The Last Guardian

8 Lessons

“To understand the Order,” said Medivh, “you must understand demons. You must also understand magic.” He lowered himself comfortably on one of the still-undamaged chairs. The chair also had one of the few unripped pillows upon it.

“Lord Medivh…Magus,” said Khadgar. “If there is a demon abroad in Stormwind, we should concentrate on that, and not on history lessons that could wait until later.”

Medivh looked down at his chest, and Khadgar feared that he risked another outburst from the elder mage. But the master mage merely shook his head, and smiled as he said, “Your concerns would be valid if the demon in question was a threat to those around it. Take my word for it, it is not. The demon, even were it one of the more powerful officers within the Burning Legion, would have expended almost all its personal power in dealing with the two powerful mages that summoned it. It is of little matter, at least for the moment. What is important, is that you understand what the Order is, what I am, and why others are so deeply interested in it.”

“But Magus…” started Khadgar.

“And the sooner I finish the sooner I will know that I can trust you with the information, and the sooner I will go out to deal with this petty demon, so if you truly want me to go you should let me finish, eh?” Medivh gave the younger mage a hard, knowing smile.

Khadgar opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. He slouched down against the wide ledge by the open window. Despite the efforts of the servants to remove the bodies from the tower, the stench of their death, a corrosive pallor, was still heavy in the air.

“So. What is magic?” asked Medivh, in the manner of a schoolmage.

“An ambient field of energy that pervades the world,” said Khadgar, almost without thinking. It was catechism, a simple answer for a simple question. “It is stronger in some locations than others, but it is ever-present.”

“Yes it is,” said the older mage, “at least now. But imagine a time when it was not.”

“Magic is universal,” said Khadgar, knowing as soon as he said it that it was soon to prove not to be. “Like air or water.”

“Yes, like water,” said Medivh. “Now imagine a time at the very start of things, when all the water in the world was in one location. All the rain and rivers and seas and streams, all the showers and creeks and tears, all in one location, in one well.”

Khadgar nodded, slowly.

“Now, instead of water, it is magic we’re talking about,” said Khadgar. “A well of magic, the source, an opening into other dimensions, a shimmering doorway into the lands beyond the Great Dark, beyond the walls of the world. The first peoples to cast spells encamped around the well and distilled its raw power into magic. They were called the Kaldorei then. What they are called now, I cannot say.” Medivh looked at Khadgar, but the younger mage kept his silence now.

Medivh resumed. “The Kaldorei grew powerful from their use of magic, but they did not understand its nature. They did not understand that there were other, powerful forces in the Great Dark Beyond, moving in the space between worlds, that hungered after magic and were very interested in any who tamed it and refined it to their own ends. These malign forces were abomination and juggernauts and nightmares from hundreds of worlds, but we call them simply demons. They sought to invade any world where magic was mastered and grown, and destroy it, keeping the energies for themselves alone. And the greatest of them, the master of the Burning Legion, was a demon named Sargeras.”

Khadgar thought of the vision with Aegwynn and suppressed a shudder.

If Medivh noticed the young mage’s reaction he did not say anything. “The Lord of the Burning Legion was both powerful and subtle, and worked to corrupt the early magic-users, the Kaldorei. He succeeded, for a dark shadow fell upon their hearts, and they enslaved other races, the nascent humans as well as others, in order to build their empire.”

Medivh sighed, “Now in this time of the enslaving Kaldorei, there were those with greater vision than their brethren, who were willing both to speak out against the Kaldorei and to pay the price for their vision. These brave individuals, both Kaldorei and other races as well, saw the hearts of the ruling Kaldorei grow cold and dark, and the demonic power grow.”

“So it came to pass that the Kaldorei were corrupted by Sargeras such that they nearly damned this world at its birth. The Kaldorei ignored those who spoke out against them, and opened the way for the most powerful of demons, Sargeras and his lot, to invade. Only by the heroic actions of a few was the shimmering doorway through the Great Dark shut, exiling Sargeras and his followers. But the victory was at great cost. The Well of Eternity exploded when the doorway was shut down, and the resulting explosion ripped the heart out of this world, destroying the Kaldorei lands and the very continent it rested upon. Those that shut the door were never seen again by living eyes.”

“Kalimdor!” said Khadgar, interrupting despite himself.

