The Last Guardian (28 page)

Llane let out a deep sigh, and said, “Expected and countered. We will throw this one back, just
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like the others. And we will hold until the reinforcements come. As long as men with stout hearts are manning the walls and the throne, Stormwind will hold.”

The future-Garona nodded, and Khadgar now saw that large tears were pooling in the corners of her eyes. “The orc leaders agree with your assessment,” she said, and her hand dipped into her black blouse.

Both Khadgar and the real Garona shouted as one as the future-Garona pulled her long-bladed dagger and shoved it upward beneath the King’s left breast. She moved with a quickness and grace and left

King Llane with nothing more than a puzzled expression on his face. His eyes were wide, and for a moment he hung there, suspended on her blade.

“The orc leaders agree with your assessment,” she said again, and tears were running freely down the sides of her wide face. “And have enlisted an assassin to remove that strong heart on the throne.

Someone you would let come close. Someone you would meet with alone.”

Llane, King of Azeroth, Master of Stormwind, ally of wizard and warrior, slid to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” said Garona.

“No!”shouted Garona, the present Garona, as she slipped to the floor herself. Suddenly they were back in the false dining hall. The wreckage of Stormwind was gone and the corpse of the king with it. The half-orc’s tears remained, now in the eyes of the real Garona.

“I’m going to kill him,” she said in a small voice. “I’m going to kill him. He treated me well, and listened when I talked, and I’m going to kill him. No.”

Khadgar knelt down besides her. “It’s okay. It may not be true. It may not happen. It’s a vision.”

“Its true,” she said. “I saw it and I knew that it was true.”

Khadgar was silent for a moment, reliving his own vision of the future, beneath a red-hued sky, battling

Garona’s people. He saw it and knew it was true as well. “We have to go,” he said, but Garona just shook her head. “After all this, I thought I found someplace better than the orcs. But now I know, I’m going to destroy it all.”

Khadgar looked up and down the stairs. No idea how Lothar’s men were doing with the demons, no idea what lay at the base of the underground tower. His face formed a grim line, and he took a deep breath.

And slapped Garona hard across the face.

His own palm bled from striking a tusk, but the response on Garona was immediate. Her teary eyes widened and a mask of rage hardened on her expression.

“You idiot!” she shouted, and leapt on Khadgar bearing him over backward. “You never do that! You hear me! Do that again and I’ll kill you!”

Khadgar was sprawled on his back, the half-orc on top of him. He didn’t even see her draw the dagger, but now its blade was resting against the side of his neck.

“You can’t,” he managed with a harsh smile. “I had a vision of my own future. I think its true as well. If it is, then you can’t kill me now. Same thing applies to you.”

Garona blinked and rocked back on her haunches, suddenly in control again. “So if I am going to kill the

King…”

“You’re going to get out of here alive,” said Khadgar. “So am I.”

“But what if we’re wrong,” said Garona. “What if the vision is false?”

Khadgar pulled himself to his feet. “Then you die knowing that you’ll never kill the King of Azeroth.”

Garona sat for a moment, her mind working over the possibilities. At length she said, “Give me a hand up. We have to move on.”

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They continued to spiral downward, through false analogs of the tower levels above. Finally they reached the level that would be the uppermost level, of Medivh’s observatory and lair. Instead the stairs spilled out on a reddish plain. It seemed to be poured out of cooling obsidian, dark, reflective puzzle pieces floating on fire beneath their feet. Khadgar instinctively jumped back, but the footing seemed solid and the heat, while sweltering, was not oppressive.

In the center of the great cave was a simple collection of iron furniture. A work bench and stool, a few chairs, a gathering of cabinets. For a moment it looked oddly familiar, then Khadgar realized that it was set up in an exact duplicate to Medivh’s tower room.

Standing among the iron furniture was the broad-shouldered form of the Magus. Khadgar strained to see something in his manner, in his bearing, that would betray him, that would reveal this figure to not be the

Medivh he had come to know and trust, the older man who had shown his faith and encouraged his work. Something that would declare this to be an imposter.

There was nothing. This was the only Medivh he had ever known.

“Hello, Young Trust,” said the Magus and flames ignited along his beard as he smiled. “Hello, Emissary.

