"You leave her be," cried the old man at the huge pirate, barely holding back tears. "Leave her alone!"
With a surprising demonstration of dexterity, the old tavernkeeper managed to slip the two sailors' grasp and squirm past them, but before he could take a step, they grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him backward to land hard on his rump.
"Leave her alone!" the old man shouted again, trying to rise.
"Shut up," the sailors said, and used their boots to hold him down.
"Mongrel bitch!" the big pirate shouted, and attempted to stomp on the scrabbling hound. He missed, but only just. The dog, whimpering with pain, tongue lolling, gave up trying to escape on its broken leg, and instead rolled over on its back in the dirty street and showed his belly to the pirate-a sign of submission.
Jak saw Magadon put a restraining hand on Riven. Riven batted it away, his eye hard and cold.
"She meant no harm," the old man said, and again tried to stand. "Don't you hurt her, Ergis! She's old is all."
The pirate, Ergis, still looming over the submissive dog, turned and glared at the tavernkeeper. The old man quailed. To judge from Ergis's musculature, the coarse hair that covered his arms, and the feral eyes, Jak deemed the pirate to be orcspawn, not more than two generations removed. A savage lot.
"It pissed on my boot," Ergis growled, and lifted his leg to show a leather boot stained dark. "My new boot. I'm going to kill the mongrel and stew it in your own pot, Felwer."
At that, the old man summoned up his courage and cried out a protest. The two sailors laughed and stomped on him with their boots.
"Kill it, Captain," encouraged one of the sailors.
Ergis turned back to the dog and raised his shiny black boot high. The dog, too tired or too pained to move, just lay there, tail wagging uncertainly.
Just as Jak prepared to charge the pirate, just as Cale pulled Weaveshear half its length from its scabbard, a sliver of balanced steel spun through the air and stuck in the half-orc's calf. The pirate screamed in surprise and pain, hopped on his unwounded leg, and clutched at the throwing dagger stuck in the meat of his leg. Blood poured from the wound. The dog rolled over onto his belly, crawled away a bit, then stopped and licked at its wounded leg.
All eyes turned to the thrower: Riven. Jak had never even seen the assassin draw a blade.
Dark but he's fast! thought the halfling.
Already Riven held another throwing dagger in his right hand. His eye was an emotionless hole but anger visibly tensed his entire body.
"You touch that dog, whoreson, and the next one finds your eye," the assassin said, his voice as gelid as an ice storm. To his comrades, Riven softly stated out of the side of his mouth, "The dog is my problem. Remain here."
Without waiting for a response, without taking his eyes from the half-orc, Riven stalked forward with a purpose.
Magadon broke the surprised silence between the three by softly saying, "He's always been soft for dogs. I still don't know why."
Jak couldn't imagine Riven being soft for anything, but there he was, championing an old bitch on the streets of Skullport. He eyed the passersby-a slaver, a trio of drow, four humans, and a halfling that looked shockingly similar to Jak's dead Uncle Cob. At first, Jak feared that one of the shapeshifting slaadi had read his mind and taken a form familiar to him, but he saw no malice in the halfling's dancing eyes. Before Jak could hail him, the halfling shot him a rakish grin and vanished into the darkness. The other passersby too spared only a quick glance at the brewing confrontation before moving on. Either everyone in Skullport took care to mind their own affairs, or violence was so common in the streets that it scarcely warranted notice.
"You're a dead man, human," Ergis promised.
He jerked the throwing dagger from his calf with only a slight wince. The hole continued to bleed freely, but the half-orc seemed not to care.
"First you, then the dog," he promised.
Keeping his weight primarily on his unwounded leg, Ergis tossed Riven's dagger to the ground, burying its point in the street, and drew his oversized cutlass. Armed, he shot Riven a fierce grin that showed his orc's canines. His two companions drew their own blades, gave the tavernkeeper one last kick each, and hopped forward onto the street to stand beside their captain.
At that, Jak started to pull his own blade but both Cale and Magadon stopped him with a hand to either shoulder.
"There's three of them," Jak protested.
"This is the way he wants it, little man," Cale said.
Magadon nodded and said, "Not going to matter."
Jak hesitated for a moment then let his hand fall off the hilt of his blade.
Despite three opponents armed with larger blades, Riven didn't break stride. He walked toward them with a throwing dagger in his hand and blood on his mind.
"This is your last chance to walk away," Riven said.
The pirates shared a grin.
"Ain't no walking away from this," the half-orc said.
"I'm going to cut him, Captain," said the thinner of the two sailors.
The sailor faked a lunge at Riven. He stuck out his tongue and leered.
Cale, standing beside Jak, said, "All three have been drinking. Riven will take the one who spoke first, just to make a point, then the other. The half-orc he'll save for last."
From behind, the sailors the tavernkeeper climbed to his feet.
Patting his thighs with his one good arm, he called to the dog, "Here, girl. Here, Retha."
Hearing that, the old dog clambered unsteadily to her feet and started to limp toward the tavernkeeper, whimpering all the while. Ergis did not take his bestial eyes off Riven, but the thinner of the two smaller pirates drew back his leg as though to kick at the dog.
Riven's dagger flashed and embedded itself in the man's throat. The pirate clutched futilely for the blade and didn't even manage a gurgle before he fell over dead. Only a slight trickle of blood squeezed from around the buried blade.
The dog limped to its master.
"Dirty bastard," said the other pirate, though he didn't charge, and Jak heard the doubt in his voice.
"He'll be next," Cale said from beside Jak.
Riven said not a word, only continued to advance. He was not visibly armed.
When the assassin got within two strides, the smaller pirate lunged at him drunkenly, crosscutting with his cutlass at Riven's throat. Riven ducked under the blade, leaped in close, arm-locked the sailor's sword arm, and wrenched it at the elbow. While the sailor squealed, Riven slammed the crown of his head into the man's nose. Blood sprayed. With his other hand Riven drew a punch dagger from a sheath on the back of his belt.
Jak marveled at the assassin's fluidity.
Beside Jak, Cale called the combat as though he and Riven were one and the same.
"Lung, lung, heart," he said, and Riven did exactly that with the punch dagger, penetrating between the links of the sailor's light chain mail shirt.
The sailor sagged. His mouth opened, but no sound emerged.
Moving quickly, the assassin spun the dying sailor around and stabbed the awl point of the punch dagger into the base of his skull.
"Brain," Cale said.
Magadon uttered a low whistle.
Blood soaked the front of the sailor's tunic. His eyes were open but his body was already dead. Riven kept him upright with a hand on his shoulder and the dagger stuck in his head like some bloody marionette.
The entire exchange had taken less than five heartbeats.
"Now the half-orc," said Cale.
Jak looked to Cale and remembered then the words that Cale had said to him many times before: Only an assassin knows an assassin. His friend-his best friend-was separated from Drasek Riven by no more than the edge of a blade, if that.