Medivh looked at him, and Khadgar continued, “Its an old legend in Lordaeron! Once there was an evil race who meddled foolishly with great power. As punishment for their sins, their lands were broken and set beneath the waves. It was called the Sundering of the World. Their lands were called Kalimdor.”

“Kalimdor,” repeated Medivh. “Though you have the child’s version of the tale, the bit we tell would-be mages to stress the dangers of what they are playing with. The Kaldorei were foolish, and destroyed themselves and nearly our world. And when the Well of Eternity exploded, the magical energies within scattered to the four corners of the earth, in an eternal rain of magic. And that’s why magic is universal—it’s the power of the well’s death.”

“But Magus,” said Khadgar, “that was thousands of years ago.”

“Ten thousand years,” said Medivh, “give or take a score.”

“How is it that the legend comes down to us? Dalaran itself has histories only going back twenty centuries, and the earliest of those are wrapped in legends.”

Medivh nodded and took up the story again. “Many were lost in the sinking of Kalimdor, but some survived, and took their knowledge with them. Some of these surviving Kaldorei would found the Order of Tirisfal. Whether Tirisfal was a person, or a place, or a thing, or a concept, even I cannot say. They took the knowledge, of what had happened, and swore to keep it from ever happening again, and that is the bedrock of the Order.

“Now, the race of humans survived those dark days as well, and thrived, and soon, with magical energy worked into the fabric of the world itself, they too were scratching at the doors of reality, beginning to summon creatures from the Great Dark, prying at the shut gates of Sargeras’s prison. That was when those Kaldorei who had survived and changed themselves came forward with the story of how their ancestors had almost destroyed the world.

“The first human mages considered what the surviving Kaldorei had said, and realized that even were they to lay down their wands and grimoires and ciphers, that others would seek, innocently or less so, ways to allow the demons access once more to our green lands. And so they continued the Order, now as a secret society among the most powerful of their mages. This Order of Tirisfal would choose one of its number, who would serve as the Guardian of the Tirisfalen. This guardian would be given the greatest of powers, and would be the gatekeeper of reality. But now the gate was not a single great well of power, but rather an infinite rain that continues to fall even today. It is nothing less than the heaviest responsibility in the world.”

Medivh fell silent, and his eyes lost their focus briefly, as if he were suddenly swept into the past himself. Then he shook his head, returning to himself, but still did not speak.

“You are the Guardian,” said Khadgar, simply.

“Aye,” said Medivh, “I am the child of the greatest Guardian of all time, and was given her power soon after my birth. It was…too much for me, and I paid for it with a good piece of my youth.”

“But you said the mages chose among themselves,” said Khadgar. “Couldn’t Magna Aegwynn have chosen an older candidate? Why chose a child, especially her own child?”

Medivh took a deep breath. “The first Guardians, for the first millennium, were chosen among the select group. The very existence of the Order was kept hidden, as was the wishes of the original founders. However, over time, politics and personal interests came into play, such that the Guardian soon became little more than a servant, a magical dogsbody. Some of the more powerful mages felt it was the Guardian’s job to keep everyone else from enjoying the power that they themselves commanded. Like the Kaldorei before us, a shadow of corrupting power was moving through the members of the Order. More demons were getting through, and even Sargeras himself had manifested the smallest bits of himself. A mere fraction of his power, but enough to slay armies and destroy nations.”

Khadgar thought of the image of Sargeras that fought Aegwynn in the vision. Could this have been a mere fraction of the great demon’s power?

“Magna Aegwynn,” Medivh said the words, then stopped. It was as if he was not used to speaking those words. “She who bore me was herself born nearly a thousand years ago. She was greatly gifted, and chosen by other members of the Order to become the Guardian. I believe the grayest of the graybeards of that time thought they could control her, and in doing so continue to use the Guardian as a pawn of their own political games.

“She surprised them.”—and at this Medivh smiled. “She refused to be manipulated, and indeed fought against some of the greatest mages of her age when they themselves fell into demonic lore. Some thought that her independence was a passing thing, that when her time came, she would have to pass the mantle on to a more malleable candidate. Again, she surprised them, using the magics within her to live for a thousand years, unchanging, and to wield her power with wisdom and grace. So the Order and the Guardian split. The former can advise the latter, but the latter must be free to challenge the former, to avoid what happened to the Kaldorei.

