Chapter 2

Chapter 2
    

    Two Dargon torches hung low on the walls near the altar, soaked in scented oils.  Sweet smoke filled the empty chapel with a subtle sweetness.  The flickering torches’ golden light shimmered across the decorated walls and high vaulted ceilings, exposing the paintings of ancient times.  Dipping her finger-tips in the carved stone hull of cleansing water, Galedian Moonspur let loose her relief in a single, quiet sigh as she made the sign of Habbuku.  
    The abandoned temple brought selfish happiness to her this day.  In the past few months of her father’s betrothal of her to the house of Deacon De’Aconte, the temple had been her refuge and a place of peace to gather her thoughts.  
    When she was younger and stayed with the mystics of Habbuku, Galedian came here often to study the colorful pictures and legends of ancient times when the old Gods were seen in the stars.  She would climb upon the balcony of the stone keep in the storms when the clouds billowed, the rain stung, and the winds drove their fearsome anger down upon the lands.  There she would fancy a powerful magic called her to forgotten times, such a deep soul shaking, invigorating, nameless sensation that excited her and filled her with fright.  
    So it was on this day, Galedian came to the temple where she did not find wild dreams; instead she was lost in child hood memories.  She would spring into a run to meet her father on the battlements, for often he had been gone to war for months.  He would greet her with a gentle embrace and a warm smile.  
    Hauken Moonspur was a hard man, a man of codes and honor, his ways were stern and his ways were unbending.  After raising four sons his wife died giving birth to his only daughter.  Most Lords considered the birth of a girl to be a loss, no honor, no deeds, no chivalry....only to give land and gold to marry them off for gained loyalties.  Not Hauken, no, he loved his daughter as a blessing.  He was softened with her, so he named her Galedian which means God-sent.  
    Galedian was protected from the normal squirmishes of women folk.  She was educated in politics, and sent to the temple to be trained in the ways of Habbuku.  In the cold seasons she returned home during which times her father taught her daggers and bows.  That’s when it happened, her true inspiration, she was out one afternoon shooting her bow.
      A youthful nine years in the battlements, a group of grouse fled a nearby field and lighted in some trees at the woods edge.  Galedian thought she would please her father and sneak close to the birds and bring home supper, she always wanted to receive his approving smile.  So it was decided though she knew by leaving the battlements unsupervised, she was breaking her father’s wishes.  
    “It is dangerous outside the walls of the keep for a young Lass.”  He would say to her. “Women folk should not be alone outside their place.”
    He would be proud of her though, and without further hesitation she was off.  As the temple got further away, she realized the distance to the woods was greater than appeared.  Fear slowly began to grip her.  Her pace slowed and for several moments she froze.  Looking around she understood, she was in the open and could be seen by anyone or thing that might happen by.  Suddenly there was movement near the tree-line, her mind raced.  Wolves, bears, or worse yet, goblins she thought.  She could feel her heart pound beneath her chest, which was covered only by the thin woven material of her dress and a wool cloak she had over her shoulders.
 Galedian squinted her eyes and stared hard at the precise location of the beast.  The grass parted, a large brown and red creature slowly made its way toward her, and then separated into eight full grown grouse.  At that moment, she let out her breath which she’d been holding and pulled out a white feathered arrow from the quiver on her back.  With the target in sight she guessed the distance to be about a hundred yards.  Pulling the string tight, the shaft resting on her thumb.....Twingnng the bow sang as her bolt of death flew through the air, completely over the grouse and into the woods, scaring her prey to flight.  
    Full of exhilaration she ran to retrieve her wandering arrow.  Breaking the wood edge at half momentum, she leaped over a small fallen Birchwood.  Crash!  Flung to the ground, she was surprised as her bow hung on a thicket of brush and pulled her backwards in midstep.  
    “Are you hurt?”...a deep gruff voice asked her.
    Galedian was horrified; scampering to get to her feet, a large hand covered in blood halted her on the shoulder.  
    “Stay down child, there are bandits about...” The voice ordered her.
    Turning wide eyed and open mouthed prepared to scream, she turned to face her capture.Staring back at her was a large man.  His eyes were of deep blue and his hair - long, thick, and dark like the mane of a wolf, whipped wildly around his shoulders.  A beard began to show itself, gripping his face now several days old.  
    “I.... am a.....Moonspur....” She stammered.  “House.... father..... Temple.”  She started, but it all came out gibberish.
