Port Basker came and went. Covens preached the avoidance of all Consortium influence in a city, and Port Basker was a clan trade port mostly in name—a poorly guarded secret being the Consortium’s long-arm controlling the city from their base in Varamapour. Cal didn’t want Vaskir to leave and bestowed upon him the honorary position of admiral 2 days before their arrival at Basker. News of Vaskir’s new “title” got out and not a single sailor missed the chance to call him Admiral before they had docked. As Vaskir shook hands with Roland, the captain of The Red Dot's final words to him were:

‘Run from whatever you’re running from, but keep those 3 close. You don’t find friends like that often… Admiral.’

Vaskir shook his hand warmly; he was a good captain. They docked and left the port town within an hour, travelling on foot towards Chilbrow.

Vaskir looked up. The sun was gleaming through lazy clouds, warming up the cobbles and air, leaving a sun-kissed memory of summer on Vaskir’s forehead. He sighed; it was good to be home.

‘Can’t stand this continent,’ Cradow said. ‘The sooner the Consortium tames Doro the better.’ He spat on the ground. Covens and Pravin ignored him, silently walking. Vaskir frowned but didn’t slow down.

‘Why?’ Vaskir asked.

‘The corruption. The hypocrisy,’ Cradow said.

‘And you think those things aren’t going to make their way to Doro? It’s the Consortium flag-shipping the colonization,’ Vaskir said. Cradow grunted.

‘It’ll still take them a while. I plan on using my cut of the cash to build a clan house there,’ Cradow said.

‘Well, there’s a terrifying thought. The clan of Cradow. Dojo of the shitty fist,’ Pravin said. Cradow cast a nasty look at the back of Pravin’s head.

‘Are we even selling it anymore?’ Vaskir asked. ‘With what Covens told us, giving it to the Baskers or a smaller clan would help her a lot more than some spare change.’

‘We stick to the original plan,’ Cradow said, brooking no argument. Everyone muttered their agreement. Covens look at the three men with her and smiled. Whatever it was that convinced them to help—be it human kindness or vicarious revenge, she was thankful. Still, she looked to the road ahead of her. It will not be easy, but she was willing to suffer to get there.

Antone screamed; the wave of purple was blinding!

‘Enough,’ Monver said. Antone uncurled and looked around. They were in a small chamber that reminded him of the inside of a safe.

‘Oh it’s over,’ Antone muttered. ‘Good. Where are we?’

‘Varamapour,’ Monver muttered, stepping off the small metal circle. He walked to the only visible door and knocked twice. Antone stood up. His head immediately started spinning.

‘Where are we?’ Antone asked again, wobbling. Monver ignored him as the door opened. He was greeted by the tip of a spear. A gold-plated house guard walked into the chamber, pushing Monver back.

‘Identify yourselves,’ the guard muttered. Monver casually drew his blade and cut his thumb. He then took out a small piece of paper and let the blood drip on it. The guard glanced at the insignia that appeared. He removed the speartip from Monver’s throat. ‘Welcome home, young master. Should I have the pigs brought up from storage?’ Monver flicked his wrist, dismissing the question.

‘I need to see father,’ Monver said. The guard bowed and left the room. Antone watched all this, then stumbled into the corner of the room and retched up his breakfast. ‘Follow,’ Monver ordered him. Antone scrambled to his feet. He trotted after Monver, his mouth open as he took in the majesty of the clan house.

The hallways were color-coded: red and black. Lush carpets with white and blue threading covered the ground. In a monstrous show of wealth, instead of candles, glintstone was embedded in the walls every 10 meters. Antone did not know the scale of the estate they were in, but the hallway he had walked down had shown enough wealth to buyout his clan. Guards roamed the hallways as well as servants. Antone shook his head; this was the seat of the Consortium's power yet they still had fully armoured guards patrolling. Monver stopped in front of a double door.

‘Stay,’ Monver said.

‘I can’t,’ Antone said. Monver turned. ‘Um. It’s just. Such a great opportunity. Can you really fault me for wanting to see the man who built the Consortium?’ Monver smiled.

‘Of course. You can come in. But be aware—having my father’s interest is akin to feeling the Reaper’s mark,’ Monver said, then pushed open the door, letting Antone step through. Antone looked in to see a writing desk and curtain-covered windows. He stepped in.

‘I’ll be with you in a moment,’ came a polite, fatherly voice. The room was well put together. Antone stepped up to the desk and carefully watched the entrance to the side room from which the voice came. The glintstone cast a warm yellow light upon the space, mixing with the purple velvet of the curtains and the black of the walls to create a sickly, cloying environment. The air was thicker, warmer. Antone could spell iron.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The door opened. A tall, thin man with long arms walked in. He was holding his arms slightly outstretched, keeping the thick red liquid on his hands from dripping onto his robes. Monver quickly went to a side cabinet and took out a small white towel.

‘Thank you, son,’ the man said. He sat behind the writing desk, looking at Antone. ‘And how can I help you, young man.’

‘Sir Woodward—’ Antone started.

‘Please, call me Sacarus,’ he said.

‘Yes, um, mister Sacarus. I was with the expedition to Vinnow’s ruins. It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you,’ Antone said. Monver snickered.

‘Please, take a seat,’ Sacarus said, cleaning the red liquid from his hands. It was too thick to be blood. At least, Antone hoped that it was too thick to be blood. ‘You took the rupture gate?’ Antone could tell that the question wasn’t directed at him.

‘Yes, father,’ Monver said. ‘After killing the chafe we—’

‘No,’ Sacarus said.

‘Father, please! This was important,’ Monver said, taking a seat beside Antone.

