Fa Pan gasped against the shock. His good arm groped for the rail to hold him upright. He managed to focus on Yu Mao. His former colleague was surrounded by pirates, just another one of their number. "Why?" Fa Pan choked. Yu Mao spat.

"You wouldn't understand." He lunged again, spear out.

Fa Pan threw himself backward onto the ship's rail- over the ship's rail. For a heartbeat, it felt as if he were balancing on the narrow wood, caught by hands of the spirits between ship and sea. Then the balance shifted and he fell.

He hit the water hard and sank deep. Light vanished, choked off by the night and the dark water. Already cool ing with the season, the water had been further chilled by the sorceress's spells. The shock of it stung his wound and he screamed, a lungful of air exploding into a cloud of pale bubbles. The cold brought a kind of calm as well, though, a soothing, weightless suspension. Fa Pan hung there for a moment, eyes half-closed, mind half-dazed, as the last of his air trickled away.

And when his lungs ached with emptiness, he opened his eyes, gazed up at the glow of the sea's surface, and drew in cold water.

Family legend held that his great-great grandmother, a famous beauty, had attracted the notice of a spirit of the bright little river that ran through her hometown. Her dalliance with the spirit had not been long, but it had brought the touch of the spirits to her bloodline-a touch that included the ability to breathe water as easily as air. Fa Pan hadn't made much of the strange ability since he had been a child; most of the time, it was easier to live without revealing himself as one of the spirit folk. Certainly he had never told Yu Mao. That ignorance was probably the only reason the murdering traitor had let him get as close to the rail as he had before striking. Fa Pan was safe in the water-for the moment, anyway.

He kicked his feet, propelling himself back up to the surface, and lifted his head cautiously into the air. The sounds coming from the ship's deck now were shouts of triumph, punctuated only briefly by wails from the survivors. The battle was over. The pirates had won. Yu Mao still stood beside the rail, as if surveying the results of his treachery. He wasn't alone for long. A second figure joined him-the pirate sorceress. The two embraced. Fa Pan recognized her now. He had seen Yu Mao with her and that wicked-looking halfling in Telflamm! Traitor to Lady Swan, traitor to his companions, traitor to Shou Lung-for the love of a woman? He choked back a groan.

Yu Mao had been right. He didn't understand. But if Yu Mao had wanted to destroy everything and everyone that might send news of his treachery back to his homeland, he hadn't quite succeeded.

Trying to board Lady Swan again or to sneak aboard the pirate vessel would be suicide. He was wounded and the pirates had him outnumbered. There was no way he could exact retribution on Yu Mao himself. The goods of the trade expedition were only silk and spices-losing them was nothing. His life and his witness to Yu Mao's treachery were more important. There were those who had to be told of what happened here. The choice between shame and retribution would be theirs.

Fa Pan let himself sink back into the comfort of the water. They had glimpsed the northern coast of the Sea of Fallen Stars earlier in the day. His wounded arm dragging awkwardly, Fa Pan began the long struggle for shore.

Month of Hammer, Year of Rogue Dragons (1373 DR)

The door of the Wench's Ease slammed open without warning-slammed open so hard that it almost tore off its worn hinges. A crowd came pouring out of the tavern and into the cold winter night. No, not a crowd. A mob. Women and men, fishing folk of Span-deliyon, shouting loud enough that the screams of the thin man being dragged roughly out of the Ease were barely audible. "No!" he pleaded. "No! It was an accident! It was an accident, I swear-"

His screams ended in a thick grunt as someone punched him hard in the gut. A cheer went up from those closest to him. Those farther away muttered their disappointment and tried to push closer. In the crush, the mob's victim twisted free and made a desperate break for freedom, dropping to the slush and mud of the ground and trying to scramble away between his tormentors' legs. He didn't get far. The mob surged around him, kicking and stomping. Tycho Arisaenn, curly black hair on his head and three days' of dark stubble on his face, slipped through the crowd and up to the door of the tavern. Most of the Ease's customers were outside now-the sole occupant of the doorway was a broad-hipped matron who leaned against the doorpost with a sour look on her face. Those few customers still inside yelled at her to close the door and stop letting the cold in. She ignored them, Tycho slid up to her. "Olore, Muire," he said, rubbing his hands together. Even inside thick mittens, his fingers were chilled. "Quiet night?"

The woman spat into the muck.

Screams turned into shrieks. Tycho turned to look. The mob's victim was up again, bloody but still struggling. Six pairs of arms held him firmly, though, and bore him aloft through the crowd to the massive, old tree that stood in the yard outside the Wench's Ease. Tycho's breath hissed through his teeth as he realized what they meant to do. He took a step forward, but Muire's heavy hand snapped out and grabbed the leather of his coat.

"It's too late," she said.

"Rope!" called someone. "Get rope!"

"Here!" A coil came hurtling out of the mob. Practiced hands caught it and looped it quickly then threw the looped end up and over a thick, scarred branch. Someone else grabbed it as it fell back down. The screaming man was thrust forward and the noose cinched tight around his scrawny neck. He looked up, eyes wide.

"Mercy!" he gasped. "Give me Tyr's justice!"

The woman cinching the noose slapped a rough hand across his face. "It's dockside justice for you, Ardo, and may your traitorous soul sleep tight in Umberlee's cold arms! A man who would turn on a mate deserves no better!"

Ardo's protests vanished into the roar of the crowd as the woman stepped back and snapped one arm into the air. Four burly men hauled sharply on the free end of the rope and Ardo was wrenched up to dance with the snowflakes on the night wind. A cheer went up with him. The front ranks of the mob darted forward to yank on his kicking legs with arms muscled by days of hauling nets and pulling oars, hastening Ardo's ignominious departure from the world. The men and women who couldn't get close enough to participate yelled encouragement and toasted their triumph with tankards of the Ease's dark ale.

Muire sucked on her teeth and glowered. Tycho glanced sideways at her. "What happened?"

Muire snorted. "Word is that Ton didn't just fall over board from his and Ardo's boat last tenday. His body finally washed up today. His throat had been slit. Nobody could have done that but Ardo." She jerked her head at the mob and the skinny man's swinging body. "Bad night for him to come drinking."

"Bind me." Tycho tucked his hands up into his armpits and frowned. Off at one edge of the mob, a small cluster of men stood by themselves. At the heart of their cluster was a lanky thug in a dark-red tunic, a heavy fur mantle over his shoulders for warmth. Tycho nodded at them. "Lander's here, Muire."

"A man can drink where he wants. Even Lander."

Tycho gave her a thin smile. "Did you know that he and Ton had a… let's say a 'common friend' who wasn't too happy when Ardo didn't want to pick up Ton's debts? Has Lander been doing much talking tonight?"

"Some," said Muire in a quiet voice.

"Funny coincidence, Lander and rumor both com ing 'round to the Ease tonight," observed Tycho. "With both Ardo and Ton gone, I wonder who'll be taking their boat."