Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

Lothar yanked violently on the wire. The golem was hauled backward by the motion just in time to take the Guardian’s attack spell full in its chest. It toppled backward, hurtling downward to smash through the lower-floor window. Half of the clay being remained inside, the other half—with Anduin Lothar clinging to it—dangled out the window. Lothar hung on grimly to the wire, then realized to his horror that the wire was now doing what it had been designed to do. It was cutting, slowly but inexorably, through the clay.

A second later, a huge chunk of the golem’s head was severed, hurtling down past Lothar’s own head to splat onto the earth below. Lothar scrambled to hang on, shoving his feet into the golem’s still-soft earthen back to secure his purchase. Dangling upside down, up to his calves in clay, he registered, barely, that the chanting had stopped.

But even with half its head and one leg sheared off, the golem still moved. It reached out a hand to the ledge, hauling itself and its unwanted rider back inside to the safety of the lower level. It leaned against the wall, and then attempted to reposition itself. It was about to pin Lothar between itself and the curving wall of the tower. For a moment, Lothar thought it would succeed. He unfastened his boots, freed himself, dropped to the floor, and rolled out of the way as the thing slammed itself into the wall.

When it did so a second time, Lothar realized that the creature was as of yet unaware that it no longer hosted a human parasite. He swore as he suddenly noticed that the chanting had resumed. He took advantage of the golem’s distraction to hasten to Khadgar, lifting books and debris off the body. To his relief, Khadgar looked shaken, battered, and bruised, but intact.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “Wake up!” Khadgar did not move. Lothar slapped his face. Khadgar jerked, eyes flying open, and his hand grasped Lothar’s wrist. “You all right?”

Khadgar nodded, blinking dazedly. He looked past Lothar at the golem. “Quick thinking, slicing its head off like that.”

“Yeah,” Lothar deadpanned, having no intention of disabusing the young mage of the notion. “Just how I planned it.” He hauled Khadgar to his feet. “What now?”

“The Guardian has to speak the incantation himself. As long as he’s doing that, we can get in close. Distract him.” Khadgar strode purposefully toward the lumbering clay creation.

“And then?” Lothar asked.

“Get Medivh into the font,” Khadgar replied. He took off after the golem.

“Is that all?” Lothar asked sarcastically, but even as he spoke the words he realized that this was the precise moment when he fully trusted Khadgar, as he began to climb up to the font level where Medivh stood, still chanting the horrible spell that would permit—perhaps was already permitting—thousands of bloodlust-enraged orcs to spill into Azeroth.

He moved slowly, taking his time although everything in him urged him to hurry, hurry. He paused, but the Guardian seemed far too caught up in his incantation to have noticed Lothar closing in on him from behind. Impulsively, Lothar spoke, still carefully closing the distance between them.

“Medivh… if there is something of you still in there, old friend… come back to us.” There was no response. Medivh seemed utterly oblivious to Lothar’s presence. Sorrowfully, Lothar reached with one hand to cover Medivh’s mouth.

Without even pausing in his chant, Medivh shot out his hand, seized Lothar by the throat, and lifted him up. Lothar’s hands went to his neck, trying desperately to pry Medivh’s fel-strong fingers from it. Effortlessly, Medivh moved him until Lothar dangled directly in front of him—and directly above the sickly green font.

The grip on his throat was tight, the fingers digging in, but Lothar could still breathe. Still speak.

Why? Why not just crush his windpipe and be done with it?

“Medivh,” he rasped, his eyes pleading.

Medivh hurled him away. Lothar sailed clear across the font to land hard on the other side of it.

Lothar gasped for air, fishlike, his lungs initially refusing to cooperate. Gritting his teeth against the fresh pain, he clambered to his feet, swaying drunkenly. Below him, Khadgar was attempting to trap the lumbering, half-headed golem. Lothar didn’t know why. He didn’t know much right now, only that he had to—had to—keep trying.

“Come on! Kill me. I’ve got nothing left to live for now, anyway,” he shouted once breath had returned to him. Medivh ignored him. He simply stood, implacable, continuing that damnable chanting. “After all, life is just fuel to you, isn’t it?” He was trying to goad the fel-thing into losing its focus, into attacking him. Killing him, if need be, if it would silence the chant. His voice was raw with pain as he thought of his boy, dying so brutally, shredded by the monster’s claws while his father had been forced to watch.