Silence once again settled inside the hut. Only the faint creaking of old wood and the soft rocking of the old man's chair could be heard.
Zaber did not raise his head. But his fists were clenched.
The old man half-opened his eyes and studied him closely. This gaze was not an ordinary look — it was as though he were seeing not Zaber himself, but the thing inside him.
"You are mistaken, boy," he said at last. "I need neither your money nor your sword. Helping you is not even necessary."
Zaber took a deep breath. "Then what do you want?"
The old man smiled. This smile was not warm — on the contrary, it was dangerous.
"Your time."
Zaber frowned. "How so?"
The old man slowly rose from his chair. He was not taller than Zaber, yet the pressure in the room suddenly shifted. Even Limir stirred slightly in Zaber's arms.
