Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

Tents, hundreds of them, dotted the landscape, punctuated by watchtowers and larger constructions. There were cages, too. Not as many as he had initially feared, but enough to make Lothar’s hands clench in anger. Cages crammed with humans: men, women, even children. So this was where they had gone—seized and carried off while their homes burned about them, taken like animals.

And further on, enormous, chiseled hunks of stone hauled by the labor of the physically powerful orcs and arranged in a pattern. A flat, level base, like the foundation of a building. Or something much worse.

“The Great Gate,” Garona said, pointing to the stones.

“Why do they need so many prisoners?” Lothar asked. The breeze caught Garona’s black hair, playing with it. Her gaze did not leave the terrifying diorama as she spoke, and her words made Lothar’s heart sink.

“Like wood for fire,” she explained. “Green magic takes life to open the gate.”

Lothar’s gaze was dragged back inexorably to the scene below them. “How many more orcs are they planning on bringing?”

Her reply was simple and stark. “All of them.” She waved her hand at the scene. “This—this is just the war band. When the portal is opened, Gul’dan will bring the Horde.”

And all at once Lothar understood what, subconsciously, he had been denying. These hundreds of tents were, essentially, just the beginning…

A Horde.

“Get them back to Stormwind,” he snapped at Karos, already heading for his horse. “Varis and I will ride ahead.”

Garona gazed after Lothar and Varis as their horses galloped off. Thoughts crowded her mind. Was she truly doing the right thing? Why did she even have any loyalty to the orcs? They had murdered her mother, and she had only been spared from the fire herself by the will of Gul’dan. He had taught her how to read and write, and ordered her to study and learn other languages. But she was always a slave. Always bound, always sneered at or spat upon.

Except by a few. Every time she was filled with hatred for her treatment by her so-called “people” she recalled Durotan, twice a voice of reason for his people, and his wife Draka, who had treated her with gentleness and care. Other orcs might drown sickly children at birth, but the Frostwolves gave their weaker members at least a chance to earn their way back into the clan. Draka herself had been one such, and she became the mate of a chieftain.

Garona had hesitated when Durotan freed her and extended his hand. But she knew if she returned with him, Gul’dan would simply reclaim her. And in that moment, Garona had tasted freedom, and knew she would die before relinquishing it.

She thought of Queen Taria, treating her even more kindly than Draka had. Of course, Taria wanted something. Garona fully realized that. But what she wanted was to save her people. So did the orcs—but they were doing it by killing those who were not orcs. First the draenei, now the humans. She thought of Khadgar; such a pup, so eager, but with a power she respected and didn’t understand.

And… she thought of Lothar. He had saved her from the furious Frostwolf. He had not been as overtly kind as Taria, but Garona understood his mistrust. She knew enough of darkness to know when it had touched someone, and Anduin Lothar surely walked with shadows. She had seen the pain in his eyes at the loss of his men in the recent battle, the horror at the thought of the innocent farmers being held captive, their lives fodder for more orc destruction. He was… good, she decided.

Though he had a sense of humor. She recalled the term Lothar had used to Khadgar, “bookworm.” Garona smiled, turning to look at the young mage—

An orc stood in the shadow of tree branches. He held Khadgar under one arm, his massive hand clamped over the boy’s mouth. The young mage stared at Garona with wide, alarmed eyes. A few feet away orc lay the body of Karos, unconscious, but still alive.

“Durotan!” Garona gasped.

He grunted in acknowledgement. “To the north is a black rock that touches the sky. I would meet with their leader there.”

A sliver of fear sliced through her. “To challenge him?” She was surprised at how much she did not want Llane to die… nor, truth be told, Durotan.

He shook his head. “I saw you lead the smallteeth to our encampment,” he said, stepping closer, still holding Khadgar, but with care. “They have seen what is being built, but only you know what Gul’dan has planned for my people.” His eyes bored into hers, and he spoke as if the words tore at him. “You warned us, Garona. You told us he was dark and dangerous. I only came, in the end, because there was truly no other choice.”

Garona knew Durotan might have chosen death for himself, but he did not have the luxury. He was a chieftain, and he took care of his clan as best he knew how.

“This magic is death,” he said. “For all things. It must be stopped.”

So he had seen. He knew. Their gazes locked for a moment, then Durotan nodded. “Tell him. The black rock. When the sun is highest.”

“I will,” Garona promised.