Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

A mage. Someone who could make sure that he wouldn’t be seen. Lothar’s stride faltered, but he kept going. That would certainly answer the question he had just posed to his obviously rattled men, but it raised about a thousand others.

He kept his voice calm. “Were you able to restrain him, or did he turn you into sheep?” He didn’t even try to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“Yes, sir,” Karos said. “I mean—yes, we’ve got him. We’re taking you to him right now.”

They’d put the intrusive perhaps-mage in the barracks office and set a guard to watch him. The guard saluted smartly, stepped aside, and opened the door with a skeleton key.

Lothar had expected to confront an old man with a long white beard, who would fix him with an arrogant expression. He was not prepared to find what looked to be a rather dirty, scruffy teenage boy. He was perusing a book that had been left on the desk and looked up with huge brown eyes as Lothar stalked in.

The boy leaped to his feet. “Finally!” he exclaimed. “Are you in command—”

Lothar had already seized his arm, yanked him around, and shoved him down on the desk. He reached for the measuring compass and slammed it down, trapping the boy’s left arm between the sharp edges and pinning it to the desk’s wooden surface. He tugged the young intruder’s sleeve down.

Varis had been right. Branded on the youth’s arm was the image of an eye.

“Sha’la ros!” yelped the boy, his eyes glowing with blue light. Lothar’s free hand covered the mage’s mouth, muffling the incantation. Bright cerulean magic swirled in the boy’s right fingers, fading without the power of words to feed it. Lothar pushed his face in close to the mage’s.

“That’s the mark of the Kirin Tor. What are you doing in my city, spell chucker?”

The young mage sagged, and lowered his hand. The magic he had summoned disappeared. Cautiously, Lothar removed his hand and let him speak. “Let me complete my examination of the body across the hall,” he said calmly, as if his words were actually reasonable.

Lothar grinned ferally. “Now… why would I do that?”

The boy’s dark brows drew together—frustration? Concern? “Within that body is the secret to your attacks.” He licked his lips, suddenly looking like a teenage boy again. “I can help you.”

Lothar’s eyes narrowed as he searched the boy’s face. He hadn’t got to where he was without being a good judge of people, and there was something about the boy that was genuine. Lothar escorted the young mage to the room he’d requested—keeping a firm grip on the eye-marked arm as he did so.

Karos pushed back the curtain, revealing the corpse the mage had been caught examining. Lothar stopped so quickly that Varis, bringing up the rear, almost bumped into him.

Hardened soldier that he was, Lothar had witnessed myriad deaths, from the civilized to the brutal. But this…

Both eyes and mouth were open. The skin was gray and striated with darker threads, like gangrene but nothing so familiar. The cheeks were sunken and the eyes, encrusted with what looked like a rim of salt, were hard and glassy. Nothing about this… thing, if it could even be called a body, was natural.

The young mage didn’t answer. He, too, looked repelled by what he saw, but resolute to continue with his investigation. He analyzed the body, observing everything, then his gaze wandered inexorably to the barely human face. Steeling himself, the boy leaned over and gingerly inserted two fingers into the open mouth, pulling the jaw down. Lothar leaned in to watch, disgusted and fascinated, as the mage’s fingers probed.

A faint tendril of green mist spouted upward, then vanished. The soldiers—Lothar among them—gasped. The mage leaped back, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve, clearly not wanting the strange green steam to touch him. His face was pale, and he swallowed hard before turning to face Lothar.

“What was that?” Lothar demanded.

The youth took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “You must summon the Guardian. It should be he who explains it.”

It was a statement, not a request. Lothar blinked. “Medivh?” asked Karos, eyeing his commander.

“We’re wasting time!” the boy insisted.

Lothar regarded him with narrowed eyes. “Only the King summons the Guardian. Not I, and certainly not some scruffy puppy who barely has his first whiskers.” To Karos, he said, “Get him to Goldshire.”

The night was old, and dawn was not far away as Lothar’s gryphon landed gracefully near the cozy Lion’s Pride Inn. The air was damp and chill, the forest sounds that of the night creatures going about their business rather than the song of birds. A few yards distant, some of the locals had gathered despite the hour, making an outing of their own to ogle the king, his guard, and the flurry of activity.