    His eyes narrowed “SHUSH!”  He glanced around, studying the foliage and thickets.
    As her wits slowly returned to her, Galedian remembered the blood on his hands.  She looked the man over, up and down.  From his armor and the sword clasped in his other hand, she figured him a knight of some order.  Relieved with this discovery she knew she was safe, he would not harm her.  
    “You are hurt?”.... She whispered.  “Where?”
    The dark blue eyes of the huge man fell upon her with a warning glimmer in them.  
    “I can help.” She said, cringing.
    He slowly rolled from his setting position exposing the wound in his side.  An arrow, a white feathered arrow, protruded from the wound.  It was buried deep and could be fatal.  
    Galedian began to shake, her blood ran cold and she could feel the color wash from her face.  She recognized the arrow as her own; she could be severely punished for injuring a knight, evenly possibly put to death if he were a noble.  Seeing that the young girl was completely taken with fear, he spoke in a calmer voice.  “How many are there?  Did you see them?”  He asked her quietly.  
    She looked from him to the arrow, then to the bow hanging from its snag on the limb, then back to him.  She felt the urge to tell him they were not under attack, but the fear swelled in her throat chocking back her confession.  
    Thinking they were about to be ambushed, he sprang to his feet with the speed of a tiger, and spinning around as if not wounded, he faced his foe.  He saw nothing but an unusually small bow hanging from a gnarled branch.  Turning to question the terrified Las, he noticed a quiver of white feathered arrows slung around her back.  
    “Where are you from?”  He asked, narrowing his gaze to study her.
    All Galedian could do was point hesitantly in the direction of the temple.  Understanding now the cause of the child’s fear, he pulled the arrow from his ribs and holding it out in his hand, he offered it to her.  She was surprised at his action and the fact that he ripped the arrow out himself, her blank stare fell upon the bloodied shaft.  
    Calling to his horse which she had not noticed at all, he tore a thin piece of material from his cloak and wiped the arrow clean.  Then turning his gaze to the girl, he said, “Here, take it....it’s a good arrow.”
    She was now aware that he knew she was his assailant.  Tears strained at her eyes as she turned to choke back the sobs rising in her throat.
    “I was pract... a...hunting grouse. Please...I didn’t...SORRY.”
    “Help me.”  He stopped her babbling with his harsh request.     “The bleeding must be stopped or the scent will draw unwelcome attention to us.”  He said; in a deep charming voice that sounded of experience and battle wear.
    As he removed his cloak and shirt that’s when she noticed, not only his dark skin and well muscled arms and chest - thick and tight, but also the mark on his arm.  High upon his shoulder was a dragon, wings stretched upright with his head down in a descending flight to greet mankind.  It was the mark of Habbuku.  
    A smile spread across Galedian’s lips at her recollection of the man.  For years she would wonder about him.....strange, dark, and handsome.  The stranger she shot and dreamt of.  She never learned his name but he returned her to the temple, stayed for a week healing, and left saying nothing.   He never told her father what happened.  When asked, he simply said without lying, he did not see his attacker.
    Galedian never spoke of the man, but to her it was a revelation to show her her path to become high priestess, to heal and fight, to banish the evil that had been here for so long.  She had devoted her studies hard to learn of Habbuku and his will, and learn the secrets of magic to free her world of war.  
    Tears stung her eyes, as unwanted, complex emotions of her heart and her womanly duties came crashing together.  Jareth was seven years younger than she, and her father had promised the house of de’Aconte her hand in marriage, he had betrothed her.   His idea was to unite the families to help protect the lands and holdings from the foul creatures that are prowling about causing havoc.
    Galedian closed her eyes and breathed in the peace of this place.  As it washed over her, the peace seemed to become a living thing, and she could feel her heart beating in a rhythm with the universe.  Her breath slowed and she could feel.............Habbuku.
    “A hum.”  The sound of a clearing throat, obviously fake, interrupted her.
    “Jareth....my you frightened me.”  She confessed with a performed smile, to hide her anguish.
He was a short twelve years old and prudent for his age.  
He sniffled “I’m going to catch cold up here”.  He professed it as though it were her fault.
    “You didn’t come here to pray Jareth... did you?”  She said in a half excited voice, so he wouldn’t understand her sarcasm.
    “I was sent to bid you come to the guest room.... a young messenger of the court has been brought.”  ....he paused a second, “He has been badly hurt.”
    “Isn’t the nurse maid Abby or Father Drindell with him?”  She asked.
