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. 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
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