World of Warcraft: War Crimes

by Christie Golden

  No. It didn’t matter if Tyrande was being calculating or if she was acting from misguided compassion. He could not let her show—

  Baine leaped to his hooves. “With respect, I protest!” he cried. “Varok Saurfang has suffered enough, Fa’shua, and what Chu’shao Whisperwind is suggesting is nothing but salt in the wound. I will not see him forced to endure the death of his son yet again!”

  “What you will and will not see in this court is not your decision, Chu’shao,” warned Taran Zhu. “But I agree with you. The court recognizes that Varok Saurfang is a respected war hero and has undergone great loss, Chu’shao Whisperwind, but we do not see how that has a bearing on his interactions with Garrosh. The Lich King is not the one on trial here.”

  Color rose in Tyrande’s cheeks. “I withdraw my request and offer apologies to the witness if it disturbed him.”

  Varok’s jaw tightened, but he nodded curtly. The high priestess continued. “Would you agree that you are well respected, Varok Saurfang? That few, if any, would question your devotion to the Horde?”

  “It is not for me to decide how I am viewed in the eyes of others,” Saurfang replied. “For myself, I love the Horde with my whole being.”

  “Enough to die for it?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Enough to kill for it?”

  “Certainly. I am a warrior.”

  “Would you say that you and others used the Horde as a sort of . . . license to butcher?”

  “With respect, I protest!” Baine shouted. “The Accuser’s apparently obsessive focus on past events that have nothing to do with the Accused is verging on hate-mongering!”

  Taran Zhu turned a calm visage on Tyrande. “Chu’shao, can you explain why this line of questioning has pertinence?”

  “I am actually attempting to show that this witness is rational and responsible, Lord Zhu. Which is the farthest thing from hate-mongering I can imagine.” She gave Baine an angry look.

  Taran Zhu considered this, then said, “Very well. I’ll allow it. The witness may answer the question.”

  “My answer is yes,” said Varok.

  “Do you presently condone that sort of behavior?” Tyrande continued.

  “No, I do not. And I have said so.”

  “To whom?”

  “It is no secret. I am not proud of what I did.” Varok looked at Velen as he said this.

  “Did you express this sentiment to Garrosh Hellscream?”

  “I did.”

  Tyrande nodded. “May it please the court, I would like to show a Vision that I believe pertains to this. So noted,” she added, with a look at Baine, “because I was requested to withdraw my first choice of Vision.”

  “The Accuser may introduce this evidence,” Taran Zhu said. The by-now-familiar working of Chromie over the Vision of Time was followed by images solidifying in the center of the room.

  For the first time, those assembled looked on Garrosh Hellscream not as he was now—captured and in chains, an emotionless expression on his face—but as he had been a few years ago, before the fall of the Lich King. When, mused Baine, his own father still respected the son of Grom Hellscream.

  Even High Overlord Saurfang looked younger, thought Baine, realizing with a heavy heart how much the loss of that orc’s only offspring had taken its toll.

  Garrosh and Saurfang stood side by side at Warsong Hold in the Borean Tundra, gazing down at a large map on the floor. It was made of stitched-together hides, with miniature standards of Horde and Alliance marking the various strongholds, a toy zeppelin buzzing away, and painted skull faces representing the seemingly inexhaustible Scourge. Saurfang knelt, pointing out things as he spoke. Garrosh hung back, managing to look both disinterested and annoyed.

  Saurfang was attempting to impress upon Garrosh the importance of supporting the troops in practical matters when Hellscream retorted with a dismissive gesture, “Shipping lanes . . . supplies . . . You bore me to death! We need nothing more than the warrior spirit of the Horde, Saurfang. Now that we are firmly entrenched in this frozen wasteland, nothing shall stop us!”

  Baine noted the familiarity with which Garrosh addressed the much older, much more experienced orc, and he did not like it. Saurfang, however, was too smart to rise to the bait and pressed on.

  “Siege engines, ammunition, heavy armor . . .” Saurfang replied. “How do you propose to shatter the walls of Icecrown without those?”

