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A moment later he lowered the glass and stared in bewilderment towards the fjord. In a flash he realized what was happening, and set off home at full speed.

Heedless of Ossa and the meal she had already waiting for him, he dashed up to his father’s room, not even stopping, as was his wont, to caress the fair curly head of tiny Gudrun, the three-year-old daughter of Pall à Seyru, whom Ørlygur had adopted. Ormarr loved the child.

He did not stop till he reached his father’s bed. When Ørlygur opened his eyes, he saw Ormarr standing before him, very pale, and breathless with his speed. The sight startled even the King of Borg out of his habitual calm; he sat up with a start. Realizing instinctively that something was wrong, he reached out for his clothes at once.

“What is it, my son?”

“Father... Sera Daniel... carting his wool in already to the station....”

Ørlygur was already getting into his clothes. He stopped motionless for a second; then a faint smile passed over his face, and he seemed to be thinking. In less than a minute he had made up his mind.