Bert was gravely ill, but at least his extremities weren't black, as Kip's had been. His mother told them that he had a headache, and had been throwing up. While Drefan saw to the boy, Nadine gave the woman herbs.

"Sprinkle these on the fire," Nadine told Bert's mother. "It's mugwort, fennel, and hussuck. They'll smoke and help drive away the sickness. Bring hot coals to your boy, put a pinch of the herbs on the coals, and fan the smoke at your son to insure that he breathes enough of it. It will help drive the sickness from him."

"Do you think that will really help?" Richard whispered when Nadine returned to his side, near the boy. "Drefan said he doesn't know if it will."

"I was taught that it was said to help serious sickness, like the plague," she said in a low voice, "but I've never seen anyone with the plague before, so I can't say for sure. Richard, it's all I know to do. I have to try."

Even though he was dead tired, and had a headache, Richard had no trouble sensing the helplessness in her voice. She wanted to help. As Drefan had said, maybe it would do some good.

Richard watched as Drefan pulled a knife from his belt. He gestured for Cara and Raina, who had both caught up with them after taking care of Richard's instructions, to hold down the sick boy. Raina gripped Bert's chin with one hand, and held his forehead with the other. Cara pressed his shoulders into the blankets.

With a steady hand, Drefan lanced the swelling at the side of the boy's throat. Bert's screams seared Richard's nerves. He could almost feel the knife slicing his own throat. The mother wrung her hands as she stood off a ways, watching with unblinking eyes.

Richard remembered Drefan saying that if the person lived, they would complain the rest of their life about the torture of the treatment. Bert would have cause. "What did you give Kip's mother?" Kahlan asked Nadine.

"I gave her some herbs to smoke the house, the same as I gave this woman," Nadine said. "And I made her a pouch of hop cone, lavender, yarrow, and lemon balm leaves to put in her pillow so that she might sleep. Even so, I don't know that she will be able to sleep, after.. " Her eyes turned away. "I know that I wouldn't be able to," she whispered, almost to herself.

"Do you have any herbs that you think might prevent the plague?" Richard asked. "Things that would keep people from catching it?"

Nadine watched Drefan mopping blood and pus from the boy's throat. "I'm sorry, Richard, but I don't know enough about it. Drefan might be right; he seems to know a lot. There may be no cure, or preventative."

Richard went to the boy and squatted down beside Drefan, watching his brother work. "Why are you doing that?"

Drefan glanced over as he folded the rag to a clean place. "As I said before, sometimes, if the sickness can be brought to a head and drained, they will recover. I have to try."

Drefan gestured to the two Mord-Sith. They gripped the boy again. Richard winced as he watched Drefan slide the sharp knife deeper into the swelling, bringing forth more blood and yellowish-white fluid. Mercifully, Bert passed out.

Richard wiped sweat from his own brow. He felt helpless. He had his sword to defend against attack, but it could do no good against this. He wished it was something he could fight.

Behind him, Nadine spoke to Kahlan in a soft voice, but loud enough for Richard to hear.

"Kahlan, I sorry about what I said before. I've devoted my life to helping sick people. It makes me so upset to see people suffer. That's what I was angry about. Not you. I was frustrated at Yonick's grief, and I lashed out at you. It wasn't your fault. Nothing could have been done. I'm sorry."

Richard didn't turn. Kahlan said nothing, but she might have offered Nadine a smile to accept the apology. Somehow, Richard doubted it.

He knew Kahlan, and he knew that she expected as much from others as she expected from herself. Forgiveness was not forthcoming simply because someone asked for it. The transgression was weighed into the equation, and there were transgressions that outweighed absolution.

The apology hadn't been for Kahlan, anyway; it had been for Richard's benefit. Like a child who had been upbraided, Nadine was on her best behavior, trying to impress him with how good she could be.

Sometimes, even though she had once brought him pain, a part of him was comforted to have Nadine around; she reminded him of home, and his happy childhood. She was a familiar face from a carefree time. Another part of him was troubled over what her real purpose was in coming. Despite what she might believe, she hadn't decided it on her own. Someone, or something, had precipitated her actions. Another part of him wanted to skin her alive.

After they left Bert's home, Yonick led them down a cobbled alley to a yard behind where Darby Andersen's family lived. The srnall yard of mud churned with wood shavings was cluttered with cutoffs and scraps, several stickered stacks of lumber protected by tarps, some old, rusty two-man rip saws, two carving benches, and warped, split, or twisted boards leaning up against the buildings to the side. Darby recognized Richard and Kahlan from the Ja'La game. He was astonished that they had come to his home. To have them come to see a Ja'La game was a cause of great pride, but to have them come to his home was beyond belief. He frantically brushed sawdust from his short brown hair and dirty work clothes.

Yonick had told Richard that the whole Anderson family-Darby, his two sisters, his parents, father's parents, and an aunt-lived over their small workshop. Clive Anderson, Darby's father, and Erling, his grandfather, made chairs. Both men, having heard the commotion, had come to the wide, double doors and were bowing.

"Forgive us, Mother Confessor, Lord Rahl," Clive said after Darby had introduced his father, "but we didn't know you were coming, or we would have made preparations-I'd have had my wife make tea, or something. I'm afraid that we're just simple folk."

"Please don't be concerned about any of that, master Anderson," Richard said. "We came because we were concerned about your son." Erling, the grandfather, took a stem step toward Darby. "What's the boy done?" "It's nothing like that," Richard said. "You have a fine grandson. We watched him play Ja'La the other day. One of the other boys is sick. Worse, two others of them have died." Darby's eyes widened. "Died? Who?" "Kip," Yonick said, his voice choking off. "And Sidney," Richard added. "Bert is very ill, too."

Darby stood in shock. His grandfather put a comforting hand to the boy's shoulder. "My brother, Drefan"- Richard lifted a hand to the side-"is a healer. We're checking on all the boys on the Ja'La team. We don't know if Drefan can help, but he would like to try." "I'm fine," Darby said in a shaky voice.

Erling, an unshaven, scrawny man, had teeth so crooked Richard wondered how he managed to chew his food. He noticed Kahlan's white dress and Richard's gold cloak billowing in the cold wind, and gestured toward the shop.

"Please, won't you all step inside? The wind is biting today. It's warmer inside, out of the weather. I think we'll have snow tonight, the way it looks."

Ulic and Egan took up posts near the back gate. Soldiers milled about in the alley. Richard, Kahlan, Nadine, and Drefan went into the shop. Cara and Raina shadowed them inside, but remained on guard near the doors.

Old chairs and templates hung from pegs on the dusty walls. Cobwebs in all the corners, that in a forest would have netted dew, here netted loads of sawdust. The workbench held chair pieces being glued up, a fine-toothed saw, a variety of smaller finishing and heading planes, and a number of chisels. Several jack and long joiner planes hung on the wall behind the bench along with hammers and other tools.