War Crimes

22

Jaina Proudmoore fidgeted in her seat. She looked around the vast arena and spoke quietly to Varian and Anduin about inconsequential matters. Though she and Kalecgos continued to sit next to one another, Jaina knew the strain had to be evident to others. It wasn’t over between them—not yet—and she didn’t want to send something so precious to an early grave. Not if she could help it, and still look at herself in the mirror.

Chromie and Kairoz had their heads together at the Vision of Time, possibly discussing the order in which the various Visions would be displayed. In an attempt to break the silence that thundered on her ears, Jaina said, “It really is good of Kairoz to offer the use of the Vision of Time. It completely eliminates hearsay. We know that what we see is entirely true.”

Kalec, too, was watching the bronzes, and he had a slight frown on his face. “I appreciate the accuracy the Vision of Time is providing, but . . . Garrosh made mention of the Darkmoon Faire, and I worry that these scenes we are watching are becoming more entertainment than evidence.”

And so it comes back to that . . . always, ever, back to that. “Garrosh brought this on himself,” Jaina snapped.

“I will not argue that, but the theatricality of it all . . .” He shook his blue-black head. “What is happening here is important. It’s not sport—it’s supposed to be justice. It should not have the air of the gladiator ring.”

“People are hurting, Kalec,” Jaina said. “Some of us will never really recover from what this monster chose to do. We need this.”

He turned to her, and concern was writ plain on his beautiful features. He took her hand, enclosing it in both of his, and said quietly, “To what end? To put the past behind you? To move on? You haven’t done that, Jaina. As I said before—I’m not sure you even want to.”

Emotions flooded Jaina and she jerked her hand from his grasp.

Taran Zhu struck the gong for silence. Grateful for the interruption, Jaina crossed her arms across her chest, seething and aching both.

“This Pandaren court of justice is open. So shall it be,” Taran Zhu said. “Chu’shao, summon your first witness.”

Tyrande nodded, rose, and walked to the witness’s seat.

“The Accuser summons Alexstrasza the Life-Binder.”

Jaina’s jaw dropped. This, she had not expected. Alexstrasza, whose true form was of course a dragon, did not usually display much modesty in her choice of clothing when in her humanoid guise. Today, however, she was clad in a shimmering, red-gold gown that covered her from neck to toe. Only her arms and throat were bare. She rose with quiet dignity and made her way to the chair.

A handful of people stood up—her flight, and her sister. Then members of the other flights, and then still others, until the room was filled with the gentle thumping sounds of hundreds of booted feet hitting the floor. Nearly everyone present was standing in silent respect as the former Aspect, who had guarded, protected, and loved all life on Azeroth for millennia, reached the chair. Before she sat down, Alexstrasza tilted back her horned head and looked up at the sea of faces. A gentle smile illuminated her visage, and she placed her hand on her heart in a gesture of gratitude. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears.

Standing beside Jaina, Kalec whispered, “Do you need this?”

Jaina did not answer.

Tyrande smiled warmly at Alexstrasza, making a low bow. “Life-Binder. I will endeavor to make your testimony as painless as possible.”

“You are kind,” Alexstrasza replied. “I am grateful.”

Tyrande took a deep breath. “This witness needs no introduction. Even the celestials know of her.”

“With respect, I protest,” said Baine. “Unless the witness can give evidence directly against Garrosh Hellscream, I implore that she be asked to step down.”

Tyrande said, “Fa’shua, Garrosh Hellscream received important and influential assistance from one clan in particular—the Dragonmaw clan. I wish to show you the sort of people with whom Garrosh allied himself in recent times.”

“Fa’shua,” Baine interjected, “we all have—most of us have, anyway—kept poor company from time to time. What the Dragonmaw clan did in the past is irrelevant.”

“Chu’shao Bloodhoof’s point is accurate,” said Taran Zhu.

“Yes, but it is not the whole story,” Tyrande replied. “The Dragonmaw enslaved and continue to enslave and torment dragons. They did so under Garrosh’s reign, and I think this witness highly appropriate.”

