Jeff Grubb - The Last Guardian

“It wouldn’t,” said Garona, “because I made up all those names, just now. And the name of the faction that has sent me here would mean nothing to you either, not at the moment. Similarly, the Old Man’s stated friendship with King Llane means nothing to our chieftains, and the name Lothar is nothing more than a curse invoked by the human peasants we encounter. Before we can have peace, before we can even start negotiating, we have to learn more about you.”

“Which is why you’re here.”

Garona let out a deep sigh. “Which is why I am praying that you will leave me alone long enough so I can figure out what the Old Man is talking about when we have our discussions.”

Khadgar was silent for a moment. Garona opened the volume again, leafing through the pages to where she had stopped. “Of course, that goes both ways,” Khadgar said, and Garona closed the book with an exasperated breath. “I mean, we need to know more about the orcs if we’re going to do more than just battle them. If you’re serious about peace.”

Garona glared at Khadgar, and for a moment the young mage wondered if the half-orc was going to leap across the table and throttle him. Instead, her ears perked up, and she said, “Hold on. What’s that?”

Khadgar felt it before he heard it. A sudden change in the air, like a window had been opened elsewhere in the tower. A bit of wind stirring up the dust in the hall. A wave of warmth passing through the tower.

Khadgar said, “Something is…”

Garona said, “I heard…”

And then Khadgar heard it as well, the sound of iron claws scraping against stone, and the warmth of the air increased as the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

And the great beast slouched into the library.

It was made of fire and shadow, its skin dark and containing the flickers of the flame within. Its wolflike face was framed by a set of ram’s horns, that glowed like polished ebony. It looked biped, but walked on all fours, its long front claws scraping along the stone floors.

“What is…” hissed Garona.

“Demon,” said Khadgar in a strangled voice, rising and backing away from the table.

“Your manservant said there were visions here. Ghosts. Is this one?” Garona stood up as well.

Khadgar wanted to explain no, that visions tended to encompass the area entirely, shifting you to the new place, but he instead he just shook his head.

The beast itself was perched in the doorway, sniffing the air. The creature’s eyes blazed with flame. Was the beast blind, and could only detect by scent? Or was it detecting a new thing in the air, a spice that it had not expected?

Khadgar tried to pull the energies into his mind, but at first his heart quailed and his mind went empty. The beast continued to sniff, turning in place until it faced the pair.

“Get to the high tower,” said Khadgar quietly. “We have to warn Medivh.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Garona nod, but her eyes did not leave the beast. A trickle of sweat dropped down her long neck. She shifted slightly to one side.

The movement was enough, and everything happened at once. The beast crouched and leapt across the room. Khadgar’s mind cleared, and with a quick efficiency he pulled the energies into himself, raised his hand, and buried a bolt of mystic energy into the creature’s chest. The energy ripped through the beast’s chest and splattered out its back, sending pieces of flaming flesh in all directions, but it did not deter it in the slightest.

It landed on the study table, its claws digging into the hardwood, and bounded again, this time for Khadgar. The young mage’s mind went blank for a second, but a second was all it took for the slope-shouldered demon to close the distance between them.

Something else grabbed him and yanked him out of the way. He smelled musky cinnamon and heard a deep-throated curse as he spun out of the path of the loping demon. The beast sailed through the space that until recently had been occupied by the apprentice, and let out a scream of its own. A long ragged tear had appeared along the creature’s left side, and was oozing burning blood.

Garona released Khadgar from her grip (a weak, humanish grip, but still enough to drive the air from his lungs). In her other hand, the apprentice noticed that Garona held a long-bladed knife, crimson with its first strike, and Khadgar wondered where she had hid it while they were arguing.

The creature landed, wheeled, and tried to make an immediate, clumsy second assault, its iron-shod talons outstretched, its mouth and eyes blazing with flame. Khadgar ducked, then came up with the heavy red volume of The Lineage of Azeroth’s Kings . He hefted the massive tome into the creature’s face, then ducked again. The beast sailed past him, landing back near the door. It let out a retching, choking noise, and shook his ramhorned head to dislodge the weighty grimoire. Khadgar saw there was a line of burning blood etched along the creature’s right side. Garona had struck a second time.

“Get Medivh,” shouted Khadgar. “I’ll get it away from the door.”

“What if it wants me, instead?” responded Garona, and for the first time, Khadgar heard a ripple of fear in her voice.

“It doesn’t,” said Khadgar grimly. “It kills mages.”

“But you…”

“Just go,” said Khadgar.

Khadgar broke to the left, and, true to his fears, the demon followed him. Instead of heading toward the door. Garona broke for the right, and started climbing the far bookcase.

“Get Medivh!” shouted Khadgar, darting down one of the rows of books.

“No time,” responded Garona, still climbing. “See if you can delay it in one of the rows.”

Khadgar turned at the far end of the long bookshelves, and turned. The demon had already leapt over the study table and was now prowling down the row between the bookcases, between histories and geographies. In the shadow between the rows the creature’s flaming eyes and mouth stood out in stark relief, and acrid smoke now roiled from its wounded sides.

Khadgar cleared his mind, stuffed down his fear, and fired off a mystic bolt. A globe of fire or a shard of lightning might be more effective, but the beast was surrounded by his books.

The bolt smashed into the creature’s face, staggering it back a pace. It growled and crept forward again.

He repeated the process like a ritual—clear the mind, fight the fear, raise a hand, and invoke the word. Another bolt splanged off its ebony horns, ricocheting upward. The beast halted, but only for a moment. Now its maw seemed a twisted, flame-filled smile.

A third time he invoked the power of the mystic bolt, but now the creature was close, and it flashed in its face, but save for illuminating its amused features, did nothing. Khadgar smelled its sour, burning flesh, and heard a deep clicking within the beast’s throat—laughter?

“Get ready to run!” shouted Garona, from somewhere to his right and above.

“What are you…” started Khadgar, already backing up.

“Run!” she shouted, and pushed off with her feet. The half-orc had climbed to the top of the bookcases, and now shoved them apart, toppling the cases like giant dominos. A deep crash of thunder resounded as each bookcase tipped over its neighbor, spilling volumes and crushing everything in its path.

The last bookcase smashed against the wall and splintered, the force of the impact driving it to the ground. Garona slid down from her now wobbling perch, long-bladed knife drawn. She tried to peer through the churning dust.

“Khadgar?” she said.

“Here,” said the apprentice, plastered against the back wall, where the iron pedestals rose to support the upper stacks on the balcony above. His face was pale even for a human.