Jeff Grubb: The Last Guardian

The forests were gone as well, transformed into catapults that now rained fire down on the city itself. Most of the lower city was in flames, and as Khadgar watched, a section of the outer walls collapsed, and small dolls dressed in green and blue fought each other among the rubble.

“How did we get…?” started Garona.

“Vision,” said Khadgar bluntly, but he wondered if this was a random occurrence of the tower, or another delaying action by the Magus.

“I told the King. I told him, but he would not listen,” she muttered. To Khadgar she said, “This is a vision of the future, then? How do we get out of the vision?”

The young mage shook his head. “We don’t, at least for the moment. In the past these would come and go. Sometimes a good shock will break it.”

A flaming piece of debris, a fiery missile from a catapult, passed within bowshot of the tower. Khadgar could feel the heat as it fell to earth.

Garona looked around. “At least it’s just orc armies,” she said grimly.

“That’s good news?” said Khadgar, his eyes stinging as a column of smoke wafted over the tower.

“No demons in the orc armies,” noted the half-orc. “If Medivh was with them, we would see much worse as well. Maybe we convinced him to help.”

“I’m not seeing Medivh among our troops, either,” said Khadgar, forgetting who he was speaking to for the moment. “Is he dead? Did he flee?”

“How far in the future are we?” asked Garona.

Behind them, there was a rise of voices in argument. The pair turned away from the parapet and saw that they were outside one of the royal audience halls, now converted into a coordination center against the assault. A small model of the city had been laid out on the table, and toy soldiers in the shapes of men and orcs were scattered around it. There was a constant flow of reports coming in as King Llane and his advisors hunched over the table.

“Breech along the Merchant’s District Wall!”

“More fires in the lower city!”

“Large forces massing at the main gates again. It looks like spellcasters!”

Khadgar noted that none of the earlier courtiers were now present, replaced with grim-faced men in uniforms similar to their own. No sign of Lothar at the table, and Khadgar hoped he was on the front lines, carrying the battle to the foe.

Llane moved with a deft hand, as if his city was attacked on a regular basis. “Bring up the Fourth and Fifth Company to reinforce the breech. Get the militia to organize bucket brigades—take the water from the public baths. And bring up two squads of lancers to the main gate. When the orcs are about to attack, then launch a sortie against them. That will break the assault. Bring two mages over from the Goldsmith’s street; are they done there?”

“That assault has been turned,” came the report. “The mages are exhausted.”

Llane nodded and said, “Have them stand down, then, pull back for an hour. Bring the younger mages from the academy instead. Send twice as many, but tell them to be careful. Commander Borton, I want your forces on the East wall. That’s where I would hit next, if I were them.”

To each commander in turn, Llane gave an assignment. There was no argument, no discussion, no suggestions. Each warrior in turn nodded and left. In the end, all that was left was King Llane and his small model of a city that was now in flames outside his window.

The king leaned forward, resting his knuckles on the table. His face looked worn and old. He looked up and said to the empty air, “You can make your report now.”

The curtains opposite hissed against the floor as Garona stepped out. The half-orc at Khadgar’s side let out a gasp in surprise.

The future Garona was dressed in her customary black pants and black silk blouse, but wore a cloak marked with the lion’s head of Azeroth. She had a wild look in her eyes. The present Garona gripped Khadgar’s arm, and he could feel her nails dig into his arm.

“Bad news, sire,” said Garona, approaching the King’s side of the table. “The various clans are working together in this assault, unified under the Blackhand the Destroyer. None of them will betray the others until after Stormwind has fallen. Gul’dan is bringing up his warlocks by nightfall. Until then, the Blackrock clan will be trying to take the Eastern Wall.” Khadgar heard a tremor in the half-orc’s voice.

Llane let out a deep sigh, and said, “Expected and countered. We will throw this one back, just like the others. And we will hold until the reinforcements come. As long as men with stout hearts are manning the walls and the throne, Stormwind will hold.”

The future-Garona nodded, and Khadgar now saw that large tears were pooling in the corners of her eyes. “The orc leaders agree with your assessment,” she said, and her hand dipped into her black blouse.

Both Khadgar and the real Garona shouted as one as the future-Garona pulled her long-bladed dagger and shoved it upward beneath the King’s left breast. She moved with a quickness and grace and left King Llane with nothing more than a puzzled expression on his face. His eyes were wide, and for a moment he hung there, suspended on her blade.

“The orc leaders agree with your assessment,” she said again, and tears were running freely down the sides of her wide face. “And have enlisted an assassin to remove that strong heart on the throne. Someone you would let come close. Someone you would meet with alone.”

Llane, King of Azeroth, Master of Stormwind, ally of wizard and warrior, slid to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” said Garona.

“No!” shouted Garona, the present Garona, as she slipped to the floor herself. Suddenly they were back in the false dining hall. The wreckage of Stormwind was gone and the corpse of the king with it. The half-orc’s tears remained, now in the eyes of the real Garona.

“I’m going to kill him,” she said in a small voice. “I’m going to kill him. He treated me well, and listened when I talked, and I’m going to kill him. No.”

Khadgar knelt down besides her. “It’s okay. It may not be true. It may not happen. It’s a vision.”

“It’s true,” she said. “I saw it and I knew that it was true.”

Khadgar was silent for a moment, reliving his own vision of the future, beneath a red-hued sky, battling Garona’s people. He saw it and knew it was true as well. “We have to go,” he said, but Garona just shook her head. “After all this, I thought I found someplace better than the orcs. But now I know, I’m going to destroy it all.”

Khadgar looked up and down the stairs. No idea how Lothar’s men were doing with the demons, no idea what lay at the base of the underground tower. His face formed a grim line, and he took a deep breath.

And slapped Garona hard across the face.

His own palm bled from striking a tusk, but the response on Garona was immediate. Her teary eyes widened and a mask of rage hardened on her expression.

“You idiot!” she shouted, and leapt on Khadgar bearing him over backward. “You never do that! You hear me! Do that again and I’ll kill you!”

Khadgar was sprawled on his back, the half-orc on top of him. He didn’t even see her draw the dagger, but now its blade was resting against the side of his neck.

“You can’t,” he managed with a harsh smile. “I had a vision of my own future. I think its true as well. If it is, then you can’t kill me now. Same thing applies to you.”

Garona blinked and rocked back on her haunches, suddenly in control again. “So if I am going to kill the King…”

“You’re going to get out of here alive,” said Khadgar. “So am I.”

“But what if we’re wrong,” said Garona. “What if the vision is false?”