Taran Zhu turned a calm visage on Tyrande. “Chu’shao, can you explain why this line of questioning has pertinence?”
“I am actually attempting to show that this witness is rational and responsible, Lord Zhu. Which is the farthest thing from hate-mongering I can imagine.” She gave Baine an angry look.
Taran Zhu considered this, then said, “Very well. I’ll allow it. The witness may answer the question.”
“My answer is yes,” said Varok.
“Do you presently condone that sort of behavior?” Tyrande continued.
“No, I do not. And I have said so.”
“To whom?”
“It is no secret. I am not proud of what I did.” Varok looked at Velen as he said this.
“Did you express this sentiment to Garrosh Hellscream?”
“I did.”
Tyrande nodded. “May it please the court, I would like to show a Vision that I believe pertains to this. So noted,” she added, with a look at Baine, “because I was requested to withdraw my first choice of Vision.”
“The Accuser may introduce this evidence,” Taran Zhu said. The by-now-familiar working of Chromie over the Vision of Time was followed by images solidifying in the center of the room.
For the first time, those assembled looked on Garrosh Hellscream not as he was now—captured and in chains, an emotionless expression on his face—but as he had been a few years ago, before the fall of the Lich King. When, mused Baine, his own father still respected the son of Grom Hellscream.
Even High Overlord Saurfang looked younger, thought Baine, realizing with a heavy heart how much the loss of that orc’s only offspring had taken its toll.
Garrosh and Saurfang stood side by side at Warsong Hold in the Borean Tundra, gazing down at a large map on the floor. It was made of stitched-together hides, with miniature standards of Horde and Alliance marking the various strongholds, a toy zeppelin buzzing away, and painted skull faces representing the seemingly inexhaustible Scourge. Saurfang knelt, pointing out things as he spoke. Garrosh hung back, managing to look both disinterested and annoyed.
Saurfang was attempting to impress upon Garrosh the importance of supporting the troops in practical matters when Hellscream retorted with a dismissive gesture, “Shipping lanes . . . supplies . . . You bore me to death! We need nothing more than the warrior spirit of the Horde, Saurfang. Now that we are firmly entrenched in this frozen wasteland, nothing shall stop us!”
Baine noted the familiarity with which Garrosh addressed the much older, much more experienced orc, and he did not like it. Saurfang, however, was too smart to rise to the bait and pressed on.
“Siege engines, ammunition, heavy armor . . .” Saurfang replied. “How do you propose to shatter the walls of Icecrown without those?”
Garrosh smirked and drew himself up to his full height. “Propose?” he sneered. “I will show you what I propose!” He lifted Gorehowl and brought it smashing down on the figurines representing Valiance Keep. “There . . . now we have a shipping lane. And just for good measure . . .” Valgarde and Westguard Keep fell beneath his booted feet.
Saurfang said witheringly, “So the prodigal son has spoken! Your father’s blood runs strong in you, Hellscream. Impatient as always . . . Impatient and reckless. You rush headlong into all-out war without a thought of the consequences.”
“Do not speak to me of consequences, old one.”
Baine’s hackles rose, and apparently so did those of the Vision’s Saurfang. He stepped closer to Garrosh and growled, “I drank of the same blood your father did, Garrosh. Mannoroth’s cursed venom pumped through my veins as well. I drove my weapons into the bodies and minds of my enemies. And while Grom died a glorious death—freeing us all from the blood-curse—he could not wipe away the terrible memory of our past. His act could not erase the horrors we committed.”
The image of Saurfang then looked away, talking more to himself now than to the younger orc. His eyes were haunted. “The winter after the curse was lifted, hundreds of veteran orcs like me were lost to despair. Our minds were finally free, yes . . . Free to relive all of the unthinkable acts that we had performed under the Legion’s influence.” He nodded, as if coming to a conclusion, and his voice became so soft Baine had to strain to hear it. “I think it was the sounds of the draenei children that unnerved most of them. You never forget . . . Have you ever been to Jaggedswine Farm? When the swine are of age for the slaughter. It’s that sound. The sound of the swine being killed . . . It resonates the loudest. Those are hard times for us older veterans.”
Velen had closed his eyes. Baine felt the focus in the room shift to the draenei, and heard some uncomfortable shuffling in the stands. He looked up at the celestials to see them raptly watching the Vision unfold.
The image of Garrosh shattered the somber mood with words that made Baine want to throttle him, words that went directly against what had just been shown with Durotan. “But surely you cannot think that those children were born into innocence? They would have grown up and taken arms against us!”
To Baine’s surprise, Saurfang did not react to the suggestion. Instead he said in that soft, distant voice, “I am not speaking solely of the children of our enemies . . .”
That, at last, seemed to silence Garrosh. He simply stood, looking at Saurfang with a mixture of revulsion and pity. Saurfang shook himself, and when he turned to speak with Garrosh again, his voice was strong and firm.
“I won’t let you take us down that dark path again, young Hellscream. I’ll kill you myself before that day comes.”
That was doubtless the gem Tyrande had been waiting for. A great war hero threatening to kill Garrosh before he’d let the impetuous youth plunge the orcs into another devastating war for no true reason.
The image of Garrosh replied, and Baine was startled at the change in the young orc. He spoke in a quiet tone of respect and almost wonderment.
“How have you managed to survive for so long, Saurfang? Not fallen victim to your own memories?”
Saurfang smiled. “I don’t eat pork.”
“Pause.” The scene froze, and Tyrande let it linger there, etching itself on the minds of the jury and the onlookers, then nodded to Chromie. The scene vanished. Tyrande turned to Saurfang and gave a slight, sincere bow. “Thank you, High Overlord. Chu’shao—your witness.”
Baine nodded, and he walked toward Saurfang. “High Overlord, I will keep this brief, so that you may spend no more time in that chair than necessary. You spoke of killing Garrosh before you let him lead the orcs down that dark path.”
“I did.”
“Was that a figure of speech?”
“It was not.”
“You would actually kill Garrosh with your own hands?”
“Yes.”
“And do you believe he has done so? Led the orcs down that dark path?”
“Yes. That is why I took up arms against him. After some of the things he did—” The old orc shook his head, disgusted, and gave Garrosh a venomous look.
“So you would be happy with the verdict that Chu’shao Whisperwind advocates—execution.”
“No.”
Murmurs rippled through the courtroom, but Baine felt quiet pleasure. He had been right about Varok. He allowed himself a brief glance at Tyrande and saw the kaldorei sitting up and watching attentively, hoping for some misstep. Baine intended to give her none.
“What would you like to see?”
Tyrande leaped to her feet. “With respect, I protest! The witness’s personal preference is irrelevant.”
“Fa’shua, I am attempting to clarify what the high overlord meant when he said, ‘I’ll kill you myself.’ ”
“I agree with the Defender,” said Taran Zhu. “You may answer the question, High Overlord Saurfang.”
Saurfang did not do so immediately. He gave Garrosh a long, appraising look, then spoke. “Garrosh was not always as you see him now. He was, as I have said, reckless and impulsive. But I once would never have doubted his loyalty to the Horde. And even now, I do not doubt his loyalty to his people. But his crimes must be addressed. I vowed to kill him, and I would still uphold that vow. But I would not surrender him to others for execution. I would challenge him myself, in the mak’gora.”