War Crimes

13

The note was written in bold print, brief, and to the point.

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.”

“So it’s all on my shoulders,” Anduin said. “You’re really not giving me much of a choice, are you?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Varian said. “You know I’d rather you didn’t. I think you’ve been through enough.”

“Then why didn’t you just say no, Father?”

“Because you’re of an age to decide for yourself—and it’s got to be your choice,” Varian said. “As much as I wish it weren’t. I had to bring you the option. You can see Garrosh, or never have to see him again, if you’d like.”

That surprised Anduin, and he gave his father a small, grateful smile. He thought for a moment, trying to calm the flood of conflicting emotions.

He thought again of the bell’s pieces crashing down on his vulnerable body, of the hate on Hellscream’s face, and his bones ached in response. To never again see Garrosh, to sidestep a deliberate invitation to pain—oh, that was alluring. Garrosh had done nothing at any point to indicate anything but contempt and loathing toward Anduin, and there had been ample opportunities. The prince owed him nothing. He’d already spoken more kindly of the former warchief than anyone had any right to expect. He’d done enough to help save the life of someone who had been all too eager to take his.

And yet . . .

Anduin recalled Garrosh’s reaction when he thought the prince dead. Not gleeful or gloating, as one might suspect, but contemplative. And the weariness in Garrosh’s posture right here in the courtroom.

What had Garrosh been contemplating at those moments? What emotions was he experiencing, to reach out to a priest? Might he be feeling remorse?

The ache in his bones receded slightly, and Anduin arrived at a decision. He looked at the faces of those assembled, each one a different race and in a different relationship to him—his human father, a night elven heroine, a pandaren guardian, and Baine . . . tauren friend. Unexpected by anyone’s reckoning, never spoken of—but true.

“Someone in trouble has asked me to speak with him. How, Father, could I say no, and still stand in the Light?”

Varian at first had insisted on accompanying his son, but Anduin, keeping his hope to himself, had refused. He also demanded that any guards present come no closer than the entryway, so that his conversation with Garrosh would remain private. Varian had argued against that for almost a solid hour, but to no avail. “I am being called upon as a priest in this,” Anduin had said. “He must be able to speak freely to me, and know that what he says, I will keep in confidence.”

With little graciousness, Varian finally conceded. He looked at Taran Zhu, Tyrande, and Baine in turn. “If any harm comes to Anduin, I will hold you all responsible. And I will then kill Garrosh myself, regardless of the repercussions, and damn these proceedings.”

“Rest assured, King Varian, it is physically impossible for Garrosh to attack Anduin. Your son is completely safe, and I would not say it if it were not so,” Taran Zhu replied.

Now Anduin stood outside the sectioned-off area below the temple. Two of Garrosh’s guards, the Shado-pan monks Li Chu and Lo Chu, awaited him, flanking the door.

They bowed. “Welcome, honored prince,” Li Chu said. “You show courage in facing your enemy.”

Anduin’s stomach was in knots, and he was relieved when his voice didn’t betray his apprehension. “He is not my enemy,” he said. “Not here, not now.”

Lo Chu smiled slowly. “To understand that is to demonstrate that you are wise as well as brave. Know that we will be at the entry at all times, and will come the instant you call for us.”

“Thank you,” Anduin replied. Velen had taught him how to calm the spirit when agitated, and now he followed that advice, inhaling slowly for a count of five, holding the breath for a heartbeat, then exhaling to the same count. “All things will be well,” Velen advised. “All nights end, and all storms clear. The only storms that last are those within your own soul.”

It worked . . . at least until he stood before Garrosh’s cell.

The cell itself was cramped. There was room only for sleeping furs, a chamber pot, and a basin. Garrosh was unable to walk more than a pace or two in any direction, and even his limited amount of movement was defined by chains linking his ankles. The bars were thicker than Anduin’s whole body, and the octagonal openings were sealed with a soft purple radiance. Taran Zhu had spoken truly. Garrosh Hellscream was imprisoned both physically and magically.

Anduin noticed all this only peripherally. His eyes went at once to those of the orc, who sat upright on the furs. The prince did not know what to expect—anger, pleading, mockery. But none of those were present. On Garrosh’s face was the same pensive expression Anduin had seen immediately after Garrosh had “killed” him.

“Please do not touch the bars,” Lo Chu instructed. “You may stay for up to an hour, if you wish. Of course, if you desire to leave sooner, simply let us know.” He indicated a chair and a small table, upon which sat a pitcher of water and an empty glass.

