Loki seized Odin’s arm suddenly and pointed. In a far corner of the cavern, piled carelessly as a compost heap, lay treasure: gold nuggets spilling out of sacks, rough stones that gleamed with stray flakes of grass-green, azure, blood-red. Near the hearth, stacked in a more orderly pile, were treasures crafted by the dwarf artisans: great round gleaming goblets, rimmed with rubies; diamond-hilted swords; necklaces dripping sapphires like raindrops. Odin lifted his brows in amazement at the heaped wealth, and Loki flickered like a dancing flame.

  They heard movement behind them, and Loki whirled. Odin turned more slowly to see the dwarf who had been asleep rising to his feet, scowling at them with suspicion. “Who are you?” he said, his voice guttural. “What do you want here?” He was clearly the smith, taller and broader than most dwarves, his hard-muscled chest streaked with grime and sweat in the light of the forge.

  Odin stood in silence, leaning on his spear. The smith’s sweat-streaked face looked familiar, despite the many years since he had set foot in Svartalfheim, but he saw no spark of recognition in the dwarf’s eyes. Loki made a graceful bow, and Odin saw that he looked suddenly younger, his appearance less fantastic, and was wearing a scarlet embroidered jacket. “We are seeking Albric, the lord of the dark elves,” he said.

  The smith’s hostile expression did not alter. “Are you Albric’s new friends? Come to help him share the treasure that he has wrung out of our hides? If so, you can take yourselves away again. That is my handiwork—” he glanced at the piled

  treasure— “most of it, and I will not have the dirty hands of you upper-dwellers pawing it. Bad enough it’s going to enrich that maggot Albric.”

  Loki cocked his head with a curious air. “I feel somehow that you do not see eye to eye with the noble Albric.”

  “Noble!” The dwarf spat. “He is nothing but a swelled up, venomous little toad, if he is my brother. He has always wanted everything he could get his greedy hands on; and now that he has the ring, there will be no stopping him.”

  “Of course,” said Odin. “You are Mimir, the smith.”

  Mimir looked at him uneasily. “How do you know me? And who are you, anyway? Mortals do not belong down here.”

  Odin considered him. He remembered him clearly now, bending over the forge in the play of blazing light and shadow, working with consummate skill to create the silken-strong Gleipnir. “Who does not know you?” he asked. “You are the smith who forged the cord to bind Fenris Ulf, the only one who could make such a thing, to save Asgard from ruin. And you built Skidbladnir, the magical ship that the Aesir sail in. Even among mortal men, your skill is renowned.”

  The dwarf grunted, mollified. “It is true,” he said. “I have done some good work. But you have not told me who you are.”

  Loki stepped into the firelight. “We come from the world above,” he said smoothly. “You have heard, perhaps, that the ring Albric wears once belonged to mortal men, before it fell to Aegir? We have come hoping that we might recover it.”

  “Recover it?” Mimir stared at him in disbelief. “You are mad. Albric will turn you to beetles and step on you. I do not know how you found your way down, but you had better go, and quickly. He is not in a merciful mood since he gained the ring.”

  “But what can he do with it?” asked Odin, curious.

  “Anything he pleases,” said Mimir in a lowered voice, glancing over his shoulder. “He has made the dwarves his slaves, to mine treasure for him night and day. The few who dared to revolt were slain horribly. And now he has the tarnhelm, which he forced me to make for him. With it he can become invisible or twist his shape into anything he chooses. I have warned you!” he hissed suddenly. “Stay here and die if you wish.” He turned his back on them and scurried into a corner of the cavern.

  “Shapechanging,” said Loki softly. There was a pleased glint in his eyes. “Well, well— a useful skill.”

  “Not useful to us,” said Odin. “Shall we go and look for him?”

  “No, I think I hear him coming,” said Loki, tilting his head.

  Cries of terror had become audible in the corridor outside. The noise increased, and a score of dwarves ran limping into the cavern, each hauling a large sack of gemstones or gold, which they pulled over to the corner with the other treasure. At their backs flailed a heavy iron chain, clashing and snapping. They cowered from it, hiding their faces and groaning for mercy, but the chain whipped among them, striking savage blows as if wielded by an invisible dancing maniac. Red dwarf blood spattered the floor. Over their shrieks of anguish rang high-pitched yells of rage, uttered by their unseen assailant.

