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. 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
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