Anduin cleared his throat. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Garrosh did not even appear to notice the guards, so intent was he on Anduin. The brothers, as they had promised, retreated to the far back of the room. Anduin’s mouth went dry. He sat and poured himself some water to ease the desert in his throat, and took a deliberate, unhurried sip.

“Are you afraid?”

“What?” The water splashed. Anduin’s bones suddenly ached.

“Are you afraid?” Garrosh repeated. The question was casually posed, as if the orc were simply making conversation. Anduin knew it for a verbal grenade. To either answer truthfully or lie would blow open a door to things Anduin had no desire to discuss.

“There’s no reason to be. You are restrained by chains and enchanted prison bars. You’re quite unable to attack me.”

“Concern for one’s physical safety is only one reason to fear. There are others. I ask again: are you afraid?”

“Look,” said Anduin, ardently placing the glass on the table, “I came here because you asked me to. Because Baine said that I was the only person you agreed to talk to about . . . well, about whatever it is you want to talk about.”

“Maybe your fear is what I want to talk about.”

“If that’s so, then we are both wasting our time.” He rose and went for the door.

“Stop.”

Anduin paused, his back to Garrosh. He was angry with himself. His palms were damp and it took every effort he could summon to refrain from shaking outright. He would not let Garrosh see fear in him.

“Why should I?”

“Because . . . you are the only person I wish to talk to.”

The prince closed his eyes. He could leave, right this minute. Garrosh was almost certainly going to play games with him. Perhaps trick him into saying something he shouldn’t. But what, possibly, could that be? What could Garrosh want to know? And Anduin realized that, afraid on some level though he might be, he didn’t really want to go. Not yet.

He took a deep breath and turned around. “Then start talking.”

Garrosh pointed at the chair. Anduin shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then took the seat with deliberate, casual movements. He lifted his eyebrows, indicating he was waiting.

“You said you believed I could change,” Garrosh said. “What in this world or any other could make you think that, after what I have done?”

Again, no real emotion, only curiosity. Anduin started to answer, but hesitated. What would Jaina . . . no. Jaina was no longer the sort of diplomat he wished to emulate. He felt a flicker of amusement when he realized that for all his threats of murdering Garrosh, Varian had now become more of a role model for Anduin than Jaina was. The realization was both sad, for he loved Jaina, and sweet, for he loved his father.

“Tell you what. We’ll take turns.”

An odd smile curved Garrosh’s mouth. “We have a bargain. You’re a better negotiator than I expected.”

Anduin let out a short bark of laughter. “Thanks, I think.”

The orc’s smile widened. “You go first.”

The first point goes to Garrosh, Anduin mused. “Very well. I believe you can change because nothing ever stays the same. You were overthrown as warchief of the Horde because the people you led changed from following your orders to questioning them, and finally rejecting them. You’ve changed from warchief to prisoner. You can change again.”

Garrosh laughed without humor. “From living to dead, you mean.”

“That’s one way of doing it. But it’s not the only one. You can look at what you’ve done. Watch and listen and really try to understand the pain and damage you’ve caused, and decide that you won’t continue down that path if given another chance.”

Garrosh stiffened. “I cannot change into a human,” he growled.

“No one expects or wants that,” Anduin answered. “But orcs can change. You better than anyone should know that.”

Garrosh was silent. He looked away for a moment, pensive. Anduin resisted the impulse to cross his arms, instead forcing his body posture to seem relaxed, and waited. A bright-eyed, coarse-furred rat poked its head out from under the sleeping furs. Its nose twitched, and then it ducked back out of sight. The warchief of the Horde once . . . and now his cellmate is a rat.

“Do you believe in destiny, Anduin Wrynn?”

For the second time Anduin was blindsided. What was going on inside Garrosh’s head?

“I—I’m not sure,” he stammered, his carefully maintained image of coolness dissolving immediately. “I mean—I know there are prophecies. But I think we all have choices too.”

“Did you choose the Light? Or did it choose you?”

“I—I don’t know.” Anduin realized he had never asked himself that question. He recalled the first time he considered becoming a priest, and had felt a tug in his soul. He craved the peace the Light offered, but he didn’t know if it had called him, or if he had set out in pursuit of it.

“Could you choose to deny the Light?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Any number of reasons. There was another golden-haired, beloved human prince once. He was a paladin, and yet he turned his back on the Light.”

Outrage and offense chased away Anduin’s discomfort. Blood suffused his face and he snapped, “I am not Arthas!”

Garrosh smiled oddly. “No, you are not,” he agreed. “But maybe . . . I am.”