King of the Seditious

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Blue Lark Guild, Dread Hideout

Redbayne, one of Savage’s more honorable assassins, had asked Savage for a very particular item. Poison.

Savage had been waiting for his return to the Blue Lark to deliver the toxic bit when he’d spotted the large redheaded barbarian across the Undermarket courtyard.


Redbayne’s head shot up to assess the blonde man. Though he liked the place, there were times of year when it was so dense with killers it was hard to move within the courtyard. Redbayne wished for nothing more than to find the nearest tavern and find a friendly barmaid.

Savage lifted a vial of murky gray liquid above the heads of others milling the courtyard.

Redbayne straightened happily. Pushing through the meandering assassins with all the grace of a battering ram. Lumbering shoulders forcing them apart.

Other men cursed or spat threats but when they turned to confront him and glimpsed the sheer size of him, their voices faded to silence. They ducked their heads and returned to former conversations.

Redbayne arrived at Savage’s side, outstretching a hand for the vial.

Savage grunted and jerked it from reach. Tossing his head toward the Winter Haven Alehouse. Recently built for Savage’s little ward. The one he kept in the hut behind the Blue Lark Fortress, in the courtyard.

They entered the Alehouse and Redbayne was stunned to see her serving drinks in an oversized green cloak.

They told her which drinks they wanted.

She walked away, cloak dragging.

“Ye’re letting ’er in ’ere already?” Redbayne was surprised.

Savage Jack shrugged. A half-smile hovering about his lips. “She does what she wishes.”

“I take it ye tell her to wear that?”

“I suggested it. Keeps her a bit safer.” Savage shrugged.

She set the drinks on the table and Redbayne lifted his to begin guzzling.

Savage reached for his and she slapped his hand.

Redbayne hissed on an indrawn breath. Expecting the man to grab her by the neck and toss her across the room.

“A thank you would be appreciated.” She snapped. Blue eyes sparking under the hood.

Redbayne stared at her. Jaw dangling in shock.

Savage chuckled.

“Thank you, Murah.” He emphasized mockingly.

“Dimurah!” She corrected sharply.

Savage Jack laughed harder.

She stalked from their booth.

“Is she yer lover?” Redbayne blurted, immensely curious how a whelp of a girl was swatting the hand of this ferocious killer.

“Gad, no!” Savage shook his head. “I’d safer lie with a Quiller.”

A spined beast able to inject venom through the spears jutting from its back didn’t sound altogether pleasant to take abed. Redbayne winced. Worried for what could be injured in such an endeavor.

Redbayne plunked the bag of coin on the table and Savage Jack glanced around before sweeping it into his fist.

Slapping down the clear vial in exchange. Pointing to it. “Dangerous stuff. Don’t slosh it on you on the way to delivering it to whatever poor sop you intend it for.”

“Not me.” Redbayne shook his head vigorously. “Even I’m not that merciless. Friend of mine.”

Savage Jack nodded his head. “Best be careful drinking with your friend…” He slid it across the table. “Don’t let the Grier Guard catch you with it.” He nodded toward the pocket, “And if they do…”

“I kill them before they can do anything about it.” Redbayne nodded slowly.

“Actually, I was suggesting you lie about where you got it.” He leaned back to point at Redbayne. “But I like that better.”

He and Redbayne exchanged a long look.

“How is business?” Redbayne queried to lighten the mood.

“You mean raping the commerce from Grier?” Savage Jack took a heavy dram from his tankard.


“Well. Very well indeed.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Vengeance.” He clicked in his cheek. Indicating his discomfort with the direction of the conversation.

Savage Jack’s tension was clear. And though Redbayne liked the man, he respected what he was capable of when in this manner of mood. And Savage Jack exuded intensity tonight. Obviously in no mood to socialize.

“Good eve to ye.” Redbayne took the hint and rose.

Savage Jack waved an absentminded hand over his shoulder. Not bothering to look up from staring in his tankard.

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