The Last Guardian by Jeff Grubb Page A

tower.
    Khadgar didn’t hear him as much as felt his sudden presence, the way the air changes as a storm front bears across the farmland. The young mage turned in his chair and there was Medivh, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his robes billowing behind him of their own volition.
    “Sir, I…” started Khadgar, smiling and half-rising from his chair. Then he saw that the master mage’s hair was in disarray, and his lambent green eyes were wide and angry.
    “Thief!” shouted Medivh, pointing at Khadgar. “Interloper!” The elder mage pointed at the younger and began to intone a string of alien syllables, words not crafted for the human throat.
    Despite himself, Khadgar raised a hand and wove a symbol of protection in the air in front of him, but he might as well have been making a rude hand gesture for all the effect it had on Medivh’s spell. A wall of solidified air slammed into the younger man, bowling over both him and the chair he sat in. The grimoires and primers went skating along the surface of the table like boats caught in a sudden squall, and the notes danced away, spinning.
    Surprised, Khadgar was driven back, slammed into one of the bookshelves behind him. The shelf itself rocked from the force of the blow, and the youth was afraid it would topple, spoiling his hard work. The bookcase held its position, though the pressure on Khadgar’s chest from the force of the attack intensified.
    “Who are you?” thundered Medivh. “What are you doing here?”
    The young mage struggled against the weight on his chest and managed to speak, “Khadgar,” he gasped.
    “Assistant. Cleaning library. Your orders.” Part of his mind wondered if this was why Moroes spoke in such a shorthand fashion.
    Medivh blinked at Khadgar’s words, and straightened like a man who had just been woken from a deep sleep. He twisted his hand slightly, and at once the wave of solidified air evaporated.
    Khadgar dropped to his knees, gasping for air.
    Medivh crossed to him and helped him to his feet. “I am sorry, lad,” he began. “I had forgotten you were still here. I assumed you were a thief.”
    “A thief that insisted on leaving a room neater than he found it,” said Khadgar. It hurt a little Page 24

    when he breathed.
    “Yes,” said Medivh, looking around the room, and nodding, despite the disruption his own attack had caused. “Yes. I don’t believe anyone else had ever gotten this far before.”
    “I’ve sorted by type,” said Khadgar, still bent over and grasping his knees. “Histories, including epic poems, to your right. Natural sciences on your left. Legendary material in the center, with languages and reference books. The more powerful material—alchemic notes, spell descriptions, and theory go on the balcony, along with some books I could not identify that seem fairly powerful. You’re going to have to look at those yourself.”
    “Yes,” said Medivh, now ignoring the youth and scanning the room. “Excellent. An excellent job. Very good.” He looked around, seeming like a man just getting his bearings again. “Very good indeed. You’ve done well. Now come along.”
    The master mage bolted for the door, pulled himself up short, then turned. “Are you coming?”
    Khadgar felt as if he had been hit by another mystic bolt. “Coming? Where are we going?”
    “To the top,” said Medivh curtly. “Come now or we’ll be too late. Time is of the essence!”
    For an older man Medivh moved swiftly up the stairs, covering them two at a time at a brisk pace.
    “What’s at the top?” gasped Khadgar, finally catching up at a landing near the top.
    “Transport,” snapped Medivh, then hesitated for a moment. He turned in place and his shoulders
    dropped. For a moment it looked like the fire had burned out of his eyes. “I must apologize.
    For back there.”
    “Sir?” said Khadgar, his mind now spinning with this new transformation.
    “My memory is not what it once was, Young Trust,” said the