War Crimes

33

“Vereesa!” Mu-Lam Shao greeted her friend warmly. “I did not know if I would see you today, since it is the last day of the trial.”

Vereesa smiled at the pandaren, who was busily chopping ginger, onion, and other items so fast the knife was a blur. “Oh no, I wanted to make sure that I got the recipe for this. It is very popular here, it seems, if even an orc will eat it.”

Mu-Lam chuckled, a warm rumble, her eyes bright. “Some might say, even an elf,” and she winked. “But yes. I would be remiss if I did not make sure you knew how to prepare it. You are always welcome in my kitchen, you know. You will come back to visit?”

She looked up hopefully. Vereesa suddenly, unexpectedly, felt a pang. No, she would not be back. She would not be anywhere she had ever been before. Only the dark places would be hers soon, and the dusty lands of Orgrimmar, and the smoggy shantytowns of the goblins. But that was not entirely true. She could go to Silvermoon, and relive how very different things were there now from when she had lived there, and visit her family’s spire . . .

“Oh, of course,” she lied easily. “I have gotten fond of you, Mu-Lam.” That, at least, was the truth.

Mu-Lam beamed. Then, as if slightly embarrassed, she said more brusquely, “Here . . . make yourself useful. Chop this basil and cut up the sunfruit.”

The sunfruit. There they were, their fragrance tangy and luscious without even being sliced yet. Vereesa moved the knife with extra deliberation, so as not to cut herself accidentally.

There would be eight diners, and Mu-Lam had put out eight small ceramic dishes. Vereesa cut the sunfruit into quarters as Mu-Lam described everything that went into the fish curry, including the curry paste. Vereesa didn’t hear much of it. All she could think about was Garrosh Hellscream, dead, despite Baine Bloodhoof’s final plea. Rhonin was dead . . . now, Garrosh would pay.

“Which one is Garrosh’s?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded casual.

“His tray is the brown bamboo one,” Mu-Lam said, pointing with a spoon. “Give him an extra quarter. It might be the last thing he eats, and I know he likes it so.”

“You are very kind toward a killer.” Vereesa snapped the words before she could censor them. But Mu-Lam knew of Vereesa’s loss, and looked at the high elf with sympathy.

“I will awaken tomorrow to this beautiful land, to wholesome food and loving friends and family, to work that is worthy and makes a difference. Garrosh Hellscream, whatever the August Celestials decide, will never have that. Knowing this, I find it easy to be kind.”

Shame, hot and electric, washed over Vereesa. Anger followed hard on its heels. She merely nodded and took another segment of sunfruit. Mu-Lam wiped her paws and turned away to ladle up the curry.

Now.

Vereesa slipped the vial out of her pouch and unstoppered it. Her hands no longer shook as she placed three drops—one would have been sufficient—on each section. The liquid quickly dissolved in the juices of the mouthwatering fruit. No one could ever tell. Vereesa slid the stopper back into the bottle, pressing firmly to seal it, then washed her hands with soap.

The deed was done.

“Thank you, Vereesa,” Mu-Lam said. “I will miss you, until our next visit.”

Vereesa gave her a wan smile. “Thank you, Mu-Lam. For everything. Until we meet again.”

She turned to leave. Mu-Lam called after her, “And when you come, bring your little ones! They must be beautiful boys!”

Her boys.

The reaction hit Vereesa all at once, and she started to tremble. She kept walking, lifting a hand in farewell, exited the room below the temple that had been transformed into a temporary kitchen, and hurried into the corridor.

She leaned up against the cool stone, breathing hard. Vereesa was no stranger to violence. She had taken lives before. But that had always been in battle, when she had been fighting for something, or someone. This was different. This was deliberate, calculated, carefully planned murder, using the weapon not of a ranger, but of an assassin. It was worse than an arrow in the eye, worse than a knife in the dark.

They must be beautiful boys.

She had not thought of them, not really, in a long time. First she had to deal with the Sunreavers and Lor’themar, then the Siege of Orgrimmar, then the trial. She had barely spent any time with them in recent years, not even right after—

They were beautiful, with Rhonin’s red hair and her eyes: Giramar, eldest only by a few moments, and Galadin. Vereesa suddenly realized how much she had missed their laughter. How wild they both used to be, but kindhearted, her boys, and their father would be so proud of how bravely . . .

