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The next moment, the sound of a chair screeching on the floor told him why.
"Son of a whore," he breathed as heavy footsteps approached.
Riken didn't want to look over his shoulder. The day had been long enough already and it wasn't even noon. He wasn't in the mood for this.
"Snowtear," a voice like booming thunder bellowed.
"Wha...?" he started to ask, but, for the second time in less than five hours, he was knocked to the ground.
The familiar sensation of being jerked upward ensued. He opened his eyes, and Merton Coldfeather's repulsive visage came into view amid a swarm of black dots. A thick brown beard covered a pockmarked, grimy face that looked a few mugs shy of happy at the moment. At least the man had chosen to grip him by the collar; his neck still hurt from his last altercation.
"Good morrow, Merton," Riken said, staring past the man at the four cohorts flanking him, each a hair larger than the last. "What can I do for you this fine day?"
"I oughta rip that throat from your slimy neck," Merton said through black clenched teeth.
"I'll have you know I bathed just last week. Dirty, perchance. Slimy, hardly."
The remark won him a hard slap across the cheek.
"Don't open that vile mouth again."
"Then however will I talk you out of throttling me."
Another slap rocked his jawbone.
"Fine, not another word," Riken said, garnering a third harder slap.
Merton's four friends brayed like simpering morons behind him. The rest of the tavern was all ears, prime for a good tussle to break the monotony. Even the whores had halted business to view the one-sided controversy.
"My lil' sis told me what you did to her," Merton said, his grip tightening. "Well, say something."
"You told me not to."
"You want me to grind your ugly face into the floorboards, Snowtear?"
Riken remained silent.
"Speak."
"My thanks," Riken said. "Now, what was your question? Ah, right, the floorboards. Well, nay, I suppose not. Maybe later, though, if I have time."
"You smarmy little ass," Merton said, drawing back his fist as large shadow fell over his face.
"Why are you cross with me, Merton? I didn't lure myself into her bedroom, now did I? And really, I hardly believe I've been the only one in the last week to visit that little slice of Haven."
"That's it."
"Uther, for fuck's sake," Riken said, "won't you get this cretin off me?"
Before Merton Coldfeather knew what was going on, his ear was on the receiving end of Uther Penet's massive fist. Riken fell like a bag of rocks to the floor, but counted himself luckier than poor Merton, who'd flown over the bar and crashed into a shelf of wooden mugs. The enraged man bounded up, fire in his eyes. It snuffed out when he caught eyes with Uther, and noticed his four allies had already taken seats at the opposite end of the room.
Uther offered a hand to Riken, then pulled him up.
"My thanks," Riken said, smoothing the new wrinkles in his shirt.
Uther continued staring at the confounded man who wouldn't be hearing quite well for at least a week, but Merton had amazingly found something beneath the bar to direction his attention toward.