The ceiling was low, and the light came from a few windows and candalabras. The front part of the room was dominated by an enormous table upon which were spread maps drawn on parchment, and a second one peopled with small, carved figures representing weapons or friends or foes. Further in, the tools of war were on display: shields, swords, long and short, morning stars, pikes, axes. Khadgar, eyes wide, went straight for them, walking around the displays gingerly.
“These,” Llane said, pointing at several clusters of red figurines, “are the beasts who have been attacking us so severely.”
“What kind of beasts?” Medivh demanded, glaring at the maps.
Llane looked exasperated. “Giants—armed giants. Wolves carry them. Huge, unstoppable beasts—”
“It’s the rumors that are unstoppable,” Lothar interrupted.
“There’s not much we can do about that,” Llane said.
Medivh continued to examine the board, frowning. One hand reached out to touch the carved symbol of the mysterious foe. “What of the other kingdoms? Are they suffering the same?”
“All seek our protection, yet none trusts us enough to tell us anything.” Llane had folded his arms and was glaring at the board as if his will alone could change something.
“In other words, little has changed in the last six years,” Medivh said drily.
Lothar had had enough. “We know nothing about these so-called monsters.” He grabbed one of the enemy markers, shaking it for emphasis. “We need prisoners. Even a corpse will tell us something.”
Llane took the small figurine from Lothar, turning it over in his hands. He lifted his eyes to the Guardian. “I don’t know what danger we’re in, Medivh.”
“I exist to protect this realm, my lord. It is my very purpose. I am the Guardian.” Medivh’s blue-green eyes went to Khadgar, who was holding the raven-topped staff and peering at the weaponry. “At least,” he amended, “for the time being, anyhow.”
Llane’s gaze followed Medivh’s and his eyebrows lifted. He’d forgotten, Lothar realized. “Yes,” Llane said, straightening slightly. He placed the figurine back on the map in its former position. “What are we going to do about… what was his name?”
“Khadgar, sire.” The young mage replied calmly, almost elegantly, but the effect was ruined when the staff struck a sword with a loud clang as he turned. Khadgar blushed.
“He will be coming with us,” Medivh spoke before Lothar could.
Lothar rolled his eyes. “Well, then. We’d better get going.”
* * *
Lothar requested three horses, a company of armed, armored soldiers and a sturdy, barred cart for the transportation of the hoped-for prisoners. As soon as word came that the company was ready, he, Medivh, and Khadgar strode through the main hallway of Stormwind Keep. Lothar grimaced as Sergeant Callan saluted him smartly.
“We are ready to depart when you give the order, sir.”
“Let’s give our guests the chance to get on their horses first, shall we, Sergeant?”
Callan’s cheeks turned pink, but he nodded. “As you say, sir,” he replied.
Lothar felt bad almost immediately. The boy had done everything right. By the book, even, right down to bringing Lothar’s own stallion, Reliant, and two horses with good temperaments for Khadgar and Medivh. He hadn’t earned Lothar’s snide comment. The commander swung himself up into Reliant’s saddle and patted the horse’s sleek brown neck. Gryphons were fine, but horses were better.
Gruffly, he said, “Good choices for the others.”
“Thank you, sir!” Callan’s expression didn’t change, but Lothar saw his son’s shoulders relax, ever so slightly.
They rode at a slow trot through the streets of the city. When they reached the market square, they passed a towering statue with a very familiar face. Khadgar did a priceless double take, peering at the statue, then at Medivh, then at the statue again, and finally judiciously keeping his eyes straight forward.
Medivh’s saddle creaked as he shifted. “I didn’t ask them to put that up.” It was true, Lothar knew. It had been erected by demand of a populace that was grateful to not have become a troll’s supper.
“You saved the city,” Khadgar replied politely.
The Guardian frowned slightly. “You think it’s vain?”
“The people love you,” Khadgar stated. Lothar fought back a smile.
“But that’s not what I asked you.”
Khadgar squinted up at the blue sky. “When the sun is hot, it makes excellent shade.”
Medivh shot his old friend an impressed glance and, seemingly despite himself, couldn’t hide a smile.