I’ve been expecting you both.”

Sixteen

The Breaking of a Mage

It was inspired, I must say,” said the Medivh who was and was not Medivh. “Inspired to summon the shadow of my past, a piece that would stop me from pursuing you. Of course, while you were out gathering your strength, I was out gathering my own.”

Khadgar looked at Garona and nodded. The half-orc moved a few steps to the right. They would surround the old man if they had to.

“Master, what happened to you?” said Khadgar, taking a step forward, trying to focus the Magus’s attention on him.

The older mage laughed. “Happened to me? Nothing happened to me. This is who I am. I was tainted from birth, polluted from before my conception, a bad seed grown to bear bitter fruit.

You have never seen the true Medivh.”

“Magus, whatever has happened, I’m sure it can be fixed,” said Khadgar, walking slowly toward him.

Garona orbited out to the right, and her long-bladed dagger had vanished again—her hands were apparently empty.

“Why should I fix it?” said Medivh with an evil smile. “All goes as planned. The orcs will slay the humans and I will control them through warlock-chiefs like Gul’dan. I will lead these misshapened creations to the lost tomb where Sargeras’s body is, protected against demon and human but not against orc, and my form will be free. And then I can shed this lumpish body and weakened spirit and burn this world as it so richly deserves.”

Khadgar stepped to the left as he spoke. “You are Sargeras.”

“Yes and no,” said the Magus. “I am, for when Aegwynn killed my physical body I hid within her womb, and invested her very cells with my dark essence. When she finally chose to mate with a human mage, I

was already there. Medivh’s dark twin, completly subsumed within his form.”

“Monstrous,” said Khadgar.

Medivh grinned. “Little different than what Aegwynn had planned, for she placed the power of the

Tirisfalen within the child as well. Small wonder that there was so little room for the young
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Medivh himself, with the demon and the light both fighting over his very soul. So when the power truly manifested within him, I shut him down for a while, until I could put my own plans into operation.”

Khadgar continued to move left, trying not to watch as Garona crept up behind the older mage.

Instead he said, “Is there anything of the real Medivh within you?”

“Some,” said Medivh. “Enough to deal with you lesser creatures. Enough to fool the kings and wizards as to my intent. Medivh is a mask—I have left enough of him at the surface to display to others. And if in my workings I seem odd or even mad, they write it off to my position and responsibility, and to the power invested in me by my dear mother.”

Medivh gave a predatory grin. “I was crafted first by Magna Aegwynn’s politics to be her tool, and then shaped by demonic hands to be their tool. Even the Order saw me as little more than a weapon to be used against demons. And so it not surprising at all that I am nothing more that the sum of my parts.”

Garona was behind the mage now, blade drawn, moving on the softest of steps on the obsidian floor.

There were no tears in her eyes, but rather a steely determination. Khadgar kept himself focused on

Medivh, not wanting to betray her with a single glance.

“You see,” continued the mad mage, “I am nothing but one more component in the great machine, one that has been running since the Well of Eternity was first shattered. The one thing that the original bits of

Medivh and myself agree on is that this cycle needs to be shattered. Of this, I assure you, we are of one mind.”

Garona was within a step now, her dagger raised. She took the last step.

“Excuse me,” said Medivh, and lashed out with a fist. Mystic energies danced along the older man’s knuckles, and he caught the half-orc square in the face. She staggered backward under the blow.

Khadgar let loose a curse and raised his hands to cast a spell. Something to knock the mage off his balance. Something simple. Something quick.

Medivh was quicker, turning back to him and raising a claw-like hand. Immediately, Khadgar felt the air around him tighten into a restraining cloak, trapping his arms and legs and making it impossible for him to move. He shouted but his voice sounded muffled and coming from a great distance.

Medivh raised his other hand, and pain shot through Khadgar’s body. The joints of his skeleton seemed to seethe with red-hot spikes that subsided quickly into dull, throbbing pains. His chest tightened, and his flesh felt like it dried out and crawled along his frame. He felt like the fluids were being pulled from his body, leaving a shriveled husk behind. And with it he felt his magic pulled away as well, his body drained of his ability to cast spells, to summon the requisite energies. He felt like a vessel being emptied.

