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.
And as soon as morning appeared on the desolation, and all the useless rocks began to glow, he took the false weight and softly rubbed it along both sides of his sword until all its magical edge was disenchanted. And he did this in his tent while his followers slept, for he would not let them know that he sought for help that came not from the ravings of Niv, nor from any sayings that Zend had had from the moon.
Yet the troubled sleep of madness is not so deep that Niv did not watch him out of one wild sly eye when he heard the false weight softly rasping the sword.