Once they had clattered over the bridge and through Stormwind’s gates, Lothar gave the signal that the group should break into an easy canter as they headed down the road. A crowd had gathered to cheer the soldiers as they passed the Lion’s Pride Inn. Lothar took care to make eye contact and return some of the children’s salutes. Part of this battle, he knew already, would be won by keeping rumors to a minimum and the populace feeling safe, and a full company of fifty mounted knights in full plate armor thundering past certainly helped achieve that goal.
The company was too well trained to make idle conversation, so the way was silent save for the rhythmic sound of the horses’ hooves and the fluttering and scolding of birds and squirrels. Lothar thought about what he’d seen; the vile mist surging forth from a dead man’s mouth. He’d been quick to calm Llane, but in truth, he had no better idea of what these “beasts” were than a farmer gulping ale in the Lion’s Pride Inn.
And Callan. He really didn’t like the idea of the young man being involved, not until they knew what they were facing. Damn Taria anyway. She meant well, but she didn’t…
He frowned. The forest was silent. Medivh, who rode a little ways ahead of him, had brought his horse down to a trot, then a halt. Lothar lifted his fist and the rest of the company clattered to a stop behind him. He kneed Reliant forward to the edge of the clearing beside Medivh.
What had once been an ordinary broad path through a pleasant part of Elwynn had become a battlefield. Not a proper one, consisting of soldiers and armies, but the worst kind—the kind where the weapons were scythes, pitchforks, and small axes, and the “soldiers” were farmers and townspeople. Carts lay everywhere, smashed and overturned. Some cargo, like linen and wool, had been rummaged through and discarded. Other carts, presumably carrying food, had been picked clean. Several of the trees had their limbs hacked off or smashed by weapons so large Lothar was having a hard time grasping the size of them.
And there was blood—both the red of human blood and also splashes here and there of a thick, brown fluid. Lothar dismounted, removing his glove and touching the liquid, rubbing it between his fingers. Something very important was missing—bodies. Medivh and Khadgar, too, had dismounted. Medivh strode ahead, absently planting his staff in the ground. Khadgar caught it before it tumbled to the earth. The Guardian was staring at a burned tree trunk that gave off a sickly green smoke. Glowing embers in the blackened wood winked like emeralds.
“It can’t be,” Lothar thought he heard Medivh murmur.
He saw Khadgar’s attention shift to something behind one of the carts. “Here’s a body,” the boy said, then called out, “Guardian!”
There was a blur of motion. Lothar’s head whipped around just in time to see one of his knights go flying, his mail and chest crushed in by a thrown hammer a third as large as he was.
The hitherto silent forest was now filled with a terrible roaring sound, and the beasts they had been hunting poured into the clearing, exploding out of nowhere, dropping from the trees.
Giants—armed giants.
Wolves to carry them.
Huge, unstoppable beasts—
Lothar’s first, absurd thought was that the rumors hadn’t gone far enough.
7
“Mother of—” Sir Evran whispered. He, like the others, like Lothar himself, was frozen, rooted to the earth as the
monsters charged forward.
Like the trolls, they were tall, had tusks, and adorned themselves with tattoos and bones and feathers. But they were not just tall, they were massive. Their chests were enormous, their hands large enough to envelop and crush a man’s skull without effort, and the weapons designed to fit such hands—
The biggest one of all silenced Sir Evran before he could even finish his sentence. Towering above the others, tattoos crawling over his hands, he sprang with the speed and power of one of Stranglethorn’s great cats, bringing an enormous hammer crunching down on the hapless knight. The gargantuan thing turned, and, almost casually, hefted a shrieking horse into the air and tossed it as if it were little more than a sack of grain. Two soldiers fell, crushed beneath its weight. A female, her skin more green than brown, laughed maniacally at the spectacle.
It all happened in the span of one heartbeat to the next.
