“An orc would say that it’s a human hand—too slender to be really useful, not enough muscle to hold an
ax or bash a skull in properly—too pale, too weak, and too ugly.” Garona lowered her hand and looked
at the young mage through lowered brows. “You see the parts of me that are orcish. My orcish
superiors, and all other orcs, see the parts of me that are human. I am both, and neither, and considered
an inferior being by both sides.”
Khadgar opened his mouth to argue, but thought twice of the matter and kept silent. His first reaction
was to strike out at the orc he had found in the halls, not to see the human that was Medivh’s guest. He
nodded and said, “It must be difficult, then. Without a clan allegiance.”
“I have turned it to my advantage,” said Garona. “I can move between the clans more easily. As a lesser
creature, I am assumed to not be always looking for an advantage to my native clan. I am disliked by all,
so therefore I am not biased. Some chieftains find that reassuring. It makes me a better negotiator, and
before you say it, a better spy. But better to have no allegiance than conflicting ones.”
Khadgar thought of Medivh’s own castigation of his Kirin Tor ties, but said, “And which clan do you
represent at the moment?”
Garona gave a wry, fanged smile. “If I said Gizblah the Mighty, what would you say? Or perhaps I am
on a mission for Morgax the Gray or Hikapik the Blood-render. Would that tell you enough?”
“It might,” said Khadgar.
“It wouldn’t,” said Garona, “because I made up all those names, just now. And the name of the faction
that has sent me here would mean nothing to you either, not at the moment. Similarly, the Old Man’s
stated friendship with King Llane means nothing to our chieftains, and the name Lothar is nothing more
than a curse invoked by the human peasants we encounter. Before we can have peace, before we can
even start negotiating, we have to learn more about you.”
“Which is why you’re here.”
Garona let out a deep sigh. “Which is why I am praying that you will leave me alone long enough so I
can figure out what the Old Man is talking about when we have our discussions.”
Khadgar was silent for a moment. Garona opened the volume again, leafing through the pages to where
she had stopped. “Of course, that goes both ways,” Khadgar said, and Garona closed the book with an
exasperated breath. “I mean, we need to know more about the orcs if we’re going to do more than just
battle them. If you’re serious about peace.”
Garona glared at Khadgar, and for a moment the young mage wondered if the half-orc was going to
leap across the table and throttle him. Instead, her ears perked up, and she said, “Hold on. What’s that?”
Khadgar felt it before he heard it. A sudden change in the air, like a window had been opened elsewhere
in the tower. A bit of wind stirring up the dust in the hall. A wave of warmth passing through the tower.
Khadgar said, “Something is…”
Garona said, “I heard…”
And then Khadgar heard it as well, the sound of iron claws scraping against stone, and the warmth of the
air increased as the hairs on the back of his neck rose.
And the great beast slouched into the library.
It was made of fire and shadow, its skin dark and containing the flickers of the flame within. Its wolflike
face was framed by a set of ram’s horns, that glowed like polished ebony. It looked biped, but walked
on all fours, its long front claws scraping along the stone floors.
“What is…” hissed Garona.
“Demon,” said Khadgar in a strangled voice, rising and backing away from the table.
“Your manservant said there were visions here. Ghosts. Is this one?” Garona stood up as well.
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