Rowan kicked and coughed, trying to loosen the hand that was crushing her neck. She continued to hold Tempest away from Romiir’s outstretched arm until he lost patience and threw her to the ground.
“Enough, woman!” He cried.
As he reached for her again, she swung Tempest into a mighty strike. Romiir brought his forearm up just in time to block, red and purple energy spiraling out into the air. The young queen ferociously kicked away his attempts of grabbing the bow. In slow motion, Romiir raised his hand and stung her with a blinding orange flash of light. Once again, Rowan hit the ground. The mage grabbed the white bow, but Rowan refused to let go. Romiir pulled, twisted, and pried, then pulled out his blood-red dagger and raised it to strike.
A guttural roar sounded nearby and as Romiir brought his hand down, a massive grey chest rammed into the mage. A hand reached down and pulled Rowan up unto the horse.
“He may be old, but this old boy knows his job.”