Sir Kyvan roared in response, his voice sounding thin and high next to the bellow of the beasts. He brought his blade swinging up, knocking that of a greenish-tinted monster to the side. The creature grunted in surprise, then—it looked like he grinned as he engaged the brave Kyvan in earnest. Though the enemy was twice his size, Kyvan managed to hold his own until the creature almost casually tore a wheel off one of the carts and slammed it into Kyvan’s skull.
It looked up, grinning around those hideous tusks, only to stumble as Lothar’s shield bashed him in the face. The thing’s head jerked back, and Lothar swung his sword, slicing across the beast’s jugular. Blood as green as its skin spurted forth, and the creature fell—dead.
The rumors had been wrong about one thing, at least. The beasts were not unstoppable.
Khadgar gaped at the enormous thing that had hurled a fully-grown horse fifteen feet. Obviously the leader of the monsters, it rampaged through the clearing, reached for a battleaxe that was almost as big as Khadgar, and swung it in a wide, low arc, severing the bodies of two armored knights. Blood spattered everywhere, and the thing threw back its head and bellowed joyfully. All around him, wolves nearly the size of bears, white and gray and terrifying, were killing with the same speed, power, and ferocity as their riders.
Khadgar dragged his horrified gaze from the carnage to see what Medivh was doing, thinking he could help. His bowels clenched even tighter when he realized that what the Guardian of Azeroth was doing was absolutely nothing. Medivh simply stood, staring.
One of the beasts charged toward Khadgar. The youth shouted a spell, and a blast of arcane lightning shot from his hand. It struck the creature full in the chest and sent him flying. Khadgar shook himself and, speaking quickly and clearly, cast a protective circle about himself and Medivh. The air shimmered, encasing them in a small, shimmering blue bubble. If the Guardian wasn’t ready to attack, at least the former Novitiate would see to it that those things didn’t slice them both in half.
A shrill whinny behind them caused the young mage to whirl around—
—and come face to face with one of the beasts.
* * *
Lothar’s sword dripped greenish-brown blood as his gaze flickered over the scene. His knights outnumbered the beasts almost four to one—yet the monsters were overcoming them. Several good soldiers lay on the ground, either dead or dying, and—
Callan.
Callan didn’t see the axe that was about to—
Lothar was moving even before his brain realized it, lunging forward, using body, shield, and sword all as weapons. The beast was caught completely off guard and Lothar’s sword found its mark, plunging deep into the thing’s unprotected chest.
Callan stared gratefully up at his father. “Don’t try to take them on with brute force,” Lothar panted. He kicked at the creature’s corpse, rolling it off his son. “They’re stronger. Be smarter.”
He extended his free hand to his son. Callan reached up to take it. But even as Callan’s eyes flew wide in warning, Lothar felt something go around his waist that was as thick and strong as a tree trunk and he was hurled backward. He landed hard and painfully, his sword knocked from his hand, his own armor a liability as the monster, the leader of the whole horrifying group, advanced on him, leering.
The giant axe that had cut two men in half mere moments before was nowhere to be seen. The beast had thrown it, or abandoned it, or simply decided he didn’t want it any more. Lothar neither knew nor cared. Hot saliva dripped onto his face as the beast leader raised a hammer with an oversized right hand, reaching for Lothar with the other.
Refusing to accept the inevitable, Lothar put his hands down beside his waist in a doubtless futile attempt to rise. His right hand brushed something unfamiliar, and for a moment he didn’t realize what it was. And then, he remembered.
It’s a boomstick.
He’d stuck it in his belt and completely forgotten about it—until now. Lothar was able to get Magni’s gift out far enough to aim it at the descending hand. The beast’s enormous fingers clamped down on the weapon. Lothar squeezed the small movable part. The resulting blast almost deafened him, but the scream that followed was still audible. The beast staggered back, staring at the smoking ruin of flesh at the end of his arm.
* * *
The beast was huge, with brown skin and two yellowed tusks jutting upward from his oversized lower jaw. Two thick braids hung down on either side of his ears, the rest of the black length braided or flowing freely. Ears the size of Khadgar’s hands were pointed and pierced. Like the other beasts, this one wore primitive jewelry of bones and beads. He held an enormous axe in one hand. With the other, he touched, with surprising delicacy, the magical field that was all that stood between him and the mages.