    “The Father cannot be found, he left earlier.”
    Alarmed, Galedian made her way down the steep staircase carved of wood or stone, she never could quite tell, for the craftsmanship was elven.  
    “Abby asked me to find you...”  Jareth said to Galedian.
    They now traveled down the dark narrow corridor that joined the temple to the main house.  The passage was mainly used by the priests and scholars.  
    “Do you know where we are going?” Jareth snickered, implying her gender to the relative choice of direction.
    “This way is quicker than through the hall of prayers.”  Galedian replied.
    “You know, mother will have you converted when we wed.  This witchcraft won’t be tolerated!”  He said with disgust, as he emphasized the word tolerated.  “She is already in the process of the arrangements for you to be removed from this blasphemous place and to come stay with us the last three months before the wedding.”
    Galedian could not say what welled in her heart; Jareth would surely have her punished after they married.  So in a silent retort, she quickened her pace.
    “I am to escort you to your father’s keep Galedian, three days hence, then to house de’ Aconte, where you will be put in your place.”  He added for good measure.
    As they made their way into the wine cellar the sweet smell of vintage filled her nostrils.  Knowing that this place was dangerous on the wet floors, soaked with froth from the leaky aging barrels that blended with fungus to form a thin slime, she stepped carefully.
    “Maybe Jareth will slip and break his neck...”  She thought, then stopped herself, thinking, “Oh Galedian, don’t think such thoughts, your letting the pampered master get to you.”
    There was a middle aged woman dressed in finely woven fleece, wool and a novice robe of blue.  The tiny little white apron was pulled tight, showing her plumpness.  She was setting beside the bed on a small wooden stool that strained under her weight.  She was wringing out a rag in a pail of cold water, when Galedian pushed open the door and glided in.
    At the sight of Galedian, she jumped so fast that the stool went sliding across the stone floor. “Oh praise be to you!”  Abbey said relieved to see Galedian.
    “Is he dying?”  Galedian spoke hesitantly.
    “I’m not sure mistress - though he has a high fever and shortness of breath.”
    Galedian knelt beside the straw stuffed mattress that lay upon the cold stone floor, and slowly pulled at the musty - blood soaked sheets.  Galedian caught her breath at the sight.  “Send for some clotting oil, marjoram, and dragon’s root.”
    “Been done ma’m.”  Abby replied.    
    “When?”
    As if in answer a young thin blonde girl of about the age of ten came in clutching some vials to her waist in a towel.  The tattered dress she wore was about to be outgrown, it came high above her feet and fit so tight that it revealed the tiny lumps on her chest, announcing her maturing nature.  Hurriedly the girl scattered over to Galedian, handing over the crucial ingredients.  
“Thank you, now fetch me some boiling water for a tonic.”
    “It’s just outside the door ma’m.” The girl said with a nod.
    “Good then.”  Galedian said approvingly.
    The young girl turned quickly to retrieve the kettle of hot water.  “I had to set it, to open the door.  I thought you’d want it to brew calming tea.”
    “Hold child.  Sarrah?  Is it? You’ve done well, go now to the maid’s chambers and ask for someone to bring me clean sheets and fresh bandages.”  She paused Waiting for the young girl to confirm her orders, then turned to Abby, “Abby bring the water and a cup”.  She then turned back to the child who was still standing there, “Hurry child!  Make sure they’re clean.... OK, then you can go play”.  Galedian yelled after the girl who bolted before she could finish.
    The wounds on the young Page were numerous, but only three concerned Galedian.  As she examined them she said as if impressed, “You must teach me this stitching Abby, it’s nicely done”.
    “Oh, it’s not as much my handy work as it is the string.”  She chuckled, knowing conversation would lighten the dismal air that brought gloom to the little room.  
    “The string!”  The baffled Galedian questioned.
    “Yes.’’  Answered Abby as Galedian began pulling the bandages laden with the special oils around the wounds, “The string I use is made of cat gut”.  
    Galedian wrinkled her face with disgust.  “Cat gut!”
    “Yes, its tough allowing the stitching to be pulled tight, and it don’t require cleansing oils to fight infection.”
    Silence now filled the room as Abby poured the elixir that was slightly warm now, gently down the life-clinging young Page.  Feeling Galedian’s nervousness, she attempted to encourage her in a calming voice of reassurance.  “You’ll do what can be done ma’m, nothing less.”
