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Jeff Grubb: The Last Guardian

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Jeff Grubb The Last Guardian

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In the mist-shrouded haze of the past, long before the beginning of recorded time, there stood the world of Azeroth. Every kind of magical being strode the countryside among the tribes of man, and all was at peace—until the arrival of the demons and horrors of the Burning Legion and their baneful Lord Sargeras, dark god of chaotic magic. Now Dragons, Dwarves, Elves, Goblins, Humans, and Orcs all vie for supremacy across the scattered kingdoms—part of a grand, malevolent scheme that will determine the fate of the world of . The Guardians of Tirisfal

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2

Interview with the Magus

“Is something wrong?” asked Medivh, and Khadgar suddenly felt himself under the master mage’s gaze again. He felt like a beetle again, but this time one that had inadvertently crawled across a bug-collector’s work desk. The flames had already consumed half the letter of introduction, and the wax seal was already melting, dripping onto the observatory’s flagstones.

Khadgar was aware that his eyes were wide, his face bloodless and pale, and his mouth hanging open. He tried to force the air out of his body, but all his managed was a strangled, hissing sound.

The dark, heavy brows pursed in a bemused glance. “Are you ill? Moroes, is this lad ill?”

“Winded, perhaps,” said Moroes in a level tone. “Was a long climb up.”

Finally Khadgar managed to gather his senses about him sufficiently to say, “The letter!”

“Ah,” said Medivh. “Yes. Thank you, I had almost forgotten.” He walked over to the brazier and dropped the burning parchment on top of the coals. The blue ball of flame rose spectacularly to about shoulder height, and them diminished into a normal-looking flame, filling the room with a warm, reddish glow. Of the letter of introduction, with its parchment and crimson seal inscribed with the symbol of the Kirin Tor, there was no sign.

“But you didn’t read it!” said Khadgar, then caught himself, “I mean, sir, with respect…”

The master mage chuckled and settled himself into a large chair made of canvas and dark carved wood. The brazier lit his face, pulling out the deep lines formed into a smile. Despite this, Khadgar could not relax.

Medivh leaned forward in his chair and said, “‘Oh Great and Respected Magus Medivh, Master Mage of Karazhan, I bring you the greetings of the Kirin Tor, most learned and puissant of the magical academies, guilds, and societies, advisors to the kings, teachers of the learned, revealers of secrets.’ They continue on in that fashion for some ways, puffing themselves up more with every sentence. How am I doing so far?”

“I couldn’t say,” said Khadgar, “I was instructed—”

“Not to open the letter,” finished Medivh. “But you did, anyway.”

The master mage raised his eyes to regard the young man, and Khadgar’s breath caught in his throat. Something flickered in Medivh’s eyes, and Khadgar wondered if the master mage had the power to cast spells without anyone noticing.

Khadgar slowly nodded, steeling himself for the response.

Medivh chuckled loudly, “When?”

“On the…on the voyage from Lordaeron to Kul Tiras,” said Khadgar, unsure if what he said would amuse or irritate his potential mentor. “We were becalmed for two days and…”

“Curiosity got the better of you,” finished Medivh again. He smiled, and it was a clean white smile beneath the graying beard. “I probably would have opened it the moment I got out of sight of Dalaran’s Violet Citadel.”

Khadgar took a deep breath and said, “I considered that, but I believed they had divination spells in operation, at least at that range.”

“And you wanted to be far from any spell or message recalling you for opening the letter. And you patched it back together well enough to fool a cursory examination, sure that I would likely break the seal straightaway and not notice your tampering.” Medivh allowed himself a chuckle, but drew his face into a tight, focused knot. “How did I do that?” he asked.

Khadgar blinked. “Do what, sir?”

“Know what was in the letter?” said Medivh, the sides of his mouth tugging down. “The letter I just burned says that I will find the young man Khadgar most impressive in his deduction and intelligence. Impress me.”

Khadgar looked at Medivh, and the jovial smile of a few seconds before had evaporated. The smiling face was now that of some primitive stone god, judgmental and unforgiving. The eyes that had been tinged with mirth earlier now seemed to be barely concealing some hidden fury. The brows knitted together like the rising thunderhead of a storm.

Khadgar stammered for a moment, then said, “You read my mind.”

“Possible,” said Medivh. “But incorrect. You’re a stew of nerves right now, and that gets in the way of mind reading. One wrong.”

“You’ve gotten this sort of letter before,” said Khadgar. “From the Kirin Tor. You know what kind of letters are written.”

“Also possible,” said the master mage. “As I have received such letters and they do tend to be overweening in their self-congratulatory tone. But you know the exact wording as well as I do. A good try, and the most obvious, but also incorrect. Two wrong.”

Khadgar’s mouth formed into a tight line. His mind raised and his heart thundered in his chest. “Sympathy,” he said at last.

Medivh’s eyes remained unreadable, and his voice level. “Explain.”

Khadgar took a deep breath. “One of the magical laws. When someone handles an item, they leave a part of their own magical aura or vibration attached to the item. As auras vary with individuals, it is possible to connect to one by affecting the other. In this way a lock of hair may be used in a love charm, or a coin may be tracked back to its original owner.”

Medivh’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he dragged a finger across his bearded chin. “Continue.”

Khadgar stopped for a moment, feeling the weight of Medivh’s eyes pressing in on him. That was what he knew from lectures. He was halfway there. But how did Medivh use it to figure out….

“The more someone uses an item, the stronger the resonance,” said Khadgar quickly. “So therefore an item that experiences a lot of handling or attention will have a stronger sympathy.” The words were coming together tighter and more rapidly now. “So a document which someone had written has more aura to it than a blank piece of parchment, and the person is concentrating on what they are writing, so…” Khadgar let his thoughts catch up for a moment. “You were mind reading, but not my mind—the mind of the scribe who wrote the letter at the time he was writing it—you picked up his thoughts reinforcing the words.”

“Without having to physically open the document,” said Medivh, and the light danced within his eyes again. “So how would this trick be useful to a scholar?”

Khadgar blinked for a moment, and looked away from the master mage, seeking to avoid his piercing glance. “You could read books without having to read books.”

“Very valuable for a researcher,” said Medivh. “You belong to a community of scholars. Why don’t you do that?”

“Because…because…” Khadgar thought of old Korrigan, who could find anything in the library, even the smallest marginal notation. “I think we do, but for older members of the conclave.”

Medivh nodded. “And that is because…”

Khadgar thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“Who would write if all the knowledge could be sucked out with a mental twist and a burst of magic?” suggested Medivh. He smiled, and Khadgar realized he had been holding his breath. “You’re not bad. Not bad at all. You know your counterspells?”

“To the fifth roster,” said Khadgar.

“Can you power a mystic bolt?” asked Medivh, quickly.

“One or two, but it’s draining,” answered the younger man, suddenly feeling that the conversation had taken a serious turn once more.

“And your primary elementals?”

“Strongest in flame, but I know them all.”

“Nature magic?” asked Medivh. “Ripening, culling, harvesting? Can you take a seed and pull the youth from it until it becomes a flower?”

“No, sir. I was trained in a city.”

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