Christie Golden - Warcraft - Official Movie Novelization

But that was not what had Durotan and all the others gaping in shocked silence. Durotan remembered when Gul’dan had come to the Frostwolves for the first time. He had worn this same cloak then. At the time, Durotan had been confused, unable to determine how the spines with the tiny skulls fixed atop them had been sewn into the fabric. Now, he understood.

The spines had not been attached to the cloak. They were protruding through it.

They and their macabre decorations were growing from Gul’dan’s body.

Gul’dan basked in the awe and horror his appearance inspired, and Durotan knew with a sick feeling that the fel-distorted monstrosity in front of him was more than likely right. This would not take long.

But Durotan resolved to make Gul’dan’s inevitable victory dearly bought. He stepped forward into the ring, shrugging off his own wolf-fur cloak and letting it slip to the ground. He stood, calculating, waiting, letting Gul’dan circle him.

And with a bellow, he sprang.

Moroes was dead, a withered, papery husk, sucked dry like the remnants of an insect when the spider has gorged. So poised and dignified in life, he now sprawled, legs akimbo, in front of a font gone sickly green which bubbled and emitted evil wisps of misty fel.

Lothar lifted his gaze from the dead castellan to the upper platform. He was both relieved and aghast to see his old friend standing there. He could not see the Guardian’s face, but his form was unnaturally erect, and his arms were held up to the sky.

Lothar caught the young mage’s eye. Khadgar nodded, moving slowly to the left, toward the scaffolding that supported the golem Medivh had been working on when they had first arrived. Lothar stepped to the right. With luck, they could pin the Guardian between them.

And do what? his sad, sick soul asked.

Something. Anything , his mind replied.

He had thought he would be angry, but instead he was more sorrowful than anything else. “Medivh,” he called, calmly, carefully.

Now, Medivh lifted his head, and horror spurted through Lothar. His face was still recognizable—but only barely. It was covered with lines that were like cracks in marble. His beard had been replaced by a line of small, downward-jutting horns. And the Guardian’s eyes were pitch black.

Casually, Medivh raised his arm. Energy pulsed, and Lothar was seized by the shape of a huge, sickly yellow hand and lifted into the air. The Guardian’s eyes flared, like a small eruption of green magma, and the magical hand tightened. Lothar’s breastplate began to crumple, as if he were a toy soldier squeezed too hard by a bored child.

From below and behind Khadgar hurled a blast of energy at Medivh’s back. Without even turning, Medivh countered the spell with his right hand, turning the blue missile back on its sender. He released his grip on Lothar, letting his old friend drop and turning his attention to Khadgar.

But Khadgar wasn’t there. Lothar lay still where he had fallen, feigning death for a long, tense moment. Then, Medivh begin to chant. He had listened to the Guardian summoning spells for years, but he had never heard anything like this. It made his throat turn dry, his skin crawl, and he would have known without being told that what was being spoken was the darkest evil that could be imagined.

Lothar used Medivh’s distraction to crawl to Khadgar in the mage’s hiding place—beneath the golem’s thick clay body.

Khadgar looked pale. “It’s the incantation to the orc home world. He’s opening the portal. We need to shut him up!”

The mage nodded, then froze. Lothar strained to listen. Medivh, no doubt having realized that the “dead” Lothar was no longer where he had been dropped, was moving overhead. Looking for them.

“Ideas?” hissed Lothar. Khadgar licked his lips, then leaped to his feet, shouting an incantation. Blue orbs of cracking fire exploded from his fingertips in the direction of the chanting. Chunks of stone were blasted from the pillars, toppling down in a dusty pile. But Medivh was nowhere to be seen.

“Very impressive,” and the voice seemed to come from everywhere. “Now try shutting him up.”

A green glow came from directly above them. The chanting had resumed, but the voice was no longer coming from the Guardian. It issued from the featureless clay face that now sported eyes of emerald fire, and a green slash of a mouth.

“Well,” Lothar quipped, “ That went well.”

Not content with simply being a vessel for Medivh’s unholy chanting, the golem began to move, shrugging its gargantuan shoulders as if waking up. Pieces of scaffolding and various tools toppled to the floor. “Do something!” Lothar shouted. Khadgar gave him look that said plainly, what do you expect me to do? “Fine,” Lothar muttered, “I’ll handle him, you take care of Medivh.”

Khadgar swallowed, nodded, and started to scramble up the golem’s scaffolding. The golem straightened, infused with strength, shattering the remnants of his scaffolding like a prisoner casting off shackles. Khadgar leaped upward to the circular platform just in time.

“Hey!” Lothar called, trying to draw its attention. “Over here! Clay face!” He hurled a carving tool at its lumpy brown head. Faster than Lothar had anticipated from something so gargantuan, it turned its head and fixed its sickly green gaze on him. Then it lunged, lurching forward like a great ape.

Its left fist slammed down. Lothar leaped away, tumbling to the floor, as the creature struck where he had been seconds earlier. It followed up with a second swipe, dragging its right fist through the sickly green magic of the font. The hand emerged, dripping, glowing, and no longer clay, but solid black stone. This time, when the golem punched down, the stone fist smashed right through the floor, and Lothar tumbled down to the next story below.

Khadgar, meanwhile, fired a bolt at Medivh, but the Guardian deflected it, warping it so that it plunged into the pool of fel.

He began to bombard the younger mage with missiles, fireballs, and bolts. Khadgar somehow managed to block them, trying to get them to ricochet back to Medivh. But instead of returning to their sender, the magical attacks were caught by the power of the fel and began to whirl around the tainted font in a blur. Seemingly without effort, Medivh stepped up his offense.

Khadgar summoned all his magical energy, gathered up the whirling wisps orbiting the pool, and hurled the accumulation at Medivh. At the last second, the Guardian dove for cover as everything around him shattered.

All was quiet. Had Khadgar managed to—

Slowly, carefully, Khadgar moved toward where Medivh had hidden.

There was nothing there. The Guardian was gone.

With a bellow, Durotan closed the distance between himself and Gul’dan, swift as one of Draka’s arrows, landing a clean punch across Gul’dan’s jaw with all his strength behind it. Taken utterly by surprise, the warlock stumbled and fell. But before Durotan could press his advantage, he was on his feet, seizing the Frostwolf by his throat and lifting him up. Gul’dan began to squeeze.

Durotan’s vision swam, but he kept fighting. He would keep fighting until he was dead. He didn’t need to live through this. All he needed to do was what he had promised Orgrim he would—show the Horde the true face of the thing that led them. He shoved ineffectually at Gul’dan’s twisted, green face, then his questing hands clutched two of the warlock’s hideous horns. Even as Gul’dan’s fingers tightened around Durotan’s throat, the Frostwolf pulled the spikes with all his strength until one snapped off in his hand. He used the sharp end as a dagger, stabbing Gul’dan with his own unnatural horn.