As suddenly as the attack descended upon him, it had passed, and Khadgar toppled to the floor, the wind knocked out of him. It hurt his chest to breath.

Garona had recovered at this point, and came in screaming this time, bringing her dagger-hand upward, to catch Medivh beneath the left breast. Instead of trying to back up, Medivh stepped toward the

charging half-orc, inside the arc of her blow. He raised a hand and caught her forehead in his hand. She froze in midcharge.

Mystic energy of a sickening yellow hue pulsed beneath his hand and the half-orc hung there, her body twitching helplessly, as the mage held her by the forehead.

“Poor, poor Garona,” said Medivh. “I thought with your conflicting heritages, you of all people
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would understand what I’m going through. That you would understand the importance of making your own way.

But you’re just like the others, aren’t you?”

The wide-eyed half-orc could only manage a spittle-drenched gurgle in response.

“Let me show you my world, Garona,” said Medivh. “Let me drive my own divisions and doubts into you. You’ll never know who you serve and why. You’ll never find your peace.”

Garona tried to scream, but it died in her throat as her face was bathed in a radiant sunburst issued from

Medivh’s palm.

Medivh laughed and let the half-orc collapse to the floor, sobbing. She tried to rise, but slumped again.

Her eyes were wide and wild, and her breath was short and ragged, torn by tears.

Khadgar could breathe now, but the breath was short and tight. His joints burned, and his muscles ached. He saw his reflection in the obsidian floor….

And it was the old man of the vision looking back at him. Heavy, tired eyes surrounded by wrinkles and gray hair. Even his beard had turned white.

And Khadgar’s heart sank. Robbed of his youth, of his magic, he no longer felt like he would survive this battle.

“That was instructive,” said Medivh, turning back to Khadgar. “One of the negative things about this humaniform cell I am trapped in is that the human part keeps reaching out. Making friends. Helping people. It makes it so difficult to destroy them later on. I almost wept when I killed Moroes and Cook, did you know? That’s why I had to come down here. But it’s like anything else. Once you get used to it, you can kill friends as easily as anyone else.”

Now he stood a few paces in front of Khadgar, his shoulders straight, his eyes vibrant. Looking more like Medivh than at any time Khadgar had seen him. Looking confident. Looking at ease.

Looking frighteningly, damnedly sane.

“And now you get to die, Young Trust,” said the Magus. “It seems your trust was misplaced after all.”

Medivh raised a hand cupped with magical energy.

There was a throaty scream from the right. “Medivh!” bellowed Lothar, Champion of Azeroth.

Medivh looked up, and his face seemed to soften for a moment, though his hand still burned with the mystic power. “Anduin Lothar?” he said. “Old friend, why are you here?”

“Stop it now, Med,” said Lothar, and Khadgar could hear the pain the Champion’s voice. “Stop it before it is too late. I don’t want to fight you.”

“I don’t want to fight you either, old friend,” said Medivh raising his hand. “You have no idea what it’s like to do the things I’ve done. Harsh things. Necessary things. I don’t want to fight you. So lay down your weapon, friend, and let this be done.”

Medivh opened his palm and the bits of magic droned toward the Champion, bathing him in stars.

“You want to help me, don’t you, old friend,” said Medivh, the harsh smile once more on his face. “You want to be my servant. Come help me dispose of this child. Then we can be friends again.”

The spangling stars around Lothar faded, and the Champion took a slow, firm step forward, then another, then a third, and now Lothar charged forward. As he charged, the Champion raised his rune-carved blade high. He charged at Medivh, not at Khadgar. A curse rose in his voice, a curse backed by sorrow and tears.

Medivh was surprised, but just for a moment. He dodged backward and Lothar’s first cut passed harmlessly through the space the Magus had occupied a half-second before. The Champion checked the swing and brought it back in a solid blocking motion, driving the mage
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another step back. Then an overhand chop, driving back another step.

Now Medivh had recovered himself, and the next blow landed squarely on a shield of bluish energy, the yellow fires of the sword spattering harmlessly like sparks. Lothar tried to cut upward, then thrust, then chop again. Each attack was met and countered by the shield.