eyes on the knight. “The doll is a magical thing. My rather
brought it all the way from Palanthas for me when I was a
child. If you speak to it, or sing it a song, it will echo your
words back to you with the rising moon, exactly as you
spoke them.”
Matya’s eyes glittered brightly. This was better and
better. The doll would be almost beyond price. ALMOST,
that is. Matya always had a price.
“And how can I break this grievous enchantment?”
Trevarre asked earnestly. He was good at this knightly
business, Matya had to admit, despite his sorry looks. Ciri
stood and walked to the window, gazed through it sadly a
moment, then turned to the knight.
“There, in the center of the village, stands a shrine. In that
shrine is an altar carved of marble. The altar is the focus of
all my uncle’s dark powers. I know, for I have seen him
work his wicked spells there. From it, he draws his strength.
But the magic of the doll has the power to counter it. If one
who is strong of heart sets the doll upon the altar of his own
free will, the enchantment will be broken.”
“And what will happen to the doll?” Matya asked
suspiciously.
“Its magic will be dissipated,” Ciri answered. “It will
become an ordinary doll and nothing more.”
She walked to Trevarre then, and he rose to meet her.
She laid a hand gently upon his breastplate. Matya could
see the pulse beating rapidly in the man’s throat. It was
clear Trevarre was not immune to Ciri’s bewitching beauty.
Another weakness of knights, Matya thought acidly. Not
that she cared one way or the other, she reminded herself.
“Will you do this task for me, my knight?” Ciri
pleaded. “I cannot break the enchantment with my own
hand, and there is none in the village brave enough to defy
my uncle. Will you help me?”
Trevarre sighed and glanced at Matya. “I would, with
all my heart, that I could do this thing, my lady, but I fear I
cannot. You see, I have given Matya the doll in payment
for bringing me to this place. On my honor, I cannot ask
her for it back”
Ciri’s face twitched. She shot Matya a look so filled
with malice that Matya shivered. Then, aware of the
knight’s eyes on her, Ciri’s sweet, sorrowful look had
returned to her lovely face. She bowed her head.
“Then I am doomed, my knight.”
“No,” he said, with a fierce smile. “No, I cannot think
that. I am no sorcerer, but I expect there is another – albeit
cruder – way to free you.” His hand moved to the hilt of the
sword at his hip. “I will stand before your uncle when he
returns, and I will demand a duel. The enchantment will be
broken when your uncle lies dead at my feet. Won’t that
solve your problem, my lady?”
Ciri sighed. “My knight, you are indeed brave,” she
murmured. “So very brave.”
Matya noticed, however, that Ciri did not answer
Trevarre’s question.
*****
Matya awoke in the gray light before dawn. Ciri had
provided her a bed. Trevarre slept soundly on a bed of furs
before the cottage’s hearth. Matya looked around the
cottage, but Ciri was nowhere to be seen.
Just as well, Matya thought. This way she would not
have to bid the strange young woman good-bye.
Matya knelt beside the sleeping knight before she left.
His careworn face was peaceful in slumber, his brow
untroubled.
“I hope you find your honor truly reward enough,
Knight,” she whispered softly. She hesitated a moment, then
reached out a hand, as if to smooth his mouse-brown hair
over the bandage on his head. He stirred, and she pulled her
hand back. Quietly, Matya slipped from the cottage.
“Trevarre has what he wants,” she reminded herself,
“and so do I.”
The ruddy orb of the sun crested the dim purple
mountains to the east as Matya made her way through the
village. A few folk already were up at this hour, but they
paid her no heed as they went about their business. Once