There was a silence as Khadgar tried to let this sink in. “So she represents whom? Some, none, or all of the orcs?”
“She represents, for the moment, herself,” said Medivh, letting out an irritated sigh. “Not all humans believe the same thing. There is no reason to believe that all orcs do, either. My question for you is, given your natural curiosity, why aren’t you already trying to pull as much information out of her as possible, instead of telling me I should not do the same? Unless you doubt me and my abilities to handle a single half-orc?”
Khadgar was silent, doubly embarrassed both for his actions and for failing to see another way. Was he doubting Medivh? Was there even a chance that the Magus would act in a fashion not to uphold his Order? The thoughts churned within him, fueled by Lothar’s words, the vision of the demon, and the politics of the Order. He wanted to warn the older man, but every word seemed to be turned back against him.
“I worry about you, at times,” he said at last.
“And I worry about you as well,” said the older mage, distractedly. “I seem to worry about a lot of things these days.”
Khadgar had to make one last attempt. “Sir, I think this Garona is a spy,” he said, simply. “I think she is here to learn as much as she can, to be used against you later.”
Medivh leaned back and gave the young man a wicked smile. “That is very much the pot calling the kettle black, young mageling. Or have you forgotten the list of things your own masters of the Kirin Tor wanted you to wheedle out of me when you first got to Karazhan?”
Khadgar’s ears were burning crimson as he left the room.
11
Garona
He returned to his (well, Medivh’s) library to find her going over his notes. An immediate rage blossomed in his chest, but the sting of her blows, and Medivh’s chastisement, kept his anger in check.
“What are you doing?” he still said sharply.
Emissary Garona’s fingers danced up from the papers. “Snooping, I believe you called it? Spying?” She looked up, a frown on her face. “Actually, I’m just trying to understand what you’re doing here. It was left out in the open. Hope that is all right with you.”
It is NOT all right with me, thought Khadgar, but instead he said, “Lord Medivh has instructed me to extend to you every courtesy. However, he may take umbrage if, in doing so, I allow you to blow yourself up in casting some ill-thought magical spell.”
Garona’s face was impassive, but Khadgar noted that she did lift her fingers from the pages. “I have no interest in magic.”
“Famous last words,” said Khadgar. “Is there something here I can help you with, or are you just snooping in general, seeing what you can come up with?”
“I was told you had a tome on Azeroth’s kings,” she said, “I would like to consult it.”
“You can read?” asked Khadgar. It sounded harsher than he meant it. “Sorry. I meant to say…”
“Yes, surprisingly, I can read,” said Garona, quickly and officiously. “I have picked up many talents over the years.”
Khadgar scowled. “Second row, fourth shelf up. It’s a red-bound book with gold trim.” Garona disappeared into the stacks, and Khadgar took the opportunity to gather up his notes from the table. He would have to keep them elsewhere if the half-orc had free run of the place. At least it wasn’t Order correspondence—even Medivh would have a fit if he turned over ‘The Song of Aegwynn’ to her.
His eyes went to the section where the scroll used as the key was kept. From where he was standing it looked undisturbed. No need to cause a scene here, but he would probably have to move it as well.
Garona returned with a massive tome in her hand, and raised a heavy eyebrow at Khadgar, forming a question. “Yes, that’s the one,” said the apprentice.
“Human languages are a bit…wordy,” she said, setting the tome down in the empty space that previously held Khadgar’s notes.
“Only because we always have something to say,” said Khadgar, trying to manage a smile. He wondered, did orcs have books? Did they read at all? They had spellcasters, of course, but did that mean they had any real knowledge?
“I hope I wasn’t too hard on you, earlier in the hall.” Her tone was glib, and Khadgar was sure that she would rather have seen him spit out a tooth. Probably this was what passed for an apology among the orcs.
“Never better,” said Khadgar. “I needed the exercise.”
Garona sat down and started pouring through the text. Khadgar noticed that she moved her lips as she read, and she had immediately turned toward the back of the book, to the recent additions about King Llane’s reign.
Now, not in the immediate fire of combat, he could see that Garona was not the standard orc he had fought earlier. She was lean and well-muscled, unlike the lumpy, rough brutes he had battled at the caravan site. Her skin was smoother, almost human, and a lighter shade of green than the jade flesh of the orcs themselves. Her fangs were a bit smaller, and her eyes were a bit larger, more expressive than the hard crimson orbs of the orc warriors. He wondered how much of this was from her human heritage and how much from being female. He wondered if any of the orcs he had fought earlier were female—it was not obvious, and he had no desire to check at the time.
Indeed, without the green flesh, the disfigured, tusked face, and the hostile, superior attitude she might almost be attractive. Still, she was in his library, and going through his books (well, Medivh’s library, and Medivh’s books, but the Magus had entrusted them to him).
“So you are an Emissary,” he said at last. He tried to keep his words light and conversational. “I was told of your impending arrival.”
The half-orc nodded, concentrating on the words before her.
“Who are you emissaring for, exactly?”
Garona looked up, and Khadgar saw a flicker of irritation beneath her heavy brows. Khadgar felt good about bothering her, but at the same time wondered where the woman drew the line. He did not want to push too hard or too fast, lest he earn another beating, or another curt dismissal by the Magus.
At least this time he would get some information out before the battle. He said, “I mean, if you’re the Emissary, that means that someone is giving you orders, someone is pulling your strings, someone you have to report back to. Whom do you represent?”
“I’m sure your Master, the Old Man, would tell you, if you asked,” said Garona smoothly, but her eyes remained hard.
“I’m sure he would,” Khadgar lied. “If I had the effrontery to ask him. So I ask you instead. Whom do you represent? What powers have you been granted? Are you here to negotiate, or demand, or what?”
Garona closed the book (Khadgar felt a small victory in distracting her from her task) and said, “Do all humans think alike?”
“It would be boring if we did,” said Khadgar.
“I mean, does everyone agree about everything? Are people always agreeing to what their masters or superiors want?” said Garona. The hardness in her eyes faded just a touch.
“Hardly,” said Khadgar. “One reason that there are so many tomes is that everyone has an opinion. And that is just the literate ones.”
“So understand that there are differences of opinions among the orcs as well,” said Garona. “The Horde is made of up of a number of clans, all with their own chieftains and war leaders. All orcs belong to a clan. Most orcs are loyal to their clan and their chieftain.”
“What are the clans?” asked Khadgar. “What are they called?”
“Stormreaver is one,” said the half-orc. “Blackrock. Twilight’s Hammer. Bleeding Hollow. Those are the major ones.”