"He's afraid of my magic," she said; and thought or mystery dawned in her eyes as she spoke. "Who?" said Alveric. And Ziroonderel lowered her eyes. "The King," she said. And then she told him how that enchanted monarch would draw away from whatever had worsted him once, and with him draw all that he had, never supporting the presence of any magic that was the equal of his. And Alveric could not believe that such a king cared so much for the magic he had in his old black scabbard. "It is his way," she said. And then he would not believe that he had waved away Elfland. "He has the power," said she. And still Alveric would face this terrible king and all the powers he had; but wizard and witch had warned him that he could not go with his sword, and how go unarmed through the grizzly wood against the palace of wonder? For to go there with any sword from the anvils of men was but to go unarmed. "Mother Witch," he cried. "May I come no more to Elfland?" And the longing and grief in his voice touched the witch's heart and moved it to magical pity. "You shall go," she said. He stood there half despair in the mournful evening, half dreams of Lirazel. While the witch from under her cloak drew forth a small false weight which once she had taken away from a seller of bread. "Draw this along the edge of your sword," she said, "all the way from hilt to point, and it will disenchant the blade, and the King will never know what sword is there." "Will it still fight for me?" said Alveric. "No," said the witch. "But once you are over the frontier take this script and wipe the blade with it on every spot that the false weight has touched." And she fumbled under her cloak again and drew forth a poem on parchment. "It will enchant it again," she said. And Alveric took the weight and the written thing. "Let not the two touch," warned the witch. And Alveric set them apart. "Once over the frontier," she said, "and he may move Elfland where he will, but you and the sword will be within his borders." "Mother Witch," said Alveric, "will he be wroth with you if I do this?" "Wroth!" said Ziroonderel. "Wroth? He will rage with a most exceeding fury, beyond the power of tigers." "I would not bring that on you, Mother Witch," said Alveric. "Ha!" said Ziroonderel. "What care I?" Night was advancing now, and the moor and the air growing black like the witch's cloak. She was laughing now and merging into the darkness. And soon the night was all blackness and laughter; but he could see no witch. Then Alveric made his way back to his rocky camp by the light of its lonely fire.