  “That will teach you to scheme against me!” cried the voice. “If I catch you with your heads together again, you will wish I had turned you to flies and swatted you. Get back to work!” The chain dropped to the ground at last. Moaning and trembling, the dwarves scurried from the cavern. Odin looked for Mimir, and saw that he had melted silently into the deepest shadows of the forge.

  Without warning a crabbed and crooked dark elf stood before them. He held a shining scrap of chain-mail in his hand, his face was flushed red with exertion and rage, and his small eyes gleamed with cunning. He wore shabby earth-colored clothes, but an incongruous golden chain of exquisite workmanship hung around his neck, and a golden ring was on his hand. Odin’s one eye rested thoughtfully on the ring.

  “Who are you?” growled Albric. He raised his voice. “Mimir! Did you let these interlopers into our caverns?”

  Mimir made no reply, but Loki stepped forward with a courtly bow. “Lord Albric? You remember me, I believe. I am called Duneyr; we met aboveground earlier.”

  Albric squinted up at him. “I remember you. What do you seek in my kingdom?”

  “I have spoken to my fellows of the lord of Svartalfheim, and everywhere I hear the same tale: of his immense wealth and prowess. Your fame grows daily in the lands aboveground. So I have come to see for myself if all the tales are true, and I have brought my friend the Wanderer, who is curious as well.”

  Albric’s eyes narrowed. He clenched his fist on the ring. “You have come to see what you could steal for yourselves!”

  “No indeed,” said Loki. “I have seen what you did to those dwarves. My strength is no match for yours.”

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  Albric cast a curious glance at Odin, standing behind Loki. Odin remained motionless, his hood pulled low. He knew that Loki could twist his tongue into the necessary flatteries and deceit, so he remained silent, not trusting himself to speak. But he gazed with hooded contempt at the strutting little dwarf, putting on airs because of the ring that glittered on his finger.

  Albric’s suspicions appeared to melt under Loki’s honeyed words. He puffed out his chest and said, “True enough. And I’ll venture that you’ve never seen wonders like my dwarves have heaped up for me. Take a look, since you are here; then go back up to your people and take the advice I gave you: flee for your lives.”

  “But where can we find a place of safety?” asked Loki, wrinkling his brow.

  Albric gave a guttural laugh. “I can tell you a place to avoid: Asgard.”

  Odin stirred, gripping his spear, but when Albric’s eyes shifted to him he closed his lips tightly.

  “What do you mean?” asked Loki. “Living men cannot approach Asgard, but I should have thought it would be the safest place of all.”

  “Not from the power I wield,” said Albric. He paced to the hearth and back, turning the ring slowly on his finger as if caressing it. His voice grew low and fierce. “We shall cross the Rainbow Bridge under cover of fog and sleet. The towers of Asgard will topple before the Armies of Night; the proud Aesir will mock us for the last time. They will grovel before me, and their fair and scornful women will serve my pleasure. I think for myself I will take Freya, the lady of beauty and springtime. I will break Odin’s spear over my knee, and crack the World-Ash tree. I will be ruler of all worlds!”

  He ended on a note of brooding intensity that sent a shiver up Odin’s spine. Odin tightened his grip on his spear, stifling his anger, but he could not suppress a grunt of disgust.

  “What did you say?” said Albric.

  “He is overwhelmed, as I am, at your courage,” said Loki. “No one has ever dared attack the Aesir before.”

  “No one has ever held such power before,” said Albric.

  “Power?” Loki pursed his lips. “You have vast wealth, and I do not doubt that your armies are numerous and terrible; what more do you need? Why bother to invent tales of magical devices, enchanted rings?”

  “Invent?” snapped the dwarf. “Do you think my powers are imaginary? Did you not see me chase those skulkers in here, then castoff my invisibility?”

  “Indeed, I did not notice your entrance,” said Loki. “But surely it was the force of your personality that terrified them. What else?”

  “Well, there is that,” said Albric. Odin hid his smile. “But beyond that, I can change myself into any shape I wish: a whirlwind, a fire, a wild beast. It is not my armies alone that will topple Asgard into the dust.”

  “Indeed?” laughed Loki, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

  Sensing the direction of Loki’s scheme, Odin drew back farther into the cavern’s gloom. He did not know what good it would do to provoke the dwarf to a shapechange— a wild creature might well tear them in pieces— but he had faith in Loki’s cunning and held his peace.

  Albric’s face was red with fury. He clutched the tarnhelm to his chest and almost hopped in rage. “Call me a liar! I will show you. What shall I become?”

