Frigga drew near to look curiously at the ring, her face grave. “I am not sure that this was wise.”

  “Albric would have used it to break the walls of Asgard and enslave us all,” said Odin. “Would you have had me bid him depart with the ring and our goodwill?”

  “I do not know,” she said. “You will do what you will.”

  Loki lifted his head. “The giants approach. I can feel the earth trembling beneath their footsteps.”

  As he spoke Odin felt it himself: the earth shivered under his feet. He thrust the hand with the ring beneath his cloak in an instinctive urge to hide it, and looking up met Frigga’s cool gaze. “Shall we let them have everything?” he asked harshly. “That pile of treasure should be enough to satisfy even the greed of giants.”

  “If greed is ever satisfied,” she said, and turned away to seat herself on the stone once more.

  The sound of the giants’ tread reached them now, like the far-off muttering of a storm. Before long they loomed into sight out of the mists shrouding the hills, with Freya’s slight form hurrying between them like a windblown scrap of cloth.

  They reached the meadow and crossed it in a few strides. Fafnir halted with a hand on his hip, his knotted club slung over his shoulder. Fasolt leaned on a walking stick cut from a young tree, his gaze following Freya mournfully as she ran across the grass to throw herself into Frigga’s arms, weeping with relief.

  Odin stiffened as Fafnir’s malicious little eyes roved from one to another of the Aesir, and the giant gave a grating chuckle. “The wait has not done you much good,” he drawled. “You Aesir are a delicate lot.”

  “While you,” said Loki with his charming smile, “have lost nothing in churlishness.”

  Odin hid a smile as the giant glowered. For once he did not feel moved to reprimand Loki. “Come, Fafnir,” he said, “we have brought Freya’s ransom, as you see. If this hoard does not please you, nothing will.”

  He gestured at the treasure stacked beneath the pine. The giant’s eyes widened, glittering with greed. But frowning, he said to his brother, “What say you, Fasolt? Is it enough?”

  Fasolt strolled over to the pile and poked the gleaming ornaments with a thick-soled boot. Then he looked morosely back at Freya. “I hate to lose her. She made our home so bright, so homey, so— I don’t know how to say it.”

  “It was horrible,” sobbed Freya, clinging to Frigga’s arm. “They live in a house of ice, all black and sooty, hung with stinking furs—and eat their meat raw. Do not let them take me back!”

  “Hush, dear.” Frigga stroked her hair to quiet her trembling. “We will not let you go back. We need you as much as you need us. You are our springtime, and we cannot pluck the apples from the tree without you.”

  Freya pulled away, wiping the tears from her smudged face and looking around in wonder at the Aesir. “That is why you all look so strange! Of course.”

  “Strange indeed,” said Fafnir with a grin, showing his broken yellow teeth. “Care to try a fall with me, Thor?”

  Thor hefted his hammer and growled, “Watch your tongue, you hillock.”

  “Enough bickering,” said Odin, before Thor’s temper could fly out of control. He swept a hand toward the treasure. “Here is our ransom; what do you say? There has not been a richer hoard gathered in all the lives of men.”

  “We are not men,” growled Fafnir with an indifferent shrug. But Odin saw his nostrils quiver.

  Fasolt still gazed wistfully at Freya. “I hate to give her up. She is so beautiful.”

  “Yes,” said Fafnir. “It would be easier if the hoard were heaped up to hide her from our sight. What say you, Fasolt? We will trade her for it if there is gold enough to hide her.”

  Fasolt’s face brightened. “All right. Maybe there will not be enough.”

  Odin stroked his beard, looking doubtfully from the pile of treasure to Freya, estimating. Catching the malicious gleam in Fafnir’s eye, he said angrily, “What nonsense is this? Are we children, to play games with the gold?”

  Fafnir shrugged. “I am trying to spare my brother’s feelings. But if you think there is not enough treasure—”

  With more boldness than he felt, Odin said, “Of course there is. Go ahead, if you must.”

  “Come here, girl,” Fafnir ordered, and taking Freya’s arm led her to the pine tree. Pulling a spear from the array of weapons bristling at his back, he plunged it into the ground on one side of her, then taking Fasolt’s spear drove it deep on the other side. He stood back with satisfaction, folding his arms. “Now we can see. The spears shall mark her width; pile it up to hide her, if you can.”

  At a gesture from Odin, Loki moved light-footed to the pile and taking an armload of the gleaming trinkets, piled them between the two spears in front of Freya. With a muttered word of impatience, Freyr bent stiffly to help him. Soon they had it heaped as high as her waist, while Freya, white-faced, stood darting nervous glances from the remaining treasure to Odin.

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  Loki picked up the tarnhelm from the ground where it had fallen a little aside from the treasure, and flicked a glance of mischievous inquiry at Odin. Odin frowned, giving a barely perceptible shake of his head, and with relief saw Loki perform some adroit sleight of hand. The helm vanished beneath his short cloak.

  The glittering mass had reached Freya’s shoulders. Freyr stopped to rest, his drawn face running with sweat. While Loki’s back was turned, Fafnir strode to the pile and swept his great hand down, jamming it together with a slithering, clashing sound. “Not so loosely,” he grunted. “Are you trying to cheat us again?”

  Odin tightened his lips but stood silent. Freyr ground his teeth in anger, and Thor lowered his head like an angry bull, but Loki with a shrug stacked another armload of treasure on the pile. It hid her face now; he scooped up the last double handful of golden chains and bracelets from the ground, and they hid her completely as far as Odin could see. He breathed more easily.

