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,There was a brief bit of disorientation, and for a moment Khadgar thought the spell had misfired and
transported them to the observatory aion gold atop the tower. But no, it was now night around them, and an
imperious, angry aion gold female voice split the air.
“Youdare strike your own mother?” shouted Aegwynn, her own face livid with rage.
Aegwynn stood at one end of the observatory deck, Medivh at the other. It was Medivh as he knew
him—tall, proud, and aion gold apparently worried. Neither she nor the past-Medivh paid any attention to either
Khadgar or Garona. With a start, Khadgar realized aion gold that the present incarnation of Medivh was present
as well, sparkling zxchanxiang along one wall. The pair from the past ignored him as well, but the present-Medivh was
watching the spectacle wow gold played out before them. 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.”





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