The Last Guardian by Jeff Grubb

bisecting it at the neck. The creature sprawled forward, and the two young men, as well as Khadgar, turned to the trolls battling with Lothar.
    The future champion was holding his own, but just barely, and had backed almost across the entire campsite. The trolls had heard the death scream of their brother, and one continued to press his attack as the other charged back to deal with the two humans. It let out an inarticulate bellow as it crossed the campsite, its spear before it like a knight on horseback.
    Llane charged in return, but at the last moment veered to one side, dancing aside the spear’s point. The troll took two more steps forward, which brought him up to the campfire itself, and where Medivh was waiting.
    Now the mage seemed to be full of energy and, limned by the coals before him, looked demonic in his demeanor. He had his arms wide, and he was chanting something harsh and rhythmic.
    Page 39

    And the fire itself leaped up, taking a brief animated form of a giant lion, and leaped on the attacking
    troll. The jungle troll screamed as the coals, logs, and ash wrapped itself around him like a cloak, and would not be shrugged off. The troll flung itself on the ground and rolled first one way and then the other, trying to dampen the flame, but it did no good. Finally the troll stopped moving entirely, and the hungry flames consumed it.
    For his part, Llane continued his charge and buried his ax in the side of the surviving troll. The beast let out a howl, but its moment’s hesitation was all that Lothar needed. The champion batted away the outthrust spear with a backhanded blow, then with a level, precise swing cut the troll’s head cleanly from its shoulders. The head bounced into the brush, and was lost.
    Llane, though bleeding from his own wound, slapped Lothar on the back, apparently taunting him for taking so long with his troll. Then Lothar put a hand to Llane’s chest to quiet him, and pointed at Medivh.
    The young mage was still standing over the fire, his hands held open, but fingers hooked like claws. His eyes were glassy in the surviving firelight, and his jaw was tightly clenched. As the two men (and the phantom Khadgar) ran over to him, the young man pitched backward.
    By the time the pair reached Medivh, he was breathing heavily, and his pupils were wide in the moonlight. Warriors and vision visitor leaned over him, as the young mage strained to push the words out of his mouth.
    “Watch out for me,” he said, looking at neither Llane nor Lothar, but at Khadgar. Then the young
    Medivh’s eyes rolled up in his head and he lay very still.
    Lothar and Llane were trying to revive their friend, but Khadgar just stepped back. Had Medivh truly seen him, as the other mage, the one with his eyes on the war-swept plains, had? And he had heard him, clear words spoken almost to the depth of his soul.
    Khadgar turned and the vision dropped away as quickly as a magician’s curtain. He was back in the library again, and he almost stumbled into Medivh himself.
    “Young Trust,” said Medivh, the version much older than the one laying on the ground in the vanished vision. “Are you all right? I called out, but you did not answer.”
    “Sorry Med…sir,” said Khadgar, taking a deep breath. “It was a vision. I was lost in it, I’m afraid.”
    Medivh’s dark brows drew together. “Not more orcs and red skies?” he asked seriously, and Khadgar saw a touch of the storm in those green eyes.
    Khadgar shook his head and chose his words carefully. “Trolls. Blue trolls, and it was a jungle. I think it was this world. The sky was the same.”
    Medivh’s concern deflated and he just said, “Jungle trolls. I met some once, down south, in the Strangle-thorn Vale….” The mage’s features softened as he himself seemed to become lost in a vision of his own. Then he shook his head, “But no orcs this time, right? You are sure.”
    “No, sir,” said Khadgar. He did not want to mention that it was that battle