Chương 45: Chapter 44: Schemes Within Schemes

++I do not consider myself to be a violent person by nature. No, not at all. I am a violent person by active choice, and will continue to make that choice until such a time as everyone else does what I tell them. ++ - From the writings of Isabel Vornholt, 'The Great Lich'. 1, 891 A. E I was surprised to hear the Grandmaster's declaration, mainly because I would have assumed the upcoming war was not the sort of secret one wanted to get out. It would now, though. It inevitably would.

One thousand students hearing it all at once? It did not matter how intelligent they all were, how loyal to the Institute, anything short of locking us in the dungeons and feeding us through a hatch would ensure that someone, somewhere, would let it slip. Most likely several someones. I expected no less than a dozen letters home telling of the news tonight, a hundred more by the end of the month. Which made me curious, because the Grandmaster was not an idiot.

Prone to risk-taking, certainly, he had been willing to sacrifice several of his own students in an Institute famed for guaranteeing safety during his deal with Sascithius. But that told me only that there were rewards that could drive him to do very drastic things indeed. So what was his reward here? I found that out soon enough.

"I know this is a frightening thing to hear," he called out.

"Believe me, I know. I was just a young man myself when we first waged war against the Iruchi savages, and more than once I found myself close to death in that fearsome fighting. But the Winzorth Institute was not at its current heights back then. This time, we are ready, we are prepared, and by the time the first shot is fired, we will be trained!" I considered that, and drew several conclusions very quickly. This was an effort at growing the Winzorth Institute's power, obviously.

I knew that simply because almost everything the Grandmaster did was. But it was a risk too, and it meant pushing the Institute into a direction it had not stepped towards for its long history. The reason for why occured to me with much the same feeling as a sledgehammer unexpectedly being swung into my face. The Grandmaster was not hoping to gain influence by making his Institute indispensable to Garamon's military, not at all. He was using this as an excuse to prepare for a coup.

My only question was whether this would be for my benefit or not. If the Grandmaster had worked out that I planned to declare outright war on the Gods, preparing his own magical army would be a logical response. That did not mean it was his actual motive, however. He may well plan to turn it against me, or simply to hunker down and preserve his own hide. There are so many variables when working with other people.

It is why I had always avoided doing it whenever possible, preferring the company of undead servitors to living servants. I yearned for the day I could continue practising necromancy and regain something of my past skill. In this modern age, with modern weapons and magic—modern warriors—my armies may become more than they ever were.

What made this deprivation worse is that I got no more clues from the rest of the Grandmaster's speech, he simply waffled out some generic motivation about how talented and dangerous all of us already were, and how as a collective our power was unrivalled, then he made his way off from the stage. I had time to think about the implications of this, and decided that I did not like them one bit. As usual, the Grandmaster was not an unintelligent man. And as usual, he was not a risk-averse one either.

If any Godtouched had the particulars of this speech accurately relayed to them, they could easily draw the same conclusions I just had. My time in the Winzorth Institute would be cut inconveniently short following that.

"Battle magic," Agrian whispered.

"We'll be learning battle magic, right? Do you think?"

"Yes," I said, distractedly. Then paused.

"I am still not speaking to you, actually, until you apologize." The boy's face sort of spasmed at that, a mix of anger, disbelief and irritation. It was beet red by the time he spoke.

"Are you joking? For the love of—okay, fine, I apologize."

"What for?"

"For…going back on our deal," he sighed.

"No. For defying my will."

"You cannot be fucking serious." I just eyed him, and after a few more seconds Agrian finally caved.

"I apologize for…defying your will." I nodded, with some satisfaction. We were almost there.

"You will tell me what father teaches you?"

"Yes, fine."

"Good," I nodded, satisfied for now. This latest promise would clearly need reinforcement, considering how he wavered on the last, but I had several more months alone with Agrian at the Winzorth Institute to work on teaching him the benefits of treating his sister well. By the time we returned to the Vornholt estate, I intended to have his loyalty be far less wavering than it was when we left. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"We will be learning battle magic," I added. Agrian seemed almost to have forgotten his own question.

"Though you and I already have more of a start in that than most apprentices, likely than many novices." It was not that magicians were useless in modern combat, if anything they may have become more useful now than they were in ancient times as magic advanced right alongside technology. They were simply more useful elsewhere.

Every magician killed when a stray bullet caught them unawares, or a heavy shell tore through their shields, was one less magician providing heat for industrial metallurgy, or tending to otherwise untreatable wounds and illnesses, or bringing the effective work of an entire foundry into a construction site just with their own presence.

Killing the magicians of a modern nation was an excellent way to mangle its economy, and placing one's own magicians in the line of fire was an excellent way to make them easily killed. I found myself staring at Agrian almost without realising it. He looked eager, practically vibrating with excitement as he thought about marching to war.

