Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

Bathed in the light of magic, he had spent the time waiting gleefully ensconced in books. He was raptly perusing one, hands covered with dust, when he caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly acutely aware that he was reading books that did not belong to him—books that did, in fact, belong to the Guardian of Azeroth, he snapped the tome shut and replaced it guiltily.

A shape loomed, silent, at the far end of the room, dark enough that it was almost a shadow itself.

Khadgar swallowed. “Hello?” he called. The figure didn’t move. He took a hesitant step forward. “Guardian?”

Now the shape did move, turning slightly to face a row of books and lifting a black hand. It extended a forefinger—pointing. It walked forward, one step, two—And vanished into the shelf.

Khadgar inhaled swiftly, striding forward, then breaking into a jog. What was the figure pointing at, and where had it gone? He skidded to a halt, his gaze flickering over the books. It had to be a doorway, unless the figure had been an illusion. What was the trick with books and doorways and secret rooms—ah, yes. A certain title was often a lever. Or so the old stories always said. Which one seemed likely?

Dreaming with Dragons: The True History of the Aspects of Azeroth

? Unlikely… but interesting. He pulled it down. What the Titans Knew? Probably not… but still… Khadgar grabbed that one too. Walking Through Worlds—now that one had possibility.

He had just reached for it when he felt a tingling on the underside of his lower arm. Frowning, Khadgar returned the two books to their proper places and tugged down his sleeve. The brand that had once marked him as a future Guardian, the Eye of the Kirin Tor, was glowing!

Startled, Khadgar stepped back, and the glow and the warm, tingling sensation faded. He moved forward again—sure enough, it began to radiate once more. It… it was guiding him, somehow. The young mage moved his arm along the row of books, back and forth—cooler, warmer; by the Light, it was growing hot—

There.

The next-to-last volume on the shelf, squatter and thicker than most he had seen. Metal adorned its spine, and when he pulled it out, Khadgar saw the design on its cover had been inlaid with gems. But where was the title? He’d just started to flip through it when he heard footsteps.

Quickly, Khadgar shoved the book into one of the compartments sewn into his cloak. He took a deep breath, turned the corner and—

“Have a good look around?” demanded the Guardian of Azeroth. And his eyes blazed blue.

6

Khadgar was knocked off his feet, seized by an invisible grasp and tossed into the air. He cried out, squirming, and then was slammed against one of the bookcases with such force that the massive thing slid back several feet. “Taking measurements, perhaps?” Medivh accused. He strode toward Khadgar, eyes flashing with fury, his hands curled into fists. “Get some ideas what you might do with the place once it’s yours?”

Lothar must have told him. And of course he’d think that

, Khadgar thought. He was terribly intelligent, he knew. But sometimes, Khadgar also knew, he could be terribly stupid.

“Guardian!” he yelped. “I renounced my vow!”

“So I’ve been told.” And, apparently, Medivh simply didn’t care. Casually, the Guardian moved his arm, and Khadgar now found himself with his back against the great central staircase. Pinned like an insect to a board, the young mage dangled several feet off the ground, his arms and legs flailing. Khadgar struggled against the unseen force, but it was merciless and held him fast.

Medivh snorted in contempt, watching him. “Feeble,” he said, his voice dripping scorn. He lifted a hand, almost casually, and the pressure against Khadgar’s chest increased. His fear escalated as he realized he could barely breathe.

And yet, he had to speak. “I didn’t want to come here! I swear, Guardian, I urged them to find you!”

He looked desperately to Lothar. The big man simply stood there, arms folded, watching. Why didn’t he say anything? “I told them you should be the one to explain—”

“Explain what?”

Khadgar felt his heart slamming against his chest. His sight was beginning to dim. He struggled for another mere sip of air and managed a single word:

“Fel!”

The pressure vanished. Khadgar dropped, hard, to the stone floor and gasped as air flooded his lungs.

“In Azeroth?” Medivh demanded, striding over to him. Khadgar moved carefully, wincing. Nothing was broken, though he’d have some glorious bruises. He looked up at the Guardian glowering down at him.

“In the barracks,” Khadgar panted, still catching his breath. “One of the bodies.”

“Guardian,” Lothar interjected, “what is the fel?”