Christie Golden - War Crimes

“Pause,” Tyrande said. “These two Horde members are Captain Frandis Farley and Kelantir Bloodblade. Captain Farley was sent by the lady Sylvanas to command the Forsaken units that would serve under their warchief. The Blood Knight, Bloodblade, had previously served under Ranger-General Halduron Brightwing. Both, by all accounts, fought well in the battle against Northwatch Hold.”

Anduin glanced over at the Horde area. Both Sylvanas and Halduron were leaning forward. Anduin had not heard of either Farley or Bloodblade, but judging by how their leaders reacted to their images, the two were held in high regard.

Bloodblade had hair the color of the sun and skin so pale as to look untouched by it. Even off-duty, she kept pieces of her armor on. Farley had been well on his way to decay before he had been reborn as a Forsaken, and Anduin wondered how he managed to indulge in liquid refreshment with a jaw that didn’t seem likely to close.

Tyrande nodded to Chromie, and the scene resumed.

“Trouble,” Kelantir said to her companion.

“Not necessarily.” Frandis lifted a bony arm and waved. “Friend Malkorok! Are you slumming? The contents of a chamber pot are probably better than the swill this rascal Grosk serves, but it’s cheap and I hear it does the job. Come, let us buy you a round.”

Malkorok smiled. Anduin didn’t like the look of it, and if her expression was any indication, neither did Kelantir.

“Grosk, drinks all around.” The Blackrock orc clapped Frandis on the back so hard the Forsaken nearly fell forward on the table. “I might expect to find tauren or Forsaken here. But I must say, you look sorely out of place.” He looked right at Kelantir as he spoke.

“Not at all. I have been in worse places than this,” the paladin said, narrowing her eyes at Malkorok while the innkeeper, presumably the rascal Grosk, served them.

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Malkorok said. “But why are you not in Orgrimmar?”

“Iron allergy,” Kelantir said.

Despite the tension, Anduin grinned. He liked this Kelantir. She was brave. It was the sort of thing his friend Aerin, a gutsy dwarf, lost to the upheaval of the Cataclysm, might have said.

Malkorok seemed taken aback at first, then laughed.

“It does seem that you and several others prefer more rustic environments. Where is that young bull Baine, and his toady, Vol’jin? I had hoped to speak to them.”

All eyes went to the new warchief and the Defender. They, of course, were seeing this for the first time, like most of those present, and looked slightly startled at the blatancy of the insult.

“I have not seen them in a while,” said Kelantir. She plopped her boots up on the table, keeping her gaze steady. “I do not much involve myself with the tauren.”

“Really?” replied Malkorok. “Yet we have witnesses that put both you and Frandis right in this very inn just last night, in close conversation with both the tauren and the troll, among others. They reported that you were saying things like, ‘Garrosh is a fool,’ and ‘Thrall should return and kick him all the way to the Undercity,’ and ‘It was cowardly to use the mana bomb on Theramore.’ ”

“And the elements,” another Kor’kron added.

“Yes, the elements—something about how it was too bad Cairne hadn’t killed him when he had the chance, because Thrall would never utilize the elements in such a cruel and insulting fashion,” Malkorok continued.

Kelantir’s beautiful face was frozen. Frandis Farley dripped ichor on the table, holding his mug.

“But, if you say you haven’t seen Baine or Vol’jin recently, then I suppose those witnesses must be mistaken,” said Malkorok.

“Clearly,” said Frandis, recovering. “You need better informants.” He turned back to his drink.

“We must,” Malkorok said agreeably, “for it’s obvious to me that neither of you would ever say such things against Garrosh and his leadership.”

“I’m glad you understand that,” said Frandis. “Thanks for the drinks. Can I buy the next round?”

“No, we had best be on our way,” replied Malkorok. “See if we can find Vol’jin and Baine, since, unfortunately for us, they are not here.”

Fortunately for them , Anduin thought. Their loa and Earth Mother must have been keeping them safe.

Malkorok rose and nodded. “Enjoy your drinks,” he said, then exited the inn with the other Kor’kron.

“That was far too close for comfort,” Kelantir said, exhaling in relief.

“Indeed,” said Frandis. “For half a moment, I expected to be arrested, if not outright attacked.”

Kelantir looked around. “That is odd. Grosk is gone.”

Frandis brought his jaw back into position for a frown. “What? With such a crowded inn? He should be hiring more help, not skipping out with several thirsty customers waiting on him.”

And as the two locked gazes, Anduin knew. The hair at the back of his neck rose, and he wanted to shout out a warning. But this was not the present; it was the past, and it was too late, had already been too late by the time Farley and Bloodblade had realized what was going on.

The ill-fated pair leaped to their feet and raced toward the door. Ice crackled up to stop them in their tracks, and the scene went white. The sound of an explosion echoed through the hall, and then the Vision disappeared.

Tyrande stood in the center of the arena, looking up at where the celestials sat. It was hard to read them from this distance, but Anduin, who knew at least Chi-Ji well, knew that they had to be as distressed as anyone present. The night elf opened her mouth, as if to say something to the jury, then seemed to think better of it, shaking her head. She did not have to explain what exactly they had just seen. They all understood.

“No further questions, Fa’shua Zhu.”

And she walked back to her chair in a huge coliseum filled with total silence.

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?”