts in the name of some old demon from the legends or another. Nothing about the actions of truly summoning a demon. No spells, no arcane writings.” Khadgar motioned toward the protective circle. “No ceremonies.”

“Of course,” said Medivh. “Even Korrigan would not inflict that on a student. If he has such things, he would keep them separate.”

“From that, the general belief is that when the demons were defeated, they were driven out of this world entirely. They were pushed out of the world of light and living, and into their own domain.”

“The Great Dark Beyond,” said Medivh, intoning the phrase like a prayer.

“They are still out there, or so the legend goes,” said Khadgar, “and they want to come back in. Some say they come to the weak-willed in their sleep and urge them to find old spells and make sacrifices. Sometimes it is to open the way for them to come back fully. Others say they want worshipers and sacrifices to make this world like it once was, bloody and violent, and only then would they return.”

Medivh was quiet for a moment, stroking his beard, then said, “Anything else?”

“There’s more. Details and individual stories. I’ve seen carvings of demons, pictures, diagrams.” Again Khadgar felt a rising need to tell Medivh about the vision, about the demon army. Instead he said, “And there is that old epic poem, the one about Aegwynn, fighting a horde of demons in a far-off land.”

The mention of that brought a gentle, knowing smile to Medivh’s face, “Ah yes, “The Song of Aegwynn.” You’ll find that poem in a lot of powerful mages’ quarters, you know.”

“My teacher, Lord Guzbah was interested in it,” said Khadgar.

“Is he, now?” said Medivh, smiling. “With all due respect, I don’t know if Guzbah is quite ready for that poem. At least not in its true form.” He peaked his eyebrows. “What you have is basically true. A lot of people couch it in the form of legends and fairy stories, but I think you know as well as I do that demons are real, and are out there, and yes, form a threat to those of us who walk this sunlit world, as well as other worlds. I think, now, I definitely think, that your red-sunned world was another place, a different world, on the far side of the Great Dark Beyond. The Beyond is a prison for these demons, a place without light or succor, and they are very, very jealous and very, very anxious to get back in.”

Khadgar nodded, and Medivh continued, “But your assumption that their victims are weak-willed is in error, though again an error that is well-intended. There are more than enough venal farmhands who invoke a demonic force for revenge against a former lover, or stupid merchants who burn an invoice from a debtor with a black candle, badly mangling the ancient name of some once-great demonic power. But just as often there are those who walk willingly to the abyss, who feel themselves safe and sure and knowledgeable that they are beyond any blandishment or threat, that they are powerful enough to harness the demonic energies that surge beyond the walls of the world. They are in many ways even more dangerous than the common rabble, for as you know, a near-failure in spellcasting is more deadly than a complete failure.”

Khadgar could only nod, and wondered if Medivh had the power of the mind, “But these were powerful mages—Huglar and Hugarin, I mean.”

“The most powerful in Azeroth,” said Medivh. “The wisest and finest wizards, magical advisors to King Llane himself. Safe, sage, and sinecured!”

“Surely they would know better?” asked Khadgar.

“You would think so,” said Medivh. “Yet, here we stand in the wreckage of their chambers, and their demon-burned bodies lay in the wine cellar.”

“Why would they do it, then?” Khadgar knitted his brows, trying not to offend. “If they knew so much, why did they try to summon a demon?”

“Many reasons,” said Medivh with a sigh. “Hubris, that false pride that goes before the fall. Overconfidence, both in each individually and doubled it for working in tandem. And fear, I suppose, most of all.”

“Fear?” Khadgar looked at Medivh quizzically.

“Fear of the unknown,” said Medivh. “Fear of the known. Fear of things more powerful than they.”

Khadgar shook his head. “What could be more powerful than two of the most advanced and learned wizards in Azeroth?”

“Ah,” said Medivh, and a small smile blossomed beneath his beard. “That would be me. They killed themselves summoning a demon, playing with forces best left alone, because they feared me.”

“You?” said Khadgar, the surprise in his voice greater than he had intended. For a moment he feared offending the older mage once more.

But Medivh just took a deep breath and blew the air out slowly. Then he said, “Me. They were fools, but I blame myself as well. Come, lad, Lothar can wait. It’s time I told you the story of the Guardians and of the Order of Tirisfal, which is all that stands between us and the Darkness.”