"You must be taking great enjoyment in this."

I glanced to my right to find that the unusually young High Court Physician and Doctor was now walking beside me. Despite the sincere lack of plagues in recent times, he had permanently adorned a plague doctor's mask, presumably because he enjoyed the unease the bird-like mask brought to those he administered to. The eminent Doctor Hiero was one of the more unpleasant members of the Queen's High Court, but he was also one of the most vital... particularly when it came to the Inquisition.

"I take no enjoyment in anything," I said, as blandly as I could muster. Boredom was one of two surefire methods in frightening off the disgusting locust.

"You know that this scandal will end Ashwin's career." Hiero's voice was nasally, and it somehow emphasized the cruel enjoyment lacing his words, muted though it was by the thick leather of his mask. Were the man not shackled by a distinct lack of magical talent, he likely would have made quite the Necromancer, himself... or at least a man capable of horrific and unbridled serial murder.

"Whether it destroys him or not is the least of my concerns," I said. "I have no will but to serve the Inquisition... as is ordered of me." I lazily waved a wrist at him; the long, flared sleeve of my robes dropped back to reveal one of the abysidian manacles clapped to both of my wrists, the runes glittering menacingly in multifaceted colors.

"And then what, I wonder?" Hiero cackled. "Do you still dream of destruction and hordes marching upon the Queen's Seat, Necromancer?"

"If undead hordes ensured the ceasing of our exceptionally ill-favored discussions, I should probably summon them hourly, were I able."

"Come, now. You must be getting some sort of enjoyment from this debacle, my dear. Commander Ashwin has shown you no kindness these five years."

"I never believed for a moment that he would do otherwise."

"Summoning the dead to reveal their secrets... there is some joy, to me, in watching them spill forth their sordid tales at your command."

"I am deeply grateful that the gods saw fit to keep you from the arcane arts, Hiero. Your obsession with death is beastly."

"Says the Necromancer," he cackled.

I turned the full force of my gaze on him, and he made the mistake of turning his leathery beak toward me, the glass unable to keep back the flames that had taken the place of my mortal sight. Not that it stopped me from seeing what mortals saw... it just allowed me to see more, and to show shrews like the eminent Doctor Hieronymous of Cordona the ghosts of their failures.

The emerald flames flickered in the reflection of his mask's glass eyes, and he flinched, drawing back from me as he would to no one else, not even Queen Amaridae herself.

"Away with you," I hissed, a faint echo to my voice, and I was sure the Doctor heard the voices I heard behind my own words- the screams of failed patients, test subjects, and tortured prisoners, all in the name of his science, a subject he swore was for the good of all... and which was really for the good of one.

Very, very few could look me in the eyes, and Hiero was not one of them.

The man was quite the puppet on a string, himself, acting the cold, disinterested court Physician and Doctor, but he was no better than any other mortal. When he flinched once more away from me, I knew it bothered him that he could not bear the full brunt of my gaze.

"As you wish, Necromancer," he said coldly, and strode off toward a flank of the Inquisition. I pitied the dismayed soldiers, but not enough to intervene. No guilt plagued my cold heart.

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I sighed, rolling my shoulders and flexing my wrists, which cracked. The clanking of the manacles sounded with my movements, great deadmetal things inscribed with the runes of Abyssus himself, god over the Dead Pits and the River of Souls. The Queen held power over me, owned me like a dog; she had handed the "leash" of my existence over to Commander Ashwin for his work with the Inquisition, which, with my capture, had become a glorified crime solving militia.

Even if Ashwin was dethroned from his position of command, control over me would simply be bestowed upon whoever the Queen deemed worthy or responsible or... whatever.

We returned to town, which was muted with unease and unrest in the wake of so many murders. First through Low Side, then Mid Side, and then finally, Upper Side, past increasingly expensive and lavish manors and parks. Lord Ashwin clearly wished to take his son by surprise, allowing no time for any warnings. The Inquisition marched upon the dolled up quarter of the city's nobility, and Queen Amaridae would likely hear of it, repeatedly, nonstop, for weeks.

Good.

His home here, of course, was one of the more stately works of monetary excess at the top of the highest hill- and by no means his only residence, nor even his main. Only the Queen's own castle towered above it, and it was fascinatingly ostentatious with its black marble columns edged in gold, the stained glass windows portraying tasteless depictions of over-exaggerated battles between none-other than him... and myself.

As if he did more than just stand there and distract me.

I knew Ashwin's desires even before he began to turn and look for me; I strode to the front of the main body, ignoring the soldiers that flinched away from me. Five years, and not a soul here had overcome the fear of the "undead sorceress". I stepped up beside the awaiting Ashwin, who took a moment to gesture to a smaller flank, signaling the remaining body to stay behind. He was pale and sallow, and sweat collected on his brow; his eyes were sunk into his face.

The inside of the manor was, of course, richly furnished. Beautifully ornate, imported rugs of surprisingly dark, muted colors adorned black marble floors, and staircases of white marble like porcelain curved upward toward another floor. Perfectly carved silhouettes of Ashwin and his son adorned the railings of the stairs; the oversized paintings that leered down at us depicted only Ashwin and his son. Unease filled the small rank and file, and I felt it too; the house was unreasonably quiet, and not a servant responded to our entrance.

"Where is your head butler, my Lord?" This was the young Captain that had accompanied the unit; Ashwin did not respond directly to him.

"My son will be in his inner sanctum," he said instead, leading the way. We followed directly behind, and for the first time in 5 years, the soldiers stepped closer to me.

How quickly the tables could turn.

My Necronomicon flickered at my side, a pretty green glow about its pages. I frowned at Ashwin's back. He was distracted, the scent of sweat and anxiety coming off of him thick enough that even I could smell it. A thought occurred to me, but it was so outrageous compared to what I knew of Ashwin that I immediately banished it.

The "inner sanctum", as Ashwin had referred to it, was indeed inner. We passed through halls so equally ostentatious to all that came before it, that it began to all wash together in my vision. I heard the soldiers beginning to mutter about getting lost, and I wondered idly if this was Ashwin's intent- or perhaps his son's.

"Is it much further, my Lord?" The Captain of the flank that Ashwin had commanded to follow him spoke up after several minutes of this and the tense, thick silence.

Ashwin glanced very briefly over his shoulder. "It is not much further, now. He will know we are here, by this point. Be ready."

I narrowed my eyes, but said nothing; I ran a finger along the black leather of my book, and green flames danced along the edges of eagerly rustling pages.

At last, however, we turned down yet another long hall of black marble and muted rugs and found a simple, unadorned door waiting for us. As we neared it and the unease of the manor increased, I finally shifted my gaze to the Otherworld, and I was startled by what I saw, even as I followed through the door behind Ashwin into a shockingly dark room, the soldiers directly behind me in a clustered group.

The mansion was flooded with angry, agitated spirits.

"Gallant," Ashwin called evenly, and I struggled to shift my vision out of the Otherworld; it was difficult to leave once entered, and it made seeing reality confusing and cluttered. "It is time."

The young man at the far end of the room, bent over a table with his back to us, rose slowly. The irises of his eyes glowed scarlet as he grinned at us, and he leaned lazily against the table, as attractive and chiseled as rumor had lead many to believe.

"Hello, Necromancer," he said, addressing me and ignoring the Inquisition. "I have so been dying to meet you."

I looked between Gallant and Ashwin, and it dawned on me that my insane idea had actually been right.

"Gods," the Captain whispered hoarsely. "It is another one."

"Oh, for pity's sake," I snapped, disappointment and irritation flooding my gut. "How long have you two morons been play-acting at Necromancer, Ashwin?"