Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

Llane’s heart surged with relief. Medivh looked better than he had since he had rejoined them after a six-year absence. His color was good, his face looked much less angular, and his body was straight and tall.

A grin stretched across Llane’s face that he couldn’t have suppressed even had he wanted to. “Medivh!” he exclaimed. “You are up and well!”

“I am,” his old friend assured him. “I feel restored.”

“We need you.” Llane indicated the map. “We’ve been agonizing over our options.” He gave Lothar a look and added, “Some of us feel that there are no options. We need fresh eyes.”

“I not only bring fresh eyes, I bring fresh hope,” Medivh replied. “I’ve met with Durotan.”

“You met with Durotan,” Lothar repeated. Was that truly skepticism in his voice? Worried now, Llane turned to see his old friend playing with one of the map’s figurines.

“He survived?” Lothar looked astonished.

Medivh turned to him. “Indeed. He’s assured me the rebellion against Gul’dan is gaining strength. With the help of the Frostwolves and their allies, we can destroy the gate.”

Medivh always did have a flair for the dramatic, coming in at the nick of time to save the day. As he was doing now. Llane felt hope rise within him again.

“That doesn’t change my plan.” Lothar’s words were blunt.

“What plan?” Medivh asked.

“Anduin believes we should attack with our full force,” Llane explained. “I’m concerned it leaves the rest of the kingdom defenseless. I cede his point, that we should prevent reinforcements and try to save the prisoners. But the orcs have already clearly demonstrated that they can do a staggering amount of damage and cause much more loss of life.”

Medivh nodded, considering. “How many legions would you need to hold the orcs in place and defend the kingdom?”

Llane shot Lothar an annoyed glance, and answered Medivh’s question. “Twenty-five total. Five to hold the Pass, ten to guard the Redridge, ten to hold the city.”

“We’ve already lost eighteen legions. That leaves only one… two… three!!” Lothar brandished the figurine, plucking the metal standards inserted in its back and flinging them on the table as he counted.

Llane ignored him. “Can it be done, Medivh?”

Lothar flung the figurine onto the table. “No, it can’t be done!”

There was an awkward pause. “With three legions, the Frostwolves, and my power,” Medivh began, “we—”

Lothar turned his intense gaze upon his old friend. “With all due respect, Guardian,” he said tightly, “your power has recently proven to be unreliable at best.” He turned back to Llane. “I can’t lead a mere three legions into that Horde waiting for him to magically save our backsides!”

Medivh did not seem upset. He turned his attention to the king. “Llane. Have I ever let you down?”

“Let him down? Where have you even been for the last six years?” Lothar asked.

Llane was torn. What Lothar said was true. They had, indeed, not been able to rely upon Medivh. But he looked so much better now. So much stronger, more like his old self. Obviously, whatever had been draining him had been addressed. And surely, Lothar could not forget how the Guardian had “magically saved their backsides” when the trolls had been a heartbeat away from taking the kingdom. Medivh had earned their trust in the past, and he had come through even recently, exhausted as he had been.

“Please, Anduin,” Llane began, “Medivh is the Guardian—”

But Anduin didn’t allow him to finish. “Not the one you remember! He’s lost it! He’s unstable! And he won’t be there when you really need him.”

Llane pressed his lips together tightly. He needed his commander at the top of his game more than ever before. Quickly, he strode to Lothar. “Find your bearings, Anduin.” His voice was firm and controlled, but brooked no disobedience.

Lothar’s eyes were wild, despairing, but full of concern. “I’d march into hell for you, Llane, if I felt there was even the slightest chance of victory! You know that! But this is suicide!”

“Is this about Callan?” Medivh’s voice was calm, with a trace of sorrow in it. Lothar’s face froze and his body went rigid. Slowly, he turned to look at the Guardian.

“It was a tragedy—”

Lothar’s face went ashen, and then he flushed. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

It had to be awful for both of them, Llane thought. Medivh had clearly been unwell, and his act of bringing down lightning to separate the warring parties had saved many lives, almost at the cost of his own. It had indeed been a tragedy that poor Callan had been caught on the wrong side of that defensive action. It would, Llane thought sadly, be only natural for Lothar to harbor resentment toward Medivh, perhaps even blame him entirely for Callan’s death. But there wasn’t time for this. There was barely time left for anything.

“If he hadn’t been trying so hard to win your approval, he might still be with us today,” Medivh said. Lothar was trembling violently. Sweat beaded his brow.

“Medivh—” Llane began.

“Callan wasn’t ready. You knew it, but you let him play soldier anyway.”