Christie Golden - War Crimes

“No,” repeated Kor’jus, clearly struggling not to elaborate.

“Then it’s entirely possible that Malkorok and the Kor’kron did this on their own, and that Garrosh did not even know about this incident? Or indeed, any such incidents? And that had he known, he might have disapproved and taken action against Malkorok?”

“With respect, I protest,” said Tyrande.

“I agree with the Defender,” said Taran Zhu. “The witness may respond.”

Through gritted teeth, Kor’jus growled, “Y-yes. It’s possible.”

“I have no further questions.” Baine nodded to Tyrande, who rose but did not move toward the witness.

“Fa’shua,” said Tyrande. “I request that a segment of the opening statements be read back to this court. The portion where you addressed the Accused before leveling the charges.”

“Granted,” said Taran Zhu, nodding to Zazzarik Fryll, the goblin whose penmanship and neutrality had both been bought with a not-too-exorbitant fee. The goblin adjusted his spectacles on his beaklike nose and, small chest swelling with importance, rolled the scroll open.

“ ‘Garrosh Hellscream,’ ” he began in a raspy voice. “ ‘You have been charged with war crimes, and crimes against the very essence of sentient beings of Azeroth, as well as crimes against Azeroth itself. You are also charged for all acts committed in your name, or by those with whom you have allied.’ ”

“Thank you,” said Tyrande, and Zazzarik returned to where he had left off, his quill poised to continue.

“ ‘For all acts committed in your name, or by those with whom you have allied,’ ” the night elf repeated, then gave a shrug. She looked to the celestials and said to them, “There are moments when I think things are so obvious, my presence here is not even necessary.”

That got to Baine, and he leaped to his hooves in true anger. “The Accuser’s comment is completely inappropriate!” he snapped, forgetting to use the formal phrase.

Tyrande smiled and held up a placating hand. “I withdraw the statement, Fa’shua, and I apologize to my esteemed colleague. I have no further questions.”

“The witness may return to his seat,” said Taran Zhu. Kor’jus rose and hurried back to the stands, relief radiating from him. Taran Zhu leveled his steady gaze upon Tyrande. “Chu’shao, I must urge caution in these proceedings. I would dislike being forced to reprimand you.”

“Understood,” said Tyrande.

Baine turned and looked back at Garrosh with narrowed eyes, then at Tyrande. “I request a ten-minute respite to confer with the Accused and my time advisor before the next witness, Fa’shua.”

“So granted,” said Taran Zhu, and struck the gong.

Kairoz approached Baine with a quizzical look. Still standing at her table, Tyrande gave the dragon a nod of acknowledgment. He grasped the chair she had vacated, giving her a wink and a smile.

“You’ll have this back in no time,” he promised the astonished high priestess, then pulled the chair alongside the chained Garrosh.

Baine said irritably but quietly, “Tyrande won’t forget that.”

“I don’t intend her to,” said Kairoz, keeping his voice equally soft. “By my reckoning, and I am always right about such things, we now have only seven minutes and eighteen seconds. Please speak, Chu’shao.”

The tauren needed no further urging. He turned his attention full upon Garrosh, his nostrils flaring. “What in the name of the Earth Mother are you doing , Garrosh?”

“Me?” Garrosh chuckled. “Why, nothing at all.”

“That is precisely what I mean. You are showing no remorse, no reactions—not even vague interest in these proceedings!”

Garrosh shrugged, and his chains jingled with an incongruously bright sound. “That is because I have no interest in the proceedings . . . Chu’shao .”

Baine swore softly. “Do you truly desire execution, then?”

“Execution? No. Death? If I were to die in glorious battle against the likes of this priestess charged with damning me . . . yes. I would most assuredly wish that.”

“Your odds of being released and permitted to fight again decrease with each passing moment that you sit stoically in this chair doing nothing to help your cause!” Baine warned.

“I am no youngling to be told bedtime tales, Bloodhoof,” Garrosh said. “I will never be permitted another battle, were I as long lived as this bronze wyrm.”

“Life is full of surprises,” Kairoz said unexpectedly. “But I will say, you certainly won’t see battle if your head is on a pike like a skewered peanut chicken, being happily passed around from the gates of Stormwind to Orgrimmar and back again.”

With the minutes ticking away, Baine sat for a moment, wrestling with his conscience. If Garrosh himself did not care what happened to him, why should he? Surely honor is being satisfied, Baine thought. No one can say that I did not try to defend him well. And what if he is reprieved? What then?

“Chu’shao Bloodhoof,” said Kairoz in a warning voice. Baine lifted a hand to silence the dragon.

He knew he was defending well—better, likely, than the orc deserved. But could he meet his father in the afterlife and say, I have come home, Father, and I have done the best I could ?

He knew the answer. Baine took a deep, resigned breath, and turned again to Garrosh. “Give me something to counter her with, Garrosh. I’ve had to create my entire case without any help from you.”

“And you can see how well that’s going,” said Kairoz.

Baine gave Kairoz a withering glance. “Your confidence,” he said, “is inspiring.” He turned back to Garrosh. “If you will not talk to me, help me to defend you . . . Is there anyone you would speak to? Some warrior, some shaman who holds your respect?”

A strange smile curved around Garrosh’s tusks. “Well, Chu’shao . . . there is . . . one ,” he said.

Still reeling from Garrosh’s completely unexpected request of a confidant, Baine settled in beside the orc a few moments later. Garrosh’s earlier smile had faded, and he once again wore the inscrutable mask he had donned for the proceedings thus far. Tyrande was running rampant over anything and everything Baine put forward. There was no one left alive that Baine could use to share the blame for what Garrosh had done, and there were few who would or even could speak well of him.

Tyrande’s next witness was making his vow to uphold the honor of the court. Baine mused darkly that Kairoz’s comments were on target. She had called another orc—one whom many present knew and respected. One whom Baine was not looking forward to questioning.

Varok Saurfang.

He sat in the chair, his mere presence charismatic and calm. Age spotted his green face, and time and sorrow both had etched deep wrinkles in his forehead and around yellowed tusks. Long white braids draped his still-massive shoulders, and his eyes were alert. Baine knew where this would be going, and his ears were pricked forward, hoping to find something, anything, he could use that could remotely help Garrosh.

“Please state your name,” said Tyrande kindly.

“I am Varok Saurfang,” he said in a deep voice. “Brother to Broxigar, father to Dranosh. I serve the Horde.”

“Broxigar being one of the great heroes not just of the Horde, but of Azeroth, correct?”

Saurfang’s eyes narrowed, as if he was suspecting a trick. “I and many others deem him so, yes,” he replied.

“You yourself are regarded highly in the eyes of your people, and by the Alliance as well,” Tyrande continued. Baine could hear genuine respect in the night elf’s voice. “Many here know of the great tragedy that befell your son.”