Fighting off the sellsword's groping hands, the barmaid forced an insincere smile and squirmed to free herself. Cale couldn't hear her over the patrons, but read her lips when she spoke.
"Let me go," she said, and her eyes featured an edge that Cale did not miss. "I'm working."
The man grinned, jiggled her breast and gave it a squeeze, hard enough to elicit a wince.
"Oh, you're working all right," he bellowed, and his comrades joined him in laughter. "I've got a job for you."
With impressive suddenness, the barmaid slammed the heel of her shoe onto the big mercenary's boot, smashing his toes. He howled with pain, clutched at his foot, and she leaped to her feet and started to scramble away.
Before she could get out of arms' reach, the mercenary, still red-faced with pain, lashed out with his other hand and grabbed a handful of her hair. Jerking her backward, he nearly pulled her from her feet. She squealed with pain and fell to the floor before him.
"You sneaky little bitch!" he roared. "You stay just like that."
He stood and reached for the laces of his trousers.
Cale jumped to his feet. He was conscious of shadows leaking from his fingertips.
"Do not," Riven hissed, and grabbed his wrist. "She's just a tavern wench. If this escalates. ..."
Cale took Riven's point-if a fight escalated too far, it could draw the Skulls-but he would not stand idly by while the woman was assaulted.
Before he could say a word, the mercenary noticed him. Cale was grateful for it. The big sellsword left off undressing and pointed a finger and hard look at Cale.
"Something you want to say, scarecrow?" the big man asked.
All eyes turned to Cale. The common room went as silent as a tomb. Even the goblins left off their game. Mindful of Riven's point, Cale kept his eyes on the barmaid and tried to diffuse the situation.
"My tankard is empty, woman," he said to her. "A refill, if you please."
The woman, still on her knees with her hair in the mercenary's grasp, looked at him as though he were mad.
"She'll fill it when I'm done with her," the mercenary said, his heavy brow knotting.
He shook her by the hair and she screamed in pain. No one laughed except for the mercenary's four tablemates, and their laughter was far from mirthful. Everyone else seemed to be waiting.
Cale's gaze narrowed. He found that he had taken a step toward the mercenaries' table. Several of the patrons began to whisper behind their hands.
"I'm thirsty now," he said, and despite Riven's admonition, he let a note of challenge creep into his tone.
The mercenary caught it. He flung the barmaid to the floor and straightened his tunic. He stood a hand shorter than Cale, but had a third-again Cale's bulk. He rested his hands on the hilts of the daggers at his belt. The four comrades that shared the sellsword's table smiled and ribbed each other.
Cale took their measure with an eye long trained in evaluating professionals: the four at the table he deemed nothing more than inexperienced pups. If their lead dog went down, they'd skulk away with their tails between their legs. The big man, on the other hand, wore his blades with comfort. But Cale figured the man's intimidating size had kept him out of more fights than his skill had won.
As though echoing his thoughts, Riven said in a low tone, "You put the oaf down quick and it's over. Those four will never draw steel."
"You say something, boy?" the big man asked Riven.
Cale could imagine, even if he couldn't see, Riven's sneer.
"I'll leave him to you," Riven said softly. "But I'm tempted now."
The mercenary fixed his gaze on Cale and said in a voice fat with threatened violence, "When I'm done with her, is what I said."
Free from the mercenary's clutches, the barmaid climbed to her feet and adjusted her dress, avoiding eye contact with the sellsword.
"Bitch," the mercenary said again.
She ignored him, stepped into the space between the two men, and walked for Cale. Cale admired her dignity.
"Coming now, sir," she said. "A tankard of ale, you said?"
With her back to the mercenary, her eyes and expression told Cale to let it go. No doubt the sellsword had a reputation in the Rusty Anchor. Instead of disabusing her of the man's relative competence, Cale calmed himself and decided to give the mercenary a chance to walk away.
"It appears you're done," Cale said.
He turned and sat at the table, showing the mercenaries his back. Riven looked past him while the barmaid hurried over, thumped into their table in her haste, and picked up Cale's tankard. She nearly spilled it in surprise when she realized that it was full.
"He's dangerous," she hissed at them.
Riven sneered, but Cale said nothing, only listened.
From behind, he heard the scrape of wooden chairs being pushed back. An anticipatory sussurance ran around the common room. There was no city watch there, Cale knew, and even the innkeeper was nowhere to be seen; he was probably semi-conscious in the drug den downstairs.
"We ain't finished, scarecrow," said the mercenary.
Cale sighed. He had seen idiots like that sellsword in countless taverns in Westgate and Selgaunt-fool kings of a few slat boards and a greasy table who picked fights with strangers in an effort to secure their kingdoms.
"Oh, gods," the woman said in a whisper. "Don't get hurt on my account."
Cale and Riven shared a look. It wasn't Cale who would get hurt.
"Here they come," Riven said, and Cale sensed the dangerous quiet in the assassin's tone.
"Leave it to me," Cale said.
He rose, turned, and stepped away from the table. Cale put himself in front of the barmaid.
The big mercenary snaked his way through the tables and enthralled patrons, and stalked toward Cale, scowling. Cale gave no ground, and soon they stood face to face. The sellsword's four comrades stayed a few paces behind, still wearing idiot smiles.
"When I'm done with her, I said," the mercenary said. His breath stank of sour ale; his clothes of mistleaf. He looked past Cale to the barmaid and said, "I'm not through with you, whore."
"I'm no more a whore than you are a man," she said.
Cale enjoyed the rush of anger visible on the sellsword's face. He allowed shadows to swirl around him and stared into the mercenary's scarred face.
"Apologize," Cale said.