"I must fight you then?" he asked.

"I can't fight," she said. "I'm just an old woman."

"You said the weapons would not leave while you are alive."

"That is what I said. I never said I would fight you. Here." She reached over and grasped one of the smaller swords. Holding the blade gingerly, she held it out to him.

"Take it. Take it and leave."

Puzzled, Perkar took the brass-wound hilt of the sword. It tingled against his palm, and the blade shivered, like a god appearing. As if the blade, too, was just a "painting" over something deeper and more real.

"Leave," she repeated.

Perkar took a deep breath and began to back out of the cave. He kept the blade in guard position, ready at any moment if the old woman should transform into some fierce beast. She did not; rather, she sighed and shook her head.

Near the entrance to the treasure cave, Perkar laid the sword down and walked out. After only a step or two he frowned, then turned furiously. He bent to pick the weapon up again, but as soon as he did he set it back down. Seven times he tried to carry the sword from the room; each time he ended by depositing it back where it rested.

"How are you doing that?" he demanded, finally.

"I'm not doing it," she said. "The weapons are bound to my blood. They will not leave me."

"That is a lie," Apad hissed from behind him. "Perkar, she is a sorceress. Can't you feel the spell on you?"

Perkar certainly knew the spell was there; the overwhelming compulsion to lay the sword down did not come from any part of himself, that was certain. But it somehow seemed wrong to suspect the woman of casting the spell.

"You try to take it," Perkar told Apad. He watched the woman closely as Apad tried, without success, to remove the sword from the room. She made no move at all. Frustrated, Perkar picked up the sword and strode toward—rather than away from—the woman. He thought he saw something in her eyes then—fear? Resignation?

"You are going to kill me," she said. "You will kill me for your vendetta against this god?"

"I have no quarrel with you, lady," Perkar maintained. "If you will just tell me how I might take these weapons, I will leave you in peace."

She sighed. "You would have to kill me," she said.

"I don't want to do that."

"Perkar!" Apad warned, from behind him. "Watch yourself! Watch her witchery!"

Perkar turned to Apad. "I think the witchery here is from the Forest Lord, not her."

"Do not mistake her for a Human Being, Perkar," Eruka called from outside. Apad was edging farther into the room. "The Lemeyi has warned us of her illusions."

"Are you a Human woman?" Perkar demanded. "Or are you a goddess?"

"Which answer will save my life?" she asked.

"Perkar!" Apad cautioned again, as Perkar moved closer.

"I've said I mean you no harm," Perkar said, anger mounting in his chest. "But I do want the weapons. With which of these did the Forest Lord arm himself against his Brother?"

"His Brother?" she said, staring at Perkar in horror. It was the most passion Perkar had seen in her. "The Changeling?"

"Which sword?"

Apad was at the weapons now, touching this one, that one. It made Perkar nervous. "What are you talking about, Perkar? We care nothing for any brother. We need weapons that will harm the Forest Lord himself. Ask her about that."

"You think he would keep his own death here?" the woman asked mockingly. "Who is your stupid friend, Oak-Boy?"

Apad turned slowly from the weapons, eyes revealing dangerous fires in his heart. "What do you want from us, witch-goddess? We are losing patience."

"I am not a goddess," she said, her voice low, betraying a hint of concern. "Don't kill me."

"I warn you," Apad cried. "We have fought gods before, and without such swords as these, eh, Perkar?"

"Wait. Just wait a moment, Apad."

"Wait for what? What's wrong with you, Perkar? Can't you see her for what she is? She is toying with us, waiting for her friends to come, waiting to pounce."

"I would give you the weapons if I could," the woman swore. "Please. I have only a short time to go—a few more months. I have been here for so long." She blinked, and to Perkar's vast surprise, a small tear formed in the corner of one eye and ran slowly down her face.

"No," Perkar said, stepping forward. "There is no need to cry." He reached to touch her shoulder.

"Perkar!" Apad shrieked. Perkar felt a hard, desperate shove from behind. It threw him off balance, and with the unaccustomed weight of his armor he toppled awkwardly, dropping the godsword and throwing out his hands to break the fall. He was half successful, managed to get one hand under him and take most of the impact on his other shoulder. Puzzled and angry, he scrambled back to his knees, a demand for an explanation already on his lips. Something spattered onto his face, his chest, his armor. It was red, salty, tasted of iron.

Apad was swaying above him, likewise spattered with blood. His eyes were wide, shocked. He dropped the sword he had been wielding and backed away, his mouth working. None of this made any sense to Perkar. It was all too fast, too strange.

The lady had blood on her, too. She trembled in her chair. He was kneeling almost at her knees, and as he watched, blood drizzled off the end of her shift, began pooling on the floor.

"I thought… I…" Apad mumbled, behind him.

Suddenly it did all make sense. The woman's neck was half severed, blood gushing from the gash in it. The slash ran between clavicle and throat, down through her chest nearly to the ster-num. Her eyes were glazed, her mouth working wordlessly as she slumped forward into Perkar's arms. The blood was red, bright Human red, not gold or black like the blood of gods.

"Don't," she said in his ear. "Don't."

Outside, the Lemeyi began to snicker.

"Why? Apad?" Perkar gasped in anguish. He felt warm blood completely soaking the upper half of his gambeson. He wondered wildly what they could do for her, what sort of bandage might suffice. He tried to lay her back, and her head all but fell off, lolling to the side so that the cut in her neck and breast yawned open. Perkar began vomiting then, great heaving retches, and he ground his head against the cave floor. When he was done, she was dead. Apad was still backed against the cave wall.

"I didn't know… I thought she…" he mumbled. The Lemeyi was hooting and gibbering.

"There is no need to cry," he screeched, imitating Perkar's low country accent. It was suddenly too much for Perkar. He snatched up the godsword.

"You did this, you stinking beast," he snarled, and leapt out toward the half god, hardly noticing how easily the sword left the chamber now. The Lemeyi may not have expected him to move so quickly. He knew he saw a flicker of fear in the Lemeyi's eye as the sword cut at him. Still, the Lemeyi had more than enough time to avoid the blow, dancing backward, if a bit clumsy from haste.

"Now, now," the Lemeyi chided. "After all, you got what you wanted."

That only made Perkar angrier. He chased after the halfling. Abruptly he was chasing it in total darkness.

"If you were to hit me with that thing, I wouldn't like it," the Lemeyi informed him reasonably, from somewhere out in the black.

"Apad! Eruka!" Perkar yelled. "Light your torches!" He took a few more swings with the blade, but the Lemeyi was certainly somewhere out of reach. He gave that up and knelt, putting his knees on the sword, took out one of his reed torches, flint, and steel, and a few shards of lighter knot. He began striking sparks.

He almost had the tinder going when sudden brightness flared behind him.

"There," he heard Eruka say.

"Good," Perkar replied. He looked quickly around, hoping to see the Lemeyi, but he was not within the torch's small circle of illumination.