Jeff Grubb - The Last Guardian

“Yes,” said Medivh, now ignoring the youth and scanning the room. “Excellent. An excellent job. Very good.” He looked around, seeming like a man just getting his bearings again. “Very good indeed. You’ve done well. Now come along.”

The master mage bolted for the door, pulled himself up short, then turned. “Are you coming?”

Khadgar felt as if he had been hit by another mystic bolt. “Coming? Where are we going?”

“To the top,” said Medivh curtly. “Come now or we’ll be too late. Time is of the essence!”

For an older man Medivh moved swiftly up the stairs, covering them two at a time at a brisk pace.

“What’s at the top?” gasped Khadgar, finally catching up at a landing near the top.

“Transport,” snapped Medivh, then hesitated for a moment. He turned in place and his shoulders dropped. For a moment it looked like the fire had burned out of his eyes. “I must apologize. For back there.”

“Sir?” said Khadgar, his mind now spinning with this new transformation.

“My memory is not what it once was, Young Trust,” said the Magus. “I should have remembered you were in the tower. With everything, I assumed you must have been a…”

“Sir?” interrupted Khadgar. “Time is of the essence?”

“Time,” said Medivh, then he nodded, and the intensity returned to his face. “Yes, it is. Come on, don’t lollygag!” And with that the older man was up on his feet and taking the steps two at a time.

Khadgar realized that the haunted tower and the disorganized library were not the only reason people left Medivh’s employ, and hastened after him.

The aged castellan was waiting for them in the tower observatory.

“Moroes,” thundered Medivh as he arrived at the top of the tower. “The golden whistle, if you please.”

“Ayep,” said the servant, producing a thin cylinder. Dwarven runes were carved along the cylinder’s side, reflecting in the lamplight of the room. “Already took the liberty, sir. They’re here.”

“They?” started Khadgar. There was the rustle of great wings overhead. Medivh headed for the ramparts, and Khadgar looked up.

Great birds descended from the sky, their wings luminescent in the moonlight. No, not birds, Khadgar realized—gryphons. They had the bodies of great cats, but their heads and front claws were those of sea eagles, and their wings were golden.

Medivh held out a bit and bridle. “Hitch yours up, and we’ll go.”

Khadgar eyed the great beast. The nearest gryphon let out a shrieking cry and pawed the flagstones with its clawed forelegs.

“I’ve never…” started the young man. “I don’t know…”

Medivh frowned. “Don’t they teach anything among the Kirin Tor? I don’t have time for this.” He raised a finger and muttered a few words, touching Khadgar’s forehead.

Khadgar stumbled back, shouting in surprise. The elder mage’s touch felt as if he were driving a hot iron into his brain.

Medivh said, “Now you do know. Set the bit and bridle, now.”

Khadgar touched his forehead, and let out a surprised gasp. He did know now, how to properly harness a gryphon, and to ride one as well, both with saddle and, in the dwarven style, without. He knew how to bank, how to force a hover, and most of all, how to prepare for a sudden landing.

Khadgar harnessed his gryphon, aware that his head throbbed slightly, as if the knowledge now within had to jostle that already within his skull to make room.

“Ready? Follow!” said Medivh, not asking for a response.

The pair launched themselves into the air, the great beasts straining and beating the air to allow them to rise. The great creatures could take armored dwarves aloft, but a human in robes approached their limits.

Khadgar expertly banked his swooping gryphon and followed Medivh as the elder mage swooped down over the dark treetops. The pain in his head spread from the point where Medivh had touched him, and now his forehead felt heavy and his thoughts muzzy. Still, he concentrated and matched the master mage’s motions exactly, as if he had been flying gryphons all his life.

The younger mage tried to catch up with Medivh, to ask where they were going, and what their goal was, but he could not overtake him. Even if he had, Khadgar realized, the rushing wind would drown out all but the greatest shouts. So he followed as the mountains loomed above them, as they winged eastward.

How long they flew Khadgar could not say, He may have dozed fitfully on gryphon-back, but hands held the reins firm, and the gryphon kept pace with its brother-creature. Only when Medivh suddenly jinked his gryphon to the right did Khadgar shake himself out of his slumber (if slumber it was) and followed the master mage as his course turned south. Khadgar’s headache, the likely product of the spell, had almost completely dissipated, leaving only a ragged ache as a reminder.

They had cleared the mountain range and Khadgar now realized they were flying over open land. Beneath them the moonlight was shattered and reflected in myriad pools. A large marsh or swamp, Khadgar thought. It had to be early in the morning now, the horizon on their right just starting to lighten with the eventual promise of day.

Medivh dropped low and raised both hands over his head. Incanting from gryphon-back, Khadgar realized, and though his mind assured him that he knew how to do this, steering the great beast with his knees, he felt in his heart that he could never be comfortable in such a maneuver.

The creatures dropped farther, and Medivh was suddenly bathed in a ball of light, both limning him clearly and catching Khadgar’s gryphon as a trailing shadow. Beneath them, the young mage saw an armed encampment on a low rise that jutted from the surrounding swamp. They passed low over the camp, and beneath him Khadgar could hear shouts and the clatter of armor and weapons being hastily grabbed. What was Medivh doing?

They passed over the encampment, and Medivh pulled into a high, banking turn, Khadgar following him move for move. They returned over the camp, and it was brighter now—the campfires that had previously been banked were now fed fresh fuel, and blazed in the night. Khadgar saw it was a large patrol, perhaps even a company. The commander’s tent was large and ornate, and Khadgar recognized the banner of Azeroth flapping overhead.

Allies, then, for Medivh was supposedly closely connected to both King Llane of Azeroth and Lothar, the kingdom’s Knight Champion. Khadgar expected Medivh to land, but instead the mage kicked the sides of his mount, pulling the gryphon’s head up. The beast’s great wings beat the dark air and they climbed again, this time rocketing north. Khadgar had no choice but to follow, as Medivh’s light dimmed and the master mage took the reins again.

Over the marshlands again, and Khadgar saw a thin ribbon beneath, too straight for a river, too wide for an irrigation ditch. A road, then, plowed through the swamp, connecting bits of dry land that rose out of the fen.

Then the land rose to another ridge, another dry spot, and another encampment. There were also flames in this encampment, but they were not the bright, contained ones of the army’s forces. These were scattered throughout the clearing, and as they neared, Khadgar realized they were wagons set alight, their contents strewn out among the dark human forms that were tossed like children’s dolls on the sandy ground of the campsite.

As before, Medivh passed over the campsite, then wheeled high in the air, banking to make a return pass. Khadgar followed, the young mage himself leaning over the side of his mount to get a better look. It looked like a caravan that had been looted and set ablaze, but the goods themselves were scattered on the ground. Wouldn’t bandits take the booty and the wagons? Were there any survivors?