Richard looked back over his shoulder at the crackling fire, as if reasoning through something. "But how would Jagang-"

"Ann and I need to get some rest so we can work out precisely what Jagang has done and know how to counter it. It's complex. Let us do what we know we must."

At last, Richard slipped a comforting arm around Kahlan's waist and drew her close as he nodded to his grandfather. Richard clasped Zedd's shoulder in an affable gesture on the way by as he walked Kahlan toward the spirit house.

When Richard started, it woke her. Kahlan, her back pressed up against him, wiped her hair from her eyes, hastily trying to gather her senses. Richard sat up, leaving a cold breach where he had been a warm presence. Someone knocked insistently.

"Lord Rahl," came a muffled voice. "Lord Rahl." It hadn't been a dream; Cara was banging on the door. Richard danced into his pants as he rushed to answer her knock.

Daylight barged in. "What is it, Cara? "The healer woman sent me to get you. Zedd and Ann are sick. I couldn't understand her words, but I knew she wanted me to go for you."

Richard snatched up his boots. "How sick?" "By the healer woman's behavior, I don't think it's serious, but I don't know about such things. I thought you would want to see for yourself."

"Of course. Yes. We'll be right out." Kahlan was already pulling on her clothes. They were still damp, but at least they weren't dripping wet. "What do you think it could be?" Richard drew down his black sleeveless undershirt. "I've no idea."

Disregarding the rest of his outfit, he buckled on his broad belt with the gold-worked pouches and started for the door. He never left the things inside it unguarded. They were too dangerous. He glanced back to see if she was with him. Hopping to keep her balance, Kahlan tugged on her stiff boots.

"I meant, do you think it could be the magic? Something wrong with it? Because of the Lurk business?"

"Let's not give our fears a head start. We'll know soon enough."

As they charged through the door, Cara took up and matched their stride. The morning was blustery and wet, with a thick drizzle. Leaden clouds promised a miserable day. At least it wasn't pouring rain.

Cara's long blond braid looked as if she'd left it done up wet all night. It hung heavy and limp, but Kahlan knew it looked better than her own matted locks.

In contrast, Cara's "red leather outfit looked to have been freshly cleaned. Their red leather was a point of pride for Mord-Sith. Like a red flag, it announced to all the presence of a Mord-Sith; few words could convey the menace as effectively.

The supple leather must have been treated with oils or wool fat, by the way water beaded and ran from it. Kahlan always imagined that, as tight as it was, Mord-Sith didn't undress so much as they shed their skin of leather.

As they hurried down a passageway, Cara gave them an accusing glare. "You two had an adventure last night."

By the way her jaw muscles flexed, it was easy enough to tell that Cara wasn't pleased to have been left to sleep while they struck out alone like helpless fawns to see if they could put themselves in grave danger of some sort for no good reason whatsoever.

"I found the chicken that wasn't a chicken," Kahlan said.

She and Richard had been exhausted as they had trudged back to the spirit house through the dark, the mud, and the rain, and had spoken only briefly about it. When she asked, he told her he was looking for the chicken thing when he heard her voice coming from the place where Juni's body lay. She expected him to say something about her lack of faith in him, but he didn't.

She told him she was sorry for giving him a rough day, inasmuch as she hadn't believed him. He said only that he thanked the good spirits for watching over her. He hugged her and kissed the top of her head. Somehow, she thought she would have felt better had he instead reproved her.

Dead tired, they crawled beneath their blankets. Weary as she was, Kahlan was sure she would be awake the remainder of the night with the frightful memories of the incarnate evil she felt from the" chicken-thing, but with Richard's warm and reassuring hand on her shoulder, she had fallen asleep in mere moments.

"No one has yet explained to me how you can tell this chicken is not a chicken," Cara complained as they rounded a corner.

"I can't explain it," Richard said. "There was just something about it that wasn't right. A feeling. It made the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end when it was near."

"If you'd been there," Kahlan said, "you'd understand. When it looked at me, I could see the evil hi its eyes."

Cara grunted her skepticism. "Maybe it needed to lay an egg."

"It addressed me by my title."

"Ah. Now that would tip me off, too." Cara's voice turned more serious, if not troubled. "It really called you 'Mother Confessor'?"

Kahlan nodded to the genuine anxiety creeping onto Cara's face. "Well, actually, it started to, but only spoke the Mother part. I didn't wait politely to hear it finish the rest."

As the three of them filed in the door, Nissel rose from the buckskin hide on the floor before the small hearth. She was heating a pot of aromatic herbs above the small fire. A stack of tava bread sat close beside the hearth on the shelf, where it would stay warm. She smiled that odd little something-only-she-knew smile of hers.

"Mother Confessor. Good morning. Have you slept well?"

"Yes, thank you. Nissel, what's wrong with Zedd and Ann?"

Nissel's smile vanished as she glanced at the heavy hide hanging over the doorway to the room in the rear. "I am not sure."

"Well then what's ailing them?" Richard demanded when Kahlan translated. "How are they sick? Fever? Stomach? Head? What?" He threw up his arms. "Have their heads come off their shoulders?"

Nissel held Richard's gaze as Kahlan asked his questions. Her odd little smile returned. "He is impatient, your new husband."

"He is worried for his grandfather. He has great love for his elder. So, do you know what could be wrong with them?"

Nissel turned briefly to give the pot a stir. The old healer had curious, even puzzling ways about her, like the way she mumbled to herself while she worked, or had a person balance stones on their stomach to distract them while she stitched a wound, but Kahlan also knew she possessed a sharp mind and was nearly peerless at what she did. There was a long lifetime of experience and vast knowledge in the hunched old woman.

With one hand, Nissel drew closed her simple shawl and at last squatted down before the Grace still drawn in the dirt in the center of the floor. She reached out and slowly traced a crooked finger along one of the straight lines radiating out from the center-the line representing magic.

"This, I think."

Kahlan and Richard shared a troubled look.

"You could probably find out a lot quicker," Cara said, "if you would just go in there and have a look for yourself."

Richard shot Cara a glower. "We wanted to know what to expect, if that's all right with you."

Kahlan relaxed a bit. Cara would never be irreverent about something this important to them if she really believed it might be life or death battling beyond the hide curtain. Still, Cara knew little about magic, except that she didn't like it.

Cara, like the fierce D'Haran soldiers, feared magic. They were forever repeating the invocation that they were the steel against steel, while Lord Rahl was meant to be the magic against magic. It was part of the D'Haran people's bond to their Lord Rahl: they protected him, he protected them. It was almost as if they believed their duty was to protect his body so that in return he could protect their souls.