Christie Golden - War Crimes

King Anduin Wrynn had gone home.

Slowly, Prince Anduin Wrynn stumbled to his feet, grasped Fearbreaker, dragged a sleeve against his wet face, and started to heal those still locked in battle.

Guards rushed in carrying weapons. One pandaren tossed a small axe toward Baine. The tauren caught it smoothly in one hand as he ran toward the two Thralls locked in combat. He was grateful Go’el was clad in shamanic clothing, for there was nothing visually different about these two other than what they wore and what they wielded. Just as he reached them, he found himself frozen in midstride and struggled to keep his balance. He heard the bellow of draconic laughter and glanced up to see the mad Kalecgos grinning at him. This incarnation of the blue dragon was quite insane; it was the only reason there were not more dead inside the arena. He appeared to be targeting friend and foe alike, and had nothing resembling a battle strategy.

His counterpart did, though, and charged his other self, drawing the mad Kalecgos’s attention away from Baine. The two orcs fought on, but the other Thrall appeared to have the disadvantage. Of course , Baine thought. The alternate Thrall never had the chance to undergo shamanic training, whereas Go’el was a master shaman in addition to his battle experience.

Baine had almost gotten to the two when he sensed more than saw the attack. He barely turned in time to deflect the blow from the huge mace wielded by what seemed like an armored mountain come to deceptively quick life, and he stared into his own eyes. His other self seemed surprised, and backed off for a moment, long enough for Baine to remember that he was clad only in light clothing, while his alternate was in full armor.

Out of the corner of his eye, Baine noticed that the celestials had not moved, and he became furious. Could they not see that people were dying? Were they too “high above” it all to help?

At that moment, as if they had heard his thoughts, a shout went up, piercing through the haze and cacophony of battle. It was a strong voice, deep and rich and now coming from a tiger’s jaws, as much a plea as a warning, the voice of he whose temple this was—Xuen.

“Remember the sha! Remember the sha! ”

And suddenly Baine understood.

These alternate selves he, Go’el, and others were battling—they were not random incarnations. Kairoz had deliberately selected the darkest, the most broken, the most bellicose versions he could find. Kalecgos was insane. Thrall was the champion of the hated Aedelas Blackmoore. Baine himself was the warchief of the Horde, and somehow he knew the other had gained that position by murdering Garrosh Hellscream to avenge his own Cairne Bloodhoof.

No wonder the celestials did not join the fray. Anything they did would do nothing more than add fuel to the fire.

“You killed Garrosh, didn’t you?” he asked his other self. “Because he killed our father.”

The other Baine’s eyes narrowed and he snarled. “I tore Hellscream apart with my own hands,” he said, “and the bronze dragon tells me you—you defended him!” With a bellow, he charged, but Baine parried, his axe’s blade clanging against the head of the mace. Baine’s own words came back to him, sharp and clear as any of the draenei’s crystals: “We all carry within us the potential to become our own versions of Garrosh Hellscream.”

Wisdom—the gift of Yu’lon. “This is what we all could be! They’re not the enemy; they’re us !” he shouted to the crowd. “We cannot fight them. Only accept them!”

A sudden certainty flooded Baine: fortitude, bestowed by Niuzao. Baine’s arm felt stronger as he deflected another blow. The more he opened to what the celestials were trying to tell him, the more he could accept their gifts.

Again the other Baine attacked, and this time the mace struck his counterpart’s shoulder. Baine grunted, but did not retaliate.

“Is my other self a coward?” shouted Warchief Baine.

“No,” Baine said. “We are the same. You chose another path, Baine. But I understand how you felt—why you wanted to kill Garrosh.”

“You lie, else you would have done the same.” And the other bull charged. This time, though, his anger made him careless. Baine got in a blow—but used the blunt end of his small axe.

“I will not harm you,” he panted, “but I will defend myself!”

Warchief Baine hesitated. He was listening—but who knew for how long?

Yu’lon’s wisdom again brushed the tauren’s heart, and he knew all at once what he needed to say, how he could reach his wounded, pained self. Baine spoke quickly. “Our friend Go’el, known perhaps to you as Thrall, told me that even in another timeline, we are always ourselves at our core. And our father, Cairne, believed that it was harder, but better, to—”

“—create something that lasts,” murmured the warchief.

And Baine felt hope.

Kalec knew that of all the out-of-time combatants, his doppelganger posed the greatest threat. Not only was he a dragon, but the alternate Kalecgos was clearly quite insane.

And that terrified him.

Only Kalec knew how close he had skirted madness born of deep grief when Anveena had died; only Jaina knew how he had almost lost himself while reliving the dawn of the Aspects through the eyes of Malygos, himself lost to insanity. This alternate timeline version was far, far too possible.

Baine’s words reached him, but how could he ever accept this ? Even as he had the despairing thought, the blue dragon dove and lashed his tail, scattering a huddled crowd of onlookers. Some of them did not rise.

“No!” shouted Kalec. He blasted Kalecgos with ice, slowing the great dragon, but not stopping him. Kalecgos swiveled his head and laughed and sobbed.

“Why not?” he pleaded. “Let them hate me. Let them finish me! Please!”

Kalec had had his dark moments. But he had never felt what the dragon before him was feeling. “What happened? What could have done this to you?” he asked, his voice breaking, even as he dreaded the answer.

“They’re gone. All of them!”

They were talking, at least. Kalecgos, for this moment, was not killing. “Who is gone?” Kalec asked.

“ All of them! ” bellowed Kalecgos. “Anveena! Jaina . . . all the blues, all of them, even Kirygosa—”

“ What ?”

“After Orgrimmar fell, they died in the war—all except me . . . all because of me. I couldn’t stop her, and they’re all gone now . . .”

Kalec couldn’t believe it—except, horrified, he could. This broken Kalecgos had not been able to dissuade his timeway’s Jaina from destroying Orgrimmar, and the war that ensued had wiped out the entire blue dragonflight. For a moment, Kalec could do nothing but reel at the shock, and felt the brush of madness himself. Then, his thoughts cleared, and he understood how to reach Kalecgos.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “Jaina made the choice, and she chose not to listen to you, or to Go’el.” Clarity filled him as he spoke the words, realizing exactly how true they were. How could he himself not have seen this?

“I should have stopped her!”

“She is not yours to command!” Kalec cried. “She is her own woman! I am so sorry, Kalecgos, so very sorry for what you have lost, but this is not your burden!”

“So easy for you to say such things! Your Jaina lives! She loves you!” Kalecgos shouted, then hesitated. “She . . . does, doesn’t she?”

Kalec’s chest ached at the question. “She does. But she still walks under a shadow. And only she can make the choice to step away from it. Don’t you see?” Kalec implored. “We’re the same. We did the same thing. The difference lay in what Jaina chose to do. Not in anything you did or didn’t do.”