them was strangely silent. There are no birds here, she realized with a start, here where the meadows should have been filled with birds.
It was late in the afternoon, and the amber sunlight had grown heavy and dull, when the wagon crested a low ridge. Below lay a small, grassy dell, and in its center stood -
'Tambor,' Trevarre said triumphantly.
Matya shook her head in astonishment. She had expected to see a pile of ruins in the dell, the burned-out husks of a few cottages perhaps, and some crumbling stone walls. Instead she saw a prosperous village. More than a score of well-tended cottages lined a main street, busy with people, horses, chickens, and dogs. Smoke rose from a low stone building — probably a smithy — and a mill's waterwheel turned slowly in a small stream.
'You have kept your end of the bargain, Matya,' Trevarre said solemnly. 'Now it is my turn.' He handed her the leather pouch that contained the doll. Matya gripped the purse with numb hands.
The kender had been wrong, she told herself, that was all. Tambor had NOT been destroyed in the Cataclysm. Matya didn't know why she was surprised. Still, there was something about this that did not seem entirely right.
'What is such a prosperous village doing at the end of such an overgrown road?' she asked herself, but she had no answer. Not that it mattered. She had the doll now. That was all she cared about.
'I can walk the rest of the way,' Trevarre said, starting to climb down from the wagon, but Matya stayed him with a hand on his arm.
'I know it's hard, but try not to be a fool, Knight. I'll take you into the village. I'll need to stay here anyway. It's growing late. I'll set out again in the morning.'
Matya guided the wagon to the banks of the stream. A small stone bridge arched over the clear, flowing water. A young woman stood on the far side of the stream. She was clad in a gown of flowing white, and her hair was as dark as jet. She was beautiful, as beautiful as the porcelain doll.
'My knight, you have come to me!' the woman cried out. Her voice was the doll's sweet voice. Matya thought this odd, disconcerting, but it didn't bother Trevarre. His pale eyes shining, he slipped from the wagon and limped across the stone bridge, ignoring the pain of his injury. He knelt before the young woman and kissed her fine-boned hand.
Matya scowled. He never kissed my hand, she thought sourly.
'I am Ciri,' said the sweet voice. 'Welcome, Sir Knight. My deliverance is at hand.'
Ciri led Trevarre and Matya around the edge of the village. 'Quickly,' she said softly. 'The fewer the folk who see us, the better.'
Matya wondered why, but it wasn't her place to ask. Trevarre tried to walk faster, but it was clear his wounded leg was causing him great pain. Ciri laid a fine hand on his elbow, and the grimace eased from the knight's face. He walked more easily with her hand on his arm. Matya noticed that Trevarre seemed to have taken more than a passing interest in Ciri's lovely face. 'I'll warrant he's more interested in her looks than his honor,' she muttered, suddenly annoyed for no particular reason.
As they walked, Matya looked at the village in the ruddy light of the setting sun. Nothing appeared out of order, but something was not right. You're tired, Matya, that's all, she told herself. Tomorrow you'll ride into Garnet and leave this knight and his foolishness behind. That thought should have made her feel better, but it didn't.
Ciri led them to a small, thatch-roofed cottage standing slightly apart from the others. She looked about to make certain no one was watching, then opened the door, gesturing for Trevarre and Matya to enter.
The cottage was warm and neatly kept. A fire burned on the fieldstone hearth, and the wooden floor had been scrubbed clean. Ciri bade them sit down. She filled a wooden cup with crimson wine for each of them. Matya raised the cup of wine, then set it down without drinking it. It had a funny smell to it. Trevarre, however, drank deeply, thanking the woman for her hospitality — all politeness, as his Measure called for, Matya supposed with a frown.
'And now, my lady, you must tell me why you have called to me,' Trevarre said. Ciri smiled at him, a sweet, sorrowful smile. 'And I hope your reason is a good one,' Matya noted, crossing her arms. 'It was no mean feat getting this knight here, I'll tell you'
Ciri turned her gaze toward Matya for a moment, and suddenly her smile was neither sweet nor sorrowful. 'Tor that, I do thank you, my good woman,' Ciri said. Matya could not mistake the coldness in Ciri's otherwise lovely voice. It was clear that Matya's presence had not been expected; neither was it wanted.
Ciri's gaze turned soft again as she regarded the knight. Matya scowled, but she said nothing. If the young woman feared competition for the knight's attention, then she was as much a fool as Trevarre. There was little room in a bargain driver's life for love. Such fancies dulled the sharp edge Matya depended on for her livelihood. Besides, there was nothing about the knight she liked, even if his pale eyes were strangely attractive and his voice DID remind her of a trumpet's call.
The gloom of twilight descended outside the cottage's window. Ciri began her tale. 'I fear the fate that lies before me is dark, my knight. A terrible wizard — my uncle — means to force me to marry him, against all propriety and my own wishes. He is a mage of great power, feared by all the folk of Tambor, and even beyond. He is away now, gathering components for his magecraft, but when he returns, he will compel me to wed. You have arrived none too soon, my knight.'
'Well, why don't you simply run away?' Matya asked. Ciri gave her another chill look. 'I fear it is not so simple. You see, my uncle dabbles in the black arts, heedless of the peril to his soul. He has cast an enchantment upon me. I am unable to leave the village. The banks of the stream are as far as I may tread. Should I take but one step beyond, I would perish.'
'But what of your father?' Trevarre asked. 'Will he not protect you from your barbarous uncle?'
Ciri shook her head sadly. 'My father and mother both died many years ago. There is no one here to protect me. That was why I wove the boat of rushes and sent the doll down the waters of the stream, hoping someone might find it and hear my plea'
'How does the doll speak with your voice?' Matya asked, not caring if she aroused more of Ciri's displeasure.
'It was but the echo of my voice,' Ciri explained, her 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.'
