The Last Guardian (23 page)

Khadgar had to recast it with streams of crushed rose quartz and amethyst. Garona fit lit torches into the wall sconces, then stood in the center of the pattern, next to him.

“I’ll warn you,” he said to the half-orc. “This may not work.”

“You’ll do well,” replied Garona. “I’ve seen you do it before.”

“I’ll probably get something,” said Khadgar. “I just don’t know what.” He made the motions with his hands, and intoned the words. With Garona watching, he wanted to get everything just right. At last he released the mystical energy from the cage within his mind and shouted, “Show me the origin of the rift between Draenor and Azeroth!”

There was a change in the pressure, in the very weight of the air around them. It was warm, and night, but the night sky outside their window (for there was a window now in these quarters) was a deep red, the color of old, dried blood, and only a few weak stars pierced the envelope.

It was someone’s quarters, likely an orc leader. There were fur rugs on the floor and a large platform that would serve as a bed. A low fire pit burned in the center of the room. Weapons hung on the stone walls, and there were a plethora of cabinets as well. One was open, showing a line of preservedthings, some of which might have once belonged to human or humanish creatures.

The figure in the bed tossed, turned, and then sat up suddenly, as awakening from a bad dream.

He stared into the darkness, and his savaged, war-torn face was clear. Even by orc standards, he was an ugly representative of his race.

Garona let out a sharp gasp, and said, “Gul’dan.”

Khadgar nodded and said, “He should not see you.” This, then, was the warlock that had sent Garona to spy. He looked about as trustworthy as a bent gold piece. For the moment, he wrapped himself in his furs, and spoke.

“I can still see you,” he said. “Even though I think I am awake. Perhaps I dream I am awake.

Come forth, dream creature.”

Garona gripped Khadgar’s shoulder, and he could feel her sharp fingernails dig into his flesh.

But

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Gul’dan was not speaking to them. Instead a new specter wafted into view.

It was tall and broad-shouldered, taller than any of the other three. It was translucent, as if it did not belong here either. It was hooded, and its voice reedy and distant. Though the only light was from the fire pit, the figure cast two shadows—one directly back from the flames, the other to one side, as if lit by a different source.

“Gul’dan,” said the figure. “I want your people. I want your armies. I want your power to aid me.”

“I have called upon my spirit protectors, creature,” said Gul’dan, and Khadgar could hear a tremor in the orc’s voice. “I have called upon my warlocks and they have quailed before you. I have called upon my mystic master and he has failed to stop you. You haunt my dreams, and now you come, a dream-creature, into my world. Who and what are you, truly?”

“You fear me,” said the tall figure, and at the sound of his voice, Khadgar felt a cold hand run down his

spine, “for you do not understand me. See my world and understand your fear. Then fear no more.”

And with that the tall hooded figure shaped a ball out of the air, as light and clear as a soap bubble. It floated, about a foot in diameter, and within it showed a tableau of a land with blue sky and green fields.

The cloaked figure was showing him Azeroth.

Another bubble followed, and then another, and then a fourth. The sun-dappled fields of summer grain.

The swamps of the Black Morass. The ice fields of the north. The shining towers of Stormwind Keep.

And a bubble that contained a lonely tower cradled within a crater of hills, lit by clear moonlight. He was showing the orc spellcaster Karazhan.

And there was another bubble, a fleeting one, that showed some dark scene far beneath the waves. It seemed an errant thought, one that was quickly eradicated. Yet Khadgar got the feeling of power. There was a grave beneath the waves, a crypt, one that surged with power like a heartbeat. It was there for an instant, and then gone.

“Gather your forces,” said the cloaked figure. “Gather your armies and warriors and laborers and allies, and prepare them for a journey through the Twisting Nether. Prepare them well, for all this will be yours when you succeed.”

Khadgar shook his head. The voice stung at him like an errant gnat. Then he realized who it was and his heart quailed.

Gul’dan was up on his knees, his hands clasped before him. “I shall do so, for yours in power most supreme. But who are you truly, and how will we reach this world?”

The figure raised his hands to his hood, and Khadgar shook his head. He didn’t want to see it.

He knew but he did not want to see it.

