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. "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
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