War Crimes

10

Baine sat for a long moment. He hoped he exuded calmness; in reality, his anger was threatening his ability to question Kor’jus, so furious was he at what he had just seen.

He had, like nearly everyone else, suspected that the explosion at Razor Hill Inn had not been an accident, but of course there were no witnesses left to prove anything. As he understood it, Grosk had maintained that he knew nothing, and insisted that his departure had been a fortuitous coincidence.

No matter. He was not the one who had thrown first a frost and then a frag grenade into a packed tavern.

Baine silently prayed for control as he rose and went to Kor’jus.

“You had a narrow escape, it would seem,” said Baine. “Malkorok and the Kor’kron had clearly decided that the time for simple beatings in order to discourage talk against Garrosh was over.”

Kor’jus nodded. “You speak truth. I thank the ancestors that I live.”

“No doubt Malkorok was doing what he had done in Blackrock Mountain,” Baine continued. “Sniffing out those he perceived as traitors and summarily eliminating them as threats. You said earlier, I believe, that others were also targeted by this new, obsessive Kor’kron.”

“Yes, I was far from the only one menaced.”

“And did any of them ever hear Malkorok say that he had been directly ordered by Garrosh to . . . menace . . . anyone?”

Kor’jus scowled, his gaze flitting to the orc in question. Garrosh sat as if he had been carved in stone, his eyes flat and disinterested. “No. But I think it’s clear—”

Baine held up a hand. “Just answer the question, please.”

The scowl deepened, but Kor’jus said sullenly, “No.”

“So you cannot tell this court that the Accused ever gave instructions to murder his own people for speaking out?”

“No,” repeated Kor’jus, clearly struggling not to elaborate.

“Then it’s entirely possible that Malkorok and the Kor’kron did this on their own, and that Garrosh did not even know about this incident? Or indeed, any such incidents? And that had he known, he might have disapproved and taken action against Malkorok?”

“With respect, I protest,” said Tyrande.

“I agree with the Defender,” said Taran Zhu. “The witness may respond.”

Through gritted teeth, Kor’jus growled, “Y-yes. It’s possible.”

“I have no further questions.” Baine nodded to Tyrande, who rose but did not move toward the witness.

“Fa’shua,” said Tyrande. “I request that a segment of the opening statements be read back to this court. The portion where you addressed the Accused before leveling the charges.”

“Granted,” said Taran Zhu, nodding to Zazzarik Fryll, the goblin whose penmanship and neutrality had both been bought with a not-too-exorbitant fee. The goblin adjusted his spectacles on his beaklike nose and, small chest swelling with importance, rolled the scroll open.

“ ‘Garrosh Hellscream,’ ” he began in a raspy voice. “ ‘You have been charged with war crimes, and crimes against the very essence of sentient beings of Azeroth, as well as crimes against Azeroth itself. You are also charged for all acts committed in your name, or by those with whom you have allied.’ ”

“Thank you,” said Tyrande, and Zazzarik returned to where he had left off, his quill poised to continue.

“ ‘For all acts committed in your name, or by those with whom you have allied,’ ” the night elf repeated, then gave a shrug. She looked to the celestials and said to them, “There are moments when I think things are so obvious, my presence here is not even necessary.”

That got to Baine, and he leaped to his hooves in true anger. “The Accuser’s comment is completely inappropriate!” he snapped, forgetting to use the formal phrase.

Tyrande smiled and held up a placating hand. “I withdraw the statement, Fa’shua, and I apologize to my esteemed colleague. I have no further questions.”

“The witness may return to his seat,” said Taran Zhu. Kor’jus rose and hurried back to the stands, relief radiating from him. Taran Zhu leveled his steady gaze upon Tyrande. “Chu’shao, I must urge caution in these proceedings. I would dislike being forced to reprimand you.”

“Understood,” said Tyrande.

Baine turned and looked back at Garrosh with narrowed eyes, then at Tyrande. “I request a ten-minute respite to confer with the Accused and my time advisor before the next witness, Fa’shua.”

“So granted,” said Taran Zhu, and struck the gong.

Kairoz approached Baine with a quizzical look. Still standing at her table, Tyrande gave the dragon a nod of acknowledgment. He grasped the chair she had vacated, giving her a wink and a smile.

“You’ll have this back in no time,” he promised the astonished high priestess, then pulled the chair alongside the chained Garrosh.

Baine said irritably but quietly, “Tyrande won’t forget that.”

“I don’t intend her to,” said Kairoz, keeping his voice equally soft. “By my reckoning, and I am always right about such things, we now have only seven minutes and eighteen seconds. Please speak, Chu’shao.”

The tauren needed no further urging. He turned his attention full upon Garrosh, his nostrils flaring. “What in the name of the Earth Mother are you doing, Garrosh?”

