King of the Seditious
Firoque in the Winter's Haven

Savage entered Winter’s Haven. Damn grateful to be back from his miserable venture.

His eyes automatically replaceing Dimurah working behind the counter.

And there she is.

The view never grew old. Her cloud of red hair crept from the green hood and the mud smearing her face did little to hide the beauty of it, once one knew it was there. Her soft blue eyes were moving beneath the counter looking for her next tankard and assessing the remaining inventory.

She hadn’t yet noticed his presence in her alehouse.

He was damn happy to see her. Despite that he suspected she’d still be angry with him for not telling her where he was going before he left nor allowing his assassing to obey her.

She always is.

Savage was excited to have a seat and relax and exchange some banter with his favorite little barmaid, especially after discovering that the Nauvree was betraying him.

Killing my assassins behind my back.

Why?

It was quite a shame to discover it. I’d thought the Nauvree was one of the few here that had honor.

Savage’s mind was flitting with annoying thoughts. But as he wove through the crowd toward the counter, to taunt Dimurah his nostrils caught a familiar odor. An acrid one.

Wait. His head lifted as his nostrils flared to take in a vile odor. Cimmerii.

Savage had learned well the smell of demons from living in the caves with them. Cimmerii were anything that served the Demon Master, Radix. But this particular odor signified someone who still remained partially human. Their body a mix of demonic stink and dying human flesh. Smelling somewhat similar to a bloated horse after three days in a hot sun.

After some other creature has urinated on it to claim it as their next meal. He curled his face in contempt at the acrid scent.

Where is it? He was already scanning the room. Looking for his prey.

He continued his stroll to the counter. Icy blue gaze flicking over the room. He angled his body against the counter to turn and take in the room’s full view. Tipping his head, he sniffed and caught the direction of the acrid scent. What are you?

Following the stink, Savage strode along the counter, men scraping their chairs away from it, to make him a path between. He trekked to the far end of the counter. Where shadows were deeper. As he drew close, he saw a man there. His eyes flashed gold. Catching the mottled darkness on the man’s face. Firoque.

Leaning against it directly next to the stranger, Savage faced the man without a word. You made a mistake coming here. His steady gaze conveyed the message.

“What?” The stranger asked. Lifting the tankard to his lips.

Savage cocked his head slowly. You know what.

“No!” Dimurah shouted. “Savage! Not in here. Not tonight!”

It is what it is. Savage barely spared her a glance over his shoulder.

“He’s not doing anything.” She leaned over the counter to grab Savage’s arm.

You don’t know what he is.

“I don’t know why you bother.” The other barmaid, Adrea, murmured to her. “Nothing you do ever stops him.”

That’s not true. I’d kill a lot more were it not for her…

“Savage Jack.” Belline purred. Materializing next to him. Stroking his forearm lovingly. “I’ve far more pleasant pastimes for you to engage in, I implore you…” Belline tossed blonde curls.

If Murah can’t stop me, you certainly won’t.

His blue eyes cut into her. “Piss. Off.”

Before I kill you too.

The man Savage stared at shifted uncomfortably. First one way, then the other.

One…Two…Three.

The stranger drew a small hatchet from his waist band and brandished it over his head.

Perfect.

There was a universal gasp throughout the alehouse. All knew what was to come.

Savage caught his wrist and stepped under his arm. Moving next to him as he brought the hatchet inward and down. So, the man’s own blade pierced down the center of his stomach.

He squealed in objection. Flailing and trying to fight.

Savage stepped back in-front of him. Jerking out the hatchet, he swung it once and it gouged deeply in the man’s neck. He gurgled, choking on his own fluids. Savage had to weave the handle back and forth to tug it free. The second strike lopped off the man’s head. It thudded dully to the floor.

Dimurah shouted in protest.

I know.

Belline shrieked hysterically and retreated. Dragging her skirt through the splatter of blood coating the floor.

“It’ll be fine. Calm down.”

Dimurah stomped her foot. “His coin was as good as any! Why do you do that! He didn’t do anything!”

He would’ve.

“He had a weapon.” Savage turned and strolled back to his original vantage point. Looking around the room for any other threats and knowing he couldn’t possibly explain what a Firoque was to Dimurah.

She knows nothing of demons.

I grew up amongst them. Was owned by one.

And trained by his Warlord. All things Dimurah wouldn’t understand if he tried to tell her.

She doesn’t believe in such things. And Savage hoped to keep it that way as long as possible.

Because it’s frightfully miserable to always be onguard watching for them once you know of their existence.

“You goaded him into using it.”

“I did nothing.”

I didn’t have to. He came to cause harm.

She swore in frustration and slammed her fists down on the counter next to him.

His eyes kicked to her impassively before focusing on the surroundings in the tavern. He even sent a glance upward at the high struts in the vaulted ceiling. There are no more.

He turned and gave Dimurah the attention she so desperately wanted while railing at him.

He lifted a tankard to his lips. Impervious to the usual sounds of her fury. What was its purpose here?

REDBAYNE

“When will ye cu’ the man a break?” RedBayne lifted a red brow at her.

“Cut him a break? I can’t stand him!” She shook her fists Heavenward.

It was about an hour after closing. RedBayne had assisted chasing the other assassins out of the Haven. And hung about to visit while she cleaned up.

Dimurah didn’t mind the company. The RedBayne was one of the few trustworthy assassins in the Guild. One Savage Jack had pointed out to her many years ago.

“He kills for no reason other than his own humor.”

“Is that what ye think ’e did?” RedBayne was astonished she didn’t know more about her lover.

“Of course, ’tis!”

“Ye’re adorably naïve.” The redheaded giant chuckled in a way that made his chest shake in humor.

“I’m far from naïve, RedBayne!” She sent him a chiding look. “I’m the Barter Queen of the Blue Lark.”

He sobered. “And who do ye think keeps ye there?”