22
Adam was mid-sentence when his gaze, passing over Palustric’s shoulder, met a stranger’s eye. The eye was pale grey and belonged to an old man seated in the corner of the quiet inn. He was entirely grey—hair, beard, hooded cloak and clothes. Maybe that was why Adam hadn’t noticed him before, but it was clear that the Stranger was listening as the boy told of his adventure in the Citadel. His stare never wavered as Adam met his eye; instead, he stood up and crossed to their table, where he sat down without a word.
The old man slowly drew back his hood and smiled at Adam. The boy studied the long, thin, wrinkled face and had the feeling that he already knew him. But it wasn’t the Stranger that he knew; rather, he recognised the feeling. The Stranger seemed old, as old as the hills or th