She tried to picture them in the Undercity, and . . . couldn’t. Where would they run and play and laugh? Turn their faces up to the sky for its kisses? How could they learn anything about life in a city of the dead?

“Vereesa?”

Lost in the images of her vibrant children in the gray, dark Undercity, Vereesa started violently.

“Anduin,” she said, laughing a little. “I am sorry—I was lost in thought.”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you all right?”

She came back to the present, face to face with another beautiful boy, though this one much older than the twins. But he had the same kindness and good heart, this fair-haired prince. “I am fine, just fine,” she said. “What are you doing down here?”

He looked a little sheepish. “Going to see Garrosh. He asked for me, a while ago, and we’ve been talking after court each day. After Alexstrasza’s testimony, I didn’t want to see him again, but . . . well, this might be the last opportunity I ever have. I feel I should go, even if he just yells at me again.”

Vereesa stared at him, and thought of her laughing boys. Before she could change her mind, she suddenly lunged for Anduin and grabbed his arm. He peered at her, confused.

“Vereesa?”

“I believe the Light is at work here,” she said, the words tumbling out quickly, quickly, before fear and hatred closed her lips. “I surrender my choice to you. Garrosh’s food is poisoned. Do with the knowledge what you will.”

Without waiting for an answer, she raced down the corridor. She would find Yu Fei, and go to Dalaran, and hug her boys—her warm, lovely, living children—tightly, and never, ever think of forsaking them again.

Anduin stared after the high elf ranger, his mouth open with astonishment.

Poison? Vereesa had been about to poison Garrosh? He could scarcely believe it. Then he thought of how bitter and harsh she had been since Theramore, and how she and Jaina had fed off of one another, and painfully realized that, yes—he could believe it.

He was jolted into action with a sudden thought—what if the food had come already? He sprinted down the hall, sliding to a stop in front of the door to the ramp.

“Dinner,” he panted. “Has it come yet?”

“No, Prince Anduin,” Lo said. “Perhaps you should go eat yours and return when you are calmer.”

He felt weak from relief and laughed shakily. “Sorry. Can I see him?”

The brothers eyed one another. “He is . . . in a very disagreeable mood,” Lo said.

“Very,” Li agreed.

Anduin’s giddy relief that he had been in time was replaced by solemnity. “He is facing death,” he said, “and not the sort of death he ever envisioned for himself. He has acted brave, but now, all he can do is wait. I can understand being . . . disagreeable. I would like a few moments alone with him, perhaps?”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Li said with obvious reluctance, and opened the door.

Garrosh was not seated on the furs, as he usually was. He was pacing the short length of his cell, his feet only able to move a few inches at a time. He looked up angrily as the door opened, and his face grew even darker as he saw who it was. Anduin braced himself for a verbal barrage, but the orc said nothing, merely continued his constrained pacing.

Anduin took his chair and waited. Clink-clink-shuffle-drag, clink-clink-shuffle-drag . . .

After several minutes, Garrosh halted. “Why are you here, human child?”

It was not what Anduin had expected. Garrosh sounded not bitter, not raging, but—resigned. “I came in case you nee—wanted to talk to me.”

“Well, I do not. Run along, now.” Contempt began to replace the resignation in the orc’s voice. “Go back and play your little games with the Light and wave your little mace Fearbreaker. At least Baine was enough of a tauren to return your toy.”

“You’re trying to anger me,” Anduin said.

“Is it working?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, go.”

“No,” Anduin said, surprising himself. “You asked for me once. Some part of you wanted a priest, but you couldn’t face talking to someone from the Horde. Because then that desire, that need, would be too real. Better to ask for me, your so-called enemy. Better to play word games and trade insults than to really face the fact that guess what, you might just be executed. But what you don’t understand, Garrosh, is that I believe in what it means to be a priest. I’m going to stay with you, whether you want me here or not. Because there might come a minute, just one minute, when you might be glad of my presence.”