“For a thousand years she fought the Great Dark, even challenging the physical aspect of Sargeras himself, who had instilled himself into this plane and sought to destroy the mythical dragons, adding their power to his own. Magna Aegwynn met him and defeated him, locking his body away in a place where none knows, keeping him forever from the Great Dark that is his power. That’s in that epic poem, ‘The Song of Aegwynn,’ the one Guzbah wants. But she could not do it forever, and there must always be a Guardian.

“And then…” And again Medivh’s voice faltered. “She had one more trick up her sleeve. Powerful she was, but she was still of mortal flesh. She was expected to pass on her power. Instead she fathered an heir on a conjurer from the Court of Azeroth itself, and she chose that child as her successor. She threatened the Order, saying that if her choice was not honored, she would not step down, and would rather take the power of the Guardian into death than allow another to have it. They felt they might be able to manipulate the child…me…better, and so they allowed it.

“The power was too much,” said Medivh. “When I was a young man, younger than you, it awoke within me, and I slept for over twenty years. Magna Aegwynn had so much of a life, and I seem to have lost most of it.” His voice faltered again. “Magna Aegwynn…my mother…” he began, but found he had nothing more to say.

Khadgar just sat there for a moment. Then Medivh rose, shook back his mane and said, “And while I slept, evil crept back into the world. There are more demons, and more of these orcs as well. And now members of my own Order are once more playing the dark road. Yes, Huglar and Hugarin were members of the Order, as have been others, like ancient Arrexis among the Kirin Tor. Yes, something similar happened to him, and while they covered it up neatly, you probably heard something about it. They feared my mother’s power, and they fear me, and I have to keep their fear from destroying them. Such is the charge laid upon the Guardian of Tirisfal.”

The older man launched himself to his feet. “I must be off!” he said.

“Off?” said Khadgar, suddenly surprised by the energy within the lanky frame.

“As you have so rightly noted, there is a demon abroad,” said Medivh with a renewed smile. “Sound the hunter’s horn, I must find it before it regains its wits and strength and kills others!”

Khadgar pulled himself upright. “Where do we start?”

Medivh pulled himself up short, and turned, looking slightly sheepishly at the younger man. “Ah.We are not starting anywhere. I am going to go. You’re talented, but you’re not up to demons quite yet. This battle is my own, Young Apprentice Trust.”

“Magus, I am sure I can…”

But Medivh raised a hand to silence him.

“I also need you here to keep your own ears open,” said Medivh, in a quieter voice. “I have no doubt that Old Lothar has spent the past ten minutes with his ear to the door, such that there will be a keyhole-shaped impression on the side of his face.” Medivh grinned. “He knows a lot, but not all. That’s why I had to tell you, so he doesn’t pry too much out of you. I need someone to guard the Guardian, as it were.”

Khadgar looked at Medivh and the older mage winked. Then the Magus strode to the door and pulled it open with a quick motion.

Lothar did not stumble into the room, but he was there, right on the other side. He could have been listening, or just standing watch.

“Med,” said Lothar with a game smile. “His Majesty…”

“His Majesty will understand perfectly,” said Medivh, breezing right past the larger man. “That I would rather meet with a rampaging demon than the leader of a nation. Priorities and all that. In the mean time will you look after my apprentice?”

He said it all in a single breath, and then he was gone, out into the hall and down the stairs, leaving Lothar in mid-sentence.

The old warrior rubbed a great hand up over his balding pate, letting out an exaggerated sigh. Then he looked at Khadgar and let out another, deeper sigh.

“He’s always been like this, you know,” said Lothar, as if Khadgar truly did know. “I suppose you’re hungry, at least. Let’s see if we can find some lunch.”

Lunch consisted of a cold game fowl looted from the cold room and tucked under Lothar’s arm, and two mugs of ale the size of ewers, one in each meaty hand. The King’s Champion was surprisingly at ease, despite the situation, and guided Khadgar out to a high balcony overlooking the city.

“My lord,” said Khadgar. “Despite the Magus’s request, I realize you have other work.”

“Aye,” said Lothar, “and most of it was taken care of while you were talking to Medivh. His majesty King Llane is in his quarters, as are most of the courtiers, under guard, in case that demon decided to hide in the castle. Also I have agents already spreading through the city, with orders to both report anything suspicious but not to make themselves suspicious. The last thing we need is a demon-panic. I’ve cast all my lines, and now there is nothing to do but wait.” He looked at the younger man. “And my lieutenants know that I’ll be on this balcony, as I always have a late lunch anyway.”

