• • •
Sylvanas sat still as stone, the rage inside her belying her cool exterior. She could not believe the night elf’s incompetence. If Sylvanas had been the Accuser, she would have had many questions for the young human prince, questions as silky and as dangerous as spider webbing with which to entrap him. Yet despite the fact that Garrosh Hellscream had broken every single bone in Anduin Wrynn’s body, the child had piped up with testimony so hand-wringingly heartfelt that Sylvanas felt the mood in the entire chamber shift, and Tyrande had shaken her head.
“Court will take an hour’s respite,” said Taran Zhu, and struck the gong. As Baine left the floor, Sylvanas hastened to meet him, but Vol’jin had beaten her to it. The two were heading for the door, and the troll was actually congratulating Baine on his “fairness.”
“No one gonna feel that Garrosh was treated badly by the Horde now, whatever else Tyrande springs on you. Mon, you could be calling the prince of Stormwind as a witness for the Defender!”
“Young Wrynn knows what is right,” Baine rumbled. “He is forgiving. His word counts for much.”
“More, apparently, than the word of the high chieftain of the tauren,” snapped Sylvanas, falling into step beside them as they emerged outside. It was noon, and Sylvanas disliked the sun, but she was not about to back off.
Baine’s ears flattened. “Be mindful of your own words, Sylvanas,” Vol’jin said. “You don’t know when you gonna have to eat them.”
“Fortunately, I do not have to be mindful of what I say when all of Azeroth is watching, or else I might become as much a boot-licking Alliance sympathizer as—”
Baine did nothing so obvious as roar and seize her throat. He merely stopped in his tracks, gripped her upper arms, and squeezed. He was so gentle and precise in his movements and speech when off the battlefield that she had forgotten he was a warrior—and one of the finest the Horde could boast. He could, she realized belatedly, snap her arms like brittle twigs.
“I am not an Alliance sympathizer,” he said in a deep, calm voice. “Nor do I lick boots.”
“Let her go, Baine,” said Vol’jin, and Baine obeyed. “Sylvanas—Baine be doing his job, the job that I, his warchief, asked him to take on. He does it with honor. There be nothing wrong with that. Don’t you go acting like there is.”
“I do not object to him doing his job well,” said Sylvanas, recovering her composure. “I object to him doing it so well he might actually win!”
Baine chuckled ruefully. “You do not intend to, but you flatter me. I believe there is little danger of that,” he said. “I have made those spectators who are hungry for slaughter pause and think for a moment, nothing more. And that is all to the good. One should never make the decision to take another life lightly—not in battle, not in the mak’gora, not in a courtroom. Now, if you both will please excuse me, there is some work I must do in preparation for the next witness.”
He bowed to both of them, letting his body drop more deeply to Vol’jin than to Sylvanas, and departed. Kairoz was waiting for him, and Sylvanas realized he had watched the whole thing. Sylvanas wished she could claw the smirk off the dragon’s handsome face. Why wasn’t he suggesting more damning things to show?
Vol’jin shook his head and sighed.
“When you gonna be getting wiser instead of just smarter, Sylvanas?” he said, not unkindly.
“When the Horde itself grows wise enough to realize not to dish out mercy to those who have done nothing to deserve it,” she replied. “Garrosh might have been a good choice for leader of the Horde for a short while, but once Thrall announced he was going for good, something else should have been done.”
A smile played around the warchief’s long tusks. “Like making a Dark Lady a dark warchief?”
Sylvanas shook her head. “Power in that capacity does not interest me. I would have thought you knew that, Vol’jin.” It was the best kind of lie—one that had some truth to it. She was, indeed, not interested in wielding power in so blatant and crude a fashion.
He shrugged. “Who knows what you want, Sylvanas. Sometimes I don’t even think you do.” He jabbed a sharp-clawed finger at her. “Leave Baine be. He not gonna rob you of your kill. You just need to let it come in its own time.”
He walked off, calling to one of the vendors for a quick bite to eat. Sylvanas watched him go, considering.