“I will rot in the darkest reaches of the Twisting Nether before I will ever be glad of your puling presence!” Garrosh changed, right in front of him, and Anduin realized how much the calm façade must have cost the orc. It was gone, now, dropped like a cape Garrosh no longer felt suited him. His eyes did not glow red, but the rage inside them was visible nonetheless. He was seething, his manacled fists clenching and unclenching.

“You sit there each day, all smug and sanctimonious,” Garrosh continued, the words dripping disgust. “You and your precious Light. So certain that by enduring my words and watching my fate play out in front of you that you’ll be able to make me change my ways. Everyone wants something from me out there, boy, and you do too.”

“I’m only here to try to help you—”

“Help me what?” His voice rose. “Help me die? Help me live like a pet wolf, whimpering for pats and the occasional scrap of meat? Is it not enough for you that I cannot even stride like a warrior, but must be chained like a beast? Is that what you want your Light to do to me?”

Anduin felt as if he were being physically bombarded by the words. “No, it’s not that at all. The Light doesn’t work that way—”

“Because of course an adolescent human boy knows all about the Light,” the orc sneered, and he started to laugh.

“I know enough,” Anduin said, his own temper rising. He fought for patience. “I know that—”

“You know nothing. Boy. You are still wet behind your ears, so recently did you leave your mother’s womb!”

Anduin jerked as if stung. “My mother has nothing to do with this, Garrosh. This is about you, and the fact that you’ve likely got just a few hours to go before you know—”

“This is about what I say it’s about! And I say it’s about your arrogance, your cursed Alliance arrogance, that you know what’s best, and you know what’s right, for everyone, including me!”

Anduin was breathing quickly now, and his own fists clenched. The door opened, and Yu Fei and the Chu brothers entered, looking as serene as if they had heard nothing of the orc’s ranting. Garrosh snarled at them.

“Stand back, Garrosh. You know we have no wish to harm you,” Lo said. Little Yu Fei stood by, and Anduin suddenly knew that she was the threat in this situation, not the Chu brothers. Garrosh stared at them and bellowed impotently, then retreated while the mage deactivated the spell and his tray of green curry fish was placed inside. Yu Fei reactivated the spell, and with no other word, the three pandaren left. The door closed and locked behind them.

“Garrosh, listen to me—” Anduin began, intent on warning him about the poisoned dish.

“You listen to me, boy. I hope you live to be king. Because whether or not I am here to see it, the day you take the throne, the orcs will celebrate. And we will come for Stormwind. Do you hear me? We will race through your streets, and kill your people. We will place your soft little peace-craving body on a pike, and burn your city down around your still-wet ears. And in whatever afterlife your precious Light grants you, your parents will wish Queen Tiffin had miscarried.”

Anduin had stopped breathing. He felt as if he was about to burst with white-hot wrath. He wanted to stop Garrosh from speaking, ever, to blast his mind and wipe all that it was to be Garrosh Hellscream from it. He knew how to use the Light. He could use it now, not as a shield to protect, or a balm to heal, but as a weapon.

Maybe Vereesa had been right—maybe the Light was at work. It was going to take care of Garrosh Hellscream. All Anduin would need to do was stay silent. He’d been an idiot to think he could help. That he could somehow reach Garrosh. The orc had been correct about one thing. Nothing good could ever, ever reach him.

He tried to kill you, he thought. He’d kill you now, if he could. Let him die. The world really would be better off without him.

Garrosh watched the prince of Stormwind struggle against his rage, and laughed. He squeezed a sunfruit quarter over his curry and picked up the bowl, raising it to his lips.

With an anguished sob that was half a snarl, Anduin darted forward, reaching his arm through the ensorcelled window and knocking the bowl from Garrosh’s hands. It clattered to the floor, its contents spattering the furs.

Garrosh seized Anduin’s arm and yanked, slamming the prince’s face against the hard iron. He twisted the arm sharply, taking it to an almost impossible position, and Anduin gasped.

“Roused you to anger, have I, boy? Then I have won!”

“Your food—it’s poisoned,” Anduin hissed, clenching his teeth against the pain.