  “Oh, something simple, not to strain your powers.” Mockery flickered in Loki’s voice.

  “Beware.” Albric looked at him darkly. “I will become the most fearsome creature known to mortal man. Stand back.” Clapping the tarnhelm on his head, he began to mutter indistinguishable words.

  Loki cast Odin a swift and sparkling glance, retreating a few paces. A cloud of dark smoke formed around the dwarf, and he began to swell. Odin watched from the shadows, motionless and alert, as Albric’s skin thickened to heavy plates, his fingers lengthened to talons, his face grew long and grotesque. The smoke dissipated. A wicked tail lashed in the corners of the cavern, and over Loki loomed a dragon, jaws parted in a terrible grin, belching fire.

  Loki cringed in terror. “Do not eat me!” he cried, falling to his knees so pitiably that Odin was nearly convinced. The dragon emitted a great rumble of satisfaction, dragging its bulk a few paces closer, and Loki flung himself to the ground as if in mortal dread.

  The dragon gave a great “Hah!” and vanished. In its place stood Albric, capering and smirking with delight.

  Shamefaced, Loki climbed to his feet. “You startled me.”

  “Startled!” crowed Albric. “You were terrified, admit it! You cannot say my magic is imaginary now.”

  “I suppose not.” Loki brushed off his coat delicately. “Of course, that was one of the simpler transformations. It would do, I suppose, to terrify your enemies when nothing more subtle is required.”

  “Subtle!” said Albric. “What do you mean, simple? What is more awesome than a dragon?”

  “Nothing,” said Loki with a shudder. “Nothing at all. But it is easy to grow in size; I daresay your magic would find it harder to shrink you.”

  “I can become anything!” Albric sputtered. “Anything large or small, hideous or delightful, dangerous or harmless.”

  “Surely.” Loki hid a smile. “But not something as small, say, as a toad?”

  “Nothing simpler!” Albric pulled the tarnhelm over his ears again. “Watch closely.” He muttered to himself, and this time the murky darkness clung close about him, obscuring him as he shrank.

  Odin strode closer. As the fog cleared he saw a small gray shape crouching on the ground where Albric had stood.

  Loki leaped forward and set his foot on the toad. “Quick!” he hissed. “The fetter.”

  Odin pulled the sleek coils of Gleipnir from beneath his cloak, and with deft motions Loki wound its strands around the toad. He was just in time; for the toad struggled wildly, its eyes darting venomous hate, then in a puff of foul dark smoke began to swell again. In an eyeblink Albric stood before them, but so entangled was he in the strands of Gleipnir that he could scarcely move. Loki flung a few more coils round him and Odin caught the ends, binding the dwarf’s arms tightly to his sides.

  “No rope can bind me,” gasped Albric, struggling hard. “I have the ring!”

  “Ah, yes, the ring,” said Loki. “No doubt Gleipnir is the only cord in existence tough enough to withstand your powers, but what is strong enough for the Wolf will no doubt hold you.”

  “Villains!” raged Albric, writhing in the cords. “Scurrilous traitors!” He began to call down curses on their heads, each more virulent than the last, but so transported with fury was he that soon he ran out of words and began to sputter and hiss.

  “Your pot is boiling over, dwarf lord,” said Loki with a malicious grin. “Be careful, or you will put out your fire.”

  Albric glared at him. “You tricked me. I know you now— the troublemaker Loki, father of serpents and witches. And you!” He spat at Odin. “Odin One-eye, oath breaker! Lord of the Aesir, the parasites who take all the treasures we make. You will get nothing from me. Nothing, I swear! Turn me loose, or I will turn your gizzards to red-hot iron, I will freeze your lungs to ice.” He raised his voice in a shriek. “Dwarves! Help, ho! Seize these spies!”

  Loki glanced toward the entrance to the cavern. “Shall we go, my lord? I fear our presence may become an embarrassment.”

  “The dwarves will not rush to his rescue,” said Odin grimly. “They are not overfull of love for their master. But I am weary of gloomy caves; let us go.”

  Dragging Albric between them, they made their way back to the tunnel by which they had entered.

  When they were gone, Mimir came softly out of the shadows behind the forge. He went to the cleft and stood listening to Albric’s yells until they dwindled to a dim whistling sound far off. “Good riddance,” he muttered to himself as he turned away. “But I wish they had not taken the ring,” he added under his breath.