Khadgar considered Lothar’s words, and thought that the King’s Champion was very much like Medivh—not only planning ahead a few moves, but delighting in telling others how he’s planned things out. The apprentice picked at the sliced breast meat while Lothar tore into a drumstick.

The pair ate in silence for a long time. The fowl was anything but foul, for it was treated with a concoction of rosemary, bacon, and sheep’s butter placed beneath the skin before roasting. Even cold it fell apart in the mouth. The ale for its part was pungent, rich with bottomland hops.

Beneath them the city unfolded. The citadel itself was atop a rocky outcropping that already separated the King from his subjects, and from the tower’s additional height, the citizens of Stormwind looked like naught but small dolls busying themselves along crowded streets. Some sort of market day was playing out beneath them, brightly-tarped storefronts occupied with vendors bellowing (very quietly, it seemed to Khadgar at this altitude) the virtues of their wares.

For a moment Khadgar forgot where he was, and what he had seen, and why he was there in the first place. It was a beautiful city. Only Lothar’s deep grumble brought him back to this world.

“So,” said the King’s Champion in his way of introspection. “How is he?”

Khadgar thought for a moment, and replied, “He is in good health. You have seen that yourself, milord.”

“Bah,” spat Lothar, and for a moment Khadgar thought the knight was choking on a large piece of meat. “I can see, and I know Med can dance and bluff his way past just about anyone. What I mean to say is, How is he?”

Khadgar looked out at the city again, wondering if he had Medivh’s talent to bluster his way past the older man, to deny answers without causing affront.

No, he decided, Medivh played on loyalties and friendships older than he was. He had to find another way to respond. He let out a sigh and said, “Demanding. He’s very demanding. And intelligent. And surprising. I feel I have apprenticed myself to a whirlwind, sometimes.” He looked at Lothar, his eyebrows raised, hoping that this would be sufficient.

Lothar nodded, “A whirlwind, aye. And a thunderstorm, too, I suspect.”

Khadgar shrugged awkwardly. “He has his moods, like anyone.”

“Hmmpph,” said the King’s Champion. “An ostler has a mood and he kicks the dog. A mage has his moods and a town disappears. No offense meant.”

“None taken, milord,” said Khadgar, thinking of the dead mages in the tower room. “You ask how he is. He’s all these things.”

“Hmmmph,” said Lothar again. “He’s a very powerful person.”

Khadgar thought and you worry about him like the other wizards do. Instead he said, “He speaks well of you.”

“What did he say?” said Lothar, more quickly than perhaps he meant to.

“Only,” Khadgar chose his words carefully, “that you served him well when he was ill.”

“True enough,” grunted the Champion, starting into the other drumstick.

“And that you are extremely observant,” added Khadgar, feeling that this was a sufficient distillation of Medivh’s opinion of the warrior.

“Glad to know he notices,” said Lothar, with a full mouth. There was a pause between the two of them, as Lothar chewed and swallowed. “Has he mentioned the Guardian?”

“We have spoken,” said Khadgar, feeling that he was on a very narrow verbal cliff. Medivh did not tell him how much Lothar knew. He settled for silence as the best answer, and let the statement hang in the air for a moment.

“And it is not the Apprentice’s place to discuss the doings of the Master, eh?” said Lothar, with a smile that seemed just a jot too forced. “Come now, you’re from Dalaran. That nest of mage-vipers has more secrets per square foot than any other place on the continent. No offense, again.”

Khadgar shrugged off the comment. Diplomatically, he stated, “I notice that there is less obvious rivalry between mages here than in Lordaeron.”

“And you mean to tell me that your teachers didn’t send you out with a laundry list of things to pry out of the high Magus?” Lothar’s grin deepened, and looked almost sympathetic.

Khadgar felt some heat in his face. The older warrior was firing bow shots increasingly close to the gold. “Any requests from the Violet Citadel are under Medivh’s consideration. He has been very accommodating.”

“Hmmph,” snorted Lothar. “Must mean they aren’t asking for the right stuff. I know the mages around here, including Huglar and Hugarin, the saints rest their souls, were always pestering him for this and that, and complaining to His Majesty or myself when they didn’t get it. Like we had any control over him!”

“I don’t think anyone does,” said Khadgar, drowning any additional comment he might have made in his ale.