“Me?” Garrosh chuckled. “Why, nothing at all.”

“That is precisely what I mean. You are showing no remorse, no reactions—not even vague interest in these proceedings!”

Garrosh shrugged, and his chains jingled with an incongruously bright sound. “That is because I have no interest in the proceedings . . . Chu’shao.”

Baine swore softly. “Do you truly desire execution, then?”

“Execution? No. Death? If I were to die in glorious battle against the likes of this priestess charged with damning me . . . yes. I would most assuredly wish that.”

“Your odds of being released and permitted to fight again decrease with each passing moment that you sit stoically in this chair doing nothing to help your cause!” Baine warned.

“I am no youngling to be told bedtime tales, Bloodhoof,” Garrosh said. “I will never be permitted another battle, were I as long lived as this bronze wyrm.”

“Life is full of surprises,” Kairoz said unexpectedly. “But I will say, you certainly won’t see battle if your head is on a pike like a skewered peanut chicken, being happily passed around from the gates of Stormwind to Orgrimmar and back again.”

With the minutes ticking away, Baine sat for a moment, wrestling with his conscience. If Garrosh himself did not care what happened to him, why should he? Surely honor is being satisfied, Baine thought. No one can say that I did not try to defend him well. And what if he is reprieved? What then?

“Chu’shao Bloodhoof,” said Kairoz in a warning voice. Baine lifted a hand to silence the dragon.

He knew he was defending well—better, likely, than the orc deserved. But could he meet his father in the afterlife and say, I have come home, Father, and I have done the best I could?

He knew the answer. Baine took a deep, resigned breath, and turned again to Garrosh. “Give me something to counter her with, Garrosh. I’ve had to create my entire case without any help from you.”

“And you can see how well that’s going,” said Kairoz.

Baine gave Kairoz a withering glance. “Your confidence,” he said, “is inspiring.” He turned back to Garrosh. “If you will not talk to me, help me to defend you . . . Is there anyone you would speak to? Some warrior, some shaman who holds your respect?”

A strange smile curved around Garrosh’s tusks. “Well, Chu’shao . . . there is . . . one,” he said.

Still reeling from Garrosh’s completely unexpected request of a confidant, Baine settled in beside the orc a few moments later. Garrosh’s earlier smile had faded, and he once again wore the inscrutable mask he had donned for the proceedings thus far. Tyrande was running rampant over anything and everything Baine put forward. There was no one left alive that Baine could use to share the blame for what Garrosh had done, and there were few who would or even could speak well of him.

Tyrande’s next witness was making his vow to uphold the honor of the court. Baine mused darkly that Kairoz’s comments were on target. She had called another orc—one whom many present knew and respected. One whom Baine was not looking forward to questioning.

Varok Saurfang.

He sat in the chair, his mere presence charismatic and calm. Age spotted his green face, and time and sorrow both had etched deep wrinkles in his forehead and around yellowed tusks. Long white braids draped his still-massive shoulders, and his eyes were alert. Baine knew where this would be going, and his ears were pricked forward, hoping to find something, anything, he could use that could remotely help Garrosh.

“Please state your name,” said Tyrande kindly.

“I am Varok Saurfang,” he said in a deep voice. “Brother to Broxigar, father to Dranosh. I serve the Horde.”

“Broxigar being one of the great heroes not just of the Horde, but of Azeroth, correct?”

Saurfang’s eyes narrowed, as if he was suspecting a trick. “I and many others deem him so, yes,” he replied.

“You yourself are regarded highly in the eyes of your people, and by the Alliance as well,” Tyrande continued. Baine could hear genuine respect in the night elf’s voice. “Many here know of the great tragedy that befell your son.”

Varok’s face grew carefully impassive. “Others suffered as well because of the Lich King’s darkness. I have never asked for special treatment.” The words were true—the brave Dranosh Saurfang had been slain at what had become known as the Battle of Angrathar the Wrath Gate, only to be drafted to rise again as an undead to challenge his father and other heroes of the Horde. But such horrors were tragically not uncommon. Many, like Varok, had been forced to oppose someone they loved whom they had already mourned once. The dark legacy of the Lich King lived on in the wounded hearts of the survivors, and in the Knights of the Ebon Blade, now an uneasy part of both Horde and Alliance society.

“I would like others to fully understand just what you endured, may it please the court.”

Baine abruptly realized with a sickening jolt precisely which scene Tyrande was planning on displaying.

No. It didn’t matter if Tyrande was being calculating or if she was acting from misguided compassion. He could not let her show—

Baine leaped to his hooves. “With respect, I protest!” he cried. “Varok Saurfang has suffered enough, Fa’shua, and what Chu’shao Whisperwind is suggesting is nothing but salt in the wound. I will not see him forced to endure the death of his son yet again!”

