The Lich King Reincarnates as a Baby

++They have taken to calling me a demon, these primitive meat-things from which I came. An evil spirit, a monster. They are not so far from the truth. As my power grows, the gap between us widens with every generation. Their little cities keep growing, their weapons sharpening, but I am gaining strength faster than all of them combined.++

- Fragment of Lord Dread’s archives, date indeterminate.

A month passed without further incident, though only a few days into it I ended up accepting Sethira’s offer.

We made careful layoffs among the workers, slowly reducing their count as we had large, empty wagons of fake deliveries made and pushed Blakely to purposefully disseminate rumours of new magical machinery being made to increase the refinery’s work output. It was still a risk even with these precautions made to distract from the otherwise impossible efficiency of the undead labourers, but I was confident that we would not be at risk of exposure. My refinery was increasingly tightly secured, and the multiple attacks on it gave the perfect excuse for that.

The necessary corpses were taken from those attackers who had not survived their assault on the refinery, as well as a few local corpses ‘liberated’ from nearby cemeteries by the cultists. Sethira was the one to actually create the zombies, largely so that it would be that much harder to prove I was responsible and knowledgeable about them on the off-chance that they were discovered. I doubted that would let me keep my refinery or reputation, but it may stop me from being outright executed at least.

Either way, regardless of the risks, the undead proved their worth almost instantly. With them active we could cut the workforce down to a bare fraction of what it was before and still raise our productivity. The oil flowed like water, and so did the crowns.

I continued work on my new shield amulet, though was unable to spare more than two hours or so towards that end each day. It was slow and steady progress. By the end of the month, I took solace in knowing that I was more than one twentieth done, but if I were abruptly attacked by some new, unexpected threat that would be as good as nothing.

At least here at my refinery, I could fight in the open and not suffer the damned environmental limits of my laboratory’s tight corridors.

And of course, I was now furnished with all the equipment needed to further my experiments on Nu’chista.

That was still slow going. I was confident about making progress, and Sethira’s presence sped that up somewhat, but I did not have any estimate of when I might finish my work. It could be a day, if I had some sudden burst of insight. Or a month, or a year, or ten years. I could continue at it for a century or more.

I was willing to do that of course, a century was not so very long for a being of my age, but I would really rather not. The longer I existed in this world, the higher the risk of my discovery. I needed to have more power before the Gods took note of me or I would simply be helpless against their wrath.

It made for a stressful work environment, something that I counted among the numerous disadvantages of my mortal form. The emotions of frantic worry and uncertainty were like acid injected into my mind, eating away at the conviction.

Fortunately, I had an infinite supply of that particular emotion. I knew that my chances were highest in the scenario where I achieved what I was working towards here, and that spurred me on to persevere.

When I was not managing my refinery. Or enchanting that new shield amulet for Lord Dread, or doing any number of other things that ate into my precious time.

It was infuriating, the complexities of running my own domain in this new, modern world, but it could not be helped, and complaining would achieve nothing.

The day to day mundanities would prove not to be the most significant irritation, too. Because just over a week after returning from my laboratory, I received word that a group of strangers was approaching my refinery.

Naturally, the response to this was quite…explosive.

Mercenaries moved like soldier ants swarming their hill, while workers practically ran for cover and Sethira started grinning in excitement. I, for one, was rather more measured in my reaction, calming myself and cooling myself and preparing for a conflict all the same. Blakely’s gun had not yet arrived, so he was still stuck wielding a mundane rifle. That would still kill a magician just fine, provided they did not know he was firing on them.

But all our violent caution was proven pointless when the strangers approached my wall with hands raised and calling out for a peaceful meeting. After some deliberation, I granted it, allowing only one in to meet with me.

He was a tall and weaselly man who I distrusted immediately and instinctively. He did not leer at me as so many others did, but I got the strong impression that whatever showed on his face was merely what he wanted me to see. The thought of a man hiding in a hall of mirrors came to mind when I looked at him.

This was a perfectly respectable way to conduct himself, and one that I thought all other humans should emulate, but it did not change the fundamental fact of making him less known and certain than other people. I was cautious instantly.

“Isabel Vornholt, I presume?” he asked with a queasy smile. The man’s teeth were unnaturally white, his hair blonde, and his eyes totally untouched by the false smile plastered across his face. He dressed well, at least. Colourful, like the flame that draws in a moth.

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“Correct,” I told him after a moment. We were just outside my gate, still well within eyesight of my gunmen. With one word I could have this man perforated. For some reason, that did not leave me feeling especially reassured.

“My name is Backry Voret,” the stranger beamed. “It’s an honour to meet you, please, may we speak in private?”

