Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

It should have killed him, but seemed only to anger him. His body a green almost as bright as that of her former master, the orc snarled an insult at her. She did not want to wait for him to die. Howling, she drew Taria’s knife and slashed his throat. Green blood flew, arcing from the severed artery and spattering both her and a startled Llane. She yanked the pike free and the orc fell heavily to the dirt, spun round, his attention diverted from the king.

Garona’s eyes met the king’s over the body. Panting, Llane nodded; he knew she had saved his life today.

“Where’s the bloody Guardian?” Lothar muttered. He was hip-deep in enemies, dodging and swinging and ducking. His sword found an open spot as an orc raised its axe and he lunged. Distantly, he realized that orc anatomy was similar enough to human for his purpose as the creature toppled almost at once.

He risked a quick glance to see if he could find Medivh and instead saw his son. Callan was holding his own, ripping a spear out of one orc’s huge paws while ducking in time to avoid the swipe of another wearing an enormous warclaw.

Beyond the boy was a cluster of soldiers. They looked pathetically small as they battled the giant monsters. Lothar glanced back at Llane, anguished. Protect the king—or his soldiers, who were outnumbered and ruthlessly being beaten down?

“I’ll get them!”

The voice was youthful, but determined. It was Callan’s. Lothar was first surprised, then terribly proud. His son had seen, and had known immediately his father’s dilemma. The boy had killed the orc he was fighting, and now moved determinedly to aid his companions.

Dad… I’m a soldier.

Lothar spared a moment as his son raced toward his brothers in arms, shouting out, “Shield formation!” The soldiers drew together and raised their shields in front of, and over, themselves. Why was—

And then Lothar understood. A monster of an orc on one of those overgrown wolves charged them, leaping at, then, incredibly, climbing up the layers of Stormwind shields. Swords, spears, and pikes jutted between the shields, and the wolf howled piteously, scrambling as its red blood stained the shields. It was dead a moment later, but the soldiers collapsed under the weight of wolf and rider.

It happened in the span of a few seconds, but the brief glimpse was sufficient for Lothar to recognize the orc. The last time Lothar had seen him, the beast had been ordering a retreat, his right hand burned, bloodied, and minus several fingers courtesy of Magni’s boomstick. But now, he had a new and more horrifying limb—a claw, enormous, monstrous and shiny, with five blades to replace his five fingers.

Lothar looked up anxiously at the plateau. “Medivh!” he bellowed. He turned back to the soldiers who had escaped the collapse of the shield barrier, fighting desperately.

And into the merciless eyes of the claw-handed orc.

He now understood what was so terrifying about these creatures. They were huge, and some of them had green skin. Some wore skulls around their necks, and their weapons were almost the size of the humans they slew with them. They had ugly, jutting jaws and tusks in their mouths. But what made them so very horrifying was not any of these things. It was the fact that they were not, indeed, mere “creatures”. For in those tiny, dark eyes, Anduin Lothar saw not just bloodlust and hatred—but a fierce intelligence.

And at this moment, in those eyes, Lothar saw recognition.

The orc began to stride purposefully toward him, hacking at any who would dare impede his descent upon the human who had deprived him of a hand.

All right then, you bastard, Lothar thought. Come on, and I’ll lop off the other—

Light exploded in front of him, accompanied almost simultaneously with a deafening peal of thunder. He heard Llane shout, “That’s the Guardian’s work! Quick! Retreat to the plateau!”

Another blinding flash and ear-splitting roll of thunder, and another, and another. They came hard on one another’s heels now, hundreds of sizzling, bright shafts of lightning that struck the earth and lingered side by side to form a wall that spread out to separate humans from their attackers; a fence of deadly energy that stretched across the valley.

And the monstrous orc with the artificial hand was on the wrong side of it. Lothar couldn’t help laughing, mostly in relief, as the orc threw back his head and raged impotently.

“Let’s go!” cried Llane, spurring his horse into action and riding among his men, herding them toward the plateau and an open area. Lothar used the moment to catch his breath, and smiled with relief as he gazed upward. “Medivh,” he whispered. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how worried he had been that his old friend might not be—

Where was Callan?

No…

He turned. A small handful of soldiers were still fighting, still trying to retreat. And they, like the tattooed orc, were on the other side of Medivh’s wall.