And the old witch looked kindly at him, and then she glanced at his sword.
"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.