The pain was unbearable. It was the same phantom agony she had experienced over the last several days, when she had felt so happy with Vereesa. Except now, even the joy that had accompanied the pain was gone, and there was nothing left but torment.
Torment, and hate.
Her leather clothing was now spattered with blood, but she did not care. The only way to stop hurting was to hurt something else, to vent her anguish and sorrow and despair on something living, since she could not vent it on Vereesa, sister, Little Moon—
She staggered, clutching the wolf’s head, blinking eyelashes sticky with crimson fluid. She dropped the head, and it bounced hollowly. Sylvanas fell to her knees, buried her face in her hands, and wept, wept like a broken child who had lost everything, everything.
Little Moon . . . !
Gradually the sobbing ceased, and the familiar peace of coldness drove out the heated hurting. Sylvanas rose, licking blood from her lips.
She should have known. The pain she had felt at first, when she dared foolishly permit herself to hope for something different from what she had now, to feel something for another . . . to feel love again . . . It had been a warning. A warning that she was no longer made for feelings such as hope, or love, or trust, or joy. These things were for the living; these things were for the weak. In the end, they would slip through her fingers, trickling away like the violet remnants of Jaina Proudmoore’s apprentice Kinndy, and she would be left alone. Again, and always. Calmed now through tears and slaughter, she remounted her horse. Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken, would never again make the mistake of believing she could love.
34
Go’el was surprised to see that Sylvanas’s seat was empty. Of all the Horde leaders, he had thought she held the most personal, most virulent hatred of Garrosh. What had Baine said? Vol’jin had told the tauren, Ain’t nobody knows more of hate than the Dark Lady. And she like her hate dished out icy cold.
And yet, on the day when Garrosh was to finally break his silence, she was not here to lap up his suffering. Strange.
The spectators filed in, filling the seats, though no one would dare take Sylvanas’s. Kairoz stood alone at the bronzes’ table, tinkering with the Vision of Time. Go’el assumed he was deactivating it, seeing that its purpose had been served. He found himself annoyed that Kairoz chose to do so now rather than last night, or even before then. There had been no need for the device in closing arguments; all the evidence had already been presented. Although he had no love for Garrosh, Go’el still thought it discourteous that Kairoz was doing such a mundane task. He wondered why Taran Zhu had allowed it, as it smacked of disrespect for the court proceedings, and reasoned that it must be important in a way only a bronze dragon would know. Chromie, no doubt, would join Kairoz in a few moments. Go’el was certain that neither bronze dragon, each of whom had played such a pivotal role, would miss hearing Garrosh speak.
This trial had strained more than it had solved up to this point. Many in the Horde had expressed anger toward Baine for his apparently sincere defense of Garrosh. The tactics the Defender had used with Vol’jin and Go’el himself had certainly stung. Baine’s closing argument, however, clearly showed the reasons why Baine had felt it necessary to do what he had done, and Go’el understood. Still, he was glad to see the end of this. Whatever decision the August Celestials reached, it would be a relief.
The arena hummed with the sound of voices talking excitedly, even more today than usual. The chatter subsided when Taran Zhu entered, walking toward his seat with the same unhurried step as he had every day before. He struck the gong and announced, “Court has now resumed. Please bring in the jury.”
The four celestials took their customary positions, serenely unreadable, ready to hear what the Accused might have to say. Beside Go’el, Aggra tensed. “Here he comes,” she murmured.
Garrosh Hellscream was still flanked by six guards, but today the chains around his legs that made his steps short and halting were gone, though he still walked with a limp. Gone too were any chains other than a single set of manacles that bound his hands. He stood straighter than he had before, with a weary but stoic mien.
“I am glad Taran Zhu permitted this,” Go’el said to Aggra. “Whatever else he is, he is a warrior. He should face death like an orc, not like an animal.”
“Hmm,” said Aggra. “You are more charitable than I. I do not think he deserves any show of respect, for if he ever had it from anyone, he has more than squandered it.”
“And that,” said Go’el, “is a tragedy too.”
