Book 4 Chapter 38: Ceremony

++The Vornholt Institute certainly boasts its funding, and none can besmirch its cast of professors, but will money alone carry it into the future?++

- Quote taken from the Laugrey Times, attributed to one of several Winzorth professors questioned about the Vornholt Institute’s opening.

A month passed, and it did so in something of a blur. It seemed that just as I finished making my arrangements with the Vorets, some new event would spring up demanding my attention. By the time that was seen to, I had to attend two more.

This was fine by me, because each one was another inexorable step forwards on my journey to kill all Gods and rule the universe. It has always been the small details that make or break a plan stretching centuries ahead, and learning to tolerate scrutinising each one, no matter how insignificant it may seem, is the trick to surviving eternity.

One such example of this was my new Vornholt Institute. On paper its outward function was obvious; to let me make my own way in the world of magic and influence the minds of the next generation. Its secondary purpose was not especially hard to uncover either, to expand my political pull and, of course, bring in a good deal of revenue for my already expanding financial empire.

But it was the last function, the most significant, that people did not yet grasp. The Vornholt Institute would permit me to add little nudges and shifts into the currents of magical theory as time went on. To determine how magic was studied and taught, and to get my start on making a new generation of magicians more…open-minded about certain taboos.

In short, it was my first step to a serious, large-scale recruiting effort among the world’s magicians.

There were others of course, too many to name. Schemes layered over schemes, intertwined so closely that I fancied there was more risk of any one interfering with another than of them being foreseen. It took a lot of focus and deft handedness to keep myself from plotting my own way to ruin.

But millennia as a lich teaches focus and deft handedness better than anything except magic.

And now the first of those largest schemes, the Vornholt Institute, was nearing its opening day, all the preparations seen to and all the technicalities observed.

The building itself had finished construction shortly after I left for Asyran, but furnishing and otherwise preparing it for use had proven to be a wholly different matter. It now stood some five stories high and with walls thick enough that sabotaging the place would, if nothing else, prove inconvenient.

It was large enough to house a thousand or so students at once, with room left to expand it further. I had set up water fixtures; fountains and the works, as well as lining parts of the outer structure with gargoyles. Somewhere along the way Alira had pointed out to me that it had looked too new and fresh, and lacked the gothic dignity brought by the Winzorth Institute’s age. I had happened to agree, and so Sethira and I spent an afternoon blasting gravel at the exterior to slightly deface and pockmark it.

There were other details I delegated onto others. Sanitation and irritating inconveniences pertaining to air circulation—the lung-having idiots it would be hosting needed oxygen, unlike undead servitors—and warmth.

All in all, the finer details ended up being more time consuming than actually shaping the stone, but I did not exactly want for money to throw at the problem.

“It is perfect,” I said with satisfaction as I stared at the finished workings. Alira was next to me, as was Sethira. The former looked concerned while the latter was approving.

“Is the giant statue of you grinding Earl Elqarth under your heel necessary?” Alira frowned.

“Yes,” I told her.

It was a very good statue, masterful in its construction and inspired in its design.

“I like it,” Sethira hummed happily. “Could use a few touches though. Some flare, maybe.” She hovered up to it—never missing a chance to remind me that she could fly now—and placed her hand on one of my statue’s outstretched palms. Moments later it was ablaze, enchanted with a dull but permanent ball of fire called in the centre.

“Perfect,” she smiled

There were a lot of reasons for the Vornholt Institute to get off the ground easily. One was the sheer amount of money I was putting into advertising it, ensuring that word spread far and wide in newspapers, magazines and even drunken bar-room gossip. My father was all too eager to share his account among the various circles he moved in, too.

Even with all of these factors, and the cast of luminaries I had put together to staff my Institute, I was surprised by just how many people flocked to it. We had nearly twice as many applicants as we did positions, and where I had intended to be somewhat selective and try to at least ensure my magicians were talented, I quickly found that there were several genuine geniuses among them. Many were of lower social rank, kept from the Vornholt Institute by poverty and politics more than anything else.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Of course, I gave them preferential treatment over the ones who had nothing to their names but family prestige and the ability to correctly spell ‘magic missile’ five times out of six.

Within a week of publicly accepting applications, the Institute had its roster filled. The next few weeks were spent weighing candidates against each other, removing choices in favour of better ones, until I was certain we had the cream of the crop. Then there was nothing to do but open.

