Jeff Grubb - The Last Guardian

“That’s not the way magic works,” said Khadgar.

“Perhaps not your magic, the magic you learned,” said Garona. “Other peoples could have other magics. The old shamans among the orcs had one way of magic, the warlocks that cast spells have different ones. Maybe it’s a spell you never heard of.”

“No,” said Khadgar simply. “It would have left some kind of a marker. A bit of the caster behind. Some residual energy that I could feel, even if I could not identify it. The only spellcasters active in the tower have been myself and the Magus. I know that through my own spells. And I checked the wards. Medivh was right—they were all operating. No one should have been able to break into the tower, magically or otherwise.”

Garona shrugged. “But there are odd things about this tower as well, correct? Could the old rules not apply here?”

It was Khadgar’s turn to shrug. “If that’s the case, we’re in a lot more trouble than I imagined.”

Khadgar’s relationship with the half-orc seemed to improve over the course of repairing the library, and when his back was to her, or she was in the stacks, her voice sounded almost human. Still, she remained guarded about whom she represented, and Khadgar for his part remained watchful. He kept track of what references she used and what questions she asked.

He also tried to keep track of any communications she made, to the point of wrapping the guest quarters with his own web of detection spells, to inform him if she had left the room or sent word out. If she had, her methods foiled even Khadgar’s detection, which made him more nervous as opposed to assuring him. If she was doing anything with the knowledge she had gained, she was keeping it to herself.

And true to her word, Garona began sharing her own knowledge about the orcs. Khadgar began to assemble a picture of how the orcs were ruled (by strength and warrior prowess) as well as the different clans within. Once she got rolling, the Emissary made very clear her opinion of the various clans, whose leaders she tended to think of as lumpen oafs who are only thinking of where their next battle is coming from. As she described the multi-clan orcish nation, the Horde, Khadgar quickly understood that the dynamics were ever-changing and fluid at best.

A large chunk of the Horde was the conservative Bleeding Hollow clan. A powerful group with a long history of conquest, the clan was less powerful in that its aged leader, Kilrogg Deadeye, had become more unwilling to throw lives away in combat. Garona explained that in orcish politics, older orcs become more pragmatic, which is often mistaken for cowardice by the younger generation. Kilrogg had killed three of his sons and two grandsons already who thought they could rule the clan better.

The clan known as the Blackrock appeared to have another large chunk of the Horde, its leader was Blackhand, who had as his chief recommendation for leader the ability to thump anyone else who wanted the title. A chunk of Blackrock had already splintered off, knocked out a tooth, and called themselves the Black Tooth Grin. Charming names.

There were other clans: Twilight’s Hammer, which reveled in destruction, and the Burning Blade, who seemed to have no leader, but rather served as an anarchic gathering within the chaos of the Horde. And smaller clans, like the Stormreavers, that were led by a warlock. Khadgar suspected that Garona was reporting to someone within the Stormreavers, if only because she had less to complain about with them than the others.

Khadgar took what notes he could, and assembled into reports for Lothar. A larger amount of communications was coming in from all points in Azeroth, and now it seemed that the Horde was spilling out of the Black Morass in all directions. The orcs that were considered mere rumors a year ago were now omnipresent, and Stormwind Keep was mobilizing to meet the threat. Khadgar kept the ever-worsening news from Garona, but fed to Lothar what details he could glean, down to clan rivalries and favorite colors (The Blackrock clan, for example, favored red for some reason).

Khadgar also tried to communicate what he had learned to Medivh, but the Magus was surprisingly disinterested. Indeed, the Magus’s conversations with Garona were not as common as they once were, and on several occasions Khadgar discovered that Medivh had left the tower without informing him. Even when he was present, Medivh seemed more distant. More than once Khadgar had come upon him, seated in one of his chairs in the observatory, staring out into the Azerothean night. He seemed moodier now, quicker to disagree, and less willing to listen than before.

His disaffected mood was clear to the others as well. Moroes would give Khadgar a painful, long-suffering look as he left the master’s chambers. And Garona herself brought up the subject as they reviewed the maps of the known world (which were made in Stormwind, and as such woefully incomplete even when talking about Lordaeron).

“Is he always like this?” she asked.

Khadgar responded stoically, “He has many moods.”

“Yes, but when I first encountered him, he seemed alive, engaged, and positive. Now he seems more…”

“Distracted?”

“Addled,” said Garona, twisting her lips in disgust.

Khadgar could not disagree. Later that evening, Khadgar reported to the Magus a slew of new message translations, all with the purple seal, all begging for aid against the orcs.

“The orcs are not demons,” said Medivh. “They are flesh and blood, and as such the worry of warriors, not wizards.”

“The messages are quite dire,” said Khadgar. “It sounds like the lands closest to the Black Morass are being abandoned, and refugees flooding into Stormwind and the other cities of Azeroth. They are pressed thin.”

“And so they depend on the Guardian to ride to their rescue. Bad enough I must guard the watchtowers on the Twisting Nether to watch for demons, and to hunt down the mistakes of these amateurs. Now I must rescue them against other nations? Will I be asked to support Azeroth in a trade dispute with Lordaeron next? Such matters should not be our worry.”

“There may not be an Azeroth without your help. Lothar is…”

“Lothar is a fool,” muttered Medivh. “An old mother hen that sees threats everywhere. And Llane is little better, seeing nothing that could break his walls. And the Order, all the mighty mages, they have quarreled and argued and spat among themselves so now they don’t have the power to repel a new invader. No, Young Trust, this is the little stuff. Even if the orcs succeeded in Azeroth, they would need a Guardian, and I would be here for them.”

“Master, that’s…”

“Sacrilege? Blasphemy? Betrayal?” The Magus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps. But I am a man made old before my time, and I have paid a great price for my unwanted power. Permit me to rail against the clockworks that rule my life. Go now. I’ll return to your tales of woe in the morning.”

As he was closing the door, Khadgar heard Medivh add, “I am so tired of worrying about everything. When can I worry about myself?”

“The orcs have attacked Stormwind,” said Khadgar. It was three weeks later. He laid the missive on the table between him and Garona.

The half-orc stared at the red-sealed envelope like it was a venomous snake. “I am sorry,” she said at last. “They will not as a rule take prisoners.”

“The orc forces were repelled this time,” said Khadgar. “Thrown back before they reached the gates by Llane’s troops. From the descriptions, it sounds like Kilrogg’s Bleeding Hollow and the Twilight’s Hammer clans. There seemed to be a lack of coordination between the major forces.”

Garona gave a bulldog-sneeze grunt and said, “The Twilight’s Hammer should have never be put on an assault in a siege situation. Kilrogg likely was trying to decimate a rival, and use Stormwind as his anvil to do so.”