World of Warcraft: War Crimes

by Christie Golden

  Beside her, Jaina heard a swift intake of breath, and she followed Vereesa’s gaze.

  A slender, graceful figure had entered the Temple of the White Tiger. She looked at first glance like an elven archer, but there was a sickly blue-gray tint to her skin, and her eyes blazed red, as if they were the only outlets for an unquenchable fire.

  Sylvanas Windrunner, Dark Lady of the Forsaken and sister to Vereesa, had arrived.

  2

  Baine Bloodhoof normally found Pandaria to be second only to Mulgore in its ability to soothe his heart and mind. As a warrior, he respected the skill and prowess displayed by those who fought in Xuen’s temple. And yet, he was filled with an inner anxiety.

  It could be argued that the first great wrong Garrosh did against any member of the Horde had been against the tauren—the death of Baine’s beloved father, the great and deeply missed Cairne Bloodhoof. There was no doubt in Baine’s mind that Cairne would have emerged victorious from the true, fair, one-on-one fight which the mak’gora was supposed to represent. Cairne had not been slain by a superior blow, but by poison, applied to the blade without Garrosh’s knowledge.

  But Garrosh had known that Magatha, the shaman who had “blessed” the blade, was against her own people, and he should never have trusted a tauren who did not remember and honor her roots. And thus by treachery, the best of the tauren had been murdered. Perhaps it was inevitable that while Garrosh had been innocent of that particular betrayal, he had become stunted, dark, capable of the atrocities that no one denied he had committed. First Theramore had been annihilated, a memory that still haunted Baine’s dreams, and then the Vale of Eternal Blossoms, which struck personally at Baine’s deep love and reverence for the Earth Mother.

  The vale had been created by the titans, an almost impossibly lush, beautiful place of growth and harmony. Sealed off after the ancient mogu race had been defeated, the vale had been tended to by careful guardians. Only recently had the Alliance and the Horde won the right to enter. And, mused Baine bitterly, it had taken an even shorter time for Garrosh Hellscream, in his lust for power, to destroy something that had lasted for untold millennia. The blossoms in the vale had not proven to be “eternal” after all. They were gone, nothing but a memory, although new life—and new hope—had come to the vale once the sha had been truly defeated.

  Baine trusted the celestials. He believed in their wisdom and fairness.

  So why was he so agitated?

  “I once told Garrosh he gonna know exactly who fired the arrow that pierced his black heart. I be knowing what makes you champ your tusks, if you had them.”

  Baine started. Vol’jin had moved so quietly the tauren had not even heard the troll step beside him.

  “It is true,” Baine said. “It is difficult to reconcile my father’s teachings of honor and justice with what I personally prefer to see happen today.”

  Vol’jin nodded. “As they tell us at Brewfest, get in line,” he chuckled. “But if we be wanting a clean start, we gotta do what Varian says. Garrosh done enough damage alive. We don’t want to have a martyr for the remaining orcs to carry on his wicked ways. Whatever the celestials decree, nobody got a leg to stand on to say anything.”

  Baine glanced over at Go’el, Eitrigg, and Varok Saurfang. Go’el had taken his son, Durak, from Aggra, holding the child securely and with ease. Baine knew that, having lost his own father to violence, Go’el was determined to be actively involved in the child’s rearing. Cairne had been such a present father, and the sight unexpectedly moved Baine. Fathers and sons . . . Grom and Garrosh, Cairne and Baine, Go’el and Durak, Arthas and Terenas Menethil, Varok and Dranosh Saurfang. Surely this recurring theme was a reminder from the Earth Mother of the connections that ran so deep, and how they could manifest great good or great evil.

  “I hope you are right,” Baine said to Vol’jin. “Go’el is the one who put Garrosh in charge, and Saurfang holds deep anger.”

  Vol’jin shrugged. “They be orcs, and orcs of honor, all of them. It’s that one who makes me think twice. Ain’t nobody knows more of hate than the Dark Lady. And she like her hate dished out icy cold.”

  Baine regarded Sylvanas, who stood proud and alone. Most leaders had brought other prominent members of their races with them; he himself stood with Kador Cloudsong, the shaman who had been such a comfort to him during dark times, and Perith Stormhoof, his most trusted Longwalker. Sylvanas was hardly ever glimpsed without her Val’kyr, those undead beings who once served Arthas and now served—and had saved—her. But it seemed for this event at least, Sylvanas scorned company, as if her own powerful, raging presence was more than enough to see Garrosh dead without anyone else’s assistance or permission.

