Grey mist scudded low, billowing on the sharp-gusting wind, obscuring the sea and all upon it. Overhead, the sky remained bright and blue, untroubled by haze and mist. Murdo, after so long a time at sea, stood at the prow gazing into the dense grey wall, refusing to accept defeat by anything so insubstantial as fog. Somewhere on the sea ahead lay the whale-like humped backs of the Orkney islands, and he meant to see them.

The voyage from Constantinople, though long, had been uneventful. For most of the journey, they had enjoyed the company not only of King Magnus' fleet, but of Venetian and Genoese ships as well. Now that the Holy Land was secured, the merchant princes were eager to establish trading ties with the new Latin kingdoms. Their cargo-laden ships were already plying the sea of Middle Earth in increasing numbers.

Magnus, intent on inducing more men to help him carry away the wealth of the East, took leave of Count Bohemond in Constantinople, vowing to return as soon as he could arrange his affairs and acquire more ships. He then pursued a relentless course west and north, sailing always by the shortest routes and making the best running whenever the wind obliged-which gratified Murdo, and saved Gorm from a plague of incessant demands for speed from an impatient passenger.

Upon reaching the Caithness coast, the doughty king made landfall near his principal Scottish residence at Thorsa. Little more than a mud-and-timber fishing settlement, it nevertheless boasted a large and lordly hall, and a new stone church. Within moments of his arrival, the king ordered a feast to celebrate his safe return. While the ale vats were being set up outside the hall, he called Murdo to him and bade the young man to stay. 'I will make you one of my house carles,' Magnus offered. 'Together we could win much plunder in the Holy Land, you and I.'

'My place is here, and here I mean to stay. But if I ever return to Jerusalem, I will not undertake the journey with anyone else,' Murdo declared. 'Despite the trouble between us, no other lord has treated me half so well as you, King Magnus. For that I am grateful, and will erect a shrine in your memory as soon as I have established myself in my new lands.'

'As to that,' the king replied, 'come to me when you are ready, and we will set out the boundaries of your realm.'

'That I will, lord,' Murdo replied. He stayed one night on dry land, and set off the following day for the Dark Isles, having tempted Jon Wing with the promise of a substantial reward for delivering him swiftly to Hrolfsey.

Dawn was still a mere rumour in the sky as Ronan, Fionn, and Emlyn walked down to the strand with Murdo to see him away. 'The king will remain here gathering men and provisions until mid-summer,' the elder priest informed him, 'and then he plans to go to Norway and do the same. He hopes to depart for Jerusalem before winter and, unless God intends otherwise, we will go with him.'

'I will come back as soon as I can,' Murdo promised.

'Do that,' the elder priest advised. 'I would see you settled before we leave.'

'The sooner we are away,' Jon Wing said, starting towards the boat, 'the sooner we can return.' He moved on, shouting to his pilot. 'Gorm! Make ready to sail!'

'We will say farewell then, Murdo, and pray for you a swift and safe return.' Ronan raised his hand in benediction. 'Bless you, my friend. May the Lord of Life shield you and protect you until we meet again.'

Murdo thanked the priests and added, 'Save some ale; we will lift a jar together when I return.'

Jon Wing called him then, and Murdo bade the priests farewell and started towards the ship, only to find Emlyn by his side once more. 'Why farewell?' asked the monk. 'Am I not going with you? How will you find your way back without me to guide you?'

Murdo smiled, and accepted the priest's offer. Jon Wing clapped his hands loudly. 'Over the side those staying behind!' he cried, then leaned over the rail and called to the men waiting on the shore. 'Here now! Stand to! Push us away!'

The ship lurched awkwardly and Murdo heard the keel scraping against the pebble shingle. 'Heave!' shouted Jon Wing to the shoremen. 'Heave away!'

The men groaned and all at once the shingle dropped away and the boat glided into deeper water. 'To oars!' called Gorm from the tiller. Murdo, Emlyn, and the three crewmen snatched up long oars from the holders at the rail, and set themselves to rowing. In a few moments, the dragon-prowed longship was sliding through the dark waters of the bay.

Upon rounding the protecting headland, the ship turned north and onto the open sea. The sails were raised at Gorm's command, and the rowers shipped their oars as Skidbladnir began its run to the islands.

The day broke dull and murky with a dense sea mist on the water and thin grey clouds high above. All morning long Murdo stood at the prow searching through the shifting sea mist for the first glimpse of his homeland. His vigilance was rewarded when, just after midday, the sun burned through the hanging overcast. The sudden warmth banished the mist and all at once Murdo found himself gazing at the smooth, shapely hills of the Orkney isles.

From the direction of their approach, he thought he could make out the low flat rise of the Dyrness headland, and beyond it, pale blue in the distance, the steeper hump of Hrolfsey. Murdo's heart beat faster, and he at last allowed himself to contemplate the homecoming he might receive-a craving he had not dared indulge all the long months at sea. Now, with home in sight, and his journey swiftly nearing its end, he could no longer hold back the flood of images that rose within him: Ragna with her hair long and glinting golden in the sun, her arms outstretched in glad welcome; his mother, smiling through her tears to see him, hurrying to gather him into her loving embrace; Lady Ragnhild, warmly extending her hands in the blessing of her daughter's betrothal…

Oh, but there were less happy moments to come. It would be his sad duty to tell the women that their husbands and sons would not be coming home.

At Murdo's direction, Gorm held Skidbladnir on a steady course for Hrolfsey, rounding the Dyrness peninsula and passing swiftly along the wild eastern coast. Murdo stood at the helm with the pilot, guiding him by old and familiar landmarks through the narrow straits between the mainland and the scattering of islands and islets. From a distance they could see Kirkjuvagr, which, after the shimmering white port cities of the East, now seemed small and impossibly colourless and crabbed to Murdo. The sleek ship carried them swiftly on and soon Hrolfsey loomed into view.

The sun was low in the west when they finally slid into the deep-water bay below Cnoc Carrach. Murdo pointed out the house, observing that all appeared quiet and in good order; he would have leaped from the ship then and there, but Jon Wing advised caution.

'It has been two years, you know,' the seaman warned lightly. 'Maybe things have changed a little. It might be good to let them know you are coming before bursting in upon them.'

'Changed?' demanded Murdo as if he had never heard the word. 'They are waiting for me.'

'Maybe they are,' allowed Jon sagely, 'but maybe they are busy with other things.'

'What other things?' Murdo stared at him as if the Norseman had lost his mind.

'Two years is a long time,' Jon answered with a shrug.

'He is right,' put in Emlyn. 'Perhaps it would be best if we went ahead of you.'

'Then you must catch me first,' replied Murdo. With that he was over the side and flying up the steep path as if all the Seljuqs in Palestine were baying for his blood. Jon Wing shook his head as he watched him go. 'He is stubborn, that one.'

'He is young,' Emlyn said. 'Come, we will go and share in his welcome, and pray that it is all he hopes.'