Now she looked at Garrosh, and though her face changed only subtly, Anduin could see the loathing in it. “My task, an honor and a somber joy both, is to offer proof that Garrosh did everything of which he is accused, and more. I intend to show you that he did these deeds with full knowledge of the anguish, suffering, and destruction they would cause.”
She paused, and turned to the table where Chromie and Kairoz sat. Her hands to her heart, she gave them a deep bow. “I offer gratitude to the bronze dragonflight, for now my tool is no longer the dull repetition of words to which we would eventually become inured—but the actual sight of how these events played out. You will watch Garrosh Hellscream plot. You will listen to him lie. And by the end, you will witness him betray.”
Garrosh offered no interruption. Tyrande was setting the tone for the Accuser’s strategy, and it would be a brutal one. She would be relentless, and Anduin would have thought that Garrosh would be unable to keep his mouth shut. But he did.
If Tyrande was disappointed, she did not show it. Her delicate nostrils flared, and she again looked up into the crowd. Her voice was gentler, filled with the same compassion Anduin recalled from their first meeting.
“I know that some of these sights will be horrific, and that many of you personally suffer from what Hellscream has done. To you, I offer my sincere regrets for the pain I must cause. But I believe that you would suffer more if I failed to do everything in my power to bring this . . . orc . . . to true justice.”
Now she bowed to the four great beings, who were still as stone but whose presence could be felt throughout the arena. “August Celestials, you are kind as well as wise. I give both qualities my respect. And I urge you to give us this true justice of which I speak. To find Garrosh Hellscream, former warchief of the Horde, guilty, on every single abominable count, of crimes against Azeroth—its individuals, its races, and the world itself—and to press for the fullest possible punishment: death. Shaha lor’ma . . . Thank you.”
Anduin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Applause was not permitted; if it were, he was certain that the vast majority of onlookers would be clapping and cheering their approval. Garrosh, however, remained visibly unaffected by her poignant and powerful words.
Once Tyrande had taken her seat, her color high and her pose straight as an elven arrow, Taran Zhu nodded.
“Thank you, Chu’shao. The Defender may now speak.”
Baine did not radiate the calm yet barely contained energy of Tyrande. He rose slowly, with dignity, bowed deeply to the August Celestials, then turned to face the spectators.
“The Accused, Garrosh Hellscream, spoke of this trial being a ‘show.’ As I do not wish it to be perceived as such, or as a comedy, as he referred to it, I will not insult anyone’s intelligence by claiming that Garrosh Hellscream is innocent. Nor will I run the risk of scorn by attempting to convince you that he is simply misguided, or misunderstood. I shall not ask for pity, or for anyone to overlook the crimes of which he stands accused. And I will get one important matter out of the way now.”
Baine stood tall, his massive chest expanded with a full breath, reminding all present that he was a warrior, a high chieftain, and a son of a high chieftain. “Garrosh Hellscream killed my father. Most of you know this. Yet here I stand, not out of any fondness for Garrosh as an individual, choosing to defend him. Why? Because, Fa’shua Taran Zhu, August Ones, and fellow Azerothians, like the rest of you, I too want the ‘true justice’ of which my esteemed night elf colleague spoke so eloquently. And also because it is the right thing to do.”
He began to walk, looking up at the audience as if daring them to contradict him. “We will not be as Garrosh was to us. We will not put our wants or needs first. We will not think with heated fury of slaying, of vengeance, of restoring to our races glory perceived to be lost. We are better than that. We are better than him.” He pointed a finger at Garrosh Hellscream, who now sat with an amused smile curving around his tusks.
“And because we are better, we will listen, and use both our minds and our hearts to reach a verdict that generations to come will agree was indeed true justice.” Baine looked toward the Alliance stands, and he caught and held Anduin’s gaze for a moment before turning to Varian, then Jaina Proudmoore.
Jaina was frowning, displaying the little crease that marred her brow when she so furrowed it. Anduin usually saw that crease when she was concentrating, but now he realized she was not pleased with what Baine was saying.
“Our challenge—mine, and that of the August Celestials, and indeed, of all present—is to keep both those minds and hearts open. It is the wise heart, not the broken one, which must be called upon. If you truly do not wish for Garrosh to ‘get away with it,’ as I have heard some voices mutter, if you honestly crave justice, then you must spare his life. While one exists, one can change, and one can begin to do something to mend what he has shattered. Thank you.”
He bowed and returned to his seat.
Baine’s opening speech was met with stony silence. Anduin was unsurprised. The tauren’s battle was not only uphill; it was practically a vertical climb.
“We will take an hour’s respite, then resume later this afternoon with the first witness,” Taran Zhu stated. He struck the gong and rose. Everyone in the amphitheater stood as well, and then the talking began, the buzz of excited conversation, some angry, some gleeful, all of it—all of it—anti-Garrosh.
Anduin tried to catch Baine’s eye, but the tauren walked over to speak with Kairoz, his movements measured and his face grim. Anduin watched him for a moment, wishing it were possible for him to go to the tauren he considered a friend to offer his support. One day, perhaps. His gaze traveled to Garrosh, and he stiffened.
The orc was looking right at him.
His expression was unreadable. Anduin felt his palms grow moist and his chest tighten under that cold scrutiny, and his mind flashed back to the moment when he had confronted Garrosh.
Striking the bell, transforming chaos into harmony. Turning to Garrosh, telling the orc what the mallet had done. Garrosh’s fury.
Die, whelp!
And then—
A hand came down on Anduin’s shoulder and he started, coloring when he realized it was only his father.
“Are you all right?” Varian asked, then followed his son’s gaze. He made a low noise of displeasure. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat. You don’t have to look at him if you don’t want to.”
Despite the reactionary fear that had spurted through his body at the eye contact, Anduin found he actually didn’t mind looking at Garrosh. Baine’s words were still ringing in his ears and heart, and Garrosh was not gloating. Indeed, the orc now inclined his head in a gesture of respect before rising to follow his guards as he was led away for his own meal.
“I’m all right, Father,” Anduin said, and added, “Don’t worry. You did the right thing.”
Varian knew what he meant. The king looked after Garrosh, his lips thinning.
“I’m not so sure, now. I’m not sure at all.”
They assumed her dead, and Zaela, warlord of the Dragonmaw, preferred to keep it that way.
At first, she had been far too close to that state to have had any choice in the matter. She had been shot off her proto-dragon, Galakras, during the Siege of Orgrimmar, plunging seemingly to certain death. Astonishingly, she survived the fall. Her injuries were grave, but her will was strong. Determined to spit in the face of death, Zaela had flung a smoke bomb to distract her enemies and half-stumbled, half-ran to safety before collapsing. She had pushed her recovery, fueled now by a certainty that she had been spared for a purpose. And that purpose was to save Garrosh Hellscream, who was presently on trial for his very life.