“Um . . . Forcible transfer of population.” The goblin looked at her expectantly.
Tyrande held up a second finger, ticking off the counts. “Forbidding the trolls—who are completely viable and respected members of the Horde—to live in certain areas.”
“Enforced disappearance of individuals.”
Three, now. “Sending Vol’jin out with Bloodrazor, knowing full well that it was likely Vol’jin would be murdered.”
“Enslavement.”
“Possibly of Pandaria. Certainly the saurok mutations were not volunteers.”
“With respect, I protest,” Baine said. “Garrosh is not responsible for what happened to the saurok.”
“I agree with the Defender,” said Taran Zhu.
“No, but the Vision of Time makes it clear he wished he had been responsible,” Tyrande snapped, and Taran Zhu was forced to nod.
“I will allow the term ‘an expressed desire for enslavement,’ ” the pandaren said.
“Torture.”
“If we agree that Garrosh planned to do something similar to what happened to the saurok—warped. Twisted. Bent and violated. Beings were to be made this way for no other reason than one orc’s whim.”
She gestured. “In this single witness, we have evidence of fully half the charges of which Garrosh Hellscream is accused. Half! There are others who will speak of murder, and torture, and the remaining despicable acts Vol’jin has confirmed that Garrosh has committed. He—”
“Fa’shua,” Baine rumbled. “If the Accuser has run out of questions to ask the witness and must now resort to oratory, may I have a chance to question him?”
It was a palpable hit—Tyrande’s cheeks flushed a darker shade of purple.
“Do you have any more questions for the witness, Chu’shao Whisperwind?” Taran Zhu asked pleasantly.
“I do have one more scene I wish to present, Fa’shua, if I may. It is . . . extremely important. Only one person yet lives who has experienced it.”
“By all means then, proceed.”
Tyrande had recovered her composure and nodded calmly to Chromie.
Go’el was confused at first. Tyrande was presenting something that she had just shown: the scene of Garrosh insulting Vol’jin, then walking off to speak privately with Rak’gor.
But this time, everyone could hear what Garrosh said to his Kor’kron bodyguard.
“I have no doubt that you will be able to confirm my suspicion,” the image of Garrosh said, for Bloodrazor’s ears alone. “See how the troll reacts. If he approves, he may live. If he does not—he is a traitor. Cut his throat.”
The scene froze. Tyrande walked forward, right up to the oversized image of Garrosh, his face caught in a smug leer. She looked from the Vision-orc to the true one.
In stark contrast to the almost caricatural, gloating Hellscream from the past, this Garrosh had little expression. His eyes, though, were fixed on Tyrande, not on the scene she had captured. Her back was straight, her head high. She was beautiful and terrible in her righteous fury, an implacable goddess of justice untempered by mercy and unfettered by compassion, her chest rising and falling with quickened breath, her heartbeat pulsing visibly in her long, slender throat. Go’el tensed, waiting for what he knew was coming. The impassioned speech. The outrage. The disgust at the depths to which the son of Hellscream had sunk. She would have no lack of supporters in her excoriation of Garrosh. The courtroom was about to be thrown into upheaval.
Finally, she spoke.
“So now, we know.”
The words were uttered in a quiet voice that was heard throughout the shocked, silent room. She stared at Garrosh a moment longer. Then, with a curl of her lip that spoke more eloquently of contempt than anything else she might add, she turned her back on him.
“No further questions.”
16
Baine’s mind was scrambling, frantic, desperately trying to come up with something that had even the faintest chance of undoing the damage Tyrande had just done to his case.
Vol’jin was Baine’s friend. He had always respected the troll, and they had grown closer since Cairne’s death. He had no desire to interrogate Vol’jin, question his interpretation of events, or try to discredit him to the jury. But it had been Vol’jin who had urged him to defend Garrosh in the first place.
“Warchief Vol’jin . . . you are a troll of honor, and both Horde and Alliance realize that. No one is disputing that this attempt on your life happened, or that the trolls were exiled to one of the less savory parts of Orgrimmar.”