  His eyes flitted across the arena to where the Alliance representatives were gathered. Young Anduin and Lady Jaina, with whom he had once sat and—the memory made him smile sadly—shared a cup of tea. There was one beside her who looked eerily familiar, although she was a living, breathing high elf. This must be Vereesa Windrunner—sister to Sylvanas and the missing Alleria.

  Wounds were being ripped open everywhere today, it would seem. But even as Baine wished for the celestials to come and deliver their announcement, the fur along his arms lifted, and his heart felt suddenly, strangely lighter.

  Four shapes appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the light. As they strode into the arena, Baine realized that though his heart and spirit recognized these beings as the August Celestials, to his eyes they had utterly changed. He had always before beheld them in the guise of animals, but it seemed that today, they had chosen to adopt different incarnations.

  Chi-Ji, the Red Crane, bringer of hope, had assumed the appearance of a slender, thin-boned blood elf. His long hair was a shade of fiery red, and what Baine had taken for a golden cape proved to be folded wings. Xuen, the White Tiger, whose temple this was, embodied controlled strength in the fluid movement of his pale blue human body, his hair and skin streaked with black and white stripes. Baine was honored to see that the indomitable Black Ox, Niuzao, had chosen to appear to mortal eyes as a tauren. He moved his white head as he surveyed the visitors with radiant blue eyes, every clop of his glowing hooves seeming to echo. The wise Jade Serpent, Yu’lon, had taken what initially struck Baine as the most peculiar incarnation of all—that of a pandaren cub. Even as he thought this, Yu’lon’s magenta eyes found his, and she smiled. It was true wisdom, he realized, to appear so gentle and appealing that all would want to come to her.

  The four celestials made their way to the north, where Xuen normally sat holding audience. Baine felt calmness and clarity that had been missing descend upon him. He exhaled, closing his eyes briefly in gratitude simply for their presence.

  Everyone was still, waiting eagerly for word.

  But the celestials did not speak. Instead, they turned to look expectantly at a figure that had just entered the temple.

  He wore dark leather armor, and an image of a snarling white tiger adorned his right shoulder. A wide hat and a red cloth across the lower part of his face would have concealed his identity had not everyone present known whom to expect. Taran Zhu, leader of the Shado-pan monks, bowed awkwardly, grimacing slightly, and approached the center circle with a supple stride that belied his age and his rotundity. He bowed again, once to each of the mighty, silent beings, then regarded those gathered.

  “Welcome,” he said. “Today, I speak for the celestials, and I say to you, we receive you with grateful and humble hearts. I would ask you all to take a moment and acknowledge this sight, never before seen in this world. All those who serve as leaders in the Horde, and all those who speak for the peoples of the Alliance, are gathered here today. No one among you carries a weapon, and I have instructed that a dampening field be put in place to prevent any untoward use of magic—even the summoning of what you call the Light. All of you are here for a united purpose, just as you have joined together for greater purposes before. Please—for a few breaths, look at your dear friends, and your
honorable enemies.”

  Baine looked first to Anduin, a face he knew would not be twisted in hate. His eyes moved to the stern visages of the dwarves, the furry mien of Genn Greymane. Vereesa looked as if she was clenching her teeth as well as her small, strong fists, and he wondered if Jaina knew how easily her own unhappiness and resentment could be seen. As the minute of reflection stretched on, Baine saw some tense features relax; others seemed to grow more impatient. On both sides.

  Taran Zhu continued. “Below us, in a prison well guarded, resides the one whose fate you have come here to learn: Garrosh Hellscream.”

  Baine swallowed, straining for the words. He could feel the tension in the air, smell the anger and fear and anxiety. But the placid monk would not be rushed.

  “You were told that Garrosh Hellscream’s fate would be decided today. This is completely true. The celestials do not lie. But neither have they revealed everything to you. After much discussion and meditation, they have come to the conclusion that Hellscream should not be tried solely by them. All have suffered because of Hellscream, not just Pandaria, although its people suffered indeed.” He placed his paw on his midsection, where Gorehowl had bitten deeply not long ago. “Therefore, you deserve to be involved. His guilt is beyond question, but we will hold a fair and open trial to determine his fate, one that both Horde and Alliance will conduct, with the possibility of a reduced sentence—perhaps even liberty.”