    Galedian closed her eyes, still kneeling, and prepared herself.  She must have complete concentration and unwavering faith.  Reaching deep within herself, she prayed to Habbuku, a forgotten God of the ages, and tried to feel him in her soul.  The tingling sensation pulsed in her fingertips, and the warmth spread through her hands as they lay upon the boys head and chest.  The faint hint of a glow could now be seen.  The young man’s breathing cleared and came easier and the color started to wash across his sunken white face.
    Suddenly “Thwack!”...his fists flung out catching the meditating Galedian square in the chin, breaking her concentration.  She flung herself on top of the man trying to hold him down.  His eyes were wide open and glazed with a wild, sleepy blackness as he struggled to get up.
    “Lay still, you’ll tear your mending.  You’re safe, rest now.”  Galedian ordered the man.
    “I need to get.... there - King, Al Deacon”.
    Galedian tried to make sense of his words of fever driven delirium.  “Please sir, we are trying to help!”  Her eyes darted around and her mind raced searching for something to assure him of no danger.  “OK... you’re there, listen, the King, OK.”
    The man abruptly went lax, his mouth hung open with surprise as he glanced about.  “I made it?”
    “Yes, yes.”  ....she lied, gently pressing her hand on his.
Galedian pondered on his revelation.  Then Abby inquired “Do you mean Hauken Moonspur?”
    The man’s face hardened as his hands grasped Galedian’s with a surprisingly strong grip, “You said I was here.”
    “You are.”
    His grip relaxed, “I must see him, I must tell him.”  His voice sounded dry and cracked as it worked its way through the fever seared lining of his throat.  “Tell him please.... tell him about the convention”.
    Galedian froze, for she was aware of a convention to be held in Youmanets at the tower of High Sorcery where her brother Gallen was a guard.  It would take place in ten days with the new moon.  The King is to attend with her father as an escort.  Her father said it was to unite the soldiers of each house to form and army and join the wizards that remained.  He said they had news of the source of chaos and were going to end it once and for all.
    Her full attention being captured by the young man’s ravings, she leaned close to him so as her face was mere inches from his.
“Tell me... tell me, please.”
    His face contorted and twisted with pain.... “It’s a rouse,” he paused as quick, sharp, ragged breaths raked in his chest.  Galedian now running out of patience raised her voice.
    “You mean the conference, why - who?” She asked alarmed.
    His eyes closed and his head went slack, falling against the sleek coolness of his pillow.  Galedian dipped the rag into the bucket filling it with cool water, then with a light wringing motion, released the excess and placed it on his forehead to ease the fever.
    “Tell me about the conference.” She said.
His eyes fluttered as if he were going to fall faint, then he gazed at her in bewilderment.
    “Tell me the plan.   What is it?”
 His dark eyes focused, “At the conference...secret...going to be attacked, catch…King off guard - capture him; in the war, darkness…… Always-darknesss.”  His voice trailed off weak.
    The torch beside the bed spattered and crackled sending up flares of tiny gold and yellow streams that gleamed off his sweat ridden face.  He then slid off into his own darkness.
    Her father, a knight, would willingly give his life protecting his Lord, and her brother who had just wed and was due a son.  He was her only surviving brother of the war.  Being a guard he would not hesitate to give his life either especially since father would be there.  They both followed code and honor.  This meant if there was betrayal they would both be slain trying to stop what was unforeseen.  
    Clutching her elbows and sinking down further into the floor, Galedian’s stomach twisted in knots of fear.  Someone must be sent, they must be warned, but who, and what were they to be told.  She couldn’t make sense of it all.  She obviously needed to send word.  Many questions would be raised but no satisfactory answers could be given.  
    Galedian had no where to turn, she hugged herself feeling the aloneness and the chill of the room.  She was so many miles from home and... Then beside her the man groaned, moving restlessly to remove the covers from his burning flesh.  Who could she get to help her?
    She pondered the thought momentarily before realizing there was a traitor.  She could trust no one.  Taken with weariness she didn’t know who to trust.  What should she do?  She rubbed her chin remembering the swift punch she received earlier.  Fortunately the man was in a weakened state or she would have been hurt.
    The long night wrapped itself around her while she worked hard looking after the man with his fevered dreams full of demons.  He tossed about frequently spattering gibberish from time to time screaming into the darkness without ever wakening.
