The spectators filed in, filling the seats, though no one would dare take Sylvanas’s. Kairoz stood alone at the bronzes’ table, tinkering with the Vision of Time. Go’el assumed he was deactivating it, seeing that its purpose had been served. He found himself annoyed that Kairoz chose to do so now rather than last night, or even before then. There had been no need for the device in closing arguments; all the evidence had already been presented. Although he had no love for Garrosh, Go’el still thought it discourteous that Kairoz was doing such a mundane task. He wondered why Taran Zhu had allowed it, as it smacked of disrespect for the court proceedings, and reasoned that it must be important in a way only a bronze dragon would know. Chromie, no doubt, would join Kairoz in a few moments. Go’el was certain that neither bronze dragon, each of whom had played such a pivotal role, would miss hearing Garrosh speak.
This trial had strained more than it had solved up to this point. Many in the Horde had expressed anger toward Baine for his apparently sincere defense of Garrosh. The tactics the Defender had used with Vol’jin and Go’el himself had certainly stung. Baine’s closing argument, however, clearly showed the reasons why Baine had felt it necessary to do what he had done, and Go’el understood. Still, he was glad to see the end of this. Whatever decision the August Celestials reached, it would be a relief.
The arena hummed with the sound of voices talking excitedly, even more today than usual. The chatter subsided when Taran Zhu entered, walking toward his seat with the same unhurried step as he had every day before. He struck the gong and announced, “Court has now resumed. Please bring in the jury.”
The four celestials took their customary positions, serenely unreadable, ready to hear what the Accused might have to say. Beside Go’el, Aggra tensed. “Here he comes,” she murmured.
Garrosh Hellscream was still flanked by six guards, but today the chains around his legs that made his steps short and halting were gone, though he still walked with a limp. Gone too were any chains other than a single set of manacles that bound his hands. He stood straighter than he had before, with a weary but stoic mien.
“I am glad Taran Zhu permitted this,” Go’el said to Aggra. “Whatever else he is, he is a warrior. He should face death like an orc, not like an animal.”
“Hmm,” said Aggra. “You are more charitable than I. I do not think he deserves any show of respect, for if he ever had it from anyone, he has more than squandered it.”
“And that,” said Go’el, “is a tragedy too.”
Anduin had been schooled from his earliest years in how to sit calmly at formal occasions. “No wiggling for a prince,” he had been told. But today, after his encounter with first Vereesa and then Garrosh, he was jumpy and had difficulty not shifting in his seat. Fortunately, everyone else seemed as anxious as he, though he hoped no one else had experienced the sort of respite he had. By the way they were acting, Jaina and Kalec had actually had a pretty good one. They were holding hands and looked happy. Anduin was glad. He wanted something to go right for a change.
“How are you holding up?” Varian asked.
“Me? I’m fine,” Anduin said, too quickly.
“I didn’t like it when you started talking to Garrosh,” Varian said, “but . . . I think it was the right thing. It’s all up to the celestials now.”
“Do you think if he asks for mercy, they will grant it?” Anduin couldn’t help but ask.
“I can’t begin to guess what a celestial might or might not do,” Varian said. “What concerns me is that you’re all right.”
“I am,” Anduin said, and he realized he was. He’d done all he could for Garrosh, and was content. Though still a little jumpy. He detected movement at one of the doors. “There he is.”
As Garrosh walked forward, Anduin saw that Taran Zhu had agreed to Anduin’s request to reduce Garrosh’s chains. The orc had even been given a clean tunic. He seemed better than when Anduin had left him, calmer, more . . . dignified.
“Huh,” said Varian. “Where’s Chromie? I thought she’d want to be here for this.”
Anduin glanced over, and sure enough, only Kairoz was at the bronze dragons’ table, still fiddling with the Vision of Time.
“No idea,” he said, then returned his full attention to Garrosh. The guards marched him into the center of the room; then four of them dropped back. Only two remained, and even they stood a few steps behind the orc as he faced the fa’shua.
“Garrosh Hellscream,” said Taran Zhu. “You have been tried in a formal court of Pandaren law. Before the jury begins its deliberation on your fate, is there anything you wish to say, to me, to the jury, or to any spectators?”
Garrosh regarded the crowd as if seeing them for the first time. He turned in a tight circle as he looked around the ring, pausing here and there for a moment. At one point, he locked gazes with Anduin, and something flickered across his face.
“Yes,” he said, his voice strong, carrying easily in the large space. “I do have something to say. Honorable Taran Zhu. August Celestials. Spectators from all across Azeroth. I have heard everything you have heard. I have seen what you have seen.”
He moved to face Tyrande, who sat quietly, perfectly composed. “Tyrande Whisperwind has presented a strong and damning case against me. A case that has roused some of you to anger, and thoughts of revenge. Thoughts of my death. I do not blame you for hungering for that.”
He gave Tyrande a slight smirk, then turned to his Defender. Baine too looked composed, though somewhat more grim than Tyrande. “Baine Bloodhoof, who has little enough cause to do so, has with great earnestness presented a case not protesting my innocence, but asking for your understanding. For your compassion. For you, the jury and the spectators, to look within your own hearts, and see that no one is completely free from blame.”
Then, to Anduin’s surprise, Garrosh turned to face him. “And Prince Anduin Wrynn, who by all rights should be foremost among those clamoring for my death, has chosen to spend hours in my company. I attempted to slay him, in a brutal, cruel, and painful manner. And what does he do?” Garrosh shook his head, as if in disbelief. “He speaks to me of the Light. He tells me he believes that I can change. He has shown me kindness when I offered hatred and violence. It is because of him that I stand before you, facing what I expect to be a pronouncement of my death, as a warrior, not as a broken slave.”
He lifted his shackled hands, and gave Anduin a slight bow before turning to face the crowd once more. “Oh, yes. I know full well how much blood is on my hands. I know exactly the magnitude and the consequences of what I have done.” He took a deep breath and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Anduin leaned forward, not wanting to hope, but hoping wildly, beautifully, anyway.
“And now, here at this moment, when I am free to speak my mind and heart, I tell you true: I regret . . .”
His laughter rang through the arena.
“Nothing!”
Anduin forgot to breathe. He felt cold, numb. He sat, staring at Garrosh, for a moment unable to mentally process the words. Sound hammered on his ears, the outraged cries of a furious public. Taran Zhu struck the gong futilely, calling for order.
But Garrosh, it seemed, had only begun. He lifted his shackled arms and bellowed, “Yes! Yes! I would destroy a thousand Theramores, if it would bring the Alliance to its knees! I would hunt down every night elf whelp that bleats on the face of this world and silence their mewling forever! I would banish every troll, every tauren, every simpering blood elf and greedy goblin and shambling walking corpse if it were within my power—and it almost was!”