"But you can do something to make her better?"

Nicci's answer was a long moment in coming. "I'm not sure. Whatever I can do, though, I will."

Richard took hold of Cara's still trembling, frigid hand. "Do you think we should shut her eyes? She hasn't even blinked."

Nicci nodded. "Probably not a bad idea. I think it's the dust making her tears run."

One at a time, Nicci carefully shut Cara's eyes. It somehow made Richard feel better that Cara wasn't staring at nothing.

Nicci returned her hand to Cara's forehead as she placed her other hand high on her chest. While Nicci held a wrist, an ankle, and slipped a hand under the back of Cara's neck, Richard went to the washbasin and returned with a wet cloth. He carefully washed Cara's face and brushed some of the dust and bits of plaster out of her hair. Through the wet cloth, he could feel the icy cold of her flesh.

With as warm and humid as it was, Richard couldn't understand how she could be this cold. He remembered, then, how when the black thing had come crashing into his room the air had suddenly gone icy cold, he remembered the painfully cold touch as he brushed past it as he leaped out the window.

"Don't you have any idea what's wrong with her?" Richard asked.

Nicci absently shook her head as she concentrated on pressing the palms of both hands against Cara's temples.

"Any idea what that thing was that came through the walls?"

Nicci turned to look up at him. "What?"

"I asked if you had any idea what could have done this? What crashed through the walls?"

Nicci looked exasperated by the question. "Richard, go wait outside. Please."

"But I want to be in here, with her."

Nicci gently took his wrist and lifted his hand off of Cara's. "You are interfering. Please, Richard, let me do this alone? It's easier without you watching over my shoulder."

Richard felt awkward being in the way. "If it will help Cara."

"It will," she said as she turned back to the woman in her bed.

He stood and watched briefly. Nicci was already absorbed in slipping a hand under Cara's back.

"Go," the sorceress murmured.

"The thing that came through our rooms was cold."

Nicci looked back over her shoulder. "Cold?"

Richard nodded. "It was so cold that I could see my breath. If felt painfully cold to be near it."

Nicci considered his words briefly before turning back to Cara. "Thank you for the information. When I can, I will come out and let you know how she is doing. I promise."

Richard felt helpless. He stood in the doorway for a moment watching the almost imperceptible movement of Cara's shallow breathing. The lamplight lit Nicci's fall of blond hair as she leaned over the Mord-Sith, working to find out what was wrong.

Richard had the awful feeling that he knew what was wrong with Cara. He feared that she had been touched by death itself.

After pulling his pack from the rubble, Richard briefly cleaned him self up and put on a shirt. He also put on his sword.

He didn't know what had crashed into the building, but it seemed pretty likely that it had been coming for him. He had no idea if his sword would help him fight such a thing, but it did make him feel a little better having it at hand.

Outside the night air was still and warm. One of the men saw him emerge from the door and stepped closer.

"How is Mistress Cara?"

"We don't know, yet. She's alive-that's encouraging, at least."

The man nodded.

Richard recognized the man's hat. "You were the one who saw me hanging from the window?"

"That's right."

"Did you get a look at the thing that attacked us?"

"I'm afraid not. I heard all the commotion, looked up, and there you were hanging by one arm. I thought you might fall. That's all I saw."

"No dark thing coming out of the window?"

The man clasped his hands behind his back as he thought about it a moment. "No — except maybe I might have just caught the shadow of something. At the most, that's all I might have seen, a glimpse of a shadow. I was more concerned with getting up there before you fell."

After thanking the man, Richard walked for a time without really thinking about where he was going. He felt as if he were in a daze, his thoughts as heavy and dark as the muggy night. Everything he knew and cared about seemed to be disintegrating. He felt helpless.

The murky humidity obscured the stars and the moon hadn't come up yet, but the lights burning in the city all around reflecting off the haze provided enough light for him to make his way to the edge of the hill. He fell useless, not being able to help Cara. She had so many times been there to help him. This time she had faced something that was more than she could handle.

At the brink of the drop, Richard stood for a time gazing off at the statue of Spirit in the distance. Victor had made the ring of iron stanchions that held the torches. Kahlan, fascinated by the process, had stood for must of a day in the blacksmith's sweltering shop watching him shape the white hot iron. Victor had not frowned once that day, but had smiled at her genuine interest as he showed her how he worked the metal to achieve what he wanted.

Richard also remembered Kahlan's awe at seeing that carving of hers being reproduced in towering white marble. He remembered when that small statue in buttery smooth, rich, aromatic walnut was finally returned to her and she had clutched it to her breast. He had watched the way her lingers had glided lovingly over the flowing robes. Richard remembered, too, the way her green eyes had then looked up into his eyes.

Having no one believe him about Kahlan made him feel completely alone and isolated. He'd never been in a situation like this before, where people-people who sincerely cared about him-thought that he was only imagining the things he told them. It was a frightening, helpless feeling to have people think he was out of touch with reality.

But even that was not nearly as frightening as his worry about what might have become of Kahlan.

He didn't know what to do to find her. All he knew for sure was that he had to get help. He didn't know if that help would be forthcoming, but he fully intended to do whatever was necessary to make sure he got it.

After a time, he made his way back to the inn. Jamila was at the bottom of the stairs sweeping up dust and bits of plaster.

She eyed him as he walked in. "You must pay for this."

"What do you mean?"

With the handle of her broom, she pointed up the stairs. "The damage. I have seen the place up there. You must pay for fixing it."

Richard was taken aback. "But I didn't do it."

"It is your fault."

"My fault? I was in my room. I didn't cause the damage and I don't know what did."

"You and the woman were the only two in rooms up there. The rooms were line when you look them. Now they are a mess. It will cost a lot to fix them. I didn't cause the damage-why should I have to pay? The damage is your fault so you must pay-including for the loss of rent while they an being repaired."

She had demanded he pay for fixing the rooms without first asking how Cara was, or even expressing concern for her.

"I will give Ishaq my permission to deduct the cost from what he owe me." Richard glared at the woman. "Now, if you will excuse me."

With the back of his hand he pushed her aside as he stepped past her into the dark hall. She huffed at him before turning back to her sweeping Not knowing where else to go, he paced slowly up and down the hall Jamila finally finished collecting the debris from the first floor and trim died off to other business as he continued to pace. He finally sat with his back against the wall opposite the door to Nicci's room. He didn't know what else to do, where else to go. He wanted to see Cara.