Vol’jin waited, expectant. “You are now the one bearing the responsibilities of warchief,” Baine continued. “You have already been forced to make some extremely challenging decisions. Might I ask what your policy on traitors will be?”
“With respect, I protest!” Tyrande shot to her feet. “As you just ruled, Fa’shua, the witness’s ability to lead the Horde is not a subject for debate in this courtroom!”
“Fa’shua,” Baine said, “I am not questioning his ability. I am merely asking for his stand on policy.”
Taran Zhu cocked his head. “I trust it is relevant to the case, Chu’shao?”
“It is.”
“It had best be. I agree with the Defender.”
“I’ve not had the opportunity to be dealing with anyone turning traitor on me,” Vol’jin answered, adding, “yet.” The subtly friendly expression was gone from his face, to be replaced by a look of wariness.
“I hope you never do,” Baine said. “But you were willing to put Garrosh to death, for what he did to the Horde.”
“I was.”
“So you would be willing to put to death anyone who—in your opinion as warchief—betrayed the Horde?”
The tension in the room was thick, and for the first time since the trial began, it was not directed at Garrosh. Baine felt it, prickling at the nape of his neck, but knew he could not back down now.
“Yes, provided—”
“Just answer the question, Warchief. Please.”
Vol’jin watched him searchingly, then said, biting off the word, “Yes.”
Baine turned, relieved to not have to look at Vol’jin anymore, and nodded to Kairoz. He had been sitting quietly, his expression growing darker, clearly itching to use his abilities, and now he practically leaped up to operate the Vision of Time.
Baine blew air through his nostrils, resisting the urge to stamp restlessly as the scene manifested. It was Garrosh and Vol’jin in conversation, the same one that Tyrande had shown, but the night elf Accuser had ended the encounter prematurely. Baine wanted the jury to see how it played out. His tail switched anxiously as he watched.
“Ya be no warchief of mine,” the image of Vol’jin said in his controlled voice. “Ya not earned my respect, and I’ll not be seein’ tha Horde destroyed by ya foolish thirst for war.”
“Stop here,” said Baine. He turned to face the August Celestials, regarding them intensely. “This is important, so I’m going to emphasize this. What you see right now, with evidence that we all know to be pure fact, is the following: a subject of the Horde has just told the orc who was properly appointed by the sitting warchief, and I quote, ‘You be no warchief of mine.’ ”
With perfect timing, Kairoz delayed a moment to let the import of what Baine had said sink in, then resumed the scene.
“And what exactly do you think that you are going to do about it?” Garrosh shouted. “Your threats are hollow. Go slink away with the rest of your kind to the slums. I will endure your filth in my throne room no longer.”
“I know exactly what I’ll be doin’ about it, son of Hellscream. I’ll watch and wait as ya people slowly become aware of ya ineptitude. I’ll laugh as dey grow ta despise ya as I do. And when tha time comes dat ya failure is complete and ya ‘power’ is meaningless, I will be dere to end ya rule swiftly and silently.”
The scene paused. People shifted in their seats. “Vol’jin has called the duly appointed warchief ‘inept.’ He
has said he ‘despises’ Garrosh. He threatens to ‘end his rule.’ What else can these words possibly be construed as other than treason? And what fate awaits traitors to the Horde, according to Vol’jin, its current leader?”
“With respect, I protest!” For the first time since the trial began, Tyrande seemed truly on edge. Baine had unsettled the perennially poised night elf. “The Defender is harassing the witness!”
“He is not addressing the witness at all,” Taran Zhu said.
“What Vol’jin did or did not do, or said or did not say, is not pertinent!” shouted Tyrande.
“With all due respect, Fa’shua, I believe that it is,” said Baine. “I believe that Garrosh felt threatened by Vol’jin and considered him a traitor. I believe it is possible that Garrosh felt his own life was in danger.”
“I have heard discontent expressed, and annoyance and disrespect so far, Chu’shao,” said Taran Zhu. “And a possible threat that Garrosh might not be leading the Horde. But Go’el stepped down peacefully. While Vol’jin is clearly an unhappy and disrespectful subject, I see no physical threat.”
