Yasmeen's gaze tracked his hand to his weapon and then shifted back to his face. Her only expression was one of complete confidence that it would go very badly for him should he reach for that sword.

"You won't need that," she said with a firmness of tone that matched his for intensity. Hers was a voice that expected compliance at the best of times. A wounded, uncertain swordsman on approach to an inn full of people who didn't take kindly to strife could hardly be called the best of times.

"Neither can I tell you why you are here. I arrived in the same way and without my ship some five months ago."