Her anger had not abated. It never did. Anger was to her now what breathing had been when her heart still beat. But it had changed, from hot and impulsive to thoughtful and controlled.
Vol’jin and Baine were not thinking clearly. They were too caught up in how their own people functioned, in what Horde members would want to see, and how they would perceive things. Even if they did take into account the Light-loving members of the Alliance, the verdict would never be in question.
But the jury was not made up of members of the Alliance and Horde. It was made up of beings who were completely impartial—and completely detached from the more visceral, transitory, intense emotions of the other races of Azeroth. Perhaps that detachment would stretch to being aloof from concepts such as “mercy” and “second chances,” in which case she need not worry. Or perhaps it would distance them too much from white-hot vengeance and the unending ache of the deaths of people one had once loved.
Clarity came to her, calming and arrow-sharp. She could not take the risk that the celestials, “august” as they might be, would make the wrong decision.
Sylvanas would not let her “kill” come “in its own time,” as Vol’jin had urged. She would take matters into her own hands, as she had done many times before. But how, precisely? It was possible she could accomplish it alone, but unlikely. Whom, then, could she trust? Not Baine, of course. Not Vol’jin. Perhaps Theron—he had seemed willing to talk. And Gallywix doubtless had a price.
There was still some time left before court resumed. She always thought better in her own realm, in the Undercity, beneath lowering skies and surrounded by the Forsaken, who entrusted themselves to her guidance. She would let them, let her home, inspire her.
She approached the mage assigned to the court, Yu Fei, and requested a portal. Just as Yu Fei had finished murmuring the words of the spell and an image of the Undercity appeared before her, another pandaren, whom she did not know, raced up.
“Lady Sylvanas,” he said, “my apologies, but I was instructed to give this to you!” He pressed a scroll and a small package wrapped in blue cloth into her hands. Stepping back quickly, he bowed. Even as Sylvanas opened her mouth to inquire who had sent said scroll, the air shimmered around her and she manifested in her quarters.
They were spare, as befitted one who did not linger overlong in them. Sylvanas Windrunner no longer needed sleep as such, though she did come here from time to time simply to be alone and to think. She had few belongings: a bed hung with heavy, dark drapes; a desk with candles and writing materials; a chair; and a single shelf lined with a half-dozen books. Select weapons were displayed on the wall within easy reach. She needed very little else in her present existence, and she did not keep much from her past one.
Curious as to who might be sending her a missive and a package, and cautious about opening them, Sylvanas inspected the scroll thoroughly. She sensed no magic from it, nor did she notice any telltale signs that would alert her to poison. The scroll was sealed with red wax, but there was no identifying mark. Turning her attention to the package, Sylvanas noted that the blue cloth was an item commonly sold in all major cities. She shook it gently, and something clinked inside. Sinking down on the soft bed, she then removed her gloves, cracking the seal with a fingernail.
The handwriting was elegant, the lines few:
Once we were on the same side.
Perhaps we can be again.
Sylvanas narrowed her eyes speculatively, trying to think who this mystery person might be. The handwriting wasn’t immediately recognizable, but it was somehow familiar. She had a rather lengthy list of people who had turned ag
ainst her, or whom she had defied. Amused, she unwrapped the parcel and opened the small wooden box.
Her chest contracted, and she dropped the package as if it had bitten her.
The banshee stared at its contents, then rose and unsteadily made her way to her desk. Her fingers shook as she unlocked a drawer. Here, untouched for years, was all that remained of her past. There were only a few items: decades-old letters, arrowheads from significant kills, some other odds and ends, the detritus of a life.
And a small box.
Part of her urged her to throw the new gift inside this drawer, turn the key, and forget again. No good could come of this. And yet . . .
Holding the box, she returned to the bed. With unwonted gentleness, Sylvanas lifted the lid and gazed at what was inside. An adventurer had found this, several years ago, lying among the ruins of the spire where she had fallen. It had been returned to her. The memories it unleashed had nearly broken her then, and threatened to do so now.