  Garrosh smirked and drew himself up to his full height. “Propose?” he sneered. “I will show you what I propose!” He lifted Gorehowl and brought it smashing down on the figurines representing Valiance Keep. “There . . . now we have a shipping lane. And just for good measure . . .” Valgarde and Westguard Keep fell beneath his booted feet.

  Saurfang said witheringly, “So the prodigal son has spoken! Your father’s blood runs strong in you, Hellscream. Impatient as always . . . Impatient and reckless. You rush headlong into all-out war without a thought of the consequences.”

  “Do not speak to me of consequences, old one.”

  Baine’s hackles rose, and apparently so did those of the Vision’s Saurfang. He stepped closer to Garrosh and growled, “I drank of the same blood your father did, Garrosh. Mannoroth’s cursed venom pumped through my veins as well. I drove my weapons into the bodies and minds of my enemies. And while Grom died a glorious death—freeing us all from the blood-curse—he could not wipe away the terrible memory of our past. His act could not erase the horrors we committed.”

  The image of Saurfang then looked away, talking more to himself now than to the younger orc. His eyes were haunted. “The winter after the curse was lifted, hundreds of veteran orcs like me were lost to despair. Our minds were finally free, yes . . . Free to relive all of the unthinkable acts that we had performed under the Legion’s influence.” He nodded, as if coming to a conclusion, and his voice became so soft Baine had to strain to hear it. “I think it was the sounds of the draenei children that unnerved most of them. You never forget . . . Have you ever been to Jaggedswine Farm? When the swine are of age for the slaughter. It’s that sound. The sound of the swine being killed . . . It resonates the loudest. Those are hard times for us older veterans.”

  Velen had closed his eyes. Baine felt the focus in the room shift to the draenei, and heard some uncomfortable shuffling in the stands. He looked up at the celestials to see them raptly watching the Vision unfold.

  The image of Garrosh shattered the somber mood with words that made Baine want to throttle him, words that went directly against what had just been shown with Durotan. “But surely you cannot think that those children were born into innocence? They would have grown up and taken arms against us!”

  To Baine’s surprise, Saurfang did not react to the suggestion. Instead he said in that soft, distant voice, “I am not speaking solely of the children of our enemies . . .”

  That, at last, seemed to silence Garrosh. He simply stood, looking at Saurfang with a mixture of revulsion and pity. Saurfang shook himself, and when he turned to speak with Garrosh again, his voice was strong and firm.

  “I won’t let you take us down that dark path again, young Hellscream. I’ll kill you myself before that day comes.”

  That was doubtless the gem Tyrande had been waiting for. A great war hero threatening to kill Garrosh before he’d let the impetuous youth plunge the orcs into another devastating war for no true reason.

  The image of Garrosh replied, and Baine was startled at the change in the young orc. He spoke in a quiet tone of respect and almost wonderment.

  “How have you managed to survive for so long, Saurfang? Not fallen victim to your own memories?”

  Saurfang smiled. “I don’t eat pork.”

  “Pause.” The scene froze, and Tyrande let it linger there, etching itself on the minds of the jury and the onlookers, then nodded to Chromie. The scene vanished. Tyrande turned to Saurfang and gave a slight, sincere bow. “Thank you, High Overlord. Chu’shao—your witness.”

&nb
sp; Baine nodded, and he walked toward Saurfang. “High Overlord, I will keep this brief, so that you may spend no more time in that chair than necessary. You spoke of killing Garrosh before you let him lead the orcs down that dark path.”

  “I did.”

  “Was that a figure of speech?”

  “It was not.”

  “You would actually kill Garrosh with your own hands?”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you believe he has done so? Led the orcs down that dark path?”

  “Yes. That is why I took up arms against him. After some of the things he did—” The old orc shook his head, disgusted, and gave Garrosh a venomous look.

  “So you would be happy with the verdict that Chu’shao Whisperwind advocates—execution.”

  “No.”

  Murmurs rippled through the courtroom, but Baine felt quiet pleasure. He had been right about Varok. He allowed himself a brief glance at Tyrande and saw the kaldorei sitting up and watching attentively, hoping for some misstep. Baine intended to give her none.

  “What would you like to see?”

