The Last Guardian

16 The Breaking of a Mage

“It was inspired, I must say,” said the Medivh who was and was not Medivh. “Inspired to summon the shadow of my past, a piece that would stop me from pursuing you. Of course, while you were out gathering your strength, I was out gathering my own.”

Khadgar looked at Garona and nodded. The half-orc moved a few steps to the right. They would surround the old man if they had to.

“Master, what happened to you?” said Khadgar, taking a step forward, trying to focus the Magus’s attention on him.

The older mage laughed. “Happened to me? Nothing happened to me. This is who I am. I was tainted from birth, polluted from before my conception, a bad seed grown to bear bitter fruit. You have never seen the true Medivh.”

“Magus, whatever has happened, I’m sure it can be fixed,” said Khadgar, walking slowly toward him. Garona orbited out to the right, and her long-bladed dagger had vanished again—her hands were apparently empty.

“Why should I fix it?” said Medivh with an evil smile. “All goes as planned. The orcs will slay the humans and I will control them through warlock-chiefs like Gul’dan. I will lead these misshapened creations to the lost tomb where Sargeras’s body is, protected against demon and human but not against orc, and my form will be free. And then I can shed this lumpish body and weakened spirit and burn this world as it so richly deserves.”

Khadgar stepped to the left as he spoke. “You are Sargeras.”

“Yes and no,” said the Magus. “I am, for when Aegwynn killed my physical body I hid within her womb, and invested her very cells with my dark essence. When she finally chose to mate with a human mage, I was already there. Medivh’s dark twin, completely subsumed within his form.”

“Monstrous,” said Khadgar.

Medivh grinned. “Little different than what Aegwynn had planned, for she placed the power of the Tirisfalen within the child as well. Small wonder that there was so little room for the young Medivh himself, with the demon and the light both fighting over his very soul. So when the power truly manifested within him, I shut him down for a while, until I could put my own plans into operation.”

Khadgar continued to move left, trying not to watch as Garona crept up behind the older mage. Instead he said, “Is there anything of the real Medivh within you?”

“Some,” said Medivh. “Enough to deal with you lesser creatures. Enough to fool the kings and wizards as to my intent. Medivh is a mask—I have left enough of him at the surface to display to others. And if in my workings I seem odd or even mad, they write it off to my position and responsibility, and to the power invested in me by my dear mother.”

Medivh gave a predatory grin. “I was crafted first by Magna Aegwynn’s politics to be her tool, and then shaped by demonic hands to be their tool. Even the Order saw me as little more than a weapon to be used against demons. And so it not surprising at all that I am nothing more that the sum of my parts.”

Garona was behind the mage now, blade drawn, moving on the softest of steps on the obsidian floor. There were no tears in her eyes, but rather a steely determination. Khadgar kept himself focused on Medivh, not wanting to betray her with a single glance.

“You see,” continued the mad mage, “I am nothing but one more component in the great machine, one that has been running since the Well of Eternity was first shattered. The one thing that the original bits of Medivh and myself agree on is that this cycle needs to be shattered. Of this, I assure you, we are of one mind.”

Garona was within a step now, her dagger raised. She took the last step.

“Excuse me,” said Medivh, and lashed out with a fist. Mystic energies danced along the older man’s knuckles, and he caught the half-orc square in the face. She staggered backward under the blow.

Khadgar let loose a curse and raised his hands to cast a spell. Something to knock the mage off his balance. Something simple. Something quick.

Medivh was quicker, turning back to him and raising a claw-like hand. Immediately, Khadgar felt the air around him tighten into a restraining cloak, trapping his arms and legs and making it impossible for him to move. He shouted but his voice sounded muffled and coming from a great distance.

Medivh raised his other hand, and pain shot through Khadgar’s body. The joints of his skeleton seemed to seethe with red-hot spikes that subsided quickly into dull, throbbing pains. His chest tightened, and his flesh felt like it dried out and crawled along his frame. He felt like the fluids were being pulled from his body, leaving a shriveled husk behind. And with it he felt his magic pulled away as well, his body drained of his ability to cast spells, to summon the requisite energies. He felt like a vessel being emptied.

As suddenly as the attack descended upon him, it had passed, and Khadgar toppled to the floor, the wind knocked out of him. It hurt his chest to breath.

Garona had recovered at this point, and came in screaming this time, bringing her dagger-hand upward, to catch Medivh beneath the left breast. Instead of trying to back up, Medivh stepped toward the charging half-orc, inside the arc of her blow. He raised a hand and caught her forehead in his hand. She froze in midcharge.

Mystic energy of a sickening yellow hue pulsed beneath his hand and the half-orc hung there, her body twitching helplessly, as the mage held her by the forehead.

“Poor, poor Garona,” said Medivh. “I thought with your conflicting heritages, you of all people would understand what I’m going through. That you would understand the importance of making your own way. But you’re just like the others, aren’t you?”

The wide-eyed half-orc could only manage a spittle-drenched gurgle in response.

“Let me show you my world, Garona,” said Medivh. “Let me drive my own divisions and doubts into you. You’ll never know who you serve and why. You’ll never find your peace.”

Garona tried to scream, but it died in her throat as her face was bathed in a radiant sunburst issued from Medivh’s palm.

Medivh laughed and let the half-orc collapse to the floor, sobbing. She tried to rise, but slumped again. Her eyes were wide and wild, and her breath was short and ragged, torn by tears.