Such a small thing, to have such power over the Banshee Queen: a simple piece of jewelry. Sylvanas picked up the necklace, letting the cool metal rest in her hand and gazing at the blue, winking gem that adorned it. Gently she placed it down next to the one she had just received.
They were a perfect match, save for the gemstones. Hers was a sapphire; this was a ruby. Different, too, Sylvanas knew, were the inscriptions.
She opened hers and read: To Sylvanas. Love always, Alleria.
Alleria . . . the second of the Windrunners to have left them. First had been their brother, Lirath, the youngest of them all, and perhaps the brightest. Then Alleria, lost beyond the Dark Portal in Outland. Then . . .
Sylvanas shook her head, reclaiming her composure. Of the Windrunner immediate family, she was certain of only one who yet drew breath.
Sylvanas opened the ruby locket, knowing what she would find, but needing to see it with her own eyes.
To Vereesa. With love, Alleria.
13
The note was written in bold print, brief, and to the point.
I will see you at home after court.
So few words, to make Vereesa so nervous.
Her sister was clever; no one intercepting this would know who had sent it, and even if they did, it seemed so harmless a message.
Except it wasn’t. “Home,” in this case, had a very dark meaning. Vereesa thanked Jia Ji, the pandaren courier who had so unwittingly borne messages that could potentially have started a war, rolled the scroll up till it was barely as thick as the quill that had written on it, and tossed it into a nearby brazier.
“Vereesa?” She started and whirled. It was Varian. “It’s almost time to go back in. If you want some dumplings, best get them quickly.”
He and Anduin were finishing up some spring rolls and heading toward the temple. Belatedly Vereesa realized that the brazier into which she had tossed the note belonged to a stout pandaren cook, who was busily stacking bamboo steamers atop one another and using chopsticks to delicately fish out perfectly formed dumplings. He smiled inquiringly at her, and she nodded, although food was the last thing on her mind.
“You’ll like them. Anduin almost cleaned out Mi Shao yesterday,” Varian said, grinning and ruffling Anduin’s fair hair. The boy ducked sheepishly, looking his age for once.
“The human cub is growing stronger,” Mi Shao said. “Pandaren food suits him. I am honored to provide both sustenance and pleasure to one who understands my land so well.”
“Try one of the little ones with seeds on them,” Anduin urged Vereesa. “They’re filled with lotus root paste. Amazing.”
“Thanks,” Vereesa said. “I will take two, please.”
“So will I, on second thought,” Anduin said. “You head on in, Father. I’ll join you shortly.”
“I will see you both in a few moments then,” Varian said, pulling his son to him for a quick hug and then striding off toward the arena. Anduin watched his father go, thanked Mi Shao in the pandaren’s native tongue, and took a bite of the pastry. He closed his eyes in pleasure.
“These are so good,” he said. Vereesa was fleetingly reminded of her own sons and their inexhaustible appetites, but her thoughts quickly drifted back to Sylvanas. She made no move to eat. As he chewed, he regarded her, then asked, “Are you all right?”
Vereesa’s heart sped up. He was too damned perceptive . . . How had she betrayed herself? Did he already know about—
“Of course I am. Why would I not be?” She forced herself to eat a bite of the pastry. The exterior was soft and chewy, the interior sweet but not cloying. Had her stomach not been in knots and her mouth not been as dry as sand, she might have enjoyed the delicacy.
“Well . . . because of what I said in court. I know that you and Aunt Jaina aren’t too keen on giving Garrosh a second chance. And I wanted you to know that I understand why. I do.”
Relief made her feel weak. “And I understand why you feel as you do.”
His face lit up, and at once she felt guilty for the prevarication. “Really?”
“You see the best in everybody, Anduin. Everyone knows that.”
His expression sobered. “I know some people don’t respect it. They think I’m too soft.”
“Hey,” she said, and caught his arm gently. “You stood up in a courtroom full of people who would eagerly kill Garrosh with their own hands, and you spoke on his behalf. Soft people do not have that kind of courage.”