“Not even his mother, I understand,” said Lothar. It was a small comment, but it slipped in like a dagger thrust. Khadgar found himself wanting to ask Lothar more about her, but contained himself.

“I fear I am too young to know,” he said. “I’ve read some on her. She seems like a powerful mage.”

“And that power is in him, now,” said Lothar. She whelped him from a conjurer of this very court, and weaned him on pure magestuff, and poured her power into him. Yes, I know all about it, pieced it together after he went into that coma. Too much, too young. Even now I’m concerned.”

“You think he’s too powerful,” said Khadgar, and Lothar froze him with a sudden, penetrating stare. The young mage kicked himself for speaking his mind, practically accusing his host.

Lothar let out a smile and shook his head. “On the contrary, lad, I worry that he’s not powerful enough. There are horrible things afoot in the kingdoms. Those orc-things you saw a month ago, they’re multiplying like rabbits after a rain. And trolls, nearly extinct, have been seen more often. And Medivh is out hunting a demon even as we speak. Bad times are coming, and I hope, no, I pray, that he’s up to it. We went for twenty-some years without a Guardian, when he was in a coma. I don’t want to go another twenty, particularly at a time like this.”

Khadgar felt embarrassed now. “So when you ask, How is he? You mean…”

“How is he?” finished Lothar. “I don’t want him weakening at a time like this. Orcs, trolls, demons, and then there is…” Lothar let his voice trail off and looked at Khadgar, then said, “You know of the Guardian, by now, I can assume?”

“You can assume,” said Khadgar.

“And the Order, too?” said Lothar, then he smiled. “No need to say anything, young man, your eyes gave yourself away. Never play cards with me, eh?”

Khadgar felt on the very precipice itself. Medivh warned him not to let too much loose to the Champion, but Lothar seemed to know as much as Khadgar knew. More, even.

Lothar spoke in a calm voice. “We would not send for Med for a simple matter of a magical misfire. Nor even two common conjurers being caught in their own spells. Huglar and Hugarin were two of our best, two of our most powerful. There was another, even more powerful, but she met an accident two months back. All three, I believe, were members of your Order.”

Khadgar felt a chill creep up his back. He managed to say, “I don’t think I’m comfortable speaking of this.”

“Then don’t,” said Lothar, his brows furrowed like the foothills of some ancient mountain chain. “Three powerful mages, the most powerful in Azeroth. Not a patch on Med or his mother, mind you, but great and powerful wizards nonetheless. All dead. I can buy one mage being unlucky, or being caught unawares, but three of them? A warrior doesn’t believe in that much coincidence.

“There’s more,” continued the King’s Champion. “I have my own ways of finding out things. Caravan traders, mercenaries, and adventurers that come into the city often find a receptive ear with old Lothar. Word comes from Ironforge and Alterac, and even from Lordaeron itself. There has been a plague of such mishaps, one after another. I think someone, or worse yet, something is hunting the great mages of this secret Order. Both here, and in Dalaran itself, I don’t doubt.”

Khadgar realized that the older man was studying his face as he spoke, and with a start he realized that this fit into the rumors he heard before leaving the Violet Citadel. Ancient mages, suddenly gone, and the upper echelons quietly hushing it up. The great secret among the Kirin Tor, part of a greater problem.

Despite himself, Khadgar looked away, out over the city. “Yes, Dalaran too, it seems,” said Lothar. “Not much news comes from there, but I’m willing to bet that the news is similar, eh?”

“You think that the Lord Magus is in danger?” asked Khadgar. The desire to not tell Lothar anything was eroding by the obvious concern of the older warrior.

“I think Medivh is danger incarnate,” said Lothar. “And I admire anyone willing to be under the same roof with him.” It sounded like a joke, but the King’s Champion did not smile. “But yes, something is out there, and it may be tied with the demons or the orcs or something much worse. And I would hate to lose our most powerful weapon at a time like this.”

Khadgar looked at Lothar, trying to read the furrows of the older man’s face. Was this old warrior worried about his friend, or worried about the loss of a magical protection? Was his concern about Medivh’s safety, out in the middle of the wilderness, or that something was stalking them all? The older man’s face seemed like a mask, and his deep sea-blue eyes gave no clue as to what Lothar was truly thinking.

Khadgar had expected a simple swordsman, a knight devoted to duty, but the King’s Champion was more than this. He was pushing Khadgar, looking for weakness, looking for information, but to what end?

I need someone to guard the Guardian,Medivh had said.

