World of Warcraft: War Crimes

by Christie Golden

  Baine turned to Cloudsong. “I thank you for everything, Kador. But duty calls.”

  “In an elven accent, it seems,” said Cloudsong, but bowed nevertheless. “Go, High Chieftain, with, I am certain, your father’s blessing.”

  • • •

  The meal was light and simple: pine nut bread, Darnassian bleu cheese, and fresh lunar pears, all washed down with moonberry juice. Here in the temple of her beloved Elune, Tyrande told Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage of the events that had occurred earlier in the Temple of the White Tiger.

  She had been pleased to learn that Taran Zhu had appointed a mage for the purpose of portaling those involved in the trial. Yu Fei was a sweet-faced pandaren whose silken robe was crafted with the hues of water, which matched the single unruly lock of hair that demurely hid one blue eye.

  “Chu’shao Whisperwind,” Yu Fei had said, using the Pandaren term for “counselor” and bowing deeply as she introduced herself, “I am honored to send you home until your duties require you here. Do not hesitate to call upon me if you need my assistance.”

  “Love, are you certain you wish to undertake this task?” asked the archdruid. Feathers that now grew from his arms, reminders of millennia spent in the Emerald Dream, brushed the tabletop as he poured her a second cup of moonberry juice. Tyrande realized she had grown used to the changes that had affected Malfurion during his long slumber: the feathers, the feet that now were more like a nightsaber’s than an elf’s, the length and thickness of his great green beard. No outward appearance could change the beauty of his inner heart to her, though. He was, and would ever be, her beloved.

  Malfurion continued, “You do not know how long the trial will take, or indeed, where it will take you.”

  Tyrande sipped the drink, cool and sweet as the forests at night. “The eyes of the world will be on this trial, my heart. And,” she remarked, smiling, “you are more than capable of taking care of anything that should arise in my absence. I will be able to return home every night to be with you, which is a blessing from Elune herself. As for where it will take me”—here her voice hardened slightly—“it is likely I will have to do very little, save present the evidence. Garrosh has had few who have loved him these many moons past, fewer still now that his brutal rampage has been stopped.”

  His face was somber as he searched her eyes. “I did not ask how you would fare in the trial, but rather, what it would do to you.”

  Tyrande was surprised and slightly perplexed. “What do you mean?”

  “You are a high priestess, devoted to Elune, who champions enlightenment and healing. And when need be, you are fierce in battle. But you will be working with words, which are slippery and fickle things, not your beautiful heart. And you will be inciting hatred and a desire to condemn, not enlightenment.”

  “In the end, the facts that I present will provide enlightenment and understanding, and condemning Garrosh appropriately will eventually bring healing,” she said. He still looked troubled and opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak further, a female voice came from outside the pavilion where Tyrande and her mate were taking their meal.

  “My lady?”

  “You may enter, Cordressa.”

  A slender hand lifted the gauzy flap, and the Sentinel poked her midnight-blue head in. “You have a visitor. She says she has come on trial business, and the matter is urgent.”

  Malfurion raised an eyebrow in query, and Tyrande shook her head, as surprised as he. “Of course, Cordressa. Show her in.”

  The Sentinel stepped back, holding the pavilion flap, and indicated that the mysterious visitor could enter.

  The guest was a gnome with silver hair rolled up in twin buns on either side of her slightly freckled face. Wide green eyes sparkled with pleasure as she greeted Tyrande and Malfurion.

  “Archdruid, High Priestess—so nice to see you both again! Terribly sorry to bother you, Chu’shao, but I fear it’s quite important.”

  Chu’shao. Of course, that was another title Tyrande now bore, for at least a time. “Certainly, Chromie.” Tyrande smiled, sinking gracefully into a kneeling position before the bronze dragon Chronormu so they might look eye to eye. At the mention of the dragon’s name, the Sentinel quietly dropped the pavilion flap to give them privacy. “How may I help?”

  “The celestials have something they’d like both you and Chu’shao Bloodhoof to utilize as you present your cases. It’s easier just to show you. Would you mind coming with me, please?”

