One day the King turned to the women that danced and said to them:
"Dance no more," and those that bore the wine in jewelled cups he sent
away. The palace of King Ebalon was emptied of sound of song and there
rose the voices of heralds crying in the streets to find the prophets
of the land.

Then went the dancers, the cupbearer and the singers down into the hard
streets among the houses, Pattering Leaves, Silvern Fountain and Summer
Lightning, the dancers whose feet the gods had not devised for stony
ways, which had only danced for princes. And with them went the singer,
Soul of the South, and the sweet singer, Dream of the Sea, whose voices
the gods had attuned to the ears of kings, and old Istahn the cupbearer
left his life's work in the palace to tread the common ways, he that
had stood at the elbows of three kings of Zarkandhu and had watched his
ancient vintage feeding their valour and mirth as the waters of
Tondaris feed the green plains to the south. Ever he had stood grave
among their jests, but his heart warmed itself solely by the fire of
the mirth of Kings. He too, with the singers and dancers, went out into
the dark.

And throughout the land the heralds sought out the prophets thereof.
Then one evening as King Ebalon sat alone within his palace there were
brought before him all who had repute for wisdom and who wrote the
histories of the times to be. Then the King spake, saying: "The King
goeth upon a journey with many horses, yet riding upon none, when the
pomp of travelling shall be heard in the streets and the sound of the
lute and the drum and the name of the King. And I would know what
princes and what people shall greet me on the other shore in the land
to which I travel."