• • •
Anduin had been schooled from his earliest years in how to sit calmly at formal occasions. “No wiggling for a prince,” he had been told. But today, after his encounter with first Vereesa and then Garrosh, he was jumpy and had difficulty not shifting in his seat. Fortunately, everyone else seemed as anxious as he, though he hoped no one else had experienced the sort of respite he had. By the way they were acting, Jaina and Kalec had actually had a pretty good one. They were holding hands and looked happy. Anduin was glad. He wanted something to go right for a change.
“How are you holding up?” Varian asked.
“Me? I’m fine,” Anduin said, too quickly.
“I didn’t like it when you started talking to Garrosh,” Varian said, “but . . . I think it was the right thing. It’s all up to the celestials now.”
“Do you think if he asks for mercy, they will grant it?” Anduin couldn’t help but ask.
“I can’t begin to guess what a celestial might or might not do,” Varian said. “What concerns me is that you’re all right.”
“I am,” Anduin said, and he realized he was. He’d done all he could for Garrosh, and was content. Though still a little jumpy. He detected movement at one of the doors. “There he is.”
As Garrosh walked forward, Anduin saw that Taran Zhu had agreed to Anduin’s request to reduce Garrosh’s chains. The orc had even been given a clean tunic. He seemed better than when Anduin had left him, calmer, more . . . dignified.
“Huh,” said Varian. “Where’s Chromie? I thought she’d want to be here for this.”
Anduin glanced over, and sure enough, only Kairoz was at the bronze dragons’ table, still fiddling with the Vision of Time.
“No idea,” he said, then returned his full attention to Garrosh. The guards marched him into the center of the room; then four of them dropped back. Only two remained, and even they stood a few steps behind the orc as he faced the fa’shua.
“Garrosh Hellscream,” said Taran Zhu. “You have been tried in a formal court of Pandaren law. Before the jury begins its deliberation on your fate, is there anything you wish to say, to me, to the jury, or to any spectators?”
Garrosh regarded the crowd as if seeing them for the first time. He turned in a tight circle as he looked around the ring, pausing here and there for a moment. At one point, he locked gazes with Anduin, and something flickered across his face.
“Yes,” he said, his voice strong, carrying easily in the large space. “I do have something to say. Honorable Taran Zhu. August Celestials. Spectators from all across Azeroth. I have heard everything you have heard. I have seen what you have seen.”
He moved to face Tyrande, who sat quietly, perfectly composed. “Tyrande Whisperwind has presented a strong and damning case against me. A case that has roused some of you to anger, and thoughts of revenge. Thoughts of my death. I do not blame you for hungering for that.”
He gave Tyrande a slight smirk, then turned to his Defender. Baine too looked composed, though somewhat more grim than Tyrande. “Baine Bloodhoof, who has little enough cause to do so, has with great earnestness presented a case not protesting my innocence, but asking for your understanding. For your compassion. For you, the jury and the spectators, to look within your own hearts, and see that no one is completely free from blame.”
Then, to Anduin’s surprise, Garrosh turned to face him. “And Prince Anduin Wrynn, who by all rights
should be foremost among those clamoring for my death, has chosen to spend hours in my company. I attempted to slay him, in a brutal, cruel, and painful manner. And what does he do?” Garrosh shook his head, as if in disbelief. “He speaks to me of the Light. He tells me he believes that I can change. He has shown me kindness when I offered hatred and violence. It is because of him that I stand before you, facing what I expect to be a pronouncement of my death, as a warrior, not as a broken slave.”
He lifted his shackled hands, and gave Anduin a slight bow before turning to face the crowd once more. “Oh, yes. I know full well how much blood is on my hands. I know exactly the magnitude and the consequences of what I have done.” He took a deep breath and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Anduin leaned forward, not wanting to hope, but hoping wildly, beautifully, anyway.
“And now, here at this moment, when I am free to speak my mind and heart, I tell you true: I regret . . .”
His laughter rang through the arena.
“Nothing!”
Anduin forgot to breathe. He felt cold, numb. He sat, staring at Garrosh, for a moment unable to mentally process the words. Sound hammered on his ears, the outraged cries of a furious public. Taran Zhu struck the gong futilely, calling for order.