Voret. That one word was like a needle pricking my skin. Bagran’s family seemed to have their tendrils everywhere, and now I was seeing the barbed hook that tipped one of them.

“Very well,” I said evenly. “Follow me.”

He did so, and matched my pace as well. It was slow, to give me time to think.

What would a Voret be doing here? My mind raced and conclusions fell in on top of each other like piled rubble. By the time we were at the edge of my wall, private but still within easy reach, I had worked out something of what was happening.

What he said next added precisely zero surprise to the equation.

“I’ll be blunt,” he said. “I’m here to ask for your hand in marriage.”

That was about as surprising as seeing him breathe air.

“I am not interested,” I told him.

He smiled wider. “Ah, but you haven’t heard my offer yet!”

“Is it a ridiculously vast sum of wealth, the promise for practically unlimited funding for my experiments and protection while carrying them out, and the condition that I do as you say and continue churning out magical geniuses until my womb stops working?”

His face fell. “Did somebody spoil the surprise?”

He was joking, indiscriminately sloshing levity everywhere like beer from the mug of a drunkard. I was not amused. After a few moments of silence he seemed to realise that, growing more serious.

“What’s not to like?” he asked me. “Do you have any idea how vast my family’s resources are? Look, I’ll give you an example: think of a number, any number.”

“One million.”

“Too small. See?”

It would have been amusing to see how genuinely confusing he seemed to find my lack of enthusiasm, though presently it was just annoying.

“It is the money I am interested in,” I told him.

He looked rather pointedly at the oil refinery a few hundred paces behind me.

“...It is not just money I am interested in,” I amended. He nodded, as if in understanding.

“Right, right, you have that thing I’ve heard about, your independent streak. Honestly, it won’t be a problem. I don’t give a toss what you do so long as you don’t bother the family. I mean, really, I fear you’re bringing rather uncharitable expectations into this conversation from your time spent with my brother.”

Ah. Now that I looked more closely, I realised how strong the resemblance between him and Bagran the Rat truly was. I had dismissed it as them merely sharing a family of high birth at first, many cousins among the nobility and magicians of Garamon looked strikingly similar on account of all the inbreeding, but evidently this was more than that.

“I was not aware you were Bagran’s brother,” I said evenly.

He chuckled. “The look on your face. You’re wondering if I blamed you for his death, are you?”

I remained silent, and the smile faded slowly from his face.

“Well, I don’t, not really. Though I would still sooner unravel just what happened in Orapathaqi to snuff out the Voret family’s brightest star. Then again, with him gone I get to be the most talented magician in the world, so it’s not all bad.”

“In the Vorets,” I said.

He frowned. “Pardon?”

“You are the most talented magician in the Vorets. I am the most talented in the world, and if your gift for magic is inferior to that of Bagran then my older brother Agrian, and my subordinate Paula, are both your superiors too.”

I decided not to mention Sethira, figuring that would be an inconvenient amount of attention on the Estalian members of my little cabal. I had enough necromancers here to risk drawing attention as it was.

Fortunately, the conversation moved on fast anyway.

“Just tell me what you want,” Voret sighed. “You must know I can grant it. The Vorets are the eighth wealthiest family in Garamon, a hundred years ago we were the fifteenth. We control one tenth of parliament and scare the shit out of the other nine. I can offer whatever you want.”

“I want freedom and independence,” I told him. “To be ruled over by no other and to do as I please for my sake and for no-one else’s. Can you offer that?”

He was quiet for a long moment. Turning to look away from me, studying the refinery. Shaking his head slowly.

“...You could have such an easy life if you’d just stop fighting the world, you realise that?”

“I did not say I wanted an easy life.”

He looked odd for a second, then shook his head again. “It’s a shame you weren’t born a man,” he sighed. “You must realise that you can’t last on your own, yes? The world is wide and hostile, especially to a woman standing by herself. You can only get by on pretending this whole thing is run through your father for so long.”

“Is that why your family has been sending these attacks?” I asked him. “To make it more apparent just how unable I am to last on my own?”

I do so love surprising people with information, the look on their faces is always priceless. Backry Voret looked rather like he had just been stabbed for the first time.

“That…accusation is unfounded,” he told me frostily, recovering his wits. “And it won’t hold up in any court across the whole Empire.”

I smiled. “I am not telling you this to threaten you with legal action, I am just letting you know that I know what you are doing. And that you cannot surprise me with it.”

“You’re challenging me then?” he snapped. “You’re challenging the Vorets?”

“I am letting you know that you have been watched, measured and noted down as a known quantity,” I reiterated. “You may do with that information what you will. But you will not take my freedom.”

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