Holy Wars

Prologue

The rumor spreads, through whispers, wide eyes, and money changing hands. Independent fact checking sends several minions running to their masters, word and proof in hand, gleeful anticipation in their hearts.

"Pretty little thing," one such master observes dispassionately. "Why should I care?"

His minion tells him, and his eyes first widen, then narrow in satisfaction.

"Well done. Send out a team."

--

"Fetch this for me. Alive."

"But, mistress, I can bring it so much more easily dead."

"I understand. But I want it alive. If it comes to me dead..." This rasping, rustling voice does not need to expand on its threats. The minion gulps nervously.

"Yes, mistress. Alive."

--

"Shall I go and fetch her?"

This particular mistress is much more elegant than the first two, much more composed. She drums her manicured fingers upon the arm of her chair and considers.

"No. I can find her a different way. Bring me my representative."

Across the realms, her counterpart says much the same thing.

--

"This can't be true."

"I assure you, it is." The man bows. "I have checked it with three independent sources."

"Interesting. I trust you made it difficult for those sources to lie to you?"

"Difficult and unwise, sir." He bows again.

"If this is true, she could be a great asset to us." He rubs his chin. "Very well. Send out the word: if an appropriate opportunity should arise, they are to take her and bring her to me."

--

"She could save us." This pair is different. The woman, while nominally subservient to the man, clearly doesn't care. "She could heal us."

"She could." The man rests his forehead in his hands. "Or they could kill us to get at her."

"Would death be any worse than this?" she asks, soberly.

He makes his decision. "You're right. Get her."

--

The rumor spreads, by word of mouth and gasps of horror and delight. And as usual, I'm the very last person to know.