“He is fine,” said Khadgar. “You are worried about him, and I share your concerns. But he is doing well, and I doubt anything or anyone can truly hurt him.”

Lothar’s unfathomable eyes seemed to deflate for a moment, but only a flickering moment. He was going to say something else, to renew the prying, friendly inquisition, but a commotion within the tower drew both their attention away from the discussion, away from the now-empty mugs and the bare bones of the fowl.

Medivh swaggered into view, followed by a crew of servants and guardsmen. All complained about his presence, but none would (wisely) place a hand on him, and as a result followed him like a living, mewling comet’s tale. The older mage strode out onto the parapet.

“I thought you a creature of habit, Lothar,” said Medivh. “I knew you’d be out here taking afternoon tea!” The Magus beamed a warm smile, but Khadgar saw there was a slight, almost drunken sway to his walk. Medivh kept one arm behind him, concealing something.

Lothar rose, concern in his voice. “Medivh are you all right? The demon…”

“Ah, yes, the demon,” said Medivh brightly and pulled his bloodied prize out from behind his back. He lobbed it at Lothar and Khadgar in a lazy, underhanded swing.

The red orb spun as it flew, spilling the last bits of blood and brains out before landing at Lothar’s feet. It was a demon’s skull, the flesh still adhered to it, with a mighty divot, like that of a great ax, driven into the center, right between the ramlike horns. The demon’s expression, Khadgar thought, was one of both awe and indignation.

“You might want to have that stuffed,” said Medivh, pulling himself seriously to his full height. “Had to burn the rest of it, of course. No telling what the inexperienced might do with a draught of demon’s blood.”

Khadgar saw that Medivh’s face was more pinched than it had been earlier, and that the lines around his eyes were more prominent. Lothar may have caught it as well, and remarked, “You caught it quite quickly.”

“Child’s play!” said Medivh. “Once Young Trust here pointed out how the demon fled the castle, it was a simple matter to track it from the tower’s base to a small escarpment. It was over before I knew it. Before it knew it either.” The Magus swayed slightly.

“Come then,” said Lothar, with a warm smile. “We should tell the King. There should be reveling in your honor for this, Med!”

Medivh held up a hand. “You may revel without us, I am afraid. We should get back. Miles to go before we rest. Isn’t that right, Apprentice?”

Lothar looked at Khadgar, again with a questioning, imploring look. Medivh looked calm but worn. He also looked expectant for Khadgar to support him this time.

The young mage coughed, “Of course. We left an experiment on the boil.”

“Indeed!” said Medivh, picking up the lie immediately. “In our rush to get here, I had quite forgotten. We should make haste.” The Magus wheeled and bellowed at the collected courtiers. “Make ready our mounts! We leave at once.” The servants dissolved like a covey of quail. Medivh turned back to Lothar. “You will make our apologies to His Majesty, of course.”

Lothar looked at Medivh, then at Khadgar, then at Medivh again. At last he sighed and said, “Of course. Let me lead you to the tower, at least.”

“Lead on,” said Medivh. “Don’t forget to take your skull. I’d keep it myself, but I have one like it already.”

Lothar hefted the ram-headed skull in one hand and brushed past Medivh, leading into the tower itself. As he passed, the Magus seemed to deflate, the air going out of him. He looked more tired than before, grayer than he had been moments earlier. He let out a heavy sigh and headed for the door himself.

Khadgar chased after him and caught him by the elbow. It was light touch, but the elder mage suddenly pulled himself upright, flinching as if reacting to a blow. He turned to Khadgar, and his eyes seemed to mist over for a moment as he looked at the younger mage.

“Magus,” said Khadgar.

“What is it now?” said Medivh in a hissing whisper.

Khadgar thought about what to say, how to risk the Magus’s censure. “You’re not well,” he said, simply.

It was the right thing to say. Medivh gave an aged nod, and said, “I’ve been better. Lothar probably knows as well, but he won’t challenge me on it. But I’d rather be home than here.” He paused for a moment, and his lips formed a stiff line beneath his beard. “I was sick for a long time, here. Don’t want to repeat the experience.”

Khadgar didn’t say anything, but only nodded. Lothar now stood at the door, waiting.

“You’re going to have to lead the way back to Karazhan,” said Medivh to Khadgar, loud enough for all nearby to hear. “This city life takes too much out of a man, and I could use a nap about now!”