Christie Golden - Warcraft - Official Movie Novelization

There came a sharp clang as the bloodied orc lunged for Garona and was brought up short by his chains. “Say one more word in their language, slave, and I will wear your tongue,” the orc rumbled.

“What is he saying?” the human demanded.

“He does not like that I am speaking to you,” Garona said.

The Frostwolf was well and truly angry now, and he again pulled hard on his chains, the veins in his neck standing out like ropes. “I will not warn you again,” he snarled.

“He keeps threatening me, but I care not for—”

The Frostwolf lunged forward a third time, bellowing in fury, straining to reach Garona. The metal groaned in protest. Garona inhaled swiftly, her eyes widening. The human saw it, too.

“Tell him to stop—” he began.

“ You tell him,” Garona retorted.

A final rush forward, and this time the chains pulled from the wood to which they were secured. The Frostwolf reached out for her throat, his mouth open in furious cry. Garona retreated as far as she could, but it would not be far enough—

He froze, gurgling. Brown blood seeped from his throat and his mouth, oozing down over the bright blade that was impaled halfway up its length. The light in his eyes faded, and when the human tugged his sword free, the Frostwolf slumped over, quite dead.

Garona stared at her savior, impressed. Somehow, he had been both swift and strong enough to leap from his mount and strike the Frostwolf through the bars in time. Now, he looked at her again with those uncanny blue eyes.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“Have you a name?” Llane asked of the strange prisoner.

Lady Taria stood in the throne room, off to the side with Lothar, Khadgar, Callan, and some of her husband’s guards. She couldn’t keep from staring at the female prisoner Lothar and Khadgar had brought in. She looked so human … except that she didn’t. She was of human size and shape, and would have been pretty save for the small tusks jutting out of her lower jaw.

She was bleeding here and there, and there were nasty, festering sores on her green skin where her manacles had rubbed. What passed for clothing, and it was very little, was stained and torn. Her thick black hair was tangled, and dirt smeared her emaciated body. And yet—she stood as if she were queen here, not Taria. Her spine was erect, her demeanor calm. This female might be in chains, but she was neither tamed nor broken.

“You understand our language,” Llane said, reminding her that they knew this. “Again… have you a name?” He walked down the steps from his throne. The prisoner stepped forward boldly toward him. One of the guards stepped forward, his hand on his sword hilt, but Llane lifted a hand to stay any interference. The green female stroked the king’s tunic, lingering over the lion head brooches, then continued upward to the great throne of Stormwind itself.

“Garona,” said Lothar. He sat on the top step, his eyes following the female as she stepped past him. “She calls herself Garona.”

“Garona,” Llane said, addressing her directly as she stooped to touch the life-sized, golden lion at the throne’s base. “What kind of being are you?”

Garona did not reply, sniffing at the gold beast. Her dark brown eyes scanned the room and those inside it. Curious? Anxious? Evaluating? Taria couldn’t tell.

“She seems more like us than those… beasts we fought,” one of the soldiers said.

His words made Garona pause in her exploration of the room. “Orc,” she said.

Llane seized on this. “Orc? That’s what you are? Or what the beast in the cage was?” When she didn’t reply, he regarded her intently, looking her up and down. Some might have thought it an intimidation tactic, or perhaps a gesture of contempt. Taria recognized it for what it was. When her husband’s father was killed and Llane took the throne, he had vowed to learn all he could about not only the kingdom he was to rule, but the world in which it was located. Standing before him was something utterly new. He was excited and fascinated by that, and Taria knew it pained him to permit the use of violence against beings so, in his view, marvelous and remarkable. She noticed that the young mage, too, seemed enthusiastically curious, as if he were stifling questions with difficulty. Perhaps, though, that was due to the fact that he was a young man, and the being before them was exotically beautiful.

“I know every race in the Seven Kingdoms, but I have never heard of an orc.” Llane pointed toward the ceiling. Painted above their heads was a detailed map of Azeroth—all its islands and continents, its kingdoms and oceans. All that was known. There were patches that were as of yet unknown, wide expanses of open, blank mystery. “Show me where you come from, Garona.”

The orc tilted back her head and examined the map. She frowned, then shook her head.

“This is not orc world,” she said bluntly. A hint of a smile curved her lips. “Orc world is dead. Orcs take this world now.”

“Not from this world?” Llane looked completely bewildered.

So, frankly, was Taria, and likely everyone else in the room. Khadgar seemed to be almost physically silencing himself. But she realized that they were all focusing on the wrong thing. Llane was an idealist. While it was part of what made him a fine king, he was wise enough to ensure he was surrounded by others who were more pragmatic. It was, if true, a revelation—but they needed to save lives, not draw new maps.

“How did you get here?”

The voice cut through the air of the room like a knife. Medivh stood in the doorway, his body taut as a bowstring. How long has he been here, listening? Taria wondered.

Garona snapped to attention at once, her eyes trained on Medivh. She strode toward him, seemingly as unafraid of him as she had been of any of them.

“The Great Gate. Deep in ground. Ancient magic brings us here.”

Medivh strode forward. “You went through a gate,” he confirmed.

“But how did you learn our language?” Khadgar burst out, unable to contain himself any longer.

The orc turned her dark gaze to the youth. “Orcs take prisoners for the gate. I learn from them—”

Llane interrupted, his voice and body taut with tension at her words. “Prisoners like us? Our people? Are they alive?”

“Yes. Many,” Garona replied.

“Why?” Khadgar asked.

The orc looked at those who had been questioning her in turn and lifted her chin. Her eyes blazed as she replied, pride in her posture and voice, “To feed the Gate. To bring the Horde. To take your world.”

No one spoke. Taria could hardly believe what she had been hearing. A Great Gate, hungry for human prisoners. A horde of beings like Garona, flooding into Azeroth. To take it for their own. Her husband ruled, not she, but he shared almost everything with his queen, and she had learned many frightening things in their years together. But nothing as terrifying as this.

To take your world.

“You’ll take us to them.” Her brother, slicing through the sick silence in his usual manner.

Garona smirked. “No.”

Lothar smiled. Taria knew that smile. It did not bode well for those at whom it was directed. “You’ll take us to them,” he repeated, almost pleasantly, “or you’ll end up like your friend in the cage.”

Garona strode toward him slowly, kneeling beside him on the step and bringing her face close to his. “You think you are fearsome?” she murmured. “Orc children have pets more fearsome than you.”

Taria believed her.

“We are not trying to be fearsome, Garona,” Llane said, speaking calmly in an effort to diffuse the tension. “We are trying to protect our people. Our families.”