Jeff Grubb: The Last Guardian

Khadgar pulled himself to his feet. “Then you die knowing that you’ll never kill the King of Azeroth.”

Garona sat for a moment, her mind working over the possibilities. At length she said, “Give me a hand up. We have to move on.”

They continued to spiral downward, through false analogs of the tower levels above. Finally they reached the level that would be the uppermost level, of Medivh’s observatory and lair. Instead the stairs spilled out on a reddish plain. It seemed to be poured out of cooling obsidian, dark, reflective puzzle pieces floating on fire beneath their feet. Khadgar instinctively jumped back, but the footing seemed solid and the heat, while sweltering, was not oppressive.

In the center of the great cave was a simple collection of iron furniture. A work bench and stool, a few chairs, a gathering of cabinets. For a moment it looked oddly familiar, then Khadgar realized that it was set up in an exact duplicate to Medivh’s tower room.

Standing among the iron furniture was the broad-shouldered form of the Magus. Khadgar strained to see something in his manner, in his bearing, that would betray him, that would reveal this figure to not be the Medivh he had come to know and trust, the older man who had shown his faith and encouraged his work. Something that would declare this to be an imposter.

There was nothing. This was the only Medivh he had ever known.

“Hello, Young Trust,” said the Magus and flames ignited along his beard as he smiled. “Hello, Emissary. I’ve been expecting you both.”

“It was inspired, I must say,” said the Medivh who was and was not Medivh. “Inspired to summon the shadow of my past, a piece that would stop me from pursuing you. Of course, while you were out gathering your strength, I was out gathering my own.”

Khadgar looked at Garona and nodded. The half-orc moved a few steps to the right. They would surround the old man if they had to.

“Master, what happened to you?” said Khadgar, taking a step forward, trying to focus the Magus’s attention on him.

The older mage laughed. “Happened to me? Nothing happened to me. This is who I am. I was tainted from birth, polluted from before my conception, a bad seed grown to bear bitter fruit. You have never seen the true Medivh.”

“Magus, whatever has happened, I’m sure it can be fixed,” said Khadgar, walking slowly toward him. Garona orbited out to the right, and her long-bladed dagger had vanished again—her hands were apparently empty.

“Why should I fix it?” said Medivh with an evil smile. “All goes as planned. The orcs will slay the humans and I will control them through warlock-chiefs like Gul’dan. I will lead these misshapened creations to the lost tomb where Sargeras’s body is, protected against demon and human but not against orc, and my form will be free. And then I can shed this lumpish body and weakened spirit and burn this world as it so richly deserves.”

Khadgar stepped to the left as he spoke. “You are Sargeras.”

“Yes and no,” said the Magus. “I am, for when Aegwynn killed my physical body I hid within her womb, and invested her very cells with my dark essence. When she finally chose to mate with a human mage, I was already there. Medivh’s dark twin, completely subsumed within his form.”

“Monstrous,” said Khadgar.

Medivh grinned. “Little different than what Aegwynn had planned, for she placed the power of the Tirisfalen within the child as well. Small wonder that there was so little room for the young Medivh himself, with the demon and the light both fighting over his very soul. So when the power truly manifested within him, I shut him down for a while, until I could put my own plans into operation.”

Khadgar continued to move left, trying not to watch as Garona crept up behind the older mage. Instead he said, “Is there anything of the real Medivh within you?”

“Some,” said Medivh. “Enough to deal with you lesser creatures. Enough to fool the kings and wizards as to my intent. Medivh is a mask—I have left enough of him at the surface to display to others. And if in my workings I seem odd or even mad, they write it off to my position and responsibility, and to the power invested in me by my dear mother.”

Medivh gave a predatory grin. “I was crafted first by Magna Aegwynn’s politics to be her tool, and then shaped by demonic hands to be their tool. Even the Order saw me as little more than a weapon to be used against demons. And so it not surprising at all that I am nothing more that the sum of my parts.”

Garona was behind the mage now, blade drawn, moving on the softest of steps on the obsidian floor. There were no tears in her eyes, but rather a steely determination. Khadgar kept himself focused on Medivh, not wanting to betray her with a single glance.

“You see,” continued the mad mage, “I am nothing but one more component in the great machine, one that has been running since the Well of Eternity was first shattered. The one thing that the original bits of Medivh and myself agree on is that this cycle needs to be shattered. Of this, I assure you, we are of one mind.”

Garona was within a step now, her dagger raised. She took the last step.

“Excuse me,” said Medivh, and lashed out with a fist. Mystic energies danced along the older man’s knuckles, and he caught the half-orc square in the face. She staggered backward under the blow.

Khadgar let loose a curse and raised his hands to cast a spell. Something to knock the mage off his balance. Something simple. Something quick.

Medivh was quicker, turning back to him and raising a claw-like hand. Immediately, Khadgar felt the air around him tighten into a restraining cloak, trapping his arms and legs and making it impossible for him to move. He shouted but his voice sounded muffled and coming from a great distance.

Medivh raised his other hand, and pain shot through Khadgar’s body. The joints of his skeleton seemed to seethe with red-hot spikes that subsided quickly into dull, throbbing pains. His chest tightened, and his flesh felt like it dried out and crawled along his frame. He felt like the fluids were being pulled from his body, leaving a shriveled husk behind. And with it he felt his magic pulled away as well, his body drained of his ability to cast spells, to summon the requisite energies. He felt like a vessel being emptied.

As suddenly as the attack descended upon him, it had passed, and Khadgar toppled to the floor, the wind knocked out of him. It hurt his chest to breath.

Garona had recovered at this point, and came in screaming this time, bringing her dagger-hand upward, to catch Medivh beneath the left breast. Instead of trying to back up, Medivh stepped toward the charging half-orc, inside the arc of her blow. He raised a hand and caught her forehead in his hand. She froze in midcharge.

Mystic energy of a sickening yellow hue pulsed beneath his hand and the half-orc hung there, her body twitching helplessly, as the mage held her by the forehead.

“Poor, poor Garona,” said Medivh. “I thought with your conflicting heritages, you of all people would understand what I’m going through. That you would understand the importance of making your own way. But you’re just like the others, aren’t you?”

The wide-eyed half-orc could only manage a spittle-drenched gurgle in response.

“Let me show you my world, Garona,” said Medivh. “Let me drive my own divisions and doubts into you. You’ll never know who you serve and why. You’ll never find your peace.”

Garona tried to scream, but it died in her throat as her face was bathed in a radiant sunburst issued from Medivh’s palm.

Medivh laughed and let the half-orc collapse to the floor, sobbing. She tried to rise, but slumped again. Her eyes were wide and wild, and her breath was short and ragged, torn by tears.