“Ale, wench!” one of them cried, landing his hand firmly on Melissa’s backside as she walked past. The girl danced away with a cry.

Idiots.

She fled to the bar, and the four men loudly took a table in the center of the room while Zevrin poured their drinks. The regulars were tense and staring down at their tables.

Melissa brought over a tray with the four tankards balanced carefully, and set it down on the edge of their table. But no sooner had the tray come to rest than one of the men slid his arm around her waist, pulling her into his lap.

She squirmed, protesting, trying to stand again, but she was half his size. “Get off me!”

“Oh come on,” he said, grinning as he pulled her tighter into his lap. “We know you want to do your bit to keep Drakos’ troops happy.”

The other three laughed as they watched.

I waited for Zevrin to say something, or for the locals to object. But they all had their eyes averted. There was fear in the air, and that did not bode well.

Dammit.

I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, and if I interfered, I’d have to kill these men. What would happen then? I sat watching tensely, hoping that the man had had his fun and would let Melissa go.

Instead, the man’s hands wandered more. One arm held her around the waist, rucking up her short skirt, while his other hand groped her breast through her thin shift. She squirmed on his lap, fighting him ineffectually, the other men grinning as they looked on.

“Barman!” I said into the silence, drawing many pairs of eyes. “Another tankard of ale.”

There was only one serving girl. What were the chances the men would let her go when another patron needed her? Slim, but worth a try.

The men ignored me, more interested in Melissa. One of the other men had caught her wrist, pulling her arm away, ending what little defense she’d been capable of. She whimpered as the first man’s hand slid inside the top of her dress, his other trying to pry her knees apart.

That’s far enough.

“Put her down,” I said in a bored voice. “The rest of us need service too.”

The man with the cheek scar glanced over. “You got a big mouth, stranger. I’d shut it if I were you.” Then he turned and threw a coin onto the bar. “A room, innkeeper.”

Oh hell no.

The four men stood, their drinks ignored, Melissa held tightly. Scarface walked to the bar. “A room, I said.”

Zevrin pulled out a key and slapped it down, keeping his eyes averted. Still no one moved, fear and shame lying thick in the air.

Let her go.

But they didn’t. They began to pull Melissa with them, her sobs the only noise in the common room.

Still no one moved.

Fuck it.

I stood up, kicking my stool back. It scraped across the floor and banged into the wall, drawing eyes to me once more.

“She doesn’t want to go with you.”

The men stopped, turning toward me. Melissa stared at me with eyes full of tears, hope and fear.

“You want her instead, is that it?” one of the men said, grinning. “Wait your turn. You can have her when we’re done.”

I took a step out from behind my table. “Release her.”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Two of the men came forward to meet me, Scarface and the one holding Melissa watching on.

“You’re making a mistake, stranger.”

“Just rough him up and chuck him out,” Scarface said, his tone indifferent. “We’re going to start with the girl.”

Dammit. But it had been inevitable from the time they’d arrived.

Activate God Power.

God Power Activated. 5 minutes remaining.

The two men walked quickly toward me. “You’re keeping us from our fun,” one of them said. Then he threw a straight-armed punch to my face.

I swayed to the side, deflecting his wrist, then stepped forward and slammed my elbow into his nose, my full weight behind the blow. He reeled back with a gasp of pain. The other man scowled and pulled his knife, slashing toward my head. I dropped under the blow, delivering a punch to the side of his knee that crumpled his leg. As he fell I rose, caught the back of his head in my hand, and used his own momentum to bounce his face off the edge of my table. His neck snapped with a crunch that rang out, filling the tavern.

The one I’d elbowed pulled his own knife, his face a mask of blood. I’d broken his nose. “You fucker!” he yelled as he ran at me, knife held low and rage in his eyes. I waited until he stabbed toward me, blocking his strike with my forearm. Then I grabbed his wrist, punched him in the inside of his elbow, and as his arm gave in, I used the momentum to jab his own knife into his throat.

He slumped to the floor, gurgling around the blade.

