Frey raised his hand. "I swear it by the Norns, the fates who rule all, and by Wyrd, their mother."
Though I repeated the oath, Andvar seemed only partly satisfied.
"It is a great risk we run. But Loki must not again go free to ravage Midgard with war, death and destruction. We will give you back your swords and guide you, Aesir. It rests upon you two alone to prevent the loosing of Loki."
The red torches bobbed as the Alfings turned fearfully to us.
"We are almost to the cavern-prison of Loki," said Andvar. "I fear to go farther."
The Alfing king's massive face was pale, the dread plain in his green eyes. Our three other dwarfed guides were equally terrified.
"You promised to lead us to the door of the prison," I said. "Take us to where we can see it. Then you can return."
Andvar shuddered and hesitantly advanced with his three subjects, though now their steps were slow and reluctant. We were passing through a high, vaulted cavity deep in the rock beneath Midgard. Andvar and the other Alfings had been leading Frey and myself into the maze of natural cavities. Traveling always westward and southward, I judged we were beneath the center of the rocky mainland.
Hours before, we had left the tunnels and work-caverns of Alfheim. These gloomy spaces we now traversed showed no sign of their presence. The stunted men so feared the very name of Loki that they never went near this labyrinth of caves. It was too close to where Loki's body lay in suspended animation.
My brain was feverish with excitement, hope and despair, as Frey and I followed our Alfing guides. I realized miserably that even if we were able to prevent the Jotuns from setting their dread lord free, that would still leave Freya a prisoner in dark and distant Jotunheim. A prisoner — or perhaps a tortured corpse by now…