His irritation vanished, replaced by a winning smile. The boy is going to break hearts one day. If he lives long enough. “Thank you, Vereesa. That means a great deal, especially when it comes from you. And . . . honestly, it’s a little surprising. I’m afraid I count you among those who’d like to kill Garrosh with their own hands.”
“No, I would not. I believe in the wisdom of this trial, and I believe the celestials will do what is right.”
“I’m—really glad to hear that.”
As they walked together back to the courtroom, Vereesa felt a fresh rage at Garrosh Hellscream, for turning her into someone who would lie to a fifteen-year-old boy.
To their surprise, a pandaren guard was at the entrance, gently refusing everyone admission. Varian was talking to him, becoming more agitated, then finally turning away. He caught sight of Vereesa and Anduin approaching, and waved them to hurry up. His face was thunderous, and Vereesa felt sweat break out on her brow. Could he have discovered . . . ? No. If he had, he would be attacking her himself right now.
“What is it?” she asked, trying to sound curious and concerned, but not too much so.
“Court is closed for the rest of the day,” Varian said brusquely. “Anduin, come with me. Vereesa, you can return to Violet Rise if you wish.”
“Of course,” said Vereesa. She did not do so immediately. On the pretext of finishing the bun, she lingered where she could look inside the temple. Taran Zhu, Baine, and Tyrande seemed to be waiting for Anduin and his father. Baine began to speak. Varian crossed his arms and set his jaw. Anduin looked confused as he listened, and unable to contain himself, Varian started shouting at Baine. Taran Zhu said something, and Varian turned to shout at him and Tyrande as well, while Anduin tried to calm things down.
“Ranger-General,” said the pandaren guard. “Respectfully—this is not for your eyes.”
She felt heat rise in her face, and nodded. “Of course. I apologize.” She turned and walked away, wondering what new tactic Baine was going to employ to try to wring sympathy from the August Celestial jury for a mass murderer.
Vereesa clenched her fists and strode off. Twilight could not come swiftly enough for her.
• • •
“What’s going on?” Anduin asked as he looked from Taran Zhu to Tyrande to Baine and finally to his father. His father’s was the only expression he could read; Varian was extremely upset by something.
“Anduin,” Varian said, “Baine has asked . . .” A muscle in his jaw tightened. “Light blind me, I can’t even say it!”
Baine stepped forward. “Your Majesty, I wish to thank you for even bringing the prince here.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” muttered Varian. “I’m this close to marching him back home to Stormwind.”
“But—what—” Anduin began.
Baine flicked an ear. “I have been asked to make a request.”
“Who asked—” Anduin started, but the words died in his throat. All at once he knew who, and he knew what. There was only one question. “Why?”
“I don’t know why he wants to speak with you,” Baine said, and his ear flicked again in obvious frustration. “Only that he does. He says you are the only person he will talk to.”
“More like the only person who would talk to him,” said Varian.
Anduin placed a hand on his father’s arm. “I haven’t said I would yet, Father.” He looked at Taran Zhu. “Is something like this even allowed in the trial?”
“Under Pandaren law, I determine what is permissible in this trial, young one. Chu’shao Bloodhoof approached me some time ago, and I meditated on this. I instructed him to wait until after you had given your testimony. Both Accuser and Defender have waived their rights to ask you to testify any further, so both have something to gain and to lose.”
“Being blunt,” said Baine, “you are known as a kind and compassionate human, Your Highness. It would benefit my case if you were to befriend Garrosh and exercise your right to speak of it, and harm my case if you were to turn against him and speak of that. Chu’shao Whisperwind faces the same conundrum, only reversed.”
“So why not just forbid it?”
“Because Garrosh is considering breaking his silence in court if you do so,” said Tyrande. “That means I would get a chance to question him directly, and that could strongly help my case.”
“And depending on what happens in your conversations, it could strengthen mine,” Baine said. “As I said, it’s a gamble.”
“I cannot force Garrosh to speak in court, but I feel it would be an important thing if he did,” Taran Zhu said, “no matter what happens. No one could say he did not have a chance to speak, then.”
World of Warcraft: War Crimes Page 12