Taran Zhu nodded, satisfied. “I agree with the Accuser. You may continue your examination.”

“Life-Binder, you and your people were kidnapped and imprisoned by the Dragonmaw at one time, correct?”

“Yes,” Alexstrasza said. She was, Jaina thought, remarkably calm.

“Can you tell us how this happened?”

“The Dragonmaw had gotten ahold of the Demon Soul, an artifact that was used to control dragonkind. They followed a wounded male to our home, and used the Demon Soul to capture three of my consorts and me—though not without a fight.”

“What happened then?”

“Nekros, the master of the Demon Soul, ordered my flight and me to follow him to Grim Batol.”

“What did they want with you?”

“They wished us to serve them as mounts in their war against the Alliance. To . . . ride us into battle, and have us attack their foes.”

“Surely, some red dragons fell in these battles. How did the Dragonmaw replace them?”

“They took my children from me, as I laid each clutch.”

Jaina bit her lower lip in sympathy. She did not have children, nor was she likely to. She adored her “nephew” Anduin. And she had been devastated at the death of her apprentice, Kinndy. But she knew that even those great affections were nothing compared to the parent-child bond. To be the mother of creatures that were magical, life affirming, and all but immortal, and to see them enslaved—she had no idea how Alexstrasza could bear such a thing. Glancing over at the celestials, she could see that even they, who had listened with attentive and kind detachment, were moved.

“Forgive me for the personal nature of these questions.”

“I understand why you ask them.”

Tyrande looked grateful, and Jaina realized that astonishingly it was the Dragonqueen who was comforting the night elf high priestess in this moment. Jaina shook her head in wonder.

“You said ‘each’ clutch,” Tyrande resumed. “How was it you laid more than one? Why would you willingly continue to conceive children, knowing they would be taken?”

“I refused, at first,” Alexstrasza said. “I told them they had one clutch; I would not give them any more. Nor would my mates agree. Nekros . . . Nekros took one of my eggs, held it before my face, and crushed it between his hands. He . . . spattered me with it.”

Her voice broke and she paused, composing herself for a moment, then continued. “I cried out in anguish—my unhatched child, murdered before my eyes, my body adorned with its gore . . . Despite the chains that bound me, I attacked the orcs, wounding several of them before they subdued me.”

“So you did what they wanted.”

“Not right away. I refused food, trying to die before I would produce more children for them to torture. They destroyed another egg. After that . . . I did what they wanted.” She smiled sadly. “You see, if my children lived—I had hope that they could perhaps one day be freed.”

Jaina’s hand went to her mouth in sympathetic horror. She’d known about this brutal part of orcish history, of course, but hearing Alexstrasza tell it . . .

In this moment, Jaina found she agreed with Kalec about the Vision of Time. Hearing the story was upsetting enough. She was grateful beyond words that Tyrande had refrained from showing it.

“Other lives were lost too, were they not?”

“Yes. Eventually, three of my four consorts were slain.”

Jaina glanced over at Vereesa. The high elf sat as if she were carved out of stone. Only her quickened breathing gave away the intensity of her emotions.

“So despite you and your consorts agreeing to these horrific demands, you were not treated with care by your captors?”

“No. I was kept in chains. Even my jaw was in a brace, so that I could not attack them. If any of us resisted or struggled to free ourselves, they would use the Demon Soul against us. It was”—and Alexstrasza gave a faint shudder at the recollection—“unspeakably painful.”

“Would you like to take a respite?” Tyrande asked gently.

The Dragonqueen shook her great horned head. “I would prefer to finish and be done with the retelling,” she replied. Her mellifluous voice was strained.

“You produced red dragons for them to use, as they demanded,” Tyrande said. “How were they so used?”

Alexstrasza gazed down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap. “They were ridden into battle, like beasts, and their abilities were harnessed to kill members of the Alliance. Any rebellion on their part would lead to torment and possibly the deaths of their unhatched brothers and sisters.”