  Fafnir stood with arms folded, frowning as if debating whether the pile were sufficient, but Fasolt crouched before the mound and shook his head with a mournful expression. “I can still see her bright hair blowing; it is finer and fairer than gold threads.” He glanced at Loki, and asked in his slow curious way, “What have you there? That shining thing, under your cloak.”

  Loki looked startled. Fafnir moved to him, demanding, “Yes, let me see it. What are you hiding?”

  Loki backed away, disconcerted for once, but Fafnir reached under his cloak and jerked out the tarnhelm. He held it up so that the silver links glinted in the pale sunlight. “A magic cap?” he guessed, his small eyes squinting shrewdly. “It must be valuable for you to take such a risk.”

  “No risk for me,” said Loki jauntily, flickering where he stood as if he might dissolve into flames at any moment.

  “No,” growled Fafnir, with a forbidding glance at Odin, and then with a shrug flung the tarnhelm on the pile. “There, brother. Does that hide the wench’s hair?”

  Odin stiffened, but at a warning gesture from Freyr controlled his rage. Frustration stifled him; he could smash the giants with one stroke of lightning, but did not dare.

  “It is enough,” said Freyr. “You can see no part of her.”

  Fafnir showed his teeth, turning to Odin. “Now, O Stirrer-of-Strife, you must swear us an oath, that you will by no means interfere with us again, or try to steal back our treasure. Swear by your spear!”

  Odin tightened his jaw. “You need no oath. We have given you the treasure; is not that enough?”

  “No, it is not enough.” Fafnir leaned over him, his grin hardening. “For I do not trust you, Breaker-of-oaths and master of lies. You are slippery and deceitful, as we have cause to know. Swear by your spear, an oath that will bind you fast, or we will take the maiden and go.”

  Odin was caught; he could see no way of escape. He swallowed hard, the sight of his one eye obscured by a red mist, and said thickly, “Very well. I swear that I, Odin—”

  “And any other Aesir or servant of the Aesir—" broke in Fafnir.

  Odin swallowed. The words stuck in his throat, but he spoke them. “—That neither I nor any other Aesir or servant of the Aesir, will attempt to regain the treasure, given as ransom for Freya to Fafnir and Fasolt. I swear it by Gungnir, whereon are the runes of Yggdrasil graven.” He felt a curious quivering stillness in the spear as he spoke, as if it were somehow aware.

  “It is well.” Fafnir drew a breath of satisfaction.

  “No,” said Fasolt, shaking his head with a sigh. “It is not well.” He still crouched before the pile of treasure, peering at it.

  “What is wrong?” asked Fafnir.

  “I can see her eye,” said Fasolt, pointing. “One blue eye, so bonny and bright. It makes me think of how lovely she looked, sitting beside our hearth. We cannot leave her, Fafnir.” He looked at his brother pleadingly.

  Fafnir stood silent a moment, then glanced slyly at Odin. “What, is all your treasure piled up? We may have to take the maiden after all — a pity, after so great an oath.”

  A cry of dismay rose from the watching Aesir. “Press it down!” said Thor.

  “No, then there will not be enough to hide her,” said Freyr swiftly. Frigga pressed her hands to her mouth, closing her eyes.

  “It is only a little hole,” said Fafnir, looking around. “A small piece of gold would fill it. One of you must have a trinket, a brooch—” He looked from one to the other, but their faces were blank. Their garments were severe and straight, to match their mood of dejection; Frigga wore no gold in her hair. His gaze lighted on Odin, and brightened. “Is that a gold ring on your finger? That would fill the hole, I am sure.”

  “No!” roared Odin, enraged, and struck his spear butt on the ground so that thunder growled in the hills. For he saw in a flash that it was the ring that Fafnir had wanted all along. He had had his eye on it from the moment he agreed to the ransom. The ring had called to him, just as it had cried out to Odin. He felt a pang of jealousy, as if the ring were a woman who sought to betray him, and he tightened his fist on it. “I will not give you this,” he said harshly.

  Fafnir’s eyes narrowed; he turned his back with a shrug. “It is nothing to me,” he said, moving toward Freya. “Come, maiden. Your kinsmen cannot raise the gold to ransom you.”

  Freya gasped, watching his approach in wide-eyed horror, but the others all began to speak at once. “Odin, you cannot refuse!” said Frigga in anger. “What is a ring compared to my sister?”

  “I am growing weaker every hour,” said Freyr in desperation. “What good is the ring if we have no strength?”

  “I want my strength back,” rumbled Thor. “Give him the ring!”

  Loki stood leaning against the pine, his arms crossed, a malicious smile on his face.

  Odin looked from one to the other in weary disgust. They could not see his need, could not understand that whoever held the ring could rule the world. But his own brain was working slowly, his memory growing dim as his strength waned. If he only had enough time, he knew he could think of a way to keep the ring and Freya too. But there was no time. The giant had reached Freya, and his huge hand reached for her. She swayed as if about to faint. “Odin,” she cried piteously. “Am I not worthy of ransom?”

  He could not resist. Not for pity, but because he could think of no other way to avert impending doom, he tugged the ring from his finger and held it out with shaking hand. “Take it!” he said, his voice hoarse with anger. “But Albric’s curse goes with it.”

  Fasolt held out his hand, and the ring was swallowed up in his huge palm. “We will take the curse with it,” said Fafnir, his eyes fixed greedily on his brother’s fist.

  “Let me see if it fits,” said Fasolt, and methodically fitted the ring into the little space in the hoard. “There!” he said with a gusty sigh. “She is gone; the gold is all that remains.”

  “You are a fool,” grunted Fafnir. “But maybe a wise fool at that.”