Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

“I’m the Guardian! Me.” Medivh moved closer, forcing Khadgar back one step, then another, bearing down on him. “Not you. Not yet.”

Khadgar tried one last time. “I just thought that you might appreciate some help…”

Khadgar stared into the bloodshot, blue-green eyes of the one who was supposed to be the protector of the world. And who, he was fairly certain, was about to kill him.

A heartbeat later, every single note, scribbling, illustration, and map that he had worked so hard on went up in magical fire. They burned swift, hot, and utterly, not even leaving behind ashes. It was as though they had never been.

“Don’t presume you can aid me. You have no idea of the forces I contend with.” He took a deep breath and steadied himself. “If you want to help, protect the king. You leave the fel to me.”

He turned to depart. Khadgar sagged against the wall, relieved. For exactly one heartbeat. Then he saw what was on a chair beside the door.

The runic book he had “borrowed” from Karazhan.

Don’t let him see it, Khadgar willed. Medivh was halfway through storming out the door. Don’t let him see it, don’t let him—

The Guardian paused midstride. He froze, then as Khadgar shrank inwardly, Medivh’s head turned slowly and he stared directly at the book.

Silence.

The Guardian, moving deliberately, picked up the book and looked at it. He did not turn around. The young mage was slightly surprised he wasn’t incinerated on the spot.

“Interesting choice.” The Guardian’s words were icy.

“Guardian…” I can explain, Khadgar thought wildly. There was a sudden flare in his hand as the sketch he’d forgotten he was holding turned into a sheet of flame and disappeared. By the time he looked up, Medivh had already gone.

“He would not ask for this meeting if he thought he could defeat Gul’dan alone,” Llane stated. He was seated on his throne, flanked by Lothar and several other advisors whom Garona did not know. His queen sat in her own throne beside her husband, smiling kindly down at the orc woman. “The fel must truly terrify him.”

Garona bridled on the Frostwolf’s behalf. “Durotan is scared of nothing.”

Llane glanced over at Lothar and lifted a brow, wordlessly inviting his friend to speak.

“The location, the suddenness of the meeting… it sounds like a trap, Your Majesty.”

Garona shot him an angry look. “It’s not.”

“It could be.”

She glared at him, her nostrils flaring at the implied insult to both her and Durotan. Lothar returned her gaze without flinching, his blue eyes boring into hers. “It is not!”

“What do you think?” Lothar asked, appealing to his friend.

Llane. “It’s too good an opportunity to ignore. I think we have no choice. We must stop the orcs from opening the portal. That’s a given. But we will need help.”

“And if he’s lying?” Llane wanted to know.

Garona shot him a look. “Orcs do not lie.”

“What if he is?”

“There is no honor in it!” Garona said, as if that explained everything.

“And where’s the ‘honor’ in him betraying his own people?” Lothar challenged.

She turned back to him, to the assessment of those strange eyes. She had learned the human language enough to converse, but she was far from a master of its subtleties. How to convey who Durotan was? She was silent for a moment, choosing her words with care. Finally, she spoke.

“Durotan is protecting his clan. His enemy is the fel. Gul’dan is the betrayer.”

Still Lothar regarded her, gazing into her eyes as if searching her soul. She was not accustomed to such scrutiny. Most orcs treated her as if she were not even present. If they did acknowledge her, it was only to jeer at or spit on her—or worse. She had not lied to Khadgar and Lothar when she had told them her bones were very strong. She lifted her chin and did not look away.

Taria’s voice came to her. The queen seemed to have something on her mind. “This orc, Durotan… how do you know him?”

“He freed me… and he is loved by his clan. He puts their needs first. Always. He is a strong chieftain.”

“Strong chiefs must earn their clans’ trust.” Taria regarded her steadily, as Lothar had done, but with a compassion that made Garona shift her weight uncomfortably. Then the queen seemed to reach a decision. Her hand went to her narrow waist and deftly unfastened a small dagger. “If we are to expect you to join us, we must earn yours.” She handed the dagger to Garona. “To defend yourself.”

“With this?”

“Yes.”

Garona stared at it. It suited Taria, not her; it was pretty, and delicate. Not at all like a solid orcish dagger. The hilt was decorated with jewels, and at Taria’s nod, Garona drew the dagger from its finely wrought leather sheath and examined the blade. She revised her initial impression of it. It was well made, for such a slender thing.

She could kill Taria, Lothar, and maybe even the king before they’d be able to stop her. Taria’s gentle smile widened. She knows what I’m thinking, Garona realized. And she knows she is safe.