"Not yet!" the Hammerer roared back against the howling wind.
"What will they do with Freya?" I cried.
Frey shook his head. His handsome face was drawn and desperate beneath his gleaming helmet as he shifted the tiller.
"What will they do to us all, Jarl Keith, if they succeed in using the key to loose Loki? That devil will lead the hosts of the Jotuns in the last terrible attack on Asgard."
"It is all my fault," I said bitterly. "If I had not brought the rune key with me, this never would have happened."
The flying clouds had again obscured the Moon, and black shadow shrouded the stormy sea. Close on our left rose the sinister cliffs of Midgard, soaring sheer from the water. Frey was keeping our ship hazardously near the precipices, to lose no time in the pursuit. So close were we that each mountainous wave threatened to capsize us. The howling winds were bitter cold, freezing the salt spray on our faces. Each time the ship buried its brazen beak in the waves, we shipped water and Frey's warriors were bailing furiously.
A high black promontory jutted from the cliffs ahead, and Frey swung the rudder to carry us outside that rocky point. As the ship heeled around in answer, a smashing mass of icy water almost tore both of us away from the helm. Then we rounded the point, and the Moon broke forth again.
"There they go!" roared Thor's great voice from the bow as the giant Aesir pointed with his hammer.
Far ahead on the wild, moonlit waters, a single ship was flying south along the ominous coast.
"They're heading straight for Jotunheim!" Thor shouted. "We can catch them—"