He could stop. He had made his point—that Garrosh could well have been acting within the law, and his right, to kill Vol’jin if he perceived the troll to be attempting to depose him. But Baine knew that wouldn’t be enough. The August Celestials had seen Garrosh perpetrate violence against Vol’jin. They needed to see the other side.
Hating that it had come to this, yet doggedly determined to do his duty, Baine said, “I request permission to finish this conversation. I believe it is extremely pertinent.”
Taran Zhu eyed them all, then nodded. “Proceed.”
Baine could look at neither the real Vol’jin nor his image. He kept his gaze on the celestials as the Vision of the new leader of the Horde spoke.
“Ya will spend ya reign glancin’ over ya shoulda and fearin’ tha shadows.”
Baine closed his eyes briefly.
“For when tha time comes and ya blood be slowly drainin’ out, ya will know exactly who fired tha arrow dat pierced ya black heart.”
“You have sealed your fate, troll,” snarled then-Garrosh. He spat at Vol’jin’s two-toed feet.
“And you yours, ‘Warchief.’ ”
The image faded.
Silence. Baine still couldn’t look at Vol’jin, and instead directed his attention to Taran Zhu. “I have no further questions for this witness, Fa’shua.” And the pandaren nodded, regarding Baine with what seemed to the tauren like a hint of pity.
17
The door from the hall clanged shut behind Anduin, and per his specific request, he was alone in a room with a mass murderer.
Anduin poured himself a glass of water and drank. He noticed that this time, his hand didn’t tremble quite so much. Garrosh, shackled as usual, sat on his sleeping furs, regarding the human prince.
“I would know your thoughts about Vol’jin’s testimony,” Garrosh stated.
Anduin’s lips thinned. “If we’re sticking to our bargain, you tell me something first this time.”
Garrosh rumbled a deep, melancholy chuckle. “I will say to you then, that I believe today has put an end to any hope that I will walk out of this cell other than to my execution.”
“No, it . . . didn’t go well,” Anduin allowed. “But what specifically makes you say that?”
Garrosh stared at him as if he were an idiot. “I threatened Vol’jin, banished his people, and tried to have him killed. Surely that is enough.”
Anduin shrugged. “He threatened you as well, paid no honor to your title, and vowed to your face that he would kill you. He could easily have had followers ready to carry out the deed in Orgrimmar if he couldn’t. Maybe you banished his people not because you hated them, but because you were afraid of them.”
Shouting in rage, the orc was on his feet so fast Anduin jerked backward. At his bellow of fury, the Chu brothers entered and rushed forward.
“It’s all right!” Anduin said, raising a hand and forcing a smile. “We are just . . . discussing things.”
Li and Lo exchanged glances. Li regarded Garrosh with a slow, appraising stare. “It sounded like more than that.” The orc was silent, but breathed hard and swiftly as his fists clenched and unclenched.
“It wasn’t,” Anduin said.
Lo said quietly, “Prisoner Hellscream, you will control yourself. Speaking with His Highness is a privilege, and one that will be revoked if we feel he is in any danger. Do you understand?”
For an instant, it looked as though Garrosh would attempt to burst through the bars to get at Lo. Then he sat down. His chains clanked. “I understand,” he said, still angry, but in control.
“Very well. Do you wish to continue, Your Highness?”
“Yes,” said Anduin. “Thank you, but you may go.”
The brothers bowed and left, although Li gave Garrosh another warning look before he ascended the ramp out of sight.
“I would have killed you if there had not been bars between us,” Garrosh growled softly.
“I know,” Anduin replied. Oddly, he wasn’t frightened. “But there were.”
“Indeed.” Garrosh took a deep breath and continued. “I was not afraid of some cowardly attempt on my life. I was never scared of Vol’jin.”
“Then why did you not challenge him to a mak’gora?” Anduin shot back, recovering. “Why do something underhanded, something that goes against your own traditions, if you weren’t afraid he’d beat you in a fair fight? That’s the game cowards play. That’s the game Magatha played.”
