Were they not so open in their scrutiny, the two might be mistaken for spies. As it was, they were ignored, for neither was unknown around the city. The younger was Hort, a lowly storyteller; the older, Hakiem, once a talespinner himself and mentor to Hort, was now adviser to the ruler of the Beysib.
“Well, it actually looks like they’re going.”
“Of course,” Hakiem replied without looking at his friend. “Did you doubt it?”
“Yes, and so did you.” Hort smiled. “But that didn’t keep us from being out here at dawn. We should have known that even if anything happened, it wouldn’t happen until later.”
“True enough. Still, if we had slept in and they had decided to get underway on time, we would have missed it completely.”
The younger man snuck a sideways glance at Hakiem.
“I can see where that would affect me,” he said, “but why should it make any difference to you? Your storytelling days are behind you now.”
“Call it habit,” the old man grunted. “Besides, an adviser needs infor- mation as much as a storyteller, and the best information is still that which you gather yourself.”
The men fell silent as another pair of Stepsons rode by
“Well, it actually looks like they’re going,” Hort repeated, almost to himself.
Hakiem hawked and spat noisily in the dust.
“Good riddance!” he declared with sudden vehemence. “The sooner they’re clear of the town, the better it will be for all of us! There has been nothing but chaos and death in the city since they arrived. Maybe now things will return to normal!”