For once, it was a large ceremony that I actually enjoyed being present for. I had carefully worked to set up the hall in which it was being held, and was satisfied to see that even at full capacity, now holding some eleven hundred people between students, staff and other attendees, the whole thing still had ample room. Its ceiling was high and supported by towering columns of natural stones, and every surface was engraved with some mural or other.

It felt more cathedral than assembly hall, which was just what I had gone for. If the Gods could have temples, after all, then it was utterly absurd that I be denied one of my own.

My temple though it may have been, I did not actually, technically, hold a position in the Vornholt Institute myself. This presentation was not mine, but Bogern’s. I saw the man standing at the head of the chamber behind a plinth, gazing out over the waiting pupils. He did a good job of hiding his obvious nerves, though a subtle pulse of mana through the floor let me hear his heart pounding like a drum.

I was not exactly pleased either, relying on him to introduce this Institute with his speech was far from ideal. I hate having my fate even partially in another’s hands.

“Good afternoon,” he said at last, his voice booming out across the hall and silencing the incessant whispers that had been worming through the crowd just moments prior. In an instant he had the whole room’s attention.

So far, so good.

“I am Orlan Bogern. Most of you probably know me as a former Professor of the Winzorth Institute, or for my various academic contributions to the field of Conjuration. As of today, however, I am proud to call myself Grandmaster of this fine new magician’s Institute, and, along with all of you, the harbinger of a new age of magic.”

He was, to my satisfaction, doing well. Perhaps a shade uncertain at first, though the man generally just oozed uncertainty so it was rather hard to tell, but the more he spoke, the more he ‘warmed up’, the stronger his voice became, and the more measured his words. I saw attendees start to perk up, and even some of the staff seemed to grow a shade more proud and pleased to be there.

Aside from Varylani and Bogern, only one other staff member of the Voret Institute had been poached from Winzorth. The rest, however, were still all top-class magicians in their own right. I had personally made sure as much. In these opening days, with no body of graduated students to be judged by, my Institute’s prospective attendees would base their impression of it on the caliber of teacher available to them here.

And that caliber was very good.

Bogern continued his speech and the energy in the room started to rise as he surprised the audience by veering into discussion of the unknown and pioneering a new road through the world of magic. Even I was surprised by the vigour he went into this with, though not the actual words he spoke, having written half of them myself.

Ten minutes passed before he was finished. A long speech, but not gruelling, and it seemed to be precisely as winding as its audience would tolerate. By the time the first of them began shifting in their seats, the word to leave the hall was given.

Bogern turned to me as the students filed out, and he lured me out after him with a gesture. The man did not stop walking until we had come to his office. It was bigger than the Grandmaster of Winzorth’s; taller, better decorated, and situated into a great spire reaching high over the rest of the building. I could not simply make the Vornholt Institute as old as Winzorth overnight, but I could certainly make its rooms bigger.

The furnishing was less excessive than Aadan Farah’s, however. Or perhaps just distributed over a larger space. I did not even notice any tripping hazards as the new Grandmaster closed and locked the door with a wave of his hand, then turned to me.

“News travels fast on the magician grapevine,” he said abruptly. “Particularly pertaining to you. I heard about your finally signing marriage documents with the Vorets.”

Ah, it was this conversation. Well, I was not so surprised. I had known it was coming simply because Bogern’s animosity towards them had been half the reason he had agreed to join my own Institute. It was always predictable that he would have his concerns about anything that may give them influence over me.

“Do you know the terms?” I asked him.

His face was starting to redden with anger by the time I said that, but his voice remained cool. “No, that’s why we’re talking now.”

So I told him, every detail, and watched as anger gave way to dull surprise.

“How the hell did you convince them to allow that?” he asked.

I could not help a smile. “My talent is the most valuable thing in the Empire, it tends to motivate people to make concessions.”

He whistled appreciatively. “Yes, it evidently does. I daresay your womb is worth more than the royal navy.”

“Do not ever say a sentence like that in my presence again,” I told him. He waved a hand, like he considered the reprimand minor, but I noticed that he was not handling me quite so lightly anymore. This was still probably one of the five most powerful magicians alive, and I was still probably not in the top twenty myself, but the changes in station I had undergone meant that he needed to take me seriously now.

“As I was saying,” I continued. “I have a handle on it.”

He eyed me at that. “You never have a handle on the Vorets. That Exyria is one of the most slippery women in Garamon. She was in her youth, and she’s only gotten wilier since.”

“Your advice is noted,” I told him. “But now I must go. I have a meeting with Garamon’s most vile bitch.”