“What you will and will not see in this court is not your decision, Chu’shao,” warned Taran Zhu. “But I agree with you. The court recognizes that Varok Saurfang is a respected war hero and has undergone great loss, Chu’shao Whisperwind, but we do not see how that has a bearing on his interactions with Garrosh. The Lich King is not the one on trial here.”

Color rose in Tyrande’s cheeks. “I withdraw my request and offer apologies to the witness if it disturbed him.”

Varok’s jaw tightened, but he nodded curtly. The high priestess continued. “Would you agree that you are well respected, Varok Saurfang? That few, if any, would question your devotion to the Horde?”

“It is not for me to decide how I am viewed in the eyes of others,” Saurfang replied. “For myself, I love the Horde with my whole being.”

“Enough to die for it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Enough to kill for it?”

“Certainly. I am a warrior.”

“Would you say that you and others used the Horde as a sort of . . . license to butcher?”

“With respect, I protest!” Baine shouted. “The Accuser’s apparently obsessive focus on past events that have nothing to do with the Accused is verging on hate-mongering!”

Taran Zhu turned a calm visage on Tyrande. “Chu’shao, can you explain why this line of questioning has pertinence?”

“I am actually attempting to show that this witness is rational and responsible, Lord Zhu. Which is the farthest thing from hate-mongering I can imagine.” She gave Baine an angry look.

Taran Zhu considered this, then said, “Very well. I’ll allow it. The witness may answer the question.”

“My answer is yes,” said Varok.

“Do you presently condone that sort of behavior?” Tyrande continued.

“No, I do not. And I have said so.”

“To whom?”

“It is no secret. I am not proud of what I did.” Varok looked at Velen as he said this.

“Did you express this sentiment to Garrosh Hellscream?”

“I did.”

Tyrande nodded. “May it please the court, I would like to show a Vision that I believe pertains to this. So noted,” she added, with a look at Baine, “because I was requested to withdraw my first choice of Vision.”

“The Accuser may introduce this evidence,” Taran Zhu said. The by-now-familiar working of Chromie over the Vision of Time was followed by images solidifying in the center of the room.

For the first time, those assembled looked on Garrosh Hellscream not as he was now—captured and in chains, an emotionless expression on his face—but as he had been a few years ago, before the fall of the Lich King. When, mused Baine, his own father still respected the son of Grom Hellscream.

Even High Overlord Saurfang looked younger, thought Baine, realizing with a heavy heart how much the loss of that orc’s only offspring had taken its toll.

Garrosh and Saurfang stood side by side at Warsong Hold in the Borean Tundra, gazing down at a large map on the floor. It was made of stitched-together hides, with miniature standards of Horde and Alliance marking the various strongholds, a toy zeppelin buzzing away, and painted skull faces representing the seemingly inexhaustible Scourge. Saurfang knelt, pointing out things as he spoke. Garrosh hung back, managing to look both disinterested and annoyed.

Saurfang was attempting to impress upon Garrosh the importance of supporting the troops in practical matters when Hellscream retorted with a dismissive gesture, “Shipping lanes . . . supplies . . . You bore me to death! We need nothing more than the warrior spirit of the Horde, Saurfang. Now that we are firmly entrenched in this frozen wasteland, nothing shall stop us!”

Baine noted the familiarity with which Garrosh addressed the much older, much more experienced orc, and he did not like it. Saurfang, however, was too smart to rise to the bait and pressed on.

“Siege engines, ammunition, heavy armor . . .” Saurfang replied. “How do you propose to shatter the walls of Icecrown without those?”

Garrosh smirked and drew himself up to his full height. “Propose?” he sneered. “I will show you what I propose!” He lifted Gorehowl and brought it smashing down on the figurines representing Valiance Keep. “There . . . now we have a shipping lane. And just for good measure . . .” Valgarde and Westguard Keep fell beneath his booted feet.

Saurfang said witheringly, “So the prodigal son has spoken! Your father’s blood runs strong in you, Hellscream. Impatient as always . . . Impatient and reckless. You rush headlong into all-out war without a thought of the consequences.”

“Do not speak to me of consequences, old one.”

Baine’s hackles rose, and apparently so did those of the Vision’s Saurfang. He stepped closer to Garrosh and growled, “I drank of the same blood your father did, Garrosh. Mannoroth’s cursed venom pumped through my veins as well. I drove my weapons into the bodies and minds of my enemies. And while Grom died a glorious death—freeing us all from the blood-curse—he could not wipe away the terrible memory of our past. His act could not erase the horrors we committed.”

