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. Dry dust stung Matya's face. Trevarre
looked around, shock on his face. The illusion had
vanished. The evil-looking ruins were laid bare and
undisguised.
Ciri spoke several strange, guttural words. Instantly the
swirling wind was filled with dead tree limbs and dry,
brown leaves. As Matya watched, the broken branches and
leaves began to clump together, growing denser, taking
shape.
"Trevarre, look out!" Matya cried out in terror.
The dead, brittle branches and dumps of rotting leaves
had taken the shape of a man. The tree creature was huge,
towering over the knight. It reached out a bark-covered arm
that ended in splintery claws. Its gigantic maw displayed
row upon row of jagged, thorny teeth.
Trevarre drew his sword, barely in time to block the
creature's swing. Branches and splinters flew in all
directions, but the knight stumbled beneath the blow. His
face blanched with pain; his wounded leg buckled beneath
him. He was too weak to fight such a monster, Matya
realized. One more blow and he would fall. Ciri watched
the battle with a look of cruel pleasure on her face. The tree
monster roared again, drawing back its arm for another
bone-crushing blow.
Matya drew the doll from the leather pouch and stared
at it. She hesitated for a moment, but the sight of Trevarre -
standing before the monster, his face grim and unafraid -
steeled her resolve. Regretfully, she bade her dreams of
wealth farewell. . . and hurled the doll at the altar.
Too late Ciri saw Matya's intent
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