Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

Llane seized on this. “Orc? That’s what you are? Or what the beast in the cage was?” When she didn’t reply, he regarded her intently, looking her up and down. Some might have thought it an intimidation tactic, or perhaps a gesture of contempt. Taria recognized it for what it was. When her husband’s father was killed and Llane took the throne, he had vowed to learn all he could about not only the kingdom he was to rule, but the world in which it was located. Standing before him was something utterly new. He was excited and fascinated by that, and Taria knew it pained him to permit the use of violence against beings so, in his view, marvelous and remarkable. She noticed that the young mage, too, seemed enthusiastically curious, as if he were stifling questions with difficulty. Perhaps, though, that was due to the fact that he was a young man, and the being before them was exotically beautiful.

“I know every race in the Seven Kingdoms, but I have never heard of an orc.” Llane pointed toward the ceiling. Painted above their heads was a detailed map of Azeroth—all its islands and continents, its kingdoms and oceans. All that was known. There were patches that were as of yet unknown, wide expanses of open, blank mystery. “Show me where you come from, Garona.”

The orc tilted back her head and examined the map. She frowned, then shook her head.

“This is not orc world,” she said bluntly. A hint of a smile curved her lips. “Orc world is dead. Orcs take this world now.”

“Not from this world?” Llane looked completely bewildered.

So, frankly, was Taria, and likely everyone else in the room. Khadgar seemed to be almost physically silencing himself. But she realized that they were all focusing on the wrong thing. Llane was an idealist. While it was part of what made him a fine king, he was wise enough to ensure he was surrounded by others who were more pragmatic. It was, if true, a revelation—but they needed to save lives, not draw new maps.

“How did you get here?”

The voice cut through the air of the room like a knife. Medivh stood in the doorway, his body taut as a bowstring. How long has he been here, listening? Taria wondered.

Garona snapped to attention at once, her eyes trained on Medivh. She strode toward him, seemingly as unafraid of him as she had been of any of them.

“The Great Gate. Deep in ground. Ancient magic brings us here.”

Medivh strode forward. “You went through a gate,” he confirmed.

“But how did you learn our language?”

Khadgar burst out, unable to contain himself any longer.

The orc turned her dark gaze to the youth. “Orcs take prisoners for the gate. I learn from them—”

Llane interrupted, his voice and body taut with tension at her words. “Prisoners like us? Our people? Are they alive?”

“Yes. Many,” Garona replied.

“Why?” Khadgar asked.

The orc looked at those who had been questioning her in turn and lifted her chin. Her eyes blazed as she replied, pride in her posture and voice, “To feed the Gate. To bring the Horde. To take your world.”

No one spoke. Taria could hardly believe what she had been hearing. A Great Gate, hungry for human prisoners. A horde of beings like Garona, flooding into Azeroth. To take it for their own. Her husband ruled, not she, but he shared almost everything with his queen, and she had learned many frightening things in their years together. But nothing as terrifying as this.

To take your world.

“You’ll take us to them.” Her brother, slicing through the sick silence in his usual manner.

Garona smirked. “No.”

Lothar smiled. Taria knew that smile. It did not bode well for those at whom it was directed. “You’ll take us to them,” he repeated, almost pleasantly, “or you’ll end up like your friend in the cage.”

Garona strode toward him slowly, kneeling beside him on the step and bringing her face close to his. “You think you are fearsome?” she murmured. “Orc children have pets more fearsome than you.”

Taria believed her.

“We are not trying to be fearsome, Garona,” Llane said, speaking calmly in an effort to diffuse the tension. “We are trying to protect our people. Our families.”

It was, it seemed, the wrong tactic. A mask seemed to settle over Garona’s attractive features. “What do I care about families?” she replied in an icy tone, her gaze still locked with Lothar’s. And Taria realized that Garona cared very much indeed.

“If you help us,” Llane said, “I give you my oath that I will protect you, too.”

Her brows, dark and elegant as raven’s wings, drew together. At last, Garona looked from Lothar to the king.

“Oath? What is… oath?”