Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

This orc’s skin was not just tinged with green, but saturated with it. He was enormous, almost as big as Blackhand, and held a huge shield adorned with the skull of a twin-horned beast in front of him. The orc was, very effectively, using that shield as a second weapon. He barreled through the cluster of armored soldiers like a charging animal without the faintest slackening of speed. He scattered them as if they were nothing more than the tiny toy soldiers Garona recalled from the strategy maps, knocked aside by a casual hand. The twin great, sharp horns on the shield found a target—Lothar’s horse.

Fear descended upon Garona unlike anything she had ever known. Anduin Lothar would surely die, right in front of her, and she could do nothing to help. She had witnessed battle and death before, but always she had felt nothing but resentment and anger toward those who had fallen.

She did not feel that toward Lothar.

Even as the unfamiliar clutch of terror seized Garona’s throat and turned her gut to ice, Lothar leaped clear of the dying animal as lightly as if he wore no armor at all. As he sprang, he raised his sword and brought it down, angling behind the great shield and into the orc’s throat. The orc toppled down, following the dead horse by seconds.

Lothar whirled, then stooped to pick up a pike dropped by one of Llane’s soldiers. He raised his head and met Garona’s eyes. For a heartbeat, their gazes locked. And then, reaching a decision, Lothar tossed the half-orc the pike. She caught it easily, her fingers curving around the weapon. Tempered joy rose inside her. She could now defend herself with honor, and Anduin Lothar had just demonstrated that he trusted her.

As another orc surged forward, Lothar whirled, sword glinting in the sunlight. It clanged against the metal of an axe blade, but did not break. Steel on steel shrieked, and sparks flew as Lothar’s blade slid off, down the shaft, and bit deep into the orc’s arm. Suddenly the great axe dangled masterless as its wielder’s hand, still clutching it, swung by only a few sinews from the orc’s arm. Lothar took advantage of the orc’s momentary pause to drive the blade through his enemy’s chest.

A third charged toward him. Lothar ran toward it, not slowing as he approached a mounted knight, instead dropping and sliding beneath the horse’s body to emerge, sword ready, to stab upward and gut the startled orc.

“Llane!” he shouted above the din of battle, “You’re no good to us dead! Get out! I’ll get the others!”

The king, too, was holding his own as he shouted back, “We’re all getting out! Medivh will cover our retreat!”

Lothar hadn’t paused in his attacks. The men were gravitating toward him now, as if he were a living banner and they were drawing strength from his seemingly limitless supply.

Medivh.

The Guardian’s name roused Garona from her rapt fascination with Lothar’s astounding ferocity. As they had approached the meeting site, Medivh had told them he could protect them better if he could see them all. He had taken his horse up, to watch them from above. Now, Garona tore her gaze from Lothar to gaze upward, trying to spot Medivh. Where was he? Why was he not acting?

She did not see him. But she did see someone else.

Blackhand, mounted atop a wolf, peering down at the ambush.

And beside Gul’dan’s warchief stood Orgrim Doomhammer.

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Anger, white-hot and pure, fueled Garona. Against all reason, she started to move toward the cliffside. Gaze locked on Orgrim, she didn’t see the orc who was charging at her from the side until he started screaming. She whirled, snarling, to behold the orc writhing in agony. Small pieces of liquid orange fire were bombarding him. Garona hissed as she smelled his cooking flesh. He died quickly, but in obvious torment.

Over his fallen body stood Khadgar. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She had been saved by a boy. A boy who could wield magic like a shaman or a warlock, and who could summon and direct lava—but a boy nonetheless. She nodded her thanks, then turned, ready to fight her own battle with the Stormwind pike. A green-skinned orc charged her, woefully underestimating her as she shrieked and jabbed him square in the throat. As Garona tugged the blade free, she realized she was looking directly at the king. He was fighting desperately, utterly unaware of the orc rushing up from behind him, the huge, curved blade of his war axe lifted to deal a death blow.

Garona was not about to let this human, who had trusted her, whose mate had even armed her with her own blade, fall to a treacherous orc. With the full force of her body and her speed, Garona opened her mouth in a battle cry and raced toward the would-be killer. Llane’s eyes flew open wide as she charged, seemingly directly at him, and he dived to the side. Garona impaled the huge green orc as if he were a haunch of meat.