“I thought you honorable, but you strike below the belt, whelp.”
“I speak the truth, Garrosh. That’s what’s upsetting you, isn’t it? It’s not what others think about you. It’s what you think about yourself.”
Anduin expected another burst of fury, but this time Garrosh turned his rage inward. Only his eyes revealed his anger.
“I have never forgotten my people’s traditions,” he said, in a voice so soft Anduin had to strain to hear it. “I repeat what I said to Vol’jin. Were I free, I would indeed stop at nothing to ensure a proud and glorious future for the orcs—and anyone with the courage to stand with us.”
“What if the Alliance stood with you?”
“What?”
“What if the Alliance stood with you? Is it truly the orcs’ pride and glory that concerns you, or your own?” The words were not planned; they flowed out almost as if of their own accord. Even as Anduin spoke them, he realized their absurdity. And yet, something inside him whispered, No, not absurd, not impossible. There can be peace. No one need give up such a future. Unity, working together for the good of all—what else could inspire such true pride, bring such lasting glory?
Wasn’t it this, and not killing, that made a hero?
Garrosh stared at him in utter shock, his mouth slightly open in disbelief.
Anduin’s breathing was shallow as the moment stretched out between them. He did not dare speak again, for fear of breaking the spell.
Finally, Garrosh spoke.
“Get out.”
The disappointment made every bone in the prince’s body ache, as if they sung a dirge.
“You lie, Garrosh Hellscream,” Anduin said softly, sorrowfully. “There is something you’ll stop at. You’ll stop at peace.”
And without another word, Anduin rose, ascended the ramp, and knocked on the door. It was opened for him in silence, and he left, feeling Garrosh’s gaze boring into his back.
• • •
Jaina was alone in her tent at Violet Rise, washing up for dinner. Located far to the northwest of the Temple of the White Tiger, Violet Rise was the base of operations of the Kirin Tor Offensive. Presently it also played host to Varian and Anduin, as well as several powerful magi, Vereesa, Kalecgos, and herself. She changed into a less formal robe and splashed water from a basin on her face. She almost felt like humming. Vol’jin’s testimony had been damning. She had never interacted with the troll, and Light kn
ew their kind had ever been dangerous to humans and other Alliance members even before there had been a Horde. It was amusing, in a way, to hear him talk about the variety of races under the Horde banner when one took into account the trolls’ lengthy history of racial superiority. Nonetheless, she all but cheered at his words spoken in court.
“Jaina?”
“Kalec!” she said. “Come in.”
He lifted the flap but didn’t enter. Her good mood ebbed as she saw his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Care to go for a walk with me?”
It was raining—it seemed it was always raining here—but Jaina said, “Of course.” She stepped out of the tent slipping on a cloak as she did so, and he let the flap drop closed. Their hands met and clasped. Jaina told Nelphi, an eager young apprentice who helped out all the magi on Violet Rise, they would be gone for a little while, but not to delay supper if everyone else was ready.
They walked across the wide, paved square where the other magi were going about their business in the drizzle. Still hand in hand and in silence, they descended the great staircase, once trod by mogu feet, leading toward the water, picking their way across broken pieces of the trail. As they turned left through Shadewood Thicket, Jaina realized that Kalec was taking her down to the small patch of beach at the bottom of a winding path. The arcane guardians set here to keep watch paid them no mind, trundling about on their programmed duties of surveillance. Jaina focused on stepping safely across the rain-slicked, ancient paving stones, growing more certain that she would not enjoy the conversation they were about to have.
As she set foot on the narrow beach, Jaina could not help but be reminded of walking along a similar patch of sand, Dreadmurk Shore, outside of the walled city that was no more. She recalled seeing the blue dragon in flight, searching for a place to land, and remembered how she had broken into a run to meet him.
His face had lit up when he saw her. They had spoken of those who had come to aid her against the Horde. Jaina had expressed concern for the generals’ personalization of the battle to come.
World of Warcraft: War Crimes Page 15