A deeply lined face. Graying brows. Green eyes that sparkled with hidden knowledge and something dangerous. Next to him, Garona let out a gasp.

“I am the Guardian,” said Medivh to the orc warlock. “I will open the way for you. I will smash the cycle and be free.”

Thirteen

The Second Shadow

No!” shouted Khadgar, and the vision ebbed at once. They were alone in the dining hall once more, at the center of an ornate pattern made of crushed agates and rose quartz.

His ears tingled and the corners of his vision seemed to close in on him. He had sunk to one knee, but was unaware that he had even moved. Above him and to his right, Garona’s voice sounded hushed, almost strangled.

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“Medivh,” she said quietly. “The Old Man. It couldn’t be.”

“It can be,” said Khadgar. His stomach felt like knotted snakes were churning within his flesh.

His mind was already racing, and though he fervently wished to deny it, he knew its destination.

“No,” said Garona, grimly. “It must be a misfire. A false vision. We went looking for one thing and found something else. You said that’s happened before.”

“Not like this,” said Khadgar. “We may not be shown what we want, but we are always shown the truth.”

“Perhaps its just a warning,” said the half-orc.

“It makes sense,” said Khadgar, and there was the sound of rust and regret in his voice. “Think about it.

That’s why the wards were still intact after we were attacked. He was already within the wards, and summoned the demon within.”

“It didn’t seem like him,” said Garona. “Perhaps it was an illusion, some magical fakery. It didn’t seem like him.”

“It was him,” said the apprentice, rising now. “I know the master’s voice. I know the master’s face. In all his moods and manners.”

“But it was like someone else was wearing that face,” said Garona. “Something false. Like he was a set of clothes, or a suit of armor, that someone else was wearing.”

Khadgar looked at the half-orc. Her voice was tremulous, and tears pooled in the corners of her wide eyes. She wanted to believe. She truly wanted to believe.

Khadgar wanted to believe as well. He nodded slowly. “It could be a trick. It still could be him.

He could be tricking that orc, convincing him to come here. Maybe a vision of the future?”

Now it was Garona’s turn to shake her head. “No. That was Gul’dan. He’s here already. He herded us through the portal. This was in the past, this was their first meeting. But why would Medivh want to bring the orcs to Azeroth?”

“It explains why he hasn’t done much to oppose them,” said Khadgar. He shook his head, trying to loosen the thoughts that were lodged there. So many things suddenly made more sense. Odd disappearances. Little interest in the increasing number of orcs. Even bringing a half-orc into the castle.

He regarded Garona and wondered how deeply she was involved in the plot. She seemed completely taken aback by the news, yet was she a conspirator, or another pawn in the shadowplay that Medivh seemed to be running?

“We need to find out,” he said simply. “We need to know why he was there. What he was doing.

He is the Guardian—we should not condemn him on a single vision.”

Garona nodded slowly. “So we ask him. How?”

Khadgar opened his mouth to respond, but another voice sounded through the halls.

“What’s all this brouhaha?” said Medivh, rounding the corner at the dining hall’s entrance.

Khadgar’s throat constricted and went dry.

The Magus stood in the doorway, and Khadgar looked at him, hunting for something in his walk, his appearance, his voice. Anything to betray his presence. There was nothing. This was Medivh.

“What are you children up to?” said the Magus, his gray brows furrowing.

Khadgar struggled for an answer, but Garona said, “The Apprentice was showing me a spell he was working on.” Her voice fluttered.

Medivh grunted. “Another of your visions, Young Trust? They’re bad enough around here, without you calling up the past. Come out of there at once—we have work to do. And you as well, Emissary.”

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His voice was measured and understanding, but firm. The stern voice of the wise mentor.

Khadgar took a step forward, but Garona grabbed him by the arm.

“Shadows,” she hissed.

Khadgar blinked, and looked at the Magus again. Impatience showed on his face now, and disapproval.

His shoulders were still broad, he held himself upright despite the pressures on him. He was dressed in robes Khadgar had seen him wear often before.

And behind him trailed two shadows. One directly away from the torch, and the other, equally dark, at an odd angle.

Khadgar hesitated, and Medivh’s disapproval deepened, a storm gathering on his face. “What is the matter, Young Trust?”