  4

  Upon his arrival at the Temple of the White Tiger, Baine bowed to Yu Fei, thanked her for portaling him there, and turned to the leader of the Shado-pan.

  “Greetings, Lord Taran Zhu. Kairozdormu has brought me as you requested.”

  Baine glanced about as he spoke. The Temple of the White Tiger seemed even more cavernous at night. Moonlight and lamps provided some illumination, but even so, the upper seats were shrouded in shadow. Baine noticed that furnishings appropriate for the trial had been brought in. There were three areas—one for him and Garrosh, one for Tyrande, and one for the fa’shua and witnesses. The Accuser and Defender sections were identical, with rectangular tables, covered by a crimson and gold cloth, and simple chairs. One section was set up in the circle located in the west; the other, with two chairs, in the east. Baine assumed this side was for him and Garrosh. The tables had empty pitchers and glasses, along with ink, quills, and parchment neatly arranged, presumably for note taking.

  Taran Zhu, however, would be seated on an elevated dais in a chair that was more ornate than the others, but nowhere near as lavish as the throne high in the north part of the spectator area. Beside the chair were a small gong and mallet. On the floor in front of Taran Zhu’s seat and slightly to the left was the witness chair, with a little table where an empty pitcher and glass now sat.

  This much Baine had been told to expect. But there was another set of tables and chairs, placed to the side and slightly behind Taran Zhu’s chair, which bore an item draped with a black cloth.

  “May I ask what that is?”

  “It is the reason why I have asked you here at this hour,” said Taran Zhu, providing a perfectly fine explanation while providing none at all. He forestalled Baine’s next question by holding up a paw. “When Chu’shao Whisperwind has arrived, all will be revealed. Patience.”

  “I was pulled away from a ritual ceremony on the grounds that time was of the essence. I’m certain you can appreciate that, right now, I have little interest in patience,” Baine replied.

  Taran Zhu gave the bronze dragon standing beside Baine a reproachful glance. “Yu Fei could have reopened the portal a few moments later, Kairozdormu. She would not have minded. I know you are not as familiar as your Alliance counterpart with the ways of the younger races, but you must learn to respect them.”

  Kairozdormu looked discomfited. “I am sorry. You are correct. She has the advantage over me. I trust Chu’shao Bloodhoof will accept my apologies and help me to know better the tauren ways.”

  Baine was only slightly mollified. The dragon hadn’t interrupted the key part of the ceremony, but the elements also did not abide not being properly thanked for their presence. He decided to let it go and focus instead on something else Taran Zhu had said. “Alliance counterpart . . . ?”

  “As Kairozdormu is here to work with you, so another bronze dragon will be advising the Accuser. They will arrive shortly.”

  Baine looked again at the mysterious covered object, at the now-empty seats that would soon be crowded with onlookers. When his gaze fell upon the table and two chairs in the Defender’s area of the arena, despite what he told his father he snorted at the thought of not only having to defend Garrosh, but being forced to sit next to the orc every day during the trial.

  “Something troubling you?” Kairozdormu lounged in what would be Baine’s chair, his hands clasped behind his golden head, and looked at the tauren quizzically.

  “Many things trouble me, Kairozdormu, but you cannot do
anything about them,” Baine answered.

  “Don’t be too sure about that. And call me Kairoz, please.”

  Two figures—one tall, one short—now entered the arena. Tyrande Whisperwind inclined her head gracefully. “Good evening, Chu’shao Bloodhoof. Lord Taran Zhu, I hope we have not kept you waiting long.”

  The gnome accompanying her turned to Baine. “Hello, High Chieftain. It’s good to see you again!” She gave him a quick smile and went to speak with Kairoz.

  “High Priestess Tyrande, High Chieftain Baine,” said Taran Zhu, “thank you both for coming. I will get right to the point. More important than what happens to Garrosh is the necessity of having a trial that all agree was fair and just. Otherwise, the risk is run of either Garrosh becoming a martyr, and having many of the Horde fight to hold aloft the beacon they believe he has dropped to them, or a public perception of too much leniency, in which case the rift between Horde and Alliance will only be widened.”