    The candle flickered as the door flung open Father Drindell, seaming to float, entered the room.  Seeing the bloodied bandages on the floor, the vials of ointments and herbs on the oaken chest and the tired wearisome young ladies he bid them off to bed.  Abby hung her head as she passed the father and squeezed through the door.
    “I will stay with him”, he spoke to the huddled clump in the floor.
    “No, I’m fine Father”, Galedian said insistently.  Hoping he would wake and give her more information later, though deep down she knew he would not.  Death had become inevitable.
    “I’m sorry Glen,” the father using his pet name for her said.
“This was not your place.”  Glancing at the bandages painted with the red life force of the man, “He has lost too much blood, if his spirit is weak not all the power of the Gods can save him.”
    The shutters rattled at the window as the wind picked up, lifting her head and listening she could sense a change in the atmosphere of the room, identifying it she glanced over at the lifeless body on the bed beside her, he had gone.
    “Come child.”  The father called to her, feeling the change also.  “It is late, about four of the morn, you need rest.”  Putting his arm around her he helped her to her feet, and then supporting her weight on his shoulder he walked her down the hall to her room.
    When they arrived before her door, Drindell turned to her and clasped her by the shoulders with a slight smile.  “Rest, you shall feel better.  I’ll be sure you’re not disturbed until late.”  She leaned down giving him a small peck on the cheek and returned his smile…  Then turning to her room, closing the door behind her, she let him know she would be fine.
    Galedian set upon her bed, too tired to remove her garments, she settled bask against the blue wool blanket, fluffing the satin pillow beneath her head.  So many hours had past.  So much time was lost.  She still was no closer to knowing how she would get word to her father.
    No sooner did the thought occur to her, in that moment, there was her answer.
If she could not trust anyone here, then the only way to be certain her father was warned was to tell him herself.  But then, biting her lip and shaking her head dismissing the lame idea, the Tower of High Sorcery was a six-seven day journey.  She could never travel that far alone, it would be too dangerous.  Thieves now over run the roads and goblins, orcs, and other creatures lay in hiding, attacking anything.  Women were tortured, raped and sometimes killed.  If she took to the wild lands that would prove not only her demise but her insanity.  Traveled by trolls, gorgons, home of bears and hideous dread wolves, she shivered at the thought and felt the hair on her arms stand.
    She could make something up, something to tell Jareth, and then he would send his guards to escort her.  At that thought she knew he would send word to his mother for approval or possibly wish to go with her.  Either way was not feasible.  He probably would insist she not go at all.
“Hmmmm” she silently let out her breath.
    This could mean only one thing, if she were to leave, she would have to do it this night, alone, stealthily, sneaking out so no one would know.  Now what exactly would she say, how would she prove need for alarm when she got there.
    Wait, she recollected the pages saddle bags in the floor next to the oak chest, perhaps there was something in it.  She leaped from her bed and quietly slithered down the hall to the room of death.
    Scanning the shadowy corners of the floor she spotted the saddle bag resting against the gray stone.  She snatched it up and spilled its contents out on the little oak table and pulled up the stool where she plopped down.  A dial, a small book, a silver clip, a tattered  piece of linen, a small stone,  a little leather pouch containing assorted coins, the remains of a half eaten slice of bread and cheese and some dried meat was all she found.
    Feeling a bit strange she reached for the book, half curious of its contents, with a delayed notion of a message or hint written on its pages.  She thumbed the pages and checked the cover and binding- nothing unusual.
    She let out a big sigh, finding nothing she placed her head in the palms of her hands fighting back the sobs that tried to over come her.  Looking into the empty saddle bag to confirm its emptiness, she noticed a tiny string poking up from the bottom on the inside corner.  Without thinking she pinched it between her thumb and forefinger to pull it free in a zombie like motion.  Unexpectedly the bottom or the pouch lifted.  Intrigued for an instance she thought it strange, and then saw it for a secret compartment.  She pulled the leather flap the rest of the way up, underneath it laid two pieces of parchment.
    Kh-thud...  She could feel her heart beat against her ribs as excitement soared through her.  She knew she had found her evidence.  Quickly she snatched the papers and unfolded them.  The first, she examined, was written in what appeared to be a strange language.  The second was torn leaving a partial seal visible.  She read the words - “Meeting at the Tower of High Sorcery.”
    She rose stiffly from the table her eyes fell on the clothes of the dead man, folded neatly on the oak chest, next to the window.  Gripping the fine velvet tunic of blue, she held it to her breast.  The unconscious plot forming in her head, it dawned on her that it would fit, she recalled the young man having a slim build and being no taller than herself.  She lowered her arms and gathered the rest of the clothes and stuffed them into the saddle bag with the rest of the items.  Practically trembling with panic she hurried back to her chambers.