  Tyrande leaped to her feet. “With respect, I protest! The witness’s personal preference is irrelevant.”

  “Fa’shua, I am attempting to clarify what the high overlord meant when he said, ‘I’ll kill you myself.’ ”

  “I agree with the Defender,” said Taran Zhu. “You may answer the question, High Overlord Saurfang.”

  Saurfang did not do so immediately. He gave Garrosh a long, appraising look, then spoke. “Garrosh was not always as you see him now. He was, as I have said, reckless and impulsive. But I once would never have doubted his loyalty to the Horde. And even now, I do not doubt his loyalty to his people. But his crimes must be addressed. I vowed to kill him, and I would still uphold that vow. But I would not surrender him to others for execution. I would challenge him myself, in the mak’gora.”

  “Do you think he deserves a second chance?”

  “If he defeated me—yes. That is the way of the orcs—the true way. Honor.”

  Baine could barely believe what he was hearing. “I do not wish to misunderstand you, so forgive my repetition. You do not want Garrosh executed by this court, but rather wish to challenge him in honorable combat. And if he won that combat, you would see him forgiven?”

  “He would need to earn his reputation back, given that he has ripped it to shreds and trampled it into the angry earth,” Saurfang snapped. “But yes. If he were a victor, then he should have that chance. He had honor, once. He could learn it again.”

  Baine could barely refrain from letting out a shout of delight. This, he understood. This, he could support, and moreover, it was fair. He thought of his father, dying in the mak’gora, and how Cairne would have approved, and knew in his heart he was on the proper track. Despite his anger toward Garrosh, Baine was in truth doing the right thing.

  He gave Tyrande a triumphant look and announced, “I have no further questions.”

  And to his surprised pleasure, neither did Tyrande. When Taran Zhu sounded the gong to close the opening day of proceedings, for the first time since the trial had begun, it looked like Garrosh Hellscream might just, quite literally, keep his head.

  11

  Most would have assumed, when Shokia turned up in Hammerfall, that she was so disheartened at the fall of Garrosh Hellscream that she wanted to return to orcish roots. To come here—where Orgrim Doomhammer, another great warchief, had been killed—and vanish into obscurity, contenting herself with putting her astonishing sniper skills to work slaughtering enemy trolls and Alliance adventurers. Those who assumed that would be wrong, but it was a façade Shokia was happy to maintain. She was not retreating to lick wounds and mourn failure. She was an agent of someone who wanted what she did—a return to the glory of the Horde. Shokia was in deep cover.

  Hammerfall had become an unofficial refuge for discontents who felt they had no place in the current world, and so her story was not questioned. And she had been content to wait for her orders, enjoying watching the heads of her enemies explode like thrown pumpkins through her scope.

  Since the trial of Garrosh Hellscream had begun in Pandaria, however, she had grown anxious. When would her ally summon her to the field of battle? What would his instructions be? Who else shared their feelings?

  “Wait for me to send you orders,” he had said in that silky voice. “I will not fail to do so, but only when the time is right.”

  So when Adegwa, the tauren innkeeper, let her know there was a letter for her, she was hard put to contain her delight.

  No doubt, your fingers itch to fire at our enemies. But first, you must accumulate allies. What follows is a list of those who will be helpful. Seek them out, and when you are gathered, I will send you further instructions.

  Meet the first one today, in Drywhisker Gorge.

  Shokia had packed her precious rifle, her few other belongings, mounted her wolf, and was at the gorge a scant five minutes later. She took up a position overlooking the trail, peering through the scope of her rifle, but did not have long to wait.

  A black wolf, his pelt sleek and glossy, came into view. His rider crouched low over his back. The cloak hid her face, but billowed out sufficiently for Shokia to determine that her new comrade in arms was another orc female. Slowly, Shokia began to grin. She wondered if . . . She would find out soon enough.

  The rider slowed, and the wolf began to pick his way up the trail. Without revealing her position behind a boulder, Shokia cried out, “Hail, wolf rider! Are you a friend of the dragon’s?”

  The orc came to a halt and shoved back her hood, revealing her strong face. “Under most circumstances, I am no friend to dragons,” Zaela, warlord of the Dragonmaw, called back. “But this time—yes.”

