War Crimes

27

It was not a “little talk.”

It was a long talk; it was an uncomfortable talk; and ultimately, Anduin found it to be not really a talk at all, but a full-on shouting match.

His father was understandably furious. Both Anduin and Jaina had known Varian would be, which was why they had never mentioned Anduin’s participation in the talks Jaina had with Baine, or even that they had occurred in the first place.

“How could you aid Baine, Jaina? How could you give him funds?” Varian exploded as soon as they reached Violet Rise. Varian had erected a large canopy near his tent, where he conducted whatever business he needed to. There were chairs provided, the seat of the king of Stormwind no grander than any other, but no one sat. Rain beat a steady tattoo on the fabric.

“I gave him my own personal funds, not Theramore’s, and not the Alliance’s. And you cannot possibly think that having Magatha Grimtotem as leader of the tauren would have been a good thing for anyone, including the Alliance!” Jaina shot back.

“I didn’t have a chance to say what I thought, because you never consulted me!”

“He didn’t come to you; he came to me. And Theramore has”—Jaina turned pale and then gulped—“had gotten quite used to taking care of itself! Besides, you would not have been inclined to listen anyway, just as you are not inclined to listen now.”

Varian rubbed his eyes. “I did listen,” he said. “Today in court. I listened to a tauren Longwalker inform me that you had engaged in talks of a very delicate political nature with a race of people who were the enemies of the Alliance.”

“We were not in conflict then with the tauren or the Horde,” Jaina said.

“We are always in conflict!” Varian cried. “Somewhere, someone is doing something to cause strife. You’re too smart not to know that. That’s why things of this nature are so key—everything matters. This was important, and I shouldn’t have had to find out about it the way I did.”

“You know as well as I do that you wouldn’t have listened to Baine no matter what he said, no matter what his reasons, because he was Horde. And it was because I did that I was able to at least get the children of Theramore to safety!”

“And you’re doing the same thing now,” said Varian. “You’re the one who won’t listen to anything the Horde has to say.” Before Jaina could protest, he raised his hands in a preemptive gesture. “Let’s take a step back.” He forced himself to speak calmly. “Let’s leave Baine, and you, out of it. What I really want to know is why in the name of the Light you thought it was a good idea to drag my child into it!”

“I kind of—just stumbled on it,” Anduin said, inserting himself into the argument in an attempt to smooth things over. “I escaped Ironforge using Jaina’s hearthstone and popped right into the middle of the conversation. Don’t be angry with her, Father; it’s not like she had much of a choice.”

“I’ve a good mind to put you both in prison for a while,” Varian snapped.

“You will not address me in this manner. I am a leader in my own right, not your lieutenant, and not your child,” Jaina said, her voice like ice. Thunder rumbled as if in response. She trembled with anger.

“You are a member of the Alliance,” Varian retorted, stepping closer to her.

“Do you know,” said Jaina, biting off the words, “the more I think about it, the more I think the former leaders of the Kirin Tor were right—that it’s better to be independent. Do not push me, Varian Wrynn. Because I will push back if I have to.”

“Jaina—” Anduin began, but Jaina shook her head.

“Forgive me, but I think I’ve had my fill of Wrynn men for the time being. I will see you all at dinner.” She moved her hands deftly, with the practice of many years, teleporting herself to who knew where, her features appearing unkind and harsh in the purple-blue light. Then she was gone.

Father and son stood in silence for a while. The rain continued to patter over their heads. “So,” said Anduin when the pause became awkward. “Are you going to send me to prison without any supper?”

“She shouldn’t have dragged you into it,” Varian said, not smiling.

“She wouldn’t have if I hadn’t just, poof, appeared in her parlor,” Anduin said. He sat down, absently tracing a pattern on the chair’s arm with his finger. “Baine is a good person, Father.”

Varian took a seat and rested his face in his hands. “Magni . . . he was your friend, Anduin. Fearbreaker was a precious thing for him to give to you. Why did you give it away to a tauren? For him to just—throw back in your face?”

There it was—the hurt beneath the anger. “Because it felt like the right thing to do. The Light liked Baine. And he gave it back to me because he was honorable. He had chosen his side, and the last thing he wanted was to have to use Fearbreaker against Jaina in battle.”

Varian closed his eyes for a moment. “I hadn’t thought about it like that. I’m still very angry with Jaina, Son.”

“She knows why. She’s hurting now, though. I think . . . seeing her old home today was difficult for her.”

“Of course it was. This trial . . .” He shook his head. “I will be glad when it is over. Whatever the outcome, Garrosh is no longer in power. I don’t think it matters anymore if he dies or languishes in prison, as long as he was stopped.”

“Your Majesty?” It was one of Varian’s guards calling from outside the tent. “I have a missive for you.”

“Enter,” Varian called. The guard entered, saluted smartly as rainwater dripped everywhere, and gave the king a rolled-up scroll that had somehow remained dry. It was sealed with wax and bore the Pandaren characters that marked it as an official court document. Varian slid a finger beneath the seal, cracked the wax, and read. He looked absolutely furious for an instant, and then started to laugh.

“What is it?”

For answer, Varian tossed the scroll to Anduin.

It was signed with a tauren hoofprint.

After dinner, Anduin went down to the beach. The rain had stopped, at least for the moment, and he did not want to be around his father or Jaina. He sat on a boulder and looked out over the ocean, at the rocking ships in the harbor, at the violet light of the tower.

He heard the flapping of wings. Alert, he jumped to his feet, Fearbreaker in his hand, then relaxed when he saw a shape about the size of a large dog hovering a few yards over his head. In one forepaw, the creature carried a leather satchel.

“Care for company?” Wrathion asked.

“You know,” Anduin replied, “Jaina and my father would just as soon I not talk to you anymore, so by all means, please do come down and keep me company.”

Wrathion let out a laugh and dropped easily onto another rock near the prince. Swifter than a blink, he had changed into his human-shaped form. He was still grinning.

“I don’t see Left and Right,” Anduin said, referring to Wrathion’s nearly omnipresent bodyguards.

“I gave them the evening off. I came to see if you were all right after the rousing adventure that was today’s testimony,” he said. “I was quite prepared to break you out of prison if your father was so inclined as to put you there. I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“Very kind of you,” Anduin said. “That’s been bypassed for the moment, at least until after the trial. I think Father would like to see me locked up until I turn thirty-seven.”

“I am given to understand that is a sentiment shared by most human parents at times,” replied Wrathion. “You did not go see Garrosh today, I assume.”

“How did—never mind.” He hadn’t exactly tried to hide it, but he had not volunteered the information, and he was certain that no one else had. But Wrathion always seemed to find out whatever he wanted to. “I’m . . . not sure I’m going to see him again.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve given up trying to bring the fellow into the Light!” Wrathion put a hand on his heart and recoiled melodramatically. “I confess I should be rather sad to hear that, although I’ve long maintained your naiveté will be your undoing.”

Anduin rubbed his chin and sighed. “I don’t know. I’m just tired, I think. Tired of all of this. And I’m stuck here, especially now.”

“When I am a little older,” Wrathion announced, “I shall, if asked politely, take you on my back and ferry you to fascinating places, where we will have adventures that will age your father ten years in one night.”

“You have no idea how wonderful that sounds,” Anduin said morosely.

“In the meantime,” the black dragon said, “I see driftwood for a fire, to keep out the chill and provide illumination for—” With a flourish he withdrew something from the satchel. “Jihui.”

Anduin’s spirits lifted. A game whose goal was to have both parties in balance sounded like the perfect way to spend this particular evening.

“You’re on,” he said.