"Do you not recall our kidnapping?" I asked him. He looked suddenly self-conscious, as he should have.

"Of course I do," he snapped.

"And I remember not being able to help you. But I'm stronger now." That much was true, at least. Magicians of war tended to be somewhat more powerful than the average, but not by an order of magnitude. If most adult magicians averaged three thousand vis as their maximum output, I estimated that, in this age and with this kind of talent pool, Garamon would mostly be fielding battlemages who boasted five or six thousand. Neither myself nor Agrian was so far away from that level of power just yet.

I imagined we would both surpass it, in fact, within two years at the most. By the time either of us were dispatched into actual warfare, we would surely be far stronger still. That did not mean that there was no risk at all of Agrian dying. And any risk was unacceptable, he would be vitally important for my plans. If he perished, then I would not have a male to run the Vornholt estate publicly until Qaigor came of age. It would delay me by more than a decade, and I needed every decade I could get.

The moment I became old enough that my longevity was suspicious, I would have the Gods breathing down my neck again. Possibly sooner. Agrian continued his excited gibbering as we split up to finally return to our rooms. I was not in mine for even five minutes before a knock came against my door, which I answered to find nobody in the corridor beyond it.

"I'm surprised you have no security measures set up in your room," the Grandmaster's voice rang out from behind me. I did not turn around with a start, just closed the door and looked in the direction I had heard it from. Only when we were cut off from the corridor beyond did he finally reveal himself.

"You have seen already how limited my powers are currently," I told him irritably.

"I am…working on it." It was not the lack of raw strength that frustrated me, but the destruction of my skill. I had never been formally trained, but so much of my old spellwork would have been technically sound even compared to the new, modern magic of Garamon. And yet I had lost that, too. The knowledge was there, but knowledge was only half the equation in making magic do anything. My Vessel reverted, it was unused to forming mana into the shapes I needed it to. Another crime the Gods would have to pay for.

"You are, and I hope you appreciate the new training regime." I blinked at him, actually taken aback.

"You did this for my benefit?"

"Of course," the Grandmaster smiled.

"I don't want to send you of all people into battle without the proper training, now, do I?" …No, he was lying. Which made it all the more likely that he intended to use the apprentices of Winzorth against me in the future. I would have to stay on guard for that. Granted, for the time being, I could hardly do anything but work alongside him. No doubt, this was all as he had planned. I truly do hate competent foes.

"I do not think you came here just to talk to me about this," I ventured.

"You're correct. I heard about your engagement on the grape vine. Liovicht, yes? Son of a Baron. I'd have expected your father to try and go for an Earldom, or else have you dolled up to serve as some Demigod's concubine." I suppressed a shudder at that. Millennia spent existing without flesh on my bones, let alone functioning genitals, had left the act of sexual intercourse an abstract and alien thing in my mind.

I had rediscovered the pleasures of eating, drinking and sleeping, but my child's body had not yet given me any sort of interest in that. The notion of doing it for the pleasure of another was so far beneath my dignity as to be invisible.

"You are trying to provoke me. Why?" He chuckled.

"Icy as I'd expect of a lich. I just wanted to get your measure."

"You wanted to test my emotional responses to find out how much effect becoming a lich will have on your own?" His eyes narrowed at that, and irritation spread across his face. Clever men do not like having their intentions guessed correctly.

"Yes, something like that." His voice was entirely placid, frustration buried fast.

"Do not bother then," I replied.

"I am hardly a normal case."

"You don't seem to be a normal case in any way at all," he noted dryly.

"Thank you." He began making his way to the door, and I waited until just before he left it before calling after him.

"You are to consult me before doing something like this, in the future." The Grandmaster turned slowly, and his face was odd. Cold and welcoming a challenge, like he was relishing the chance to slap it down.

"What makes you think you can make that demand of me?"

"Because I am Lord Dread, and you are working to restore my power. I imagine you do not wish to start sowing grudges now, knowing I will be able to settle them ten or a hundred years from now." He held my gaze for a second. Oh dear, was this some sort of contest of dominance? Another reason to go back to mastering necromancy in this age.

"When will you begin teaching me?" he asked, without naming the field of magic he wished to learn. We both already knew.

"I can begin immediately," I assured him.

"Provided we have an understanding."

"Then we do." He said it quickly enough, and I knew why. In his head, he was getting the better of this exchange. I would make my threats now and hold whatever grudges I wanted, and he would mollify me by being seen to avoid angering me. In the meantime, he was preparing to strike me down and take over with his little battlemage cabal. His thinking that was my advantage. All I needed to do now was find a way to actually stop him from succeeding in his betrayal when the time eventually came.