‘Fetch me my cherry,’ Sacarus said. ‘I forgot it.’ He pointed to the side chamber and Monver quickly stood up and entered the room, closing the door behind him. Sacarus looked to Antone.

‘You’re unimpressive,’ he said. ‘Tell me, does your family hold close their familial ties?’

‘Yes sir,’ Antone said.

‘Good,’ Sacarus brought the now red-stained towel up to his nose and sniffed it. The act was so casual that Antone did not even consider the act to be strange, considering the power of the man before him. The mighty have their quirks. ‘A strong family can achieve anything. Does your mother sleep with your father often?’ Antone sat a little straighter.

‘Um. She’s nearing 50. I haven’t had a sibling in 5 years,’ Antone answered.

‘You’re from clan Briar. Your father is the clan head. How many women does he take? Surly a few family bastards or sub-clans would make your lives more exciting?’ Sacarus said in his polite tone.

‘My father would never dishonour the clan like that. Or my mother,’ Antone said just as Monver returned.

‘Your father is Soul Pierced, yes?’ Sacarus said as Monver sat down.

‘Yes. Second tier Ascendant. We were very proud,’ Antone said as Monver handed his father what looked like a small red orb; its skin glistened.

‘Then he should have had more children, to strengthen the clan. Ascension is well influenced by heredity, you know?’ Sacarus said, putting the whole orb in his mouth and biting down. A wet oozing could be heard.

‘It was still attached to the cavity,’ Monver said. ‘You weren’t planning on ripening it any longer?’

‘I would have. But I did not expect you so soon. Shame, really,’ Sacarus said after a few moments of content chewing. ‘Now, tell me the news. Vinnow’s grave was quite the barren affair, I assume? The man was hardly one for decoration.’

‘We never made it to the ruins, father,’ Monver answered. ‘A clan traitor reported that the manual was already in the hands of clan Fairbright.’ Sacarus smiled.

‘A fun challenge. How did you fair in retrieving it?’ Sacarus asked.

‘Vivian wanted to buy it from them and turn in the traitor, to help with negotiations,’ Monver said.

‘Smart girl. Why fight for something when you can just buy it?’ Sacarus said.

‘You taught me to take that which I am owed. As your son, I am owed that manual,’ Monver said.

‘I taught you to take that which you can take. Money is no object, and cheaper than the blood of men. It would have been a victory, for you, son, had you escorted clan Fairbright out of the jungle rather than attacking them. Now, where is the manual?’ Sacarus said. Antone cleared his throat.

‘Um. I’ve been tracking its aura ever since the thieves left our camp,’ Antone said. ‘They don’t seem trained in the art of aura deflection so I’ve been accurate in my path to them. Once they arrive at Port Royal—’

‘Which will happen in a day's time,’ Monver added.

‘They’ll have no choice but to travel to Port Basker, the only port close enough to Doro to create viable trade,’ Antone finished.

‘And who are these thieves?’ Sacarus asked.

‘The traitor is Marshal Covens, a young Ascendant from a Fairbright sub-clan,’ Monver began, relishing the opportunity to watch as his father decided what deaths will befall the people named. ‘There is a wanderer named Cradow, and two unascended mercenaries.’

‘The mercenaries names?’ Sacarus asked. Monver frowned. His father had never shown an interest in mortals.

‘Vaskir Freyfa and Pravin Bronzewood,’ Monver added curiously. Sacarus sighed in pleasure, leaning forward.

‘Freyfa,’ he said slowly and lovingly, a husky whisper perfectly suited to the room.

‘You know the name, father?’ Monver asked. Sacarus ignored him.

‘Find them,’ he ordered. ‘Bring back this Freyfa alive, I wish to see him. Dispose of the others.’

‘Yes, father,’ Monver said, then started to stand.

‘But,’ Sacarus said in a tone of voice that stopped Monver in his tracks and caused a fearful shiver to run up Antone’s back. ‘You did fail in retrieving the manual.’ Sacarus’ eyes glazed over as he stopped to think of a suitable punishment. ‘No pigs for 2 weeks.’

‘Father!’ Monver said, leaping out of his chair. Sacarus laughed at his son’s petulance. He reached out and patted his head.

‘But, as encouragement, you may have this Marshal,’ Sacarus said. Antone felt immediate sympathy for Covens, as well as a pit forming in his stomach. This was the kind of power a third-tier Ascendant had: giving lives as rewards. Monver seemed pleased with the exchange. Sacarus looked to Antone. ‘Do you have need of this one?’ Sacarus asked his son. Monver sighed.

‘Unfortunately, yes,’ he said. Sacarus reached out and patted Antone’s shoulder.

‘In that case, I wish you, and your family, a long and happy bloodline,’ Sacarus said, then leaned across the desk to whisper to Antone. ‘Serve my son well, and you may have the opportunity to join a far greater family.’ Antone tried not to react but still swallowed nervously. Sacarus laughed once he noticed the state he had put Antone in. Both men stood up and left the room. Antone breathed a sigh of relief once he was out in the hallway.

‘Your father makes quite the impression,’ Antone said.

‘I love him dearly,’ Monver answered, unabashed. Whatever tinge his voice held when speaking about his father reminded Antone more of a priest speaking of the gods than a parent.

‘To Basker?’ Antone asked. Monver laughed and started walking.

‘I’m back home for the first time in 2 months, I plan on enjoying my visit. No, their voyage will take them a week at the very least. Let us send them a surprise, then go and collect my reward once the dirty work is done,’ Monver said. He brought Antone out into a training field. Masked men, or women, each one wearing a thick black cloak, spared amongst themselves. Antone stared in fascination as they struck at each other with a killer instinct. Monver turned to Antone. ‘When hunting fowl, it is best to send the dogs first.’