Once the old lady had shunted her back through the archway and shut the gate, the boy was there, already bowing to her.
Urcea smoothed her skirts and fixed her hat. She took a slow, deep breath. The air without the inner chamber seemed much lighter. Fog cleared from her mind.
Once she had looked herself over and stood staring at the boy for a moment (had it been a dream?), she took another hesitating step toward him, then opened her mouth to speak.
Before the words could escape her throat, the young boy spun on his heel and set off down the hall, briskly. This was the same way Urcea had come to reach the audience chamber when she had entered Noctylatl's palace. They must have (strode) two or three stadia before she recognized the main thoroughfare.
Here there were many people. Tall, thin, orange-ruddy skin. Many of them wore elaborate hooded cloaks.
It seemed to Urcea that the taller persons were most likely to stay further away.
Far off to their left now she caught a glimpse of the main gate, for here the large hallway opened out into a sort of covered market. Even under the protection of the great rough, lost in darkness except where here and there some bright surface reflected a stray bit of afternoon sun, many of the keepers of the bazaar had set up tents.
These tents were of the most haphazard sort Urcea had ever seen. Nothing like the tailored pavillions of the races or an afternoon upon the grounds. These were pied in the brightest dyes imaginable, sewn together roughly with great twine threads visible clearly from a bow's-shot away. Here and there even the skins of animals added to the parti-colored tents. But what struck Urcea as more than passing strange were the giant feathers.
Each one was as tall as she, or taller, each predominantly of a single color, but each a different color from its neighbors.