But Garrosh, it seemed, had only begun. He lifted his shackled arms and bellowed, “Yes! Yes! I would destroy a thousand Theramores, if it would bring the Alliance to its knees! I would hunt down every night elf whelp that bleats on the face of this world and silence their mewling forever! I would banish every troll, every tauren, every simpering blood elf and greedy goblin and shambling walking corpse if it were within my power—and it almost was!”
Anduin realized his father had been repeating his name. He looked over at Varian unsteadily, overwhelmed with shock and disillusionment. “Anduin,” Varian said for perhaps the third time. “Come on. Go’el wants to talk to us and I think I know why.”
Go’el stood near the entrance. As he met Anduin’s gaze, he jerked his head slightly toward the corridor that led outside. Anduin nodded, licking his lips and shaking his head as he and Varian threaded their way to the stairs. On the floor below, Garrosh continued. Anduin clenched his jaw. How could he have believed Garrosh could change?
“The only ‘atrocities’ I regret are the ones I did not perform!” the orc shouted, grinning ferociously at the turmoil his words had caused. “The only thing that preys on me is that I was stopped before I could see the true Horde live again!”
Anduin and his father went to one of the doors, where Go’el was awaiting them. “Chromie?” asked Varian.
“Chromie,” confirmed Go’el.
“What about her?” asked Anduin.
Go’el turned to him. “She helped Tyrande with the Accuser’s case, and yet she’s not here?”
“Something must be wrong,” Varian said.
“I can go try to find her,” Anduin offered at once. “I know this place pretty well after so much time.” His voice was bitter. He did want to help, but more than that, he didn’t think he could stand listening to Garrosh a moment longer.
• • •
Anduin ran lightly down the stairs to Garrosh’s cell area, thinking he would ask the Chu brothers if they had seen Chromie, and tell them to be on the alert if they had not. He rounded the corner and skidded to a stop.
The two pandaren lay limply on the floor, looking like black-and-white sacks of grain someone had carelessly tossed aside. The chains that hitherto had been used to bind Garrosh were now fastened securely around their stout bodies, and gags had been thrust between their jaws.
“Oh, no,” Anduin moaned, hastening to them. Both of the brothers had suffered blows to the head, and their fur was sticky with blood, but they yet breathed. Anduin placed a hand on Li’s heart and murmured a prayer to the Light. A soft yellow glow enveloped his hand, making it feel warm and tingly. The Light’s blessing flowed through him, cleansing him like a gentle fall of rain, spreading from him to Li. The pandaren opened his eyes as Anduin removed the gag.
“Two . . . females,” Li muttered as Anduin turned to Lo Chu and prayed to the Light to heal the other twin. “They had crossbows—they should not have, but they did.” Beneath Anduin’s hands, the huge lump on Lo’s skull receded and he, too, blinked to consciousness. Anduin tugged off that gag as well.
“If they had crossbows, you are lucky to still be alive,” said Anduin, wondering who these warrior females were and why they had come. “Let me get you out of these chains.” He knew that Lo Chu carried the keys to both the chains and the door in the ever-present pouch that hung at his side. Anduin reached his hand in for them, then frowned. “Lo, where are the keys?”
“The females must have stolen them!” Lo squirmed in impotent irritation.
“Did you recognize them?” asked the prince. Both brothers shook their heads. “But . . . this doesn’t make sense. Garrosh was already out of the cell. Why would they want to—” He jumped up and banged on the closed door. “Chromie?”
He thought he heard something and pressed his ear to the door, concentrating. “Anduin!” It was faint, but the high-pitched, gnomish voice belonged to Chromie. He sagged in relief.
“Someone tied up Lo and Li and stole the keys, but we’ll get you out!” Anduin reassured her, yelling in order for Chromie to hear him. “Don’t worry. What happened?”
“It was Kairoz!”
“What?” Anduin’s jaw dropped.
“Please, just listen; we don’t have much time! I think he’s going to do something with the Vision of Time. I caught him tinkering with it and asked him why, and he made some excuse about ‘shutting it down.’ I started questioning him, and then—then I woke up locked in here. You have to stop him from doing whatever he’s planning! Please, you have to hurry!”
