intoxicating bush that when fully grown stood almost eye-level. The plant was covered with white, lacy leaves and orange blooms. It emitted a natural opiate that smelled like citrus and gave the person savoring its scent a short-lived buzz.
Dowd was a proud man. His silver and black armor was polished to perfection and fitted perfectly to his frame. His hair had been cut, and he felt confident about his upcoming meeting with Boyafed on the shoreline of Lake Id.
After removing his cape that was attached to a special set of snaps on the top of his shoulders, he placed the garment inside a saddle satchel that hung on the right side of his mount. “The moment has come, boy,” Dowd said, as he traced the hazy outline of his mount with his eyes. “Let’s hope this meeting has merit. There’s no telling what Boyafed’s thinking after releasing Tolas and his men.”
Now, fellow soul ... allow me to tell you about the white army’s mounts. There were no stables necessary to house these creatures. They were carefree and required no special provisions.
Shaban was a spirit-bull, and his weight equalled that of a bull from Earth, amplified by five. At almost 15,000 pounds when materialized, Shaban had been Dowd’s mount for more than 100 seasons. The bull had the ability to use defensive and offensive magic while Dowd remained mounted or touched Shaban in any way. But when Dowd dismounted or fell from his saddle, the spirit-bull dematerialized and became weightless, appearing as an apparition. Shaban would stay in this form until Dowd touched him or his tack again.
Now, how Lord Dowd bonded with his mount would be a whole other story. I shall save this tale for another series of moments.
When Dowd touched the spirit-bull’s satchel, the beast materialized. The ground crushed beneath the animal’s hooves as the weight of Shaban’s 15,000 pound frame created four large impressions.
The white army leader grabbed the reins and petted Shaban’s snout. “Come down here, boy, and let’s have a look at you before we go.”
Shaban dropped to his knees and moved his head from side to side, allowing his master to rub his snout from all angles. This simple exchange of affection was yet another pleasantry that Dowd enjoyed, but this moment was to be short-lived.
From an unknown location, a crossbow bolt flew past Dowd’s head and pierced Shaban’s left eye. The spirit-bull exploded, the shock wave sending Dowd flying backward into the mouth of a well that sat at the center of his garden. His armor quickly filled with water, and the weight of the metal sucked him under the surface.
From the far side of the courtyard, the Dark Chancellor lowered his crossbow and passed his hand through the air. “I can’t have you teleporting out of there,” he whispered.
As Marcus stared at the opening of the well, he replayed the explosion in his mind. “Hmmm! Unexpected. They blow up. I would’ve never guessed that. If Dowd is going to perish as well, an adjustment to our plan will be necessary, George.” The Dark Chancellor vanished.
Deep below the surface of the water, Dowd worked to remove his armor once he realized that he was unable to teleport. Every strap fought against his survival. It felt as if he could not move fast enough, and his air was in short supply. His mind began to cloud as he fought the need to gasp.
Just as his last bit of oxygen escaped his lips, something hit his shoulder. Dowd turned and located a rope that had a small stone attached to its end. He tugged. It was secure. Without hesitation, he pulled himself to the surface.
As he emerged, the air was like a drug when it filled his lungs. After catching his breath, he struggled to remove each piece of armor while draping his arm through a lasso he created to free both hands. It took all of his strength to climb up and over the top of the well’s mouth.
Dowd collapsed onto the ground, but only rested for a moment before he pulled his armor to the surface. With his chest heaving, he scanned the area, but no one was visible. Who would throw me a rope and just leave, he thought.
As he tossed his armor to the ground, something caught his eye. He put his hands on top of his head to finish catching his breath and then moved to the area where the spirit-bull had been standing. The bolt killing Shaban was lying