His eyes were clear, brown, and calm. Behind those eyes, Khadgar realized, was an intelligent brain.
And that was the most frightening thing of all.
“Guardian!” Khadgar shouted, his voice climbing.
The cry seemed to knock Medivh out of whatever trance he was in. He began to chant, light following the motions of his weaving fingers like ink from a pen until a sigil hung in the air.
The beast lowered his hand, his too-intelligent eyes going at once to Medivh, watching closely—curiously.
There were several sudden blazes of sickly green light. Khadgar gasped and the beast leaped back, both sets of eyes focused on the clearing.
Khadgar had noticed that some of the beasts had undertones of green in their skin—the color of fel magic. He had not had time to discuss—well, anything with Medivh upon their arrival, but he was certain the Guardian had noticed it as well. Now, as he stared, all the beasts who had that peculiar coloring dropped their weapons and started to convulse, screaming. Jagged, spindly fingers of green lightning leaped from the stricken creatures, arcing directly back to Medivh, who stood with his hands outstretched, palms up. Before Khadgar’s eyes, the beasts’ skins paled, their muscles atrophied, and one by one, they fell, crumbling, like pieces of hard earth in the hands of a child.
A spontaneous cheer of relief went up from the knights as they saw their chance. “They’re all dying!” someone shouted.
“Only the green ones!” another cried. They fell on the spasming beasts, impaling them with swords and then turning on their shocked brethren. “Kill that beast bastard!” an officer shouted, pointing toward the leader. The beast with the ruined hand looked around in obvious confusion. Khadgar flinched as another boom from Lothar’s weapon resounded. A hole appeared in the massive chest of one of the monsters. He stared down at it for an instant, then tumbled, stone dead.
The beast who had been standing outside the protective circle whirled, catching his companion. He cradled the monstrous form, grief plain on his ugly face. Khadgar blinked. Somehow, this surprised him. But the creature’s expression shifted from concerned and caring to coldly furious as he looked at the man who had slain his friend.
“Let’s put some steel through these bastards!” Lothar’s voice rang out.
The beast rose, simultaneously releasing the
corpse with gentleness and preparing himself to attack Lothar. Before Khadgar could even form the words of a warning, though, the beast’s comrades seized him and hauled him off. With a final, furious glare, the beast leaped onto Medivh’s horse, yanked on the reins, and galloped into the woods. The others followed, most on their wolves, but many with stolen horses, and in a heartbeat the clearing was as empty as it had been when the knights had arrived… save for the grim scattering of corpses.
Behind Khadgar, Medivh gave a low, soft moan. Khadgar turned to see the Guardian of Azeroth down on one knee, pale and exhausted, the heels of his hands pressing into his temples.
“Guardian!” Khadgar stammered. He started to move toward Medivh, but the other waved him off as he got unsteadily to his feet. “What—did you do?”
Medivh ignored him utterly, focusing his attention on swiftly drawing another circle in the dirt. Frustrated, Khadgar persisted.
“The fel. I was right, wasn’t I? It’s here.” Again, he thought of the green tint to the skin of some of the beasts, and the lightning that leapt from them to Medivh as they flailed and grew weak.
Then, abruptly, he recognized the sigils the Guardian was sketching into the soil. Another teleportation! “What are you doing? Where are you going?”
Now, Medivh did look at him, his green-blue eyes piercing, it seemed, straight into Khadgar’s soul. “Get these soldiers safely back to Stormwind.” He stepped into the circle. “I must return to Karazhan.” He paused. “You did well today.”
There was a pulse of white light. Khadgar was left, blinking from the brightness, staring at exactly nothing.
“Where’s he gone?” Lothar’s shout was both worried and angry as he cantered up to Khadgar.
Khadgar realized his mouth was dry. He clenched his fists to stop his hands from trembling. He knew it wasn’t the fight that had stunned and spooked him so badly.
“Karazhan,” he told Lothar, quietly.
Lothar swore, pressed his lips together, then shook his head. “We need a prisoner. Where’s your horse?”
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