“Go!” shouted Li.
“We will meditate and cultivate patience,” added Lo.
“That will serve you well,” came a smooth, silky voice. “Li in particular could use it.”
Anduin whirled, sickened as his heart contracted at yet another betrayal on this dismal day. “Two females with crossbows,” he said, bitterly. “One orc, one human, weren’t they, Li? I should have known.”
“Perhaps you should have, but it is not yet within you to suspect treachery, Anduin Wrynn,” said Wrathion with a sad smile. “If it is any consolation at all, I am deeply sorry for what I now must do.”
Anduin laughed scornfully. “Sure you are.”
The Black Prince shrugged. “Believe what you will, but it is the truth. We are friends, you and I.”
“Friends? Friends don’t kill each other!”
The dragon’s glowing eyes widened and he looked almost hurt. “Why would I do that? Look at the Chu brothers. They are alive, though admittedly with rather terrible headaches, and I care far less about them than I do you.”
“Wrathion, what is going on here? What are you doing?”
The young black dragon sighed. “You once asked me to watch and listen, and to make up my mind as to what is best for Azeroth. I have done exactly as you bid. You are the heir to the throne of Stormwind. You have a duty—to keep your kingdom safe. You do what you believe is best for it and its people. As the last black dragon, the former charge of my flight—to keep Azeroth safe—falls solely to me. I must honor that charge.”
“Don’t listen to him, Anduin!” cried Chromie.
Anduin gestured toward the still-chained pandaren. “This is keeping Azeroth safe?”
“In this case, I assure you, the end does justify the means. It is my deep hope that one day you will understand. And on that day, you and I will face a terrible enemy. Perhaps we shall even do so as brothers.”
Desperately, Anduin reached out his hand. “You don’t have to do it this way. Tell me what’s going on. We can work together. We can find some way to—”
“Farewell for now, young prince,” said Wrathion. He lifted a hand, and Anduin knew no more.
35
“Nothing—n
othing in this world can stop me!” Garrosh roared, raising his still-bound fists and shaking them in a gesture of triumph.
At that moment, Jaina realized what had been bothering her. Everyone was upset—Garrosh, Taran Zhu, the guards, the spectators. But Kairoz simply stood by the table, a slight smile playing about his handsome face. From one heartbeat to the next, everything clicked into place. Even as Jaina drew breath to shout a warning to Taran Zhu, the bronze dragon languidly reached out an elegant hand and, eyes still on the ranting Garrosh, pushed the Vision of Time just far enough off the table.
“No!” Jaina cried out, her voice lost in the furor as, almost in slow motion, she watched the Vision of Time topple to the unforgiving stone. As it fell, turning end over end, the sands inside began to glow—and both decorative, tiny metal dragons affixed to the hourglass woke up, stretched their wings, and flew.
It crashed with a discordant yet musical sound, the globes shattering and the sand they contained spilling outward—and upward. An almost blinding storm of energy rose up, a tornado of golden, whirling light. The sounds of the crowd turned to shrieks of terror instead of anger, and Jaina felt a change in the air—the frisson of magic. The dampening field that had blanketed the temple was gone. The only magic that had been excepted was that of the bronze dragons—magic that now eliminated the field. Before Jaina’s numbed gaze, an enormous slice in time and space yawned open. Garrosh and Kairoz seemed to drop straight through the floor—and other beings surged out of it.
They were not demons, or elementals, or anything so ordinary. As Jaina recognized these beings who shook their heads, looked around, and brandished their weapons, shock rendered her unable to speak for a moment.
Her gaze was riveted to the woman with a single golden streak in her white hair, clad in flowing white, purple, and blue, and bearing an ornate staff. The woman’s mouth was set in a hard, angry line, and her eyes glowed pale blue. Hovering over her, large enough to grasp her in his foreclaws, was a blue dragon, splendid and all the shades of ice and sky, laughing insanely. Standing beside the white-haired woman was a night elf, her features cruel and cold, and next to her—
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