“How would a red dragon, in particular, feel about being forced to perform such acts?”

Alexstrasza lifted her head, and could not disguise the pain in her voice when she spoke. “We revere life, all life,” she said. “We abhor the taking of it. The Dragonmaw could not possibly have forced us to do anything that appalled us more.”

Tyrande nodded, as if satisfied, and turned to face the spectators. “As leader of the Horde, Garrosh Hellscream willingly and knowingly allied with the Dragonmaw clan and their methods of obtaining mounts. You have heard what they have done to the most benevolent race on the face of our world.”

She began to walk, counting off on her fingers as she had after Vol’jin’s testimony. “Enslavement. Torture. Forced pregnancy. The abduction of children. The killing of prisoners. Five counts are laid against Garrosh, once again, by the evidence of a single witness.”

Tyrande spared a moment to regard Garrosh, then turned back to Alexstrasza. “Thank you,” the night elf said. Then, to Baine, she said, “Your witness.”

Baine rose and approached the Dragonqueen. Jaina frowned and said to Kalec, “Doesn’t it bother you that he’s going to question her after that?”

“I wish she hadn’t had to speak at all,” he replied. “But the Life-Binder is strong, and has suffered far worse than words in a courtroom. She does what she must. So does Baine.”

“He doesn’t have to do this,” Jaina hissed. This time, it was Kalec who did not reply. Jaina leaned forward, watching intently, propping her chin in her hands. She’d thought better of Baine. But watching him during this trial, she just couldn’t understand how he could defend Garrosh, especially when it required such cruelty. Couldn’t understand any of it.

“Thank you, Life-Binder. I regret the necessity to cause you pain,” the tauren said. As if he means it. “I will be brief. You have suffered greatly at the hands of the Dragonmaw specifically, and the orcs in general. How do you feel about them now?”

“I have no quarrel with any race on Azeroth,” she replied. “I am the Life-Binder, and even though most of my powers as Aspect have disappeared, my heart is still the same.”

“Do you like them?”

“I love them,” she said simply. Jaina froze, then slowly lifted her head from her hands. Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she stared, shocked, at the Dragonqueen.

“Orcs?” said Baine, as if he had read Jaina’s mind. “Who did such terrible things to you? How could you possibly love them? Do you not cry out for their destruction? For the destruction, particularly, of Garrosh Hellscream, who restored them to power?”

“Few beings are truly evil,” said Alexstrasza. “And even they are not necessarily beyond redemption. Change is inherent in life. As long as something lives, it can grow. It can seek the light, or the darkness. It is only when it chooses the darkness so completely that life itself is endangered that I would say there is no hope.”

“As was the case with Deathwing and Malygos.”

“Yes. To my bitter regret.”

Tyrande was searching through documents at her table, her body taut. Now and then she glanced up, frowning slightly.

Jaina kept staring at the red dragon. “What is she saying?” Jaina whispered sharply. “What is she doing?”

“With respect, I protest!” shouted Tyrande. Jaina, relieved, closed her eyes.

“Yes, Chu’shao?” asked Taran Zhu.

“I call for a respite!”

“On what grounds?”

“The witness is clearly distraught by these questions!”

Taran Zhu blinked, then looked down at Alexstrasza. “Life-Binder, do you need a respite?”

“No, Fa’shua. It was painful to recount what happened, but I am well enough.”

“Request denied. Continue, Chu’shao Bloodhoof.”

“Thank you.” The tauren inclined his head, then turned to regard Alexstrasza. “I have a final question. If one of the selfsame orcs who so tormented you, who killed your children while they were still in the shell, were to come to you today and ask your forgiveness . . . what would you do?”

The great Life-Binder’s smile was small at first, but it grew. Alexstrasza looked over to where Go’el and his family were seated, and held his gaze. When she spoke at last, a light seemed to shine from her, so bright was her spirit.

“I would forgive him, of course.” She said it to Baine as if he were a child, as if it were a simple, obvious answer.

There were no further questions.