  “My task is an easy one, Lord Zhu,” the night elven high priestess said in her musical voice. “I am certain the evidence will speak for itself.”

  “And while all know I have no love for Garrosh, I would sooner die than dishonor a charge I have been given,” Baine said, his voice deep with the beginnings of affront. What was Taran Zhu getting at?

  “No disrespect is intended,” Taran Zhu said. “Well do I know that neither of you would resort to trickery or deception. And yet, there would be rumors that such was the case.”

  “That is regrettable,” Tyrande agreed, “but inevitable.”

  The bronze dragons exchanged smiles that were almost, but not quite, smirks. “In an ordinary trial, yes,” said Kairozdormu. “But this is no ordinary trial. You are familiar with the Hourglass of Time?”

  It was a rhetorical question. The Hourglass—enormous, beautiful, and able to reverse time itself—had been created by Nozdormu, the former Aspect of Time. Nozdormu had foreseen his own corruption and transformation into a being called Murozond, and had given those who would fight and defeat Murozond the use of the Hourglass to aid them in their battle.

  Baine and Tyrande shared awkward glances. Word had reached them both that anyone attempting to assist Nozdormu had been confronted by dark, twisted echoes of themselves. It was not a comforting thought.

  “We know of the Hourglass,” said Baine curtly.

  “Well, ever since Murozond’s defeat, I have been . . . well . . .” Kairoz paused, groping for the word.

  “Tinkering,” said Chromie.

  “Tinkering, yes,” agreed Kairoz. “Magically. I’ve been exploring the Timeless Isle. Utilizing a few grains of the Sands of Time contained in the Hourglass, and combining them with ground particles of the epoch stones found on the isle, I have crafted an artifact I call the Vision of Time. It’s quite a marvelous little thing, really, if I do say so myself. Its abilities are different from the Hourglass. It cannot turn back time as the Hourglass can, but Chromie and I can direct the Vision to provide a display of any single given point in time—any important moment—as it truly was. I’ve even been able to get some glimpses into the future.”

  “How?” asked Baine, glancing up uneasily at the still-cloaked item.

  “It can create a precisely controlled rift in time.”

  “Do you not run the risk of changing history?” asked Tyrande.

  “Not at all,” said Kairoz. He looked proud of himself, and, Baine thought, rightfully so. “As I said, I have altered the intrinsic makeup of the Sands of Time we will be using. The Vision of Time won’t actually manifest the events. Nothing will be here physically—only the sights and sounds will be able to come through the rift.”

  “Also, it only works one way,” Chromie added. “There is absolutely no risk of changing anything.”

  “Let me show it to you,” said Kairoz. He grasped a corner of the black cloth and, with a dramatic flourish, whipped it off.

  The Vision of Time was an hourglass with two dragons crafted of metal—quite literally bronze dragons. Each twined around a globe. They circled nose to tail, and so exquisite was the craftsmanship that they appeared to be merely drowsing.

  “The sand in the top globe is not falling,” said Tyrande.

  “It will commence doing so when Chromie or I activate the Vision,” Kairoz said. “There’s a finite amount of sand in the upper bulb. Each of you will be permitted a certain number of hours to use during the trial. You’ll be able to choose which historical moments you wish to present as irrefutable evidence, and the duration of each display will count toward your total.”

  “In other words,” said Tyrande, “there is no need for witnesses.”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Kairoz said. “You’ll have to choose your moments wisely, and witnesses can help—or hurt—a case with more than simple facts. Chromie has been chosen to advise you, High Priestess, on the strategy of integrating them into your presentations, and I will be working with you, High Chieftain.”

  “So,” Baine mused. “No lies, no exaggerations, no difficulties if a witness is unable to precisely recall an incident.”

  “The unvarnished, unaltered truth,” Chromie agreed. “Over which there can be no debate.”

  “Oh, there certainly could be,” Tyrande said. “Motive, inner thoughts, other plans—”

  Chromie held up her hands. “Don’t give your tactics away, High Priestess!” she urged.