  “Zaela! I had heard you had fallen in battle!”

  “I fell, indeed, but I lived to keep fighting for our true leader. I came alone, as instructed, but what remains of my clan is ready for battle.”

  “Then,” said Shokia, lifting the scroll, “let us gather more allies!”

  Day Two

  “I summon His Royal Highness Anduin Wrynn, prince of Stormwind, to speak as witness.”

  Anduin had been dreading this moment. He’d always resented SI:7’s code name for him, “the White Pawn,” and had no desire to become involved in this case in any fashion, fearing that both sides would use him thus. His father had known, of course, but Jaina hadn’t, and she looked surprised and a little concerned as Varian gave his son’s arm a squeeze and Anduin then descended from the stands to the witness chair.

  He was accustomed to royal events, and had even given speeches to throngs much larger than this one. But that was different. In those situations, he was a guest, or an invited speaker, or the respected host. He knew what to do, how to behave. This was completely new, and not a little unsettling. He caught Wrathion’s eye as he took his seat. He could almost hear the Black Prince saying, How very interesting! The amusing thought calmed him.

  Tyrande gave him a kind smile as she approached. “Prince Anduin,” she said, “thank you for being here today.” He thought it best not to remind her that it wasn’t as if he’d had a choice in the matter, and merely nodded. “Your Highness, you are known throughout Azeroth as a proponent of peace. Is that accurate?”

  “Yes,” Anduin replied. He ached to elaborate, but remembered what his father had told him. Stick to the questions. Don’t volunteer anything. Tyrande knows what she’s doing.

  “So it would be fair to say that you do not hate the Horde, or its races?”

  “It would be fair, yes.”

  “You have worked with them on occasion, and urged mercy even in wartime, correct?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Everyone here knows Garrosh Hellscream by name and reputation, of course. But you have had personal encounters with him, have you not?”

  Here we go, he thought, and deliberately did not look at Garrosh. “I have.”

  “On how many
occasions?”

  “Two.”

  “Can you please tell the court about them?”

  Anduin wondered why she didn’t just show both encounters, given the unique tool she had in the Vision of Time. Perhaps she was saving her allotted minutes for something more lively than people sitting around talking. “One was in Theramore, at a peace conference. My father, Lady Jaina Proudmoore, and I were there, and Thrall brought Garrosh and Rehgar Earthfury, and some of the Kor’kron.” He hadn’t thought about that ill-fated meeting in some time; so many other things had happened. Anduin found himself looking at the chained orc, whose steady gaze made Anduin feel like an insect pinned to a board. Odd . . . Garrosh was the prisoner, not he, yet it was Anduin who came close to squirming in his seat.

  “How did the conference unfold?”

  “It was a bit of a rocky start,” Anduin admitted. “But as things progressed, we started to find some common ground. Even Garrosh—”

  “Can you elaborate as to what you mean by a ‘rocky start’?”

  “Well, first of all it was storming, so no one was in a particularly good mood. Everyone brought weapons—for the formal laying down.”

  “Who put down the first weapon?”

  “Um . . . I did. My bow. That was the first time I spoke with Thr—I mean, Go’el.”

  “Did King Varian and the warchief follow your example?”

  “They did. They learned they had more in common than they thought when they sat down to talk.”

  “What did Garrosh contribute to these peace talks?”

  “Well . . . he didn’t seem to understand that being a leader means sometimes thinking about things that aren’t all that exciting. He interrupted when Go’el and Father were discussing trade. He kept talking about the Horde . . . just taking what it wanted.”

  Tyrande gave Garrosh a pointed glance. “I see. Please continue.”

  “Go’el and Father were starting to get along when word came of another attack by the Lich King. They agreed it needed to be addressed but were planning on resuming the conference, but then we were attacked by agents of the Twilight’s Hammer cult. It all fell to pieces after that. Of course, that’s just what the cult intended. They broke the attack down by races—the Horde members of the cult targeted the Alliance races of the summit, and vice versa. Garrosh was shouting about ‘human treachery,’ Father mistakenly believed that Go’el had hired an assassin, and . . .”