Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

There were five of them in the mounted scouting party: Lothar, Garona, Khadgar, Karos, and Varis. The three soldiers had spent a great deal of time away from Stormwind, but of course, to Garona, everything was new. She was alert and attentive, her dark eyes taking it all in and evaluating it. For what? Lothar wondered. Hiding places? Weapons? Escape—or attack—routes?

She was clad in Alliance armor, and he noticed her hand wandering to the breastplate now and then, as if surprised each time at the golden lion’s head there. His attention lingered on her perhaps longer than it should have. This morning, he had helped her get into her armor. She had asked for a weapon, and he had replied as he laced her gambeson closed, “You’ll have me to protect you.”

“I need no one to protect me,” Garona had asserted. He had paused then, with his face inches from hers, a witty retort dying unsaid on his lips as their eyes met. He had realized almost at once that, despite her tusks and green skin, Garona was beautiful. But now, standing so close, Lothar understood that she was more than just physically appealing. She was right. She did need no one to protect her. She was likely as strong—perhaps stronger—than he was. But as he looked at the scars that crisscrossed her skin, he, the soldier, wanted nothing more than to keep her safe. It was ludicrous, it was likely insulting…but it was true.

“What are you looking at?” she had demanded.

He himself wasn’t sure.

Lothar’s mind returned to the present. He smiled to himself as he noticed that Khadgar’s gaze was fixed to whatever it was he was reading. He missed the sole pleasant part of the journey, through the safe areas of Elwynn Forest, only looking up when they paused as the foliage gave way to bare stone. Below them, Elwynn lay spread out like a lush tapestry. Behind, Stormwind’s white towers jutted skyward, looking as small as a model on King Llane’s battlemap, and even Khadgar admired the sight.

Before them lay Deadwind Pass, a fitting name for an unhospitable, desolate canyon of sheer walls and cutting, whistling winds. One branch of the trail culminated in a ledge, where Lothar declared they would camp for the night. It was useful to have a site with only one direction to guard. They could have pressed on, but Deadwind Pass was a tricky enough path in the daylight. He could not risk a horse making a misstep in the growing shadows.

“Bookworm,” he said to Khadgar as the mage dismounted, wincing, “take the first watch.”

Garona, slipping lithely to the ground, looked both perplexed and amused at the word. She watched Khadgar, to gauge his reaction.

The boy tucked the book in the waistband of his trousers while reaching for his bedroll, but the look he gave Lothar was not one of amusement. He had not missed Garona’s look, either. “Respectfully, Commander, my name is Khadgar,” he said.

Lothar brought a hand to his chest in mock horror. “My apologies, Khadgar. I thought we had bonded when I didn’t put you in a prison cell for breaking into the royal barracks.” The two glared at each other. “Now. Take the first watch.”

Khadgar’s lips thinned, but he nodded. “Yes, Commander.”

The meal was simple—bread, chicken, apples, and hot tea. No wine was passed around tonight—the party was too small and the danger too great for even a little intoxication. Thankfully, the sobbing wind eventually stopped, although the silence that replaced it was perhaps more unnerving. They ate, cleaned up, and spread out their bedrolls while Khadgar glumly wrapped himself in his cloak and perched atop a boulder, looking back at the path they had traveled.

Lothar’s mind was too busy working out scenarios for him to sleep at once, so he gnawed on a leftover piece of chicken and watched the watcher instead. To his credit, the boy seemed to take the duty seriously. Lothar half-expected Khadgar to have sneaked his book with him so he could read by moonlight, or firelight, or maybe a tiny point of blue flame dancing at the end of his fingers. Who knew what sort of things mages could do.

Instead, the youth’s head turned, rather shyly, in Garona’s direction. She lay facing away, her distinctive curves soft and rolling and green as the hills of Elwynn. Lothar was amused—but he also didn’t like it.

“Well,” he said, shattering the silence, “at least you’re not reading.”

Khadgar jerked his head back toward the path. Lothar smiled to himself.

“He wishes to lie with me.” Garona’s voice was matter-of-fact and Khadgar cringed, almost squirming with embarrassment. She propped herself up on one arm, watching them both.

“I beg your pardon?” Khadgar tried to sound perplexed by the accusation, but his voice climbed a little too high for it to be convincing.

“You would be injured,” she stated.

“I don’t want to lie with you!”

It was all Lothar could do to not laugh out loud. Garona simply shrugged. “Good. You would not be an effective mate.”