The issue with being a Necromancer is that people err on the side of distrust with you. People automatically assume you're about three steps from summoning an undead horde at any given moment, and even when you tell them it was "just the one time", funnily enough, no one ever believes you.

----------------------------------------

"Please state your full name in life and your cause of death for all those present," I said into the still air, unable to hide the boredom. A phantasm of green mist formed in the space before me, and the lighting in the clearing seemed to dim in its presence. I heard the usual fearful murmurs behind me, the unsheathing of hands on iron weapons, and fought the urge to roll my non-existent eyes.

After five years, I would have thought there'd have been less unease... but there was not. If anything, there was more.

"I was... Sir Mallory of Galveston Court." The voice is emanating from within the spirit; no voice could have issued forth from his mouth, as the jaw was hanging by tattered, gory shreds off one side. Ethereal splatters of blood covered his torn and ruined silk garments, a pale green echo of the rotting corpse just a foot to my left.

"Excellent," I said, drumming my fingers across the pages of my Necronomicon floating just before me. "And your cause of death?"

There was a long pause, and the voice took a moment to form. It sounded almost as if it were traveling from a long distance, a faint echo pronounced in the forming of words as they were pulled directly from the River of Souls.

"I was brutally murdered," he said finally.

"Could've supplied that myself," I muttered. Louder, I added, "Who killed you?"

The ghost had the audacity to look affronted. Its pale eyes were voids of green mists, and his matted hair shook with his indignation as he said, "It is against the Gentleman's Code to reveal my opponent."

I glanced at his desecrated corpse. Apart from the bludgeoned face, his body had been brutally stabbed enough times that the blade of the dagger had broken off into the ruined cavity of his chest... a detail that the detestable Court Physician had been only too pleased to reveal.

"Last I checked," I said, turning back to the spirit, "it was also against the Gentleman's Code to bludgeon you to death during a duel, and then to desecrate your corpse."

Sir Mallory turned to look upon his own body, and I watched him deflate as he took it in, perhaps realizing the fullness of his situation. 

"Yes," he said. "I suppose that that is true." He turned back to me. "My murderer was known to me. I had called on him to answer for the brutal slaying of my daughter, Penelope."

I heard the shifting of movement behind me; despite my explicit command to remain back, as per usual, Lord Ashwin of Rivaine ignored me entirely and strode up beside me. He was shaking with heavy emotion, the time-worn lines in his face unusually pronounced. He looked far older than I had become used to seeing him.

"Mallory," he said, voice thick with emotion, eyes trained on his old friend. "Why wouldn't you come to me? How could you chase this killer on your own?"

"I had been coming to you for years," Sir Mallory's ghost responded, morose. "I had been warning you for years, Ash. You failed to heed my concerns, and my daughter Penelope paid the price when she turned down the advances of your son and heir, the young Lord Gallant."

My eyebrows shot up, and behind me, the shocked voices of the Inquisition rose in horror. I was not expecting such drama today, I thought idly.

"You lie!" Ashwin's accusation ripped from him, and he turned on me, eyes flashing in anguish and rage. "You! You filthy witch! You see your opportunity to hurt me, and you take it!"

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Despite his spitting mere inches from my face, I picked lightly at my obsidian robes. "I am not a witch, Commander. I am a Necromancer, which you well know and which I state for the sake of semantics, and in the five years I have been forced to answer to you, I believe I flatter myself in saying that I have never once inspired even a hint of the cruelty you now accuse me of." Even if I have wished to do something of the sort, I added quietly to myself.

"You laugh at my pain!" His voice cracked. "You summoned this spirit and you pull its strings to taunt me, to declare my son capable of such murder!"

"If you will not listen to me in life, then listen to me in death!" The voice of Sir Mallory suddenly cracked out in eternal agony, and the lighting in the glade dimmed heavily, as if a storm had blown in over the course of mere moments. A hush fell over us all, and though Ashwin stiffened at the enraged tone of his old friend, he refused to look at him, even as the spirit continued to wail. "Your son has always been violent and brutal and harsh! He has abused women and killed prostitutes on mere fancy! You have used your position of power to cover it up for years! His bloodthirsty desires run rampant and unchecked, all under the excuse of 'boyish mischief'! You have cost me my daughter, and my life!"

