Slowly, Urcea untangled herself from the pile, which was inset somewhat in the floor. Without the pillows, the air struck her as less mild. She fished a blanket from the bedding and wrapped herself.
She waded, half tripping, to the edge and stepped out onto the floor, which was of fairly smooth, red sandstone. It was warm on her feet, though the air around her had somewhat of a chill.
She walked to the edge of the room in a few short strides. From here, she had a vantage over a wide, low desert country, bathed in the moonless dark.
While the air was cool, waves of heat rose from the sand and scrub, distorting the far horizon, rippling the low mountains.
Why had her majesty shown her the vision of the Rainbird? It left Urcea empty and aching to think about it. Never had a dream been so beautiful.
To think that all this-- all of it-- could be born upon, be the very flesh of, a thing so magificent... Even should she disbelieve it, and at the moment she could not dream of how she might come to truly believe it, still she could never look at the world in quite the same way again.
Though she love Highseat above all other things, yet it was a small thing against the vastness...
At that moment, a great creature, very like in aspect to the Rainbird descended out of the night, and landed away in the desert. The bird-creature was, Urcea supposed, several fathoms tall and its wingspan looked to be nearly half a stadium tip to tip, dwarfing its elegant body. Its face shone with a gentle light. It was arrayed in feathers of every color which glistened with moisture.
It had landed with an easy grace, and shed a feather as it settled. This feather was just like the ones she'd seen at the bazaar early (she thought) that day.
Then a figure dismounted from the bird. From that distance Urcea could see the form was female, and she began to walk, slowly, each step measured in the sand, toward Urceas pavillion.
As she came, the great bird folded its wings behind her and settled into a hollow. In the darkness its shimmering colors became indistinct.
Urcea could now see the figure was a young woman. She felt no unease at her approach, for there was something familiar in her, as if Urcea knew her for an old friend. She had a graceful way about her, that though she came forth on bare feet, yet she also moved sinuously.
No great breeze came, but as Urcea watched, a chill went across her in that warm place. She stepped out into the night, which might have surprised the approaching woman, for she stopped about a hundred paces out. But Urcea went purposefully toward her.

Dumb stuff, gotta work on it still

A little forward motion and lots of little bits of cleanup... falling asleep now, though . : )

Urcea awoke, in her undergarments, in a pile of pillows. She batted her eyes and looked about. The room, dark, lit only by mostly melted candles spaced about the edges of the room, was unfamiliar to her. The shape and colors of the room, the inlays of cloud and bird, led her to believe she awoke within Noctylatl's demesne.
She felt fresh and rested, calm.
As she took in her surroundings she saw that the room was not closed, but the darkness beyond the low arches surrounding her were open to the air, and beyond, the moonless, cloudy blue night played tricks on her eyes.
No sounds reached her ear, and only the faintest breeze caressed her or the dying candles.

"I work for the Gazette."

He frowned at her. "You were following me, after all."
She could feel the color rising on her neck, but she held his eyes. "Of course, but not for the reason you thought."
"And that makes all the difference! So what's your scoop?"
"Highseat County Press already scooped us. They proposed that your father's rail is merging with Westerly. Anyway, that's why I'm passaging on the Airelighter instead of taking the, frankly, quicker steamer--"
"But less luxurious--"
"Granted."
He surveyed the men around them, "My father didn't tell me about this. I'm to survey the lands about Westerly Bay and see what negotiations would it take to start our own line... from across the desert. But it's plausible... as a back-up he could just buy out Westerly. Not a merger exactly, but a merger of sorts."
"And Westerly's lords could stand to lose quite a bit."
"Exactly! You think like a capitalist! That's their game, though I wonder now what father's might be."
He looked thoughtful. " You said you'd be on a steamer? So I'm not the only story?"

"Ma'am! This area is restricted to guests." He looked to Torvus for reassurance. He nodded.
"It's my fault she's out here."
Then both men offered hands to help her rise. Her face lined with creases. For a moment she stared at Torvus, hoping his head would catch fire. At that, she might have forgiven him. As it was she smiled at the sailor and took his proffered hand, shakily, and wrapped her arm in his. He was only a little taller than she.
Torvus was all business. "There could be more men. This is something more than mere business."
Urcea found this an incredibly odd thing to say. "You've been shot at before?"
"Several times. It comes with the work. Can't bring civilization to the world without angering certain interests. Ma'am... Excuse my manners. I'm Torvus Smithy-Stelton..."
"Janeu Wainbright."
He laughed, "Come now, you've nothing to fear from me. My father owns the Airelighter. We're under strict scrutiny at all times. So you know who I am. I apologize for my behavior early, I must look a right brute.
"I'm afraid I got a bit suspicious of you when I heard you spoke to a man we caught trying to get at the passenger manifests. When you spoke to the wait and then got up shortly after glancing at me, I thought I should act first."
He looked at her sharply. "So there's no Wainbright in the manifests..."
Urcea sighed and extended her hand. "Urcea Whitemoat of Highseat."
"Whitemoat... Whitemoat..." he turned the name around in his head for a while.
"My father is the governor of Highseat," she offered.
"No, no... I've heard it somewhere..."
She cringed, knowing he'd remember eventually. He studied her expression, puzzled. She signed a final time

so tiiiiiiired

"Sir Torvus!" he cried. "Are you alright, sir?"
Urcea just stopped herself from inhaling sharply. Over the wind, she was sure no one had noticed. So this was Torvus Smithy-Stelton of Aurumdale, the heir to the Aurumdale Freight Line.
Torvus grunted and nodded. He swept their environs, taking special note of the rigging and fold-down walks above them.
"Doesn't appear to be any damage."
"Who do you think it was, sir?"
"Well, this one wasn't involved, I know that."
The sailor turned to where he motioned and started. In the dark, in her dark dress, in his haste to (check on) (it was now clear to Urcea) his boss.

