Christie Golden - Warcraft

“Medivh… it’s been too long!” Llane exclaimed. “Come. Help us get to the root of these troubles of ours.” The king and the Guardian strode out of the throne room, heads already bent toward one another and talking quickly and urgently.

Khadgar stepped forward to follow. Lothar clamped a hand on the boy’s narrow shoulder.

“Seen and not heard,” Lothar warned. “Understand?” Khadgar nodded. He and Lothar followed the king into another room. Lothar knew it well. The throne room was for formal occasions and petitions—for when Llane needed to be king. The war room was when the king needed to be a commander.

Compared to the size and the formality of the throne room, this chamber was almost intimate. Lothar had always thought that fitting. A soldier could distance himself from the strategies, the master plans, the vast numbers of legions and the complexities of distributing both men and materiel. He—or she, for women fought in Stormwind’s armies—could not, however, put distance from the fact that death would be dealt. Just as the act of creating life was intimate, so was the act that took it.

The ceiling was low, and the light came from a few windows and candalabras. The front part of the room was dominated by an enormous table upon which were spread maps drawn on parchment, and a second one peopled with small, carved figures representing weapons or friends or foes. Further in, the tools of war were on display: shields, swords, long and short, morning stars, pikes, axes. Khadgar, eyes wide, went straight for them, walking around the displays gingerly.

“These,” Llane said, pointing at several clusters of red figurines, “are the beasts who have been attacking us so severely.”

“What kind of beasts ?” Medivh demanded, glaring at the maps.

Llane looked exasperated. “Giants—armed giants. Wolves carry them. Huge, unstoppable beasts—”

“It’s the rumors that are unstoppable,” Lothar interrupted.

“There’s not much we can do about that,” Llane said.

Medivh continued to examine the board, frowning. One hand reached out to touch the carved symbol of the mysterious foe. “What of the other kingdoms? Are they suffering the same?”

“All seek our protection, yet none trusts us enough to tell us anything.” Llane had folded his arms and was glaring at the board as if his will alone could change something.

“In other words, little has changed in the last six years,” Medivh said drily.

Lothar had had enough. “We know nothing about these so-called monsters.” He grabbed one of the enemy markers, shaking it for emphasis. “We need prisoners. Even a corpse will tell us something.”

Llane took the small figurine from Lothar, turning it over in his hands. He lifted his eyes to the Guardian. “I don’t know what danger we’re in, Medivh.”

“I exist to protect this realm, my lord. It is my very purpose. I am the Guardian.” Medivh’s blue-green eyes went to Khadgar, who was holding the raven-topped staff and peering at the weaponry. “At least,” he amended, “for the time being, anyhow.”

Llane’s gaze followed Medivh’s and his eyebrows lifted. He’d forgotten , Lothar realized. “Yes,” Llane said, straightening slightly. He placed the figurine back on the map in its former position. “What are we going to do about… what was his name?”

“ Khadgar , sire.” The young mage replied calmly, almost elegantly, but the effect was ruined when the staff struck a sword with a loud clang as he turned. Khadgar blushed.

“He will be coming with us,” Medivh spoke before Lothar could.

Lothar rolled his eyes. “Well, then. We’d better get going.”

Lothar requested three horses, a company of armed, armored soldiers and a sturdy, barred cart for the transportation of the hoped-for prisoners. As soon as word came that the company was ready, he, Medivh, and Khadgar strode through the main hallway of Stormwind Keep. Lothar grimaced as Sergeant Callan saluted him smartly.

“We are ready to depart when you give the order, sir.”

“Let’s give our guests the chance to get on their horses first, shall we, Sergeant?”

Callan’s cheeks turned pink, but he nodded. “As you say, sir,” he replied.

Lothar felt bad almost immediately. The boy had done everything right. By the book, even, right down to bringing Lothar’s own stallion, Reliant, and two horses with good temperaments for Khadgar and Medivh. He hadn’t earned Lothar’s snide comment. The commander swung himself up into Reliant’s saddle and patted the horse’s sleek brown neck. Gryphons were fine, but horses were better.

Gruffly, he said, “Good choices for the others.”

“Thank you, sir!” Callan’s expression didn’t change, but Lothar saw his son’s shoulders relax, ever so slightly.

They rode at a slow trot through the streets of the city. When they reached the market square, they passed a towering statue with a very familiar face. Khadgar did a priceless double take, peering at the statue, then at Medivh, then at the statue again, and finally judiciously keeping his eyes straight forward.

Medivh’s saddle creaked as he shifted. “I didn’t ask them to put that up.” It was true, Lothar knew. It had been erected by demand of a populace that was grateful to not have become a troll’s supper.

“You saved the city,” Khadgar replied politely.

The Guardian frowned slightly. “You think it’s vain?”

“The people love you,” Khadgar stated. Lothar fought back a smile.

“But that’s not what I asked you.”

Khadgar squinted up at the blue sky. “When the sun is hot, it makes excellent shade.”

Medivh shot his old friend an impressed glance and, seemingly despite himself, couldn’t hide a smile.

Once they had clattered over the bridge and through Stormwind’s gates, Lothar gave the signal that the group should break into an easy canter as they headed down the road. A crowd had gathered to cheer the soldiers as they passed the Lion’s Pride Inn. Lothar took care to make eye contact and return some of the children’s salutes. Part of this battle, he knew already, would be won by keeping rumors to a minimum and the populace feeling safe, and a full company of fifty mounted knights in full plate armor thundering past certainly helped achieve that goal.

The company was too well trained to make idle conversation, so the way was silent save for the rhythmic sound of the horses’ hooves and the fluttering and scolding of birds and squirrels. Lothar thought about what he’d seen; the vile mist surging forth from a dead man’s mouth. He’d been quick to calm Llane, but in truth, he had no better idea of what these “beasts” were than a farmer gulping ale in the Lion’s Pride Inn.

And Callan. He really didn’t like the idea of the young man being involved, not until they knew what they were facing. Damn Taria anyway. She meant well, but she didn’t…

He frowned. The forest was silent. Medivh, who rode a little ways ahead of him, had brought his horse down to a trot, then a halt. Lothar lifted his fist and the rest of the company clattered to a stop behind him. He kneed Reliant forward to the edge of the clearing beside Medivh.

What had once been an ordinary broad path through a pleasant part of Elwynn had become a battlefield. Not a proper one, consisting of soldiers and armies, but the worst kind—the kind where the weapons were scythes, pitchforks, and small axes, and the “soldiers” were farmers and townspeople. Carts lay everywhere, smashed and overturned. Some cargo, like linen and wool, had been rummaged through and discarded. Other carts, presumably carrying food, had been picked clean. Several of the trees had their limbs hacked off or smashed by weapons so large Lothar was having a hard time grasping the size of them.