  Uproar.

  Baine couldn’t decide who was shouting more loudly, the Horde or the Alliance.

  “Trial? He bragged about what he had done!”

  “He deserves death! He has brought it to so many!”

  “Let’s put all the Horde on trial!”

  “We know what he’s done! The whole world knows it!”

  Xuen’s eyes narrowed slightly and his voice rang out, bell pure and sword sharp. “There will be silence in my temple!”

  He was obeyed. Satisfied, he nodded to Zhu to continue.

  “The August Celestials do not disagree that Garrosh Hellscream is guilty of terrible, grievous acts. I repeat—that he committed crimes is not in dispute. What must be decided now, however, is the manner in which these crimes are to be addressed. It is not that he must be accountable. It is how. And the only way to do this is through a trial. In this way, you, Horde and Alliance both, and any other voices who have aught to say will have a chance to be heard.”

  “And yet the celestials will still be judge, jury, and executioner, will they not?” This came from Lor’themar Theron. Baine had no doubt that the blood elf’s ability to “work together” had been tested to the limit.

  “No, friend Lor’themar,” said Taran Zhu. “The celestials have indeed offered to be the jury, but are amenable to other ideas. I would be honored to serve as fa’shua—as judge. The celestials are wise beings, and wish true justice, and I have come to know many of you who stand before me now. Duly elected representatives from the Alliance and the Horde shall serve as Accuser and Defender, according to ancient Pandaren law.”

  “He is already guilty—you said so yourself,” said Vereesa. “How can there be a Defender and an Accuser then?”

  “The Defender will argue for a more merciful sentence. The Accuser, of course, will argue for a more stringent one. You may select whom you will, and the other side has one veto.”

  “I personally veto these entire proceedings!” snapped Genn Greymane. “Garrosh Hellscream led the Horde against our people and slaughtered them like a butcher. If we agree to have a trial, let’s have a real one, for every leader in the Horde. At best, they stood by and let it happen; at worst, they joined in or”—and here he shot Sylvanas a venomous look—“even instigated their own attacks!” A chorus of angry agreement arose. Baine was sorry to see that Jaina appeared to be among the dissent.

  “That would take quite awhile,” said Taran Zhu calmly, “and not all of us have long lives.”

  “The Alliance,” spat Gallywix, “shouldn’t be involved at all. Garrosh should be tried by his peers, to ensure he makes proper compensation to those of us he wronged.”

  Mekkatorque laughed without humor. “Monetary compensation, you mean!”

  “That would be an acceptable form, yes,” said Gallywix.

  Taran Zhu sighed and raised his paws for silence. “The leaders of the Horde and Alliance must decide. Are the terms as I have presented them agreeable to you, Warchief Vol’jin, and you, King Varian Wrynn?”

  Troll and human regarded one another for a moment; then Vol’jin nodded. “Celestials seem to have a better view on things like this than us who be down in the middle of it, and you be honorable, Taran Zhu. I prefer to be getting a voice and not having a decision just handed out. Horde agrees.”

  “So does the Alliance,” said Varian at once.

  “You will be taken to a place where you may choose your Defender and Accuser,” replied Taran Zhu. “Remember—one veto only for each side. Choose wisely and well.”

  Ji Firepaw, who had been standing off to the side, now approached Vol’jin and bowed deeply. “I will take you to one of the side temples, where there will be braziers.” His broad, furred face split in a grin and his eyes twinkled. “And refreshment.”

  • • •

  The pandaren was as good as his word. Fifteen minutes later, Vol’jin, Go’el, Aggra, Baine, Eitrigg, Varok Saurfang, Sylvanas, Lor’themar Theron, and Jastor Gallywix sat on a carpet that, while not ornate, insulated them from the chill of the stone. Meat and drink were provided, and the promised braziers warmed the air.

  Vol’jin nodded at the food. “Talk be wiser when bellies be full,” he said. The food was consumed, and of course, this being Pandaria, there was plenty of beer to wash it down with. Once everyone was settled, Vol’jin wasted no time getting down to business.