“We should clean up our mess,” said Khadgar, trying to be light. “Don’t want to make Moroes work too hard. We will catch up.”

“Negotiation is not part of an apprentice’s duties,” said Medivh. “Now come here at once.”

No one moved. Garona said, “Why doesn’t he come into the room?”

Why indeed,thought Khadgar. Instead he said, “One question, Master?”

“What now?” grunted the master mage.

“Why did you visit the orc Gul’dan’s dreams?” said Khadgar, feeling his throat tighten as he asked, “Why did you show the orcs how to come to this world?”

Medivh’s glare shifted to Garona. “I was unaware Gul’dan told you of me. He didn’t strike me as being unwise, or a chatterbox.”

Garona took a step back, but this time Khadgar restrained her. She said, “I didn’t know. Until now.”

Medivh snorted. “It matters little. Now come here. Both of you.”

“Why did you show the orcs the way here?” repeated Khadgar.

“You do not negotiate with your betters!” snapped the mage.

“Why did you bring the orcs to Azeroth?” asked Khadgar, pleading now.

“It is none of your business, child. Youwill come here! Now!” The Magus’s face was livid and twisted.

“With respect, sir,” said Khadgar, and his words felt like dagger-thrusts, “no, I will not.”

Medivh thundered in rage. “Child, I will have you…” and as he spoke, he stepped into the room.

Sparks flew up at once, bathing the older mage in a shower of light. The Magus staggered back a step, then raised his hands, and muttered a curse.

“What?” began Garona.

“Circle of Warding,” snapped Khadgar. “To keep summoned demons at bay. The Magus cannot cross it.”

“But if it only affects demons, why not? Unless…” Garona, looked at Khadgar. “No,” she said.

“Can the circle hold him back?”

Khadgar thought of jackstraw laid across the wards in the tower at Stormwind, and at the energy blossoming by the doorway. He shook his head.

Instead he shouted at the Magus, “Is this what you did to Huglar and Hugarin? And Guzbah?

And the others? Did they figure things out?”

“They were further from the truth than you were, child,” said the illuminated Magus through gritted teeth, “But I had to be careful. I forgave your curiosity for your youth, and thought that loyalty—” He grunted now as the protective wards resisted him. “—I thought that loyalty still mattered in this world.”

The protective wards blazed as Medivh moved into them, and Khadgar could see the fields distorting around the Magus’s outstretched palms. The flickering of the sparks seemed to catch
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Medivh’s beard on fire, and smoke curled up like horns from his forehead.

And then Khadgar’s heart sank, for he realized that what he was seeing was another image, this one laid over the image of the beloved mage. The image that belonged to the second shadow.

“He’s going to get through,” said Garona.

Khadgar gritted his teeth, “Eventually. He’s pouring huge amounts of power into breaking the circle.”

“Can he do that?” asked the half-orc.

“He’s the Guardian of Tirisfal,” said Khadgar. “He can do whatever he wants. It just takes time.”

“Well, can we get out of here?” Garona sounded panicked now.

“Only way out is past him,” said Khadgar.

Garona looked around. “Blow out a wall, then. New exit.”

Khadgar looked at the stonework of the tower, but shook his head.

“Well, try something!”

“I’ll try this,” said Khadgar. Before them, the figure of Medivh, taller now and wreathed in lightning, loomed up in the smoke.

Calming himself, he pulled the magical energies into himself. He made the motions he had made only minutes before, and intoned the words lost to mortal men, and when he had compressed the energies into a single ball of light, he released it.

“Bring me a vision,” said Khadgar, “of one who has fought this beast before!”

There was a brief bit of disorientation, and for a moment Khadgar thought the spell had misfired and transported them to the observatory atop the tower. But no, it was now night around them, and an imperious, angry female voice split the air.

“Youdare strike your own mother?” shouted Aegwynn, her own face livid with rage.

Aegwynn stood at one end of the observatory deck, Medivh at the other. It was Medivh as he knew him—tall, proud, and apparently worried. Neither she nor the past-Medivh paid any attention to either

Khadgar or Garona. With a start, Khadgar realized that the present incarnation of Medivh was present as well, sparkling along one wall. The pair from the past ignored him as well, but the present-Medivh was watching the spectacle played out before them.