Khadgar could breathe now, but the breath was short and tight. His joints burned, and his muscles ached. He saw his reflection in the obsidian floor….

And it was the old man of the vision looking back at him. Heavy, tired eyes surrounded by wrinkles and gray hair. Even his beard had turned white.

And Khadgar’s heart sank. Robbed of his youth, of his magic, he no longer felt like he would survive this battle.

“That was instructive,” said Medivh, turning back to Khadgar. “One of the negative things about this humaniform cell I am trapped in is that the human part keeps reaching out. Making friends. Helping people. It makes it so difficult to destroy them later on. I almost wept when I killed Moroes and Cook, did you know? That’s why I had to come down here. But it’s like anything else. Once you get used to it, you can kill friends as easily as anyone else.”

Now he stood a few paces in front of Khadgar, his shoulders straight, his eyes vibrant. Looking more like Medivh than at any time Khadgar had seen him. Looking confident. Looking at ease. Looking frighteningly, damnedly sane.

“And now you get to die, Young Trust,” said the Magus. “It seems your trust was misplaced after all.” Medivh raised a hand cupped with magical energy.

There was a throaty scream from the right. “Medivh!” bellowed Lothar, Champion of Azeroth.

Medivh looked up, and his face seemed to soften for a moment, though his hand still burned with the mystic power. “Anduin Lothar?” he said. “Old friend, why are you here?”

“Stop it now, Med,” said Lothar, and Khadgar could hear the pain the Champion’s voice. “Stop it before it is too late. I don’t want to fight you.”

“I don’t want to fight you either, old friend,” said Medivh raising his hand. “You have no idea what it’s like to do the things I’ve done. Harsh things. Necessary things. I don’t want to fight you. So lay down your weapon, friend, and let this be done.”

Medivh opened his palm and the bits of magic droned toward the Champion, bathing him in stars.

“You want to help me, don’t you, old friend,” said Medivh, the harsh smile once more on his face. “You want to be my servant. Come help me dispose of this child. Then we can be friends again.”

The spangling stars around Lothar faded, and the Champion took a slow, firm step forward, then another, then a third, and now Lothar charged forward. As he charged, the Champion raised his rune-carved blade high. He charged at Medivh, not at Khadgar. A curse rose in his voice, a curse backed by sorrow and tears.

Medivh was surprised, but just for a moment. He dodged backward and Lothar’s first cut passed harmlessly through the space the Magus had occupied a half-second before. The Champion checked the swing and brought it back in a solid blocking motion, driving the mage another step back. Then an overhand chop, driving back another step.

Now Medivh had recovered himself, and the next blow landed squarely on a shield of bluish energy, the yellow fires of the sword spattering harmlessly like sparks. Lothar tried to cut upward, then thrust, then chop again. Each attack was met and countered by the shield.

Medivh snarled and raised a clawed hand, mystic energy dancing in his palm. Lothar screamed as his clothes suddenly burst into flames. Medivh smiled at his handiwork, then waved his hand, tossing the burning form of Lothar aside like a rag doll.

“Just. Gets. Easier,” said Medivh, biting off the words and turning back to where Khadgar had been kneeling.

Except Khadgar had moved. Medivh turned to find the no-longer young mage right behind him, with the sword Lothar had provided drawn and pressed against the Magus’s left breast. The runes along the blade glowed like miniature suns.

“Don’t even blink,” said Khadgar.

A moment paused, and a bead of sweat trickled down Medivh’s cheek.

“So it comes to this,” said the Magus. “I don’t think you have the skill or the will to use that properly, Young Trust.”

“I think,” said Khadgar, and it seemed that his voice wheezed and burbled as he spoke, “that the human part of you, Medivh, kept others around despite your own plans. As a backup. As a plan for when you finally went mad. So your friends could put you down. So we could break the cycle where you cannot.”

Medivh managed a small sigh, and his features softened. “I never meant to really harm anyone,” he said. “I only wanted to have my own life.” As he spoke, he jerked his hand upward, his palm glowing with mystic energy, seeking to scramble Khadgar’s mind as he had Garona’s.

Medivh never got the chance. At the first flinch, Khadgar lunged forward, driving the thin blade of the runesword between Medivh’s ribs, into the heart.

Lothar left the former apprentice beneath the citadel, and Khadgar gathered up what was left of the physical remains of the Magus. He found a shovel and a wooden box in the stable. He put the skull and the bits of skin in the box with the tattered remains of “The Song of Aegwynn,” and buried them all deep in the courtyard in view of the tower. Perhaps later he would raise a monument, but for the time being it would be best to not let others know where the master mage’s remains were. After he had finished burying the Magus, he dug two more graves, human-sized, and laid Moroes and Cook to rest to one side of Medivh.

He let out a deep sigh, and looked up at the tower. White-stoned Karazhan, home of the most mighty mage of Azeroth, the Last Guardian of the Order of Tirisfal loomed above him. Behind him the sky was lightening, and the sun threatened to touch the topmost level of the tower.

Something else caught his eye, above the empty, entrance hall, along the balcony overlooking the main entrance. A bit of movement, a fragment of a dream. Khadgar let out a deeper sigh and nodded at the ghostly trespasser that watched his every move.

“I can see you, now, you know,” he said aloud.