"Who sent you?" the young man called to his assailants, but he was only answered with a mocking laugh.
He leveled his pistol and fired. One of the men was sent cart-wheeling over the railing in a spray of dark blood. Urcea watched the body fall a long way, cringing; she all but wrapped herself around the railing, grabbing it as she was with both arms and her body pressed against it.
She looked up in time to see the other assailant flee. In the confusion, she couldn't tell which man it was.
The young man tucked his pistol into his coat and approached Urcea where she (crouched) against the rails.
As he did, an armed sailor came from the door behind them.

on phone, cant paste, i guess

"Merely a formality, paati." He bowed.

Oru returned it, deeply. He then beckoned his men to gather round him. They crowded in on each side of him, shoulder to shoulder, three or four men deep. He raised his hands and closed his eyes. Wordlessly he spoke good favor over them, the soduus, and looked at them.

Though their eyes remained closed, as he finished the soduus, as a body their faces turned to the sky, as if involuntarily.

Oru smiled at each of his young men, and each in return. And then, clasping each others' hands, the turned away from Oru as a group and left him, headed for the capitol's southern gate, and thence home.

It would be many months before Oru could hope to see any of them again.

When they had come within a dozen paces of the gaurds, Oru dismounted.
"Welcome traveler. I do not know you. State your business." The tall, severe soldier had stepped forward, jingling somewhat as he came, and appraised Oru and his men. He filled out his shingle-plate mail impressively. His black eyes looked down his prominent nose from the shadows; swarthy skin peeked out from under his plumed helmet. Where he wasn't covered in shingle, green silk, viridian really, shone and swirled. Here was a man of high station, strong and proud.
"I am Oru, Cerpus Paati of the Southern Order. I have been summoned by the Divine Father."
"And those men?"
"My young men shall be leaving me here."

As the watery sun rose above the icy dome of heaven the came to a turn in the road near the middle of the ascent with a remarkable vantage on the surrounding countryside. The highway, the gentle hillocks, the manor houses with their gardens all spread behind them into the ice-blue mists of the capitol morning.
Then the road turned, and the ascent was surrounded by one of many market districts. Here the road was paved with a rust-colored stone, fanning like the tail of a bird, and widened considerably.
There were no hawkers here. The merchants and their help were dressed in fine linen and silk. On platforms at intervals along the road, musicians of singular calibre plied their trade. It was quite a sight, and Oru noted the grins on the faces of his young acolytes, to see the mingling throngs tossing small coins up to the platforms (some as high as twenty hands over the tallest heads), a custom which was as much game for the crowd as livelihood for the musicians. On occasion, a particularly fat coin might hit the platform, or a coin might hit very near the musician, which would cause them to rise and bow (even as they played) and often elicited cheers from the throng.
At one point, the young acolyte with the bamboo flute picked up the tune as they passed, and the crowd tossed coins to him. He looked to Oru with somewhat of worry upon his face, but Oru just smiled his catlike smile.
The young man passed the coins to children as they passed.
Too soon, the road turned again, and they found themselves on the upper plateau, here the road, now a tree-lined avenue, ran straight as an arrow to the summit, where sat the emperor's palace. To either side of the road, government buildings and civil servants' houses towered above them. Here, floating gardens the size of small houses drifted toward the frozen sky, some just blots of blue-dark against the dazzle.

For now, though, he opened himself to the sights and sounds around him. Already, the city was bustling to life. As they passed the palisades and headed into the city, whose rock now lay bare before their eyes to the very road, throngs of folk pressed outward on their country errands.
The road wound gently up, stairs and switchbacks cutting between the buildings he'd seen from the countryside. Here they were cast in cool shadow, there they passed into the burgeoning warmth of the morning sun. Banners and laundry, signs and streamers crossed and recrossed the roadway, casting their fluttering shadows on the busy moving below.

By nightfall they reached the gates of the city, more pallisade than proper wall. It stretched off into the darkness of the pale moon, rolling over gently country in the shadow of the great city rock.
Though a man of his rank merited a breach of the night defense, the gatekeeper was stubborn. An acolyte argued with him for a substantial part of the watch before return to Oru. He shrugged his shoulders.
The man expected a bribe. Oru lay upon the road before the gate, and his men followed suit. They could hear the man grumbling as they settled themselves.
They awoke to excited tittering. Country and townfolk stood near them in the road, waiting, with especial humor, for the gates to open.

From phone.

almost to 20k