Anduin said, very quietly, “No.”
Baine pressed on. “You weren’t in torment? Frightened that you might never walk again? Angry?”
“Yes, of course, all those things.”
“But yet you say now, here, under oath, that you did not want revenge.”
“That’s true.”
“That is a remarkable attitude. Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t do any good. It won’t unbreak my bones, or bring back the dead. It won’t do anything but cause more damage.” It came easier now, the flow of words, as easy as breathing, and as necessary to life.
“But certainly you do not wish Garrosh to do any of the things he has been charged with ever again, do you?”
“No.” No more torment, no more pain. We’re here to help one another. To grow and prosper together.
“Well, the Accuser insists that the only way to be certain that these terrible things won’t happen again is to put Garrosh Hellscream to death. Is that what you want?”
“With respect, I protest! What the witness wants is not relevant to the verdict to be rendered in this courtroom!” Tyrande’s voice was strained, and her movements were slightly less graceful than usual as she sprang to her feet. She shot Anduin a confused look.
“Fa’shua,” Baine said, “most of Garrosh’s victims are dead and cannot speak for themselves. Prince Anduin is one who has survived to tell us his thoughts. If we purport to be trying to obtain justice, I maintain that those who have been the most wronged should be allowed to express their opinions.”
The pandaren eyed first Baine, then Tyrande. “You do understand, Chu’shao Bloodhoof, that this is a sword that can cut both ways? If I agree to allow this witness to speak such an opinion, then the Accuser’s other witnesses may do the same.”
“I understand,” Baine replied, and now Tyrande’s look of confusion transferred to Baine. Anduin wondered at the tauren’s tactics—surely, he had handed Tyrande a powerful weapon in permitting a witness’s opinion on the fate of Garrosh Hellscream. Baine was too intelligent not to realize that.
“Very well, this shall be admissible. Prince Anduin, you may answer the question.”
“Please tell the court, Prince Anduin,” said Baine. “Do you want Garrosh Hellscream to die for what he has done?”
“No,” Anduin Wrynn said quietly.
“Why not?”
“Because I believe people can change.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because I saw it happen with my father.” Anduin’s eyes flickered to Varian, who looked surprised.
“Do you think Garrosh Hellscream can change?”
A pause. Anduin turned his golden head to regard Garrosh intently. Inside his heart was no fear, only peace. He took a deep breath, expanding himself so that the true answer could come.
“Yes.”
Baine settled back and nodded. “I have no further questions.” Tyrande looked at Anduin, then at Baine, then at Anduin again, and shook her head.
Anduin permitted himself a quiet sigh of relief as he rose and resumed his regular seat in the audience.
Sylvanas sat still as stone, the rage inside her belying her cool exterior. She could not believe the night elf’s incompetence. If Sylvanas had been the Accuser, she would have had many questions for the young human prince, questions as silky and as dangerous as spider webbing with which to entrap him. Yet despite the fact that Garrosh Hellscream had broken every single bone in Anduin Wrynn’s body, the child had piped up with testimony so hand-wringingly heartfelt that Sylvanas felt the mood in the entire chamber shift, and Tyrande had shaken her head.
“Court will take an hour’s respite,” said Taran Zhu, and struck the gong. As Baine left the floor, Sylvanas hastened to meet him, but Vol’jin had beaten her to it. The two were heading for the door, and the troll was actually congratulating Baine on his “fairness.”
“No one gonna feel that Garrosh was treated badly by the Horde now, whatever else Tyrande springs on you. Mon, you could be calling the prince of Stormwind as a witness for the Defender!”
“Young Wrynn knows what is right,” Baine rumbled. “He is forgiving. His word counts for much.”
“More, apparently, than the word of the high chieftain of the tauren,” snapped Sylvanas, falling into step beside them as they emerged outside. It was noon, and Sylvanas disliked the sun, but she was not about to back off.
Baine’s ears flattened. “Be mindful of your own words, Sylvanas,” Vol’jin said. “You don’t know when you gonna have to eat them.”
“Fortunately, I do not have to be mindful of what I say when all of Azeroth is watching, or else I might become as much a boot-licking Alliance sympathizer as—”
Baine did nothing so obvious as roar and seize her throat. He merely stopped in his tracks, gripped her upper arms, and squeezed. He was so gentle and precise in his movements and speech when off the battlefield that she had forgotten he was a warrior—and one of the finest the Horde could boast. He could, she realized belatedly, snap her arms like brittle twigs.
“I am not an Alliance sympathizer,” he said in a deep, calm voice. “Nor do I lick boots.”
“Let her go, Baine,” said Vol’jin, and Baine obeyed. “Sylvanas—Baine be doing his job, the job that I, his warchief, asked him to take on. He does it with honor. There be nothing wrong with that. Don’t you go acting like there is.”
“I do not object to him doing his job well,” said Sylvanas, recovering her composure. “I object to him doing it so well he might actually win!”
Baine chuckled ruefully. “You do not intend to, but you flatter me. I believe there is little danger of that,” he said. “I have made those spectators who are hungry for slaughter pause and think for a moment, nothing more. And that is all to the good. One should never make the decision to take another life lightly—not in battle, not in the mak’gora, not in a courtroom. Now, if you both will please excuse me, there is some work I must do in preparation for the next witness.”
He bowed to both of them, letting his body drop more deeply to Vol’jin than to Sylvanas, and departed. Kairoz was waiting for him, and Sylvanas realized he had watched the whole thing. Sylvanas wished she could claw the smirk off the dragon’s handsome face. Why wasn’t he suggesting more damning things to show?
Vol’jin shook his head and sighed.
“When you gonna be getting wiser instead of just smarter, Sylvanas?” he said, not unkindly.
“When the Horde itself grows wise enough to realize not to dish out mercy to those who have done nothing to deserve it,” she replied. “Garrosh might have been a good choice for leader of the Horde for a short while, but once Thrall announced he was going for good, something else should have been done.”
A smile played around the warchief’s long tusks. “Like making a Dark Lady a dark warchief?”
Sylvanas shook her head. “Power in that capacity does not interest me. I would have thought you knew that, Vol’jin.” It was the best kind of lie—one that had some truth to it. She was, indeed, not interested in wielding power in so blatant and crude a fashion.
He shrugged. “Who knows what you want, Sylvanas. Sometimes I don’t even think you do.” He jabbed a sharp-clawed finger at her. “Leave Baine be. He not gonna rob you of your kill. You just need to let it come in its own time.”
He walked off, calling to one of the vendors for a quick bite to eat. Sylvanas watched him go, considering.
Her anger had not abated. It never did. Anger was to her now what breathing had been when her heart still beat. But it had changed, from hot and impulsive to thoughtful and controlled.