  “My orc brothers and sister, you know how much I be respecting you. But I think if we want to have Garrosh defended by an orc, we be making sure the Alliance gonna veto us.”

  Go’el nodded. “It is deeply regrettable that Garrosh has fallen so far that he has brought a whole race with him in the eyes of others. Nothing an orc Defender can say would be taken seriously, for good or ill.”

  Baine disagreed. “On the contrary: I believe it might be good for everyone to see an orc behaving with honor during so public an event. Eitrigg is known for his calm manner and wise head.”

  But the old orc was shaking that wise head even before Baine had finished speaking. “Your words mean much to me, High Chieftain, but Go’el is right. I, and he, and Saurfang will have our chance to speak if we wish. Taran Zhu has promised us, and I believe him.”

  “I will defend Garrosh,” said Sylvanas. “It is well known that he and I disagreed. The Alliance could never accuse me of going soft.”

  “You be a great Accuser for Garrosh, that much be true,” Vol’jin said. “But we be looking for a Defender.”

  “Come now, Warchief,” Sylvanas said. “No one here wants to see Garrosh leave this place for any destination other than the executioner’s block! You know this! You yourself once said—”

  “I know what I once said better than you, Sylvanas,” Vol’jin said, his voice a low warning. “And you were not the one being left for dead with a slashed throat. I know what all of us here suffered under his rule. But I also know that the celestials be looking for as close to a fair trial as mortal beings can give. I think there be only one proper choice for the job. Someone respected by both the Horde and the Alliance, who has no love for Garrosh but who never gonna lie, or do any less than his best.”

  He turned to Baine.

  For a blissful second, Baine simply thought that the troll was turning to him for his opinion. And then he understood.

  “Me?” he bellowed. “By the Earth Mother, Garrosh slew my father!”

  “You make the warchief’s point for him,” said Lor’themar. “Despite the wrongs Garrosh has done you personally, you were loyal to the Horde until such time as you believed he was harming it too. Th
e Alliance has plenty of spies, and you have a good history with the lady Proudmoore.”

  Baine turned to Go’el, his large eyes pleading with the orc to intervene. Instead, Go’el smiled. “The tauren have always been the heart of the Horde. If anyone can defend Garrosh and be listened to, it will be you, my friend.”

  “I don’t want to defend him—I want what you want,” Baine snapped. “Garrosh has earned death a hundred times over.”

  “Make them listen,” came a voice that had hitherto been quiet. It was deep, strong despite age, and a sharp thread of pain ran through it. “There is no challenge in flinging a list of atrocities at Garrosh’s head,” said Saurfang. “The test will be who can make the judge and jury truly listen. To hear you speak for calm consideration when all know how you suffer—only you can do that, Baine Bloodhoof.”

  “I am a warrior, not a priest! I do not fill my mouth with soft, pleasing words or play on heartstrings.”

  “Garrosh is a warrior too,” Go’el said. “For good or ill, you are as close to a fair representative as we can muster.”

  Baine champed his teeth and turned to Vol’jin. “If I could be loyal to the Horde and my warchief when that title was held by Garrosh, I can certainly be loyal to you, who have always been worthy, Vol’jin.”

  “I be not ordering you,” Vol’jin said, placing his hand on the tauren’s shoulder. “You need to follow your heart on this.”

  • • •

  Things were not turning out the way Sylvanas Windrunner had desired. Not in the slightest.

  First, she had hoped—as every member of the Horde, even softhearted Go’el, obviously did—that they had been called here to decide which of them would perform the coveted task of slaying Garrosh. Preferably slowly, and while inflicting a great deal of pain. Varian Wrynn had already averted that pleasant outcome for too long, and to hear that the celestials wanted an all-out trial was ludicrous. Even they and Taran Zhu admitted that Garrosh was guilty. The very notion of “justice” and “not acting out of revenge” was far too nauseating to be worth the time and effort expended. Sylvanas reflected that the only saving grace was the hope that she might at least be able to speak and add her truth to the sky-high mound of evidence of Garrosh’s shortcomings. She was also pleased that Taran Zhu was the pandaren chosen as fa’shua. He was, she mused, probably the only pandaren who would accept a death penalty; most of the others she had observed would have simply bundled off Garrosh and poured beer down his throat till the orc drunkenly sobbed that he was sorry.