  “How will we know which moments to choose?” Baine asked. “Will we be able to see them ourselves before we show them to the court?”

  “Of course,” said Kairoz. “As for which ones to choose, that’s why you have us. You tell me or Chromie what sort of point you wish to make, and we will assist you in locating the perfect moment.”

  “Why don’t we retire to Darnassus and have a discussion about how best to use the Vision to support your position?” asked Chromie.

  “You speak wisdom, Chromie. Lord Zhu, do you require anything further of me?” Tyrande asked.

  “You are free to leave with your advisor, Accuser. As are you, Defender,” Taran Zhu said. “Now, from this moment on, the two of you and I will not see one another, nor will we exchange any words, until the trial begins. Peace be with you, and may the wisdom of the celestials carry you both as you discharge your duties with honor and diligence.”

  He bowed deeply and held the pose for a moment, though it was clear the motion pained him physically, and Baine felt the respect and gratitude emanating from the monk.

  Tyrande, too, bowed to them all, and left with Chromie. She still moved with her usual languid grace and power, but there was a subtle eagerness in her steps that betrayed her excitement.

  “Well, she certainly seems pleased with my contribution,” said Kairoz, standing beside Baine, looking after them.

  “She is right to feel so,” Baine replied.

  “And you do not?”

  Baine gave him a contemplative look. “All here tonight know well that the pure, unvarnished truth will not reflect positively on Garrosh. And as my duty is to defend him, whatever my personal opinions, this feels more like a gift to the Accuser than anything else.”

  “Come now,” Kairoz replied, smiling. “Don’t give up just yet. Even pure, unvarnished truth can be interpreted differently in certain lights. Your right to ask me to display particular interactions is not limited just to what Garrosh has done and said, you know.”

  “An interesting perspective . . . I must say, I am intrigued. Let us return to Thunder Bluff, you and I, and you will tell more on how I might make the best use of this Vision.”

  • • •

  It shouldn’t have felt like a celebration, and Jaina Proudmoore knew it. The eve before a trial where the verdict would surely render an execution, the ending of a life? No, of course it should never feel so.

  But it certainly did.

  She could tell others shared the sentiment, though no one seated at the table tonight would raise a toast to a death well deserved—at least
, not openly. But postures were straighter than they might otherwise have been. Voices were lighter, and there was even laughter—something Jaina had almost forgotten. There was contentment in her heart that had not been there for some time, and she dared to hope that now—finally—the horrors of war were over, at least long enough for her to take a breath, mourn the dead, laugh with the living, and truly begin the gentler tasks of learning about being in a relationship with someone so different from her, yet so true.

  The feeling of peace, so tentative for so long, grew in her as she looked at the faces around her, sharing this meal at Violet Rise. Kalec (of course), Varian and Anduin Wrynn, Vereesa Windrunner.

  Even as she was grateful for their presence, she felt the absence of the fallen. Attuned to her, Kalec gently squeezed her hand.

  “You miss them,” he said softly, and she did not bother to deny it.

  “I do,” she said. “They should be here—Pained, and Kinndy, and Tervosh.”

  They had spoken quietly, but little escaped elven ears. “Yes, they should,” said Vereesa. “They, and Rhonin, and so many others.”

  Anduin looked troubled at the hard tone of Vereesa’s voice. “I feel certain that with the celestials as jury and Taran Zhu as judge, justice will be done.”

  “Yes,” said Vereesa. “Baine was an odd choice to defend Garrosh, but one I have no quarrel with.”

  “Baine is honorable,” Anduin said, “and there is no doubt in my mind he will endeavor to do the job to the best of his ability, despite how he feels personally.”

  “But I do not think it is a task he is relishing,” said Kalec.

  “True,” said Varian. “As opposed to Tyrande’s task, which I think everyone in the Alliance coveted.”

  “Except you,” Jaina pointed out.

  “I’d rather watch this play out,” Varian replied. “If I simply wanted Garrosh dead, all I would have needed to do was stay silent while Go’el swung the Doomhammer.”