Jeff Grubb - The Last Guardian

Lothar regarded Khadgar with a smile. “So the old coot finally took on an assistant.”

“Apprentice,” said Khadgar weakly, though he felt the pride rising in his chest. The feeling brought a new strength to his mind and limbs. “He’s had many assistants. They didn’t last. Or so I heard.”

“Uh-huh,” said Lothar. “I recommended a few of those assistants, and they came back with tales of a haunted tower and a crazy, demanding mage. What do you think of him?”

Khadgar blinked for moment. In the past twelve hours, Medivh had attacked him, shoved knowledge into his head, dragged him across the country on gryphon-back, and let him face off a handful of orcs before swooping in for the rescue. On the other hand, he had made Khadgar his apprentice. His student.

Khadgar coughed and said, “He is more than I expected.”

Lothar smiled again and there was genuine warmth in the smile. “He is more than anyone expected. That’s one of his good points.” Lothar thought for a moment and said, “That is a very politic and polite response.”

Khadgar managed a weak smile. “Lordaeron is a very politic and polite land.”

“So I’ve noticed in the King’s Council. ‘Dalaran ambassadors can say both yes and no at the same time, and say nothing as well.’ No insult intended.”

“None taken, my lord,” said Khadgar.

Lothar looked at the lad. “How old are you, lad?”

Khadgar looked at the older man. “Seventeen. Why?”

Lothar shook his head and grunted, “That might make sense.”

“Make sense how?”

“Med, I mean Lord Magus Medivh, was a young man, several years younger than yourself, when he fell ill. As a result, he never dealt much with someone of your age.”

“Ill?” said Khadgar. “The Magus was ill?”

“Seriously,” said Lothar. “He fell into a deep sleep, a coma they called it. Llane and I kept him at Northshire Abbey, and the holy brothers there fed him broth to keep him from wasting away. For years he was like that, then, snap, he woke up, right as rain. Or almost.”

“Almost?” asked Khadgar.

“Well, he missed a large piece of his teenage years, and a few additional decades as well. He fell asleep a teenager and woke up a grown man. I always worry that it affected him.”

Khadgar thought about the master mage’s mercurial temperament, his sudden mood swings, and the childlike delight with which he approached battling the orcs. Were Medivh a younger man, would his actions make more sense?

“His coma,” said Lothar, and shook his head at the memory. “It was unnatural. Med calls it a ‘nap,’ like it was perfectly reasonable. But we never found out why it happened. The Magus might have puzzled it out, but he’s shown no interest in the matter, even when I’ve asked.”

“I am Medivh’s apprentice,” said Khadgar simply. “Why are you telling me this?”

Lothar sighed deeply and looked out over the battle-scarred ridge. Khadgar realized that the King’s Champion was a basically honest individual, who would not last a day and a half in Dalaran. His emotions were plain on his weathered, open face.

Lothar sucked on his teeth, and said, “To be honest, I worry about him. He’s all alone in his tower….”

“He has a castellan. And there’s Cook,” put in Khadgar.

“…with all of his magic,” continued Lothar. “He just seems alone. Tucked up there in the mountains. I worry about him.”

Khadgar nodded, and added to himself, and that is why you tried to get apprentices from Azeroth in there. To spy on your friend. You worry about him, but you worry about his power as well . Aloud, Khadgar said, “You worry if he’s all right.”

Lothar gave a shrug, revealing both how much he did worry and how much he was willing to pretend otherwise.

“What can I do to help?” asked Khadgar. “Help him. Help you.”

“Keep an eye on him,” said Lothar. “If you’re an apprentice, he should spend more time with you. I don’t want him to…”

“Fall into another coma?” suggested Khadgar. At a time when these orcs are suddenly everywhere . For his part, Lothar rewarded him with another shrug.

Khadgar gave the best smile he could manage, “I would be honored to help you both, Lord Lothar. Know that my loyalty must be to the master mage first, but if there is anything a friend would need to know, I will pass it along.”

Another heavy pat of the gauntlet. Khadgar marveled at how badly Lothar concealed his concerns. Were all the natives of Azeroth this open and guileless? Even now, Khadgar could see there was something else Lothar wanted to speak of.

“There’s something else,” said Lothar. Khadgar just nodded politely.

“Has the Lord Magus spoken of the Guardian to you?” he asked.

Khadgar thought of pretending to know more than he did, to draw out more from this older, honest man. But as the thought passed through his head, he discarded it. Best to hold to the truth.

“I have heard the name from Medivh’s lips,” said Khadgar. “But I know nothing of the details.”

“Ah,” said Lothar. “Then let it be as if I said nothing to you.”

“I’m sure we will talk of it in due course,” added Khadgar.

“Undoubtedly,” said Lothar. “You seem like a trustworthy sort.”

“After all, I’ve only been his apprentice for a few days,” said Khadgar lazily.

Lothar’s eyebrows raised, “A few days? Exactly how long have you been Medivh’s apprentice?”

“Counting until dawn tomorrow?” said Khadgar, and allowed himself a smile. “That would be one.”

Medivh chose that moment to return, looking more haggard than before. Lothar raised his eyebrows in a hopeful question, but the Magus merely shook his head. Lothar frowned deeply, and after exchanging a few pleasantries, left to oversee the rest of salvage and clean-up. The half of the patrol that had moved ahead along the road had returned, but had found nothing.

“Are you up for travel?” asked Medivh.

Khadgar pulled himself to his feet, and the sandy ridge in the middle of the Black Morass seemed like a ship pitching on a rough sea.

“Well enough,” he said. “I don’t know if I can handle a gryphon, though, even with…” he let his voice trail off, but touched his forehead.

“It’s just as well,” said Medivh. “Your mount got spooked by the arrows, and headed for the high country. We’ll have to double up.” He raised the rune-carved whistle to his lips and let out a series of short, sharp blasts. Far above, there was the shriek of a gryphon on the wing, circling high above them.

Khadgar looked up and said, “So, I’m your apprentice.”

“Yes,” said Medivh, his face a calm mask.

“I passed your tests,” said the youth.

“Yes,” said Medivh.

“I’m honored, sir,” said Khadgar.

“I’m glad you are,” said Medivh, and a ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Because now starts the hard part.”

“I’ve seen them before,” said Khadgar.

It was seven days after the battle in the swamp. With their return to the tower (and a day of recovery on Khadgar’s part), the young mage’s apprenticeship had begun in earnest. The first hour of the day, before breakfast, Khadgar practiced his spells under Medivh’s tutelage. From breakfast until lunch and through lunch until supper, Khadgar would assist the master mage with various tasks. These consisted of making notes as Medivh read off numbers, running down to the library to recover this book or that, or merely holding a collection of tools as the Magus worked.

Which was what he was doing at this particular moment, when he finally felt comfortable enough with the older mage to tell him what he knew about the ambush.