    Amazed at what she was about to do and frightful beyond all reason, she crushed the papers into her chest with a fierce grip.  
    “I can do it,” she repeated over and over in her head.  “But then it’s so far.” She procrastinated. “I can’t travel it alone.”
    A smile made its way to her lips at the new thought. “Steven- he would be taking supplies to her uncle.  His place was but a half days ride to the South and from there two and a half days east to her uncles.  She could travel with Steven; he would be leaving on the morrow.  Her uncle could then deploy messages from there.  Easy enough”... She thought.
    Hastily she gathered her supplies; for in a few hours it would be light and the keep would awaken with life, also she needed to make sure she arrived at Steven’s place before he departed.
    Shortly after paranoia grabbed hold of her.  Suddenly she realized if she left in the dead of the night, everyone would assume she had fled her marriage.  This could ruin, completely destroy the valuable alliance her father hoped it would seal.
    Jareth would surely ride to inform his mother and a party would be sent to search for her.  They would be on the same road and may chance into her. Also if there were traitors about and the clothes were found missing, they may figure the dying man spoke before his demise and men would be sent to stop her.  
    It came to her that she must completely alter her appearance.  Seeing the coal ash in the cold fire place she fetched an unburned chunk of the black coal and placed it in the saddle bag.  Grabbing up the Pages’ cloak she flung it around her shoulders.  It seemed strange and a little heavy.  She then seized the saddle bag and slipped through the chamber door.  She knew she must make the change outside the walls in case she ran into anyone.
    Afraid to bear a torch thinking it might draw attention, she felt her way through the gloomy darkness.  She crept down the everlasting spiral stairwell.  When she felt the banister end she knew she reached the ground floor.  With a snap she bolted into a run flying across the room and out the door.
    Galedian paused briefly in thought, one hand gently caressing the warm skin of her horses flank.  Her head tilted as she strained to glimpse the shimmer of distant stars.  She uttered a simple prayer to Habbuku.
    Beyond the doors of the stables, the dim fiery light ghostly crept from the forge.  She listened for a bit, not a sound from the blacksmith, the armory, the kitchen, anywhere; all was quiet, all was asleep.
    Quickly she slung her saddle over Sugarcube’s back.  The white mayor snorted and clopped her shoes on the cobblestone sending a ringing song that echoed.  She laid her soothing hand on her slender nose and chanted ancient words of calming to restrain her.
    She had just thrust the strap when she heard a sound, for a long intense moment she hesitated.  The squeak of a mouse sounded again.  Relieved but shaken, “You can return to bed now.” She thought, loosing her nerve. “This is foolish…no.” She shook her head then reached to finish the buckle.  She secured the saddle bag and supplies, then clutching the lead she made her way to the forge.
    Galedian knelt down beside the smoldering hot oven where she removed her clothes and tossed them to the flickering flames that devoured them.  Pulling on the dark brown britches she fastened them, and then shoved her feet into the high leather boots which were a tad big.  She then tore thin strips of linen and tightly bound her breasts flat, so they would be unnoticed beneath the dark blue velvet tunic she popped her head through.
    Buckling it light and leaving the hem to hang hiding her heart shaped hips, she was pleased that it hid her figure; however it was difficult to breathe.  She then emptied a small bottle of clotting oil into a cup and placed a piece of cloth tied at the top containing the burnt coal in to it.  A faint stench rose as it bubbled and slowly turned black.  This would make an excellent dye for her hair, which was the color of sun spent honey.
    After rubbing the black smelly goo in her hair and combing it through, she tucked the long strands underneath the blue velvet cap on her head.  Then pulling the cloak tightly around her she grabbed the saddle with both hands, placed her foot in the stirrup and swung herself upon her mount.
    She crossed slowly to the gatehouse and across the battlements.  Galedian gripped the reins tight in her hands as she emerged past the wall, she knew she was at a safe distance and with a quick kick she dug her heel in Sugarcube’s side.  Letting out a neigh she bolted into a run.  The wind whipped at her face pulling strands of her hair loose.
    Racing down the hill to the twisting road that would start her journey she leaned far over the front of the mare’s head urging her faster, then like a bow shot she glanced over her shoulder towards the temple that was now swallowed into the night.