I watched, wary, as the mists that made up the form of the spirit began to solidify, flaring out in agitation. The glow of the eyes shifted toward a scarlet hue- the colors of an enraged spirit quickly reaching the point of no return. Sir Mallory was becoming dangerous... but I had yet a little time.

"Heed my words," Mallory wailed, "should you continue to ignore me, the inevitable shall pass; the streets of Cordona shall be filled with blood, and it shall be on your head! If I must, I will dedicate my afterlife, the essence of my being, my spirit, into driving you to madness if you do not-"

"No, no, you shall not," I said, and I curled my fingers over my book. The pages flashed to a spell, the words burst into green flames, and Sir Mallory blanched; the color of his spirit faded once more into a pale green,  emerald flames flickering about the tips of my fingers. "Remember your true nature, Sir Mallory, or I shall be forced to return you to the River and Abyssus himself."

Silence fell again on the glade, and Sir Mallory watched Lord Ashwin with dark, sulking eyes. They no longer shone the blood hungry scarlet of an angry spirit.

Lord Ashwin seemed to cave into himself. Behind us, muttering started up once more amongst the Inquisition's soldiers, and the tone of it was filled with reproach, resentment, distrust, and a dangerous undercurrent of anger.

"Commander," I said quietly. I did not look at him- the soulless, green flames that had replaced my eyes would bring no comfort to anyone here. "I know you do not seek my counsel, but you must retain your sense of duty, or your men will defect."

Ashwin continued to look at the mossy floor of the glade. His shoulders had lost all their proud strength. "Would you give me advice, Necromancer?" His tone was cold and pained. "Is it out of pity?"

"Does it matter? If you do not get a hold of yourself, Commander, you will be turned on by men who are willing to uphold the value of justice that you so easily spat on. Your son is a murderer, one that you have supported unintentionally, or so I assume. To put it bluntly, Commander: Get a hold of yourself, and do your job."

"You ask me to arrest my son and charge him to death for murder."

"Just as you have charged the sons of so many others before him."

He gave me a disgusted look, lip curling. "You must be celebrating my downfall, Necromancer. I have known that you disliked me for years, now."

I shrugged, flipping my long hair, deep and feathery like the wings of a raven, over my other shoulder. "Whether I am or not is irrelevant. Do as you wish, for I have no stake in this game. Do not ask me to defend you, for the loyalty I am forced to display is toward the Queen... not you."

The murmurs behind us began to rise in unrest as Lord Ashwin yet refused to answer to the accusations levied against his son. Flickers of scarlet fire were already beginning once again to spark in the eyes of Sir Mallory, cowering before me but watching Ashwin like a coiled snake.

"We must return to Cordona," Ashwin said aloud; silence fell as he lifted his head at last, rapt upon him. "We move to arrest my son, the Lord Gallant of Rivaine, to be tried and judged in the Queen's Court."

I watched his ramrod back as he strode through the rank and file of his own men, who watched him with a mixture of disgust, pity, and scorn, before I turned at last to Sir Mallory.

"Your death shall be avenged, and you bring an end to the murders that have been plaguing all of Cordona," I said formally.

"Thank you, Necromancer," Mallory whispered, before I flicked my fingers, and his spirit drifted down through the earth, through the mortal plane, onward toward the River of Souls.

An end to the murders, I thought, as I turned and followed in the wake of the Inquisition. A deep, moody silence filled the ranks. The joy of past investigations was no longer present; long had we hunted this killer when the women disappearing became too great to count, the bodies too mangled for me to question, the spirits too angry and lost to summon. 

Mallory had been a mistake, but he would be the downfall of Ashwin's long career... and then, I wondered, who would take his place as the keeper of the Woman who Nearly Ended the World?