Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

An emotion flickered over Blackhand’s face as he looked down at his prisoner. The expression was gone in an instant, but Durotan had glimpsed it. “We have been commanded, Durotan.” And the voice held the faintest tinge of shame. “Respect the old ways.” He resettled himself on his mount, gathering the reins of his wolf. So softly Durotan almost didn’t catch it, the warchief muttered, “There must be a worthy foe somewhere in this dung-heap.”

Durotan did not reply. Blackhand growled, then jerked on the reins and wheeled his wolf around. “Find them!” he shouted to the rest of the war party. “Try not to kill too many. We need them alive!”

Quietly, Orgrim said, almost apologetically, “This is war, my chieftain.”

Durotan continued to watch the terrorizing below him unfold. He thought of the cages, and the draenei, and he shook his head. “No,” he said. “It isn’t.”

It was petty, Lothar knew, but dammit, at the moment, he was feeling angry and helpless, and yes, petty, so he did not tell the young mage where they were going. Khadgar had inquired, and Llane, obviously feeling similarly, said, “Wherever Lothar tells you to go.”

He clung behind Lothar now as they flew atop the gryphon, this almost-Guardian mage boy not even as old as Callan. Lothar could feel him moving from side to side, peering down with the curiosity that marked his kind, asking questions which were, fortunately, snatched away by the wind. Lothar was in no mood to play tour guide.

The gryphon had leaped almost vertically into the sky, as if she had sensed Lothar’s mood and she, too, felt like shaking Khadgar up. She had leveled out as they soared over the green treetops just now being touched by dawn. It was cold, this high in the air, and Lothar’s breath came in white puffs. He yearned to direct the gryphon to serve as an aerial spy, to head straight for the fire, but he had his orders and was forced to watch the evil glow recede as they continued almost due east.

The rising sun spread a more benevolent glow over the awakening forests, until it was fully daylight. A mountain crested ahead, a solitary giant among the lesser foothills and a gray smudge against the rosy hues of dawn. Something jutted upward even from this high peak. At that moment, the sun caught it, and light flashed off its windows. No, more than sunlight; there was light, blue-white and beautiful, emanating from inside the topmost chamber.

“Karazhan!” Khadgar’s exclamation was not snatched by the wind, and all his enthusiasm, wonder, and trepidation was folded into the single word. Sour-feeling as he was, even Lothar could not begrudge him the moment. This, after all, would have been Khadgar’s home, had he accepted his charge.

Lothar’s eyes narrowed as the sun continued to illuminate the scene before them. Daylight was cruel to the place. The gray stone of the famous Tower of Karazhan had cracks that were visible even from this distance, and the closer they flew, the more Lothar realized that it was in a state of considerable disrepair. Ivy grew along the walls. The gardens and pasture, necessary to feed the Guardian and those who served him in so isolated a place, were tangled and overgrown. Some of the stables were even missing part of their roofs. His lips thinned. If the tower itself was so disheveled, what would this mean for its master? Six years was a long time to be silent.

As the gryphon wheeled gently, preparing to descend, Lothar saw a single, straight-backed figure, his face a pale smudge over the flowing tabard depicting the Eye of the Kirin Tor, awaiting them at the base of the tower. Despite his trepidation, he felt the tension in his chest ease a little.

The gryphon landed gently, and a grin stretched across the soldier’s face as he slipped from its back and strode toward the awaiting figure. Tall, thin but ropy with muscle, the man’s skin and hair were both pale. Lines seamed his face, but his eyes were young, and they twinkled with pleasure as the castellan reached to embrace his old friend.

Lothar pounded the ageless figure on the back. “Moroes, you ancient beast! Look at you! Unchanged!” It was no idle compliment. Moroes had looked old to him when he was but a youth. Now, he looked much younger. Lothar realized with a wry mental shrug it was because he had aged, and Moroes had not.

“Would I could say the same for you, Anduin Lothar,” Moroes replied. “You’re an old man! What, is that gray in your hair?”

“Perhaps there is,” Lothar allowed. There certainly would be, if his fears were confirmed. The thought sobered him. He turned to look at Khadgar. The boy’s eyes were as big as two eggs set in his young face.

“Follow me, gentlemen,” Moroes said. His old-young eyes lingered on Khadgar, but he asked no questions.

“Come on,” Lothar said to Khadgar, adding, almost reluctantly, “I think you’ll like this.” To Moroes, he said, “Where is everyone?” as they stepped inside.

Sorrow flitted over those ageless features. Moroes didn’t answer the question as he replied, “Many things have changed.”