Damn, but I was fast. When had I become so fast? Fighting Jarek had done me a world of favors.

If the tavern had been quiet before, it was nothing to the sudden silence and stunned disbelief.

“Let go of her,” I said to the man holding Melissa, stepping past the men I’d killed.

But the man had his prize, and was too dense to see the inevitable outcome. He clung on to the serving girl, spitting curses.

The one I figured to be their leader drew his blade, the distinctive whisk of steel loud in the hushed common room. “Let’s see how tough you are against a sword.”

There was a scrape of chairs as the patrons got out of the way, a couple of them wisely going for the door. I pulled my rapier, and drew my dagger in my offhand. Fighting the girls with two sticks had given me a hankering to see how well I could dual-wield.

He came forward and I met him in the middle of the room, giving him an easy target. He thrust, faster than I expected, but I grinned as I parried him with ease. It was good to know my skills had come on so far. He took a pace back, narrowing his eyes.

“Roscoe,” he snapped, “dump that wench and go get the rest.”

Dammit. That could be a problem … depending how many ‘the rest’ were.

“But Sarge—”

“Now, Roscoe.” Scarface didn’t take his eyes off me.

The man called Roscoe pushed Melissa into the bar with a curse, circling behind the sergeant to go for the door. I considered pulling a throwing knife, but there were patrons cowering against the wall, and I couldn’t trust my accuracy. I either had to show my back to Scarface, or let Roscoe leave. Neither option was a good one.

I stabbed a feint toward Scarface, then spun to intercept Roscoe. But the sergeant was fast; he parried my feint and came in hard, and I was forced to turn back and defend myself. Our blades crossed in a flurry of parries and ripostes, and I could do nothing to prevent Roscoe’s escape. Scarface took a pace back, disengaging.

He grinned. “Now you’re fucked, stranger. When Roscoe returns with the rest of the lads, they’ll string you up above the gate as an example of what happens to those with big mouths.”

“They might,” I said, “but you won’t be there to see it.”

His face paled as I lunged forward, using both my rapier and dagger in tandem, pressing him back with each step. He was breathing hard in seconds, desperately trying to weather the storm of blades and strikes. The sergeant was pretty good; he lasted almost half a minute before I trapped him against the side of the bar, knocked his sword aside with my rapier, and rammed my dagger into his heart.

Attack has gained 2 ranks.

Defense has gained 1 rank.

Speed has gained 1 rank.

Weapon (Sword) has gained 1 rank.

Weapon (Dagger) has gained 2 ranks.

You have gained a new skill: Dual Wielding. Dual Wielding is now level 1.

Dual Wielding has gained 5 ranks.

I grinned. That was exactly the skill I wanted. I was beginning to shape a version of myself that could challenge Drakos, despite my strength disadvantages. And my God power hadn’t even deactivated yet.

It was time to go and intercept Roscoe, before he came back with more than I could handle.

“You got somewhere to hide these bodies?” I asked Zevrin as I walked to the door. “I wouldn’t leave them lying around here too long.”

“You’re going to get us killed, stranger!” he said. “What’ll happen when these men are found missing?”

I stopped, turning, looking around the common room. No one met my eyes except Zevrin, and his were scared. And Melissa, who looked half grateful, half guilty, pulling together the remains of her ripped dress.

“You folks need to stand up for each other, otherwise men like these will take what they want, when they want. Your wives, your daughters, your homes.” I shook my head. “Take these bodies out and bury them. If anyone comes asking, say they were bragging about killing the bandits up on the north road. Then, when they don’t come back, that’ll be that, won’t it?”

I saw hope forming in Zevrin’s face, and there were murmurs of agreement from some of the patrons at my words. But there was only so much I could do; the folks of Taralith had to make their own decisions. I pulled the door open and went looking for Roscoe.

But I didn’t have to look hard. Roscoe was right outside in the square, and he wasn’t alone.

There were six more of Drakos’ men arrayed before me, and their weapons were already drawn.