The image of Saurfang then looked away, talking more to himself now than to the younger orc. His eyes were haunted. “The winter after the curse was lifted, hundreds of veteran orcs like me were lost to despair. Our minds were finally free, yes . . . Free to relive all of the unthinkable acts that we had performed under the Legion’s influence.” He nodded, as if coming to a conclusion, and his voice became so soft Baine had to strain to hear it. “I think it was the sounds of the draenei children that unnerved most of them. You never forget . . . Have you ever been to Jaggedswine Farm? When the swine are of age for the slaughter. It’s that sound. The sound of the swine being killed . . . It resonates the loudest. Those are hard times for us older veterans.”

Velen had closed his eyes. Baine felt the focus in the room shift to the draenei, and heard some uncomfortable shuffling in the stands. He looked up at the celestials to see them raptly watching the Vision unfold.

The image of Garrosh shattered the somber mood with words that made Baine want to throttle him, words that went directly against what had just been shown with Durotan. “But surely you cannot think that those children were born into innocence? They would have grown up and taken arms against us!”

To Baine’s surprise, Saurfang did not react to the suggestion. Instead he said in that soft, distant voice, “I am not speaking solely of the children of our enemies . . .”

That, at last, seemed to silence Garrosh. He simply stood, looking at Saurfang with a mixture of revulsion and pity. Saurfang shook himself, and when he turned to speak with Garrosh again, his voice was strong and firm.

“I won’t let you take us down that dark path again, young Hellscream. I’ll kill you myself before that day comes.”

That was doubtless the gem Tyrande had been waiting for. A great war hero threatening to kill Garrosh before he’d let the impetuous youth plunge the orcs into another devastating war for no true reason.

The image of Garrosh replied, and Baine was startled at the change in the young orc. He spoke in a quiet tone of respect and almost wonderment.

“How have you managed to survive for so long, Saurfang? Not fallen victim to your own memories?”

Saurfang smiled. “I don’t eat pork.”

“Pause.” The scene froze, and Tyrande let it linger there, etching itself on the minds of the jury and the onlookers, then nodded to Chromie. The scene vanished. Tyrande turned to Saurfang and gave a slight, sincere bow. “Thank you, High Overlord. Chu’shao—your witness.”

Baine nodded, and he walked toward Saurfang. “High Overlord, I will keep this brief, so that you may spend no more time in that chair than necessary. You spoke of killing Garrosh before you let him lead the orcs down that dark path.”

“I did.”

“Was that a figure of speech?”

“It was not.”

“You would actually kill Garrosh with your own hands?”

“Yes.”

“And do you believe he has done so? Led the orcs down that dark path?”

“Yes. That is why I took up arms against him. After some of the things he did—” The old orc shook his head, disgusted, and gave Garrosh a venomous look.

“So you would be happy with the verdict that Chu’shao Whisperwind advocates—execution.”

“No.”

Murmurs rippled through the courtroom, but Baine felt quiet pleasure. He had been right about Varok. He allowed himself a brief glance at Tyrande and saw the kaldorei sitting up and watching attentively, hoping for some misstep. Baine intended to give her none.

“What would you like to see?”

Tyrande leaped to her feet. “With respect, I protest! The witness’s personal preference is irrelevant.”

“Fa’shua, I am attempting to clarify what the high overlord meant when he said, ‘I’ll kill you myself.’ ”

“I agree with the Defender,” said Taran Zhu. “You may answer the question, High Overlord Saurfang.”

Saurfang did not do so immediately. He gave Garrosh a long, appraising look, then spoke. “Garrosh was not always as you see him now. He was, as I have said, reckless and impulsive. But I once would never have doubted his loyalty to the Horde. And even now, I do not doubt his loyalty to his people. But his crimes must be addressed. I vowed to kill him, and I would still uphold that vow. But I would not surrender him to others for execution. I would challenge him myself, in the mak’gora.”

“Do you think he deserves a second chance?”

“If he defeated me—yes. That is the way of the orcs—the true way. Honor.”

Baine could barely believe what he was hearing. “I do not wish to misunderstand you, so forgive my repetition. You do not want Garrosh executed by this court, but rather wish to challenge him in honorable combat. And if he won that combat, you would see him forgiven?”

“He would need to earn his reputation back, given that he has ripped it to shreds and trampled it into the angry earth,” Saurfang snapped. “But yes. If he were a victor, then he should have that chance. He had honor, once. He could learn it again.”

Baine could barely refrain from letting out a shout of delight. This, he understood. This, he could support, and moreover, it was fair. He thought of his father, dying in the mak’gora, and how Cairne would have approved, and knew in his heart he was on the proper track. Despite his anger toward Garrosh, Baine was in truth doing the right thing.

He gave Tyrande a triumphant look and announced, “I have no further questions.”

And to his surprised pleasure, neither did Tyrande. When Taran Zhu sounded the gong to close the opening day of proceedings, for the first time since the trial had begun, it looked like Garrosh Hellscream might just, quite literally, keep his head.