“I did?” The results of his actions began to sink in. “I suppose I did. But the Order would not like…”
“To be manipulated? To be countered? To be fooled?” said Aegwynn. “No, they will not. But they will not act against you, for fear that I truly do have some romantic interest in you. And take this solace—of all the mages, wizards, conjurers, and sorcerers, you were the one with the most potential. Your seed will protect and strengthen my child and make him the vessel for my power. And when he is born and weaned, you will even raise him, here, for I know he will follow my path, and even the Order would not want to miss that opportunity to influence him.”
Nielas Aran shook his head. “But I…” He stopped for moment. “But did you…” He stopped again. At last when he spoke, there was finally some fire in his eyes, and steel in his voice. “Good-bye, Magna Aegwynn.”
“Good-bye, Nielas Aran,” said Aegwynn. “It has been…pleasant.” And with that she turned on her heel and was gone from the room.
Nielas Aran, chief conjurer to the throne of Azeroth, conspirator in the Order of Tirisfal, and now father to the future Guardian Medivh, sat by the perfectly set table. He picked up a golden fork, turned it over and over in his fingers. Then he sighed, and dropped it on the floor.
The vision faded before the fork struck the marble floor, but Khadgar was aware of another noise, this one behind him. The sound of a boot scraping against cold stone. The soft scraping of a cloak. He was not alone.
Khadgar wheeled, but all he caught was a tantalizing glimpse of a black cloak’s back. The Emissary was spying on him. Bad enough he was sent away each time Medivh met with the stranger—now the Emissary had run of the castle and was spying on him!
At once, Khadgar was on his feet and rushing for the entrance. By the time he reached the doorway, his prey was gone, but there was the sound of fabric brushing along stone down the stairs. Down toward the guest quarters.
Khadgar barreled forward down the stairs as well. The curve of the stairs would keep her to the outside rim, where the footing was broader and more sure. The younger mage had raced up and down these steps so many times he deftly danced down along the inner wall, skipping the stairs in twos and threes.
Halfway to the guest level Khadgar could see his prey’s shadow against the outer wall. As he reached the guest level itself he could see the cloaked figure, moving swiftly out through the archway and toward its door. Once the Emissary reached the guest quarters, he would lose his chance. Khadgar vaulted the last four steps in a single bound, and leapt forward to grasp the cloaked figure by the arm.
His hand closed on fabric and firm muscle, and he spun his prey toward the wall. “The Magus will want to know you’re spying….” he began, but the words died in his mouth as the cloak fell open to reveal the Emissary.
She was dressed in traveling leathers, with high laced boots and black trousers and black silk blouse. She was well-muscled, and Khadgar had no doubt that she had ridden the entire way here. But her skin was green, and as the hood fell back it revealed a jut-jawed, fanged orcish face. Tall greenish ears poked up from the mass of ebony hair.
“Orc!” shouted Khadgar, and reacted with an automatic response. He raised a hand, muttering a word of power, summoning the forces to drive a bolt of mystic power through her.
He never had the chance to finish. At the first opening of his mouth, the orc woman lashed out with a roundhouse kick, bringing her leg up to chest level. Her knee brushed aside Khadgar’s pointing hand, forcing his aim off. Her booted foot slammed into the side of Khadgar’s cheek, staggering him.
Khadgar staggered back and tasted blood—he must have bitten his cheek as a result of the blow. He raised his hand again to fire a bolt, but the orc was still too fast, faster than the armor-bound warriors he had fought earlier. Already she had closed the distance between them, driving a hard fist into his stomach, driving the wind from his lungs and the concentration from his mind.
The young mage snarled, abandoning magic for the moment in favor of a more direct approach. Still smarting from the blow, he spun to one side, grasping the woman’s arm and pulling her off-balance. A surprised look crossed the woman’s jade-shaded face, but only for a moment. She planted her feet firmly on the ground, pulled Khadgar toward her, and neatly broke and reversed the hold.
Khadgar caught a whiff of spices as he was drawn close to the orc, and then she threw him, bodily, down the hallway. He slid along the stone floor, bumping into the wall and at last coming to rest at someone else’s feet.
Looking up, Khadgar saw the castellan looking down on him, a look of vague concern on his face.
“Moroes!” shouted Khadgar. “Get back! Fetch the Magus! We have an orc in the tower!”
Moroes did not move, but instead looked up at the orcish woman with his bland, blinkered eyes. “You all right, Emissary?”
The woman smirked, her greenish lips tucked back, and wrapped her cloak around herself. “Never better. Needed a little exercise. The whelp was kind enough to oblige.”
“Moroes!” spat the younger mage. “This woman is…”
“The Emissary. A guest of the Magus,” said Moroes, adding blandly, “Came to get you. Magus wants to see you.”
Khadgar pulled himself to his feet and looked sharply at the Emissary. “When you see the Magus, you’re going to tell him you’re snooping around?”
“Doesn’t want to see her,” corrected Moroes. “Wants to see you, Apprentice.”
“She’s an orc!” said Khadgar, louder and harsher than he meant to.
“Half-orc, really,” said Medivh. He was bent over his workbench, fiddling with a golden device, an astrolabe. “I surmise her homeland has humans, or near-humans, or at least had them within living memory. Hand me the calipers, Apprentice.”
“They tried to kill you!” shouted Khadgar.
“Orcs, you mean? Some did, true,” said Medivh calmly.“Some orcs tried to kill me. And kill you as well. Garona wasn’t in that group. I don’t think she was, at any rate. She’s here as a representative for her people. Or at least some of her people.”
Garona. So the witch has a name, thought Khadgar. Instead he said, “We were attacked by orcs. I had a vision of attacks of orcs. I have been reading the communications from all over Azeroth, speaking of raids and attacks by orcs. Every mention of orcs speaks of their cruelty and violence. There seem to be more of them every day. This is a dangerous and savage race.”
“And she dispatched you easily, I assume,” said Medivh, looking up from his work.
Despite himself, Khadgar touched the corner of his mouth, where the blood had already dried. “That is completely beside the point.”
“Completely,” said Medivh. “And your point would be?”
“She is an orc. She is dangerous. And you have given her free rein in the tower.”
Medivh grumbled, and there was steel in his voice. “She is a half-orc. She is about as dangerous as you are, given the situation and inclination. And she is my guest and should be accorded all the respect of a guest. I expect this from you regarding my guests, Young Trust.”
Khadgar was silent for a moment, then tried a new approach. “She is the Emissary.”
“Yes.”
“Who is she the emissary for?”
“One or more of the clans that are currently inhabiting the Black Morass,” said Medivh. “I’m not quite sure which ones, yet. We haven’t gotten that far.”
Khadgar blinked in surprise. “You let her into our tower, and she has no official standing?”
Medivh laid down the calipers and gave out a weary sigh. “She has presented herself to me as a representative of some of the orc clans that are presently raiding Azeroth. If this matter is going to be solved by any manner other than by fire and the sword, then someone has to start talking. Here is as good a place as any. And, by the way, this is considered my tower, not ours. You are my student here, my apprentice, and are here at my whim. And as my student, as my apprentice, I expect you to keep an open mind.”