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“My apprentice told you to leave,” said Medivh, “You should have followed his orders.”

One of the beasts let out a bellow, and the rogue magus silenced it with a wave of his hand. Something hard and invisible struck the beast square in the face, and there was a shattering crack as its head came loose of its body and rolled backward, striking the ground only moments before the creature’s body struck the sand.

The rest of the creatures staggered backward a step, then fled entirely into the night. Only the leader, the robed Nothgrin, held its ground, and its overwide jaw flapped open in surprise.

“Nothgrin knows you, human,” he hissed. “You are the one….”

Anything else the creature said disappeared in a scream as Medivh waved a hand and the creature was pulled off its feet by a burst of air and fire. It was swept upward, screaming, until at last its lungs collapsed from the stress and remains of its burned body drifted down like black snowflakes.

Khadgar looked at Medivh, and the wizard had a toothy, self-satisfied smile. The smile faded when he looked at Khadgar’s ashen face.

“Are you all right, lad?” he asked.

“Fine,” said Khadgar, feeling the weight of his exhaustion sweeping over him. He tried to sit but ended up just collapsing to his knees, his mind worn and empty.

Medivh was at his side in a moment, passing a palm over the lad’s forehead. Khadgar tried to move the hand away, but found that he lacked the energy.

“Rest,” said Medivh. “Recover your strength. The worst is over.”

Khadgar nodded, blinking. He looked at the bodies around the fire. Medivh could have slain him as easily, in the library. What stayed his hand, then? Some recognition of Khadgar? Some bit of memory or of humanity?

The young mage managed, “Those things.” His voice sounded slurred, “What were…”

“Orcs,” said the Magus. “Those were orcs. Now no more questions for the moment.”

To the east, the sky was lightening. To the south, there was the sound of bright horns and powerful hooves.

“The cavalry at last,” said Medivh with a sigh. “Too loud and too late, but don’t tell them that. They can pick up the stragglers. Now rest.”

The patrol swept through the camp, half of them dismounting, the remainder pressing up along the road. The horsemen began checking the bodies. A detail was assigned to bury the members of the caravan. The few dead orcs that Medivh had not set on fire were gathered and put on the main fire, their bodies charring as their flesh turned to ash.

Khadgar didn’t remember Medivh leaving him, but he did return with the patrol’s commander. The commander was a stocky, older man, his face weathered by combat and campaign. His beard was already more salt than pepper, and his hairline had receded to the back of his head. He was a huge man, made all the more imposing by his plate armor and greatcape. Over one shoulder Khadgar could see the hilt of a huge sword, the crosspiece huge and jeweled.

“Khadgar, this is Lord Anduin Lothar,” said Medivh, “Lothar, this is my apprentice, Khadgar of the Kirin Tor.”

Khadgar’s mind spun and caught first on the name. Lord Lothar. The King’s Champion, boyhood companion of both King Llane and Medivh. The blade on his back had to be the Great Royal Sword, pledged to defend Azeroth, and…

Did Medivh just say Khadgar was his apprentice?

Lothar dropped to one knee to bring himself level with the young man, and looked at him, smiling. “So you finally got an apprentice. Had to go to the Violet Citadel to find one, eh, Med?”

“Find one of suitable merit, yes,” said Medivh.

“And if it ties the local hedge wizards’ undies in a bundle, so much the better, eh? Oh, don’t look at me like that, Medivh. What has this one done to impress you?”

“Oh, the usual,” said Medivh, showing his teeth in a feral grin in response. “Organized my library. Tamed a gryphon on the first try. Took on these orcs single-handed, including a warlock.”

Lothar let out a low whistle, “He organized your library? I am impressed.” A smile flashed beneath his graying moustache.

“Lord Lothar,” managed Khadgar finally. “Your skill is known even in Dalaran.”

“You rest, lad,” said Lothar, putting a heavy gauntlet on the young mage’s shoulder. “We’ll get the rest of those creatures.”

Khadgar shook his head. “You won’t. Not if you stay on the road.”

The King’s Champion blinked in surprise, and Khadgar was not sure if it was because of his presumption or his words.

“The lad’s right, I’m afraid,” said Medivh. “The orcs have taken to the swamp. They seem to know the Black Morass better than we do, and that’s what makes them so effective here. We stay on the roads, and they can run circles around us.”

Lothar rubbed the back of his head with his gauntlet. “Maybe we could borrow some of those gryphons of yours to scout.”

“The dwarves that trained them may have their opinions about loaning out their gryphons,” said Medivh. “But you might want to talk to them, and to the gnomes as well. They have a few whirligigs and sky-engines that might be more suitable for scouting.”

Lothar nodded, and rubbed his chin. “How did you know they were here?”

“I encountered one of their advance scouts near my domain,” said Medivh, as calmly as if he was discussing the weather. “I managed to squeeze out of him that there was a large party looking to raid along the Morass Road. I had hoped to arrive in time to warn them.” He looked at the devastation around them.

The sunlight did little to help the appearance of the area. The smaller fires had burned out, and the air smelled of burning orcflesh. A pallid cloud hung over the site of the ambush.

A young soldier, little more than Khadgar’s age, ran up to them. They had found a survivor, one that was pretty badly chewed up, but alive. Could the Magus come at once?

“Stay with the lad,” said Medivh, “He’s still a little woozy from everything.” And with that the master mage strode across the scorched and bloody ground, his long robes trailing him like a banner.

Khadgar tried to rise and follow him, but the King’s Champion put his heavy gauntlet on his shoulder and held him down. Khadgar struggled only for a moment, then returned to a seated position.

Lothar regarded Khadgar with a smile. “So the old coot finally took on an assistant.”

“Apprentice,” said Khadgar weakly, though he felt the pride rising in his chest. The feeling brought a new strength to his mind and limbs. “He’s had many assistants. They didn’t last. Or so I heard.”

“Uh-huh,” said Lothar. “I recommended a few of those assistants, and they came back with tales of a haunted tower and a crazy, demanding mage. What do you think of him?”

Khadgar blinked for moment. In the past twelve hours, Medivh had attacked him, shoved knowledge into his head, dragged him across the country on gryphon-back, and let him face off a handful of orcs before swooping in for the rescue. On the other hand, he had made Khadgar his apprentice. His student.

Khadgar coughed and said, “He is more than I expected.”

Lothar smiled again and there was genuine warmth in the smile. “He is more than anyone expected. That’s one of his good points.” Lothar thought for a moment and said, “That is a very politic and polite response.”

Khadgar managed a weak smile. “Lordaeron is a very politic and polite land.”

“So I’ve noticed in the King’s Council. ‘Dalaran ambassadors can say both yes and no at the same time, and say nothing as well.’ No insult intended.”

“None taken, my lord,” said Khadgar.

Lothar looked at the lad. “How old are you, lad?”

Khadgar looked at the older man. “Seventeen. Why?”

Lothar shook his head and grunted, “That might make sense.”

“Make sense how?”