“You lie! I can’t squeeze your skinny little throat through the bars, but I’ve got your arm, and I can rip it out of its socket!”

Anduin let the Light fill him, and the pain fell back before him. Calmness replaced the agitation in his spirit, and he offered no protest. He simply regarded Garrosh. The orc was right. He could tear off Anduin’s arm as easily as ripping a plant from the earth. Anduin was at the orc’s mercy, and he surrendered his concern. He had done the right thing, and that was what mattered. Whatever would happen, would happen.

Garrosh stared at him, panting in fury, but Anduin’s gaze never wavered.

A small motion near Garrosh’s feet drew both their attention. It was the rat that Anduin had seen before, drawn out of hiding by the tantalizing aroma of fish curry. It scurried forward, whiskers twitching as it sniffed, then plucked out a morsel with its forepaws and began to eat.

It jerked, sat very still, then resumed eating. Again, its body shook, and this time it began to convulse. Blood and foam appeared on its muzzle, and it thrashed about in agony, trying to crawl back to its hole with limbs that refused to obey. It made grunting, wet breathing noises as its lungs labored for air, and then, mercifully, it ceased to move.

Anduin swallowed, hard, fixated on the rat, then raised his eyes from the wretched creature to see Garrosh staring intently at him. The orc glanced away, and he shoved Anduin back so hard the prince stumbled.

Anduin hesitated for a moment, rubbed his now-healed arm, then turned and ascended the ramp. With a steady hand, he knocked on the door. It opened to him, and he left without another word to Garrosh.

He had made his peace. It was time for Garrosh to do the same.

Before he headed back down the corridor, he turned to Li Chu. “When Garrosh is brought in to hear the verdict,” he said, “please . . . remove his bonds.”

“We cannot do that, Prince Anduin,” Li said.

“Then—at least take off the leg chains. Let him walk as a warrior. Surely six guards will be enough if he tries to flee. I . . . don’t think he will. He knows he’s probably going to die.”

They exchanged glances. “Very well. We will ask Taran Zhu,” Li said. “We make no promises.”

It had been a busy day for Jia Ji. As one of the court’s couriers, he was oath-bound not to speak of his missives or who had sent what to whom, and his services were much in demand. Today seemed to be the busiest day yet.

First, there was the letter from Warchief Vol’jin to Lady Jaina, then a verbal response from the lady to the warchief to be conveyed. Then there was a note from the ranger-general Vereesa Windrunner to her sister. He had waited for a reply, and had been told to “Get out!” in a very loud and angry voice. Even so, he did have a verbal message for the ranger-general—from Prince Anduin, not Sylvanas. Yu Fei portaled him to Dalaran, where he found Vereesa sitting by the fountain, watching her two boys. They were all making wishes and laughing, each with fistfuls of coins.

“Ranger-General,” he said, bowing politely, “I have a message for you.” He looked meaningfully at the two red-haired, half-elven children.

The ranger-general paled a little and rose from where she had been sitting next to the fountain. The boys stopped and fixed her with worried looks. “I will be right back,” she promised them, and walked out of earshot.

“Yes?” She was polite, but wary.

“The message is from His Royal Highness, Prince Anduin Wrynn of Stormwind. It is as follows: ‘He lives. I will not make two children both fatherless and motherless. What you do now is your choice.’ Shall I bear back a response?”

Her face softened and became beautiful again with peace. “Yes,” she replied. “Tell him . . . Rhonin thanks him.”

The dead horse galloped as swiftly as it had in life, and never tired. Its rider killed as swiftly as she had in life, and she, too, never tired. The corpses were starting to litter the forest: wolves, bears, stags, spiders. Whatever had the bad luck to cross her path died, not always quickly and seldom clean.

The Banshee Queen uttered the horrifying shriek of her kind, infusing it with all the sickening sense of betrayal and raging, insane grief that filled her. A bear fell, weakened and panicked by the sound alone. She peppered the thick brown hide with arrows, and the beast bellowed in pain and churned up the mossy earth. Sylvanas drank in its suffering. She leapt off her skeletal mount and charged a wolf, which met her snarl for snarl until she tore off its head with her bare hands.

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.