Galtar And The Princessgaltar And The Golden La... →

Galtar nodded, the Golden Lance finally falling silent in his hand. “And one step closer to justice.”

Suddenly, the ground buckled. A fissure ripped through the dry earth, and from the dust emerged Tormack’s elite Ravagers, mounted on their six-legged krells. Behind them, Tormack himself loomed, his eyes glowing with the stolen power of the ancient kings.

Galtar didn't hesitate. He swung the Golden Lance above his head, the blades catching the dying sunlight. With a guttural cry, he leaped into the fray. The first Ravager swung a spiked mace, but Galtar parried, the Lance shearing through the heavy iron as if it were parchment. “Goleeta, the flank!” Galtar shouted.

Galtar gripped the hilt of the Golden Lance, its twin blades humming with a low, rhythmic vibration. Beside him, Princess Goleeta scanned the horizon of the Bandisar plains. The sky was an unnatural bruised purple—a sign that Tormack’s dark sorcery was bleeding into the physical world.

A deafening crack echoed across the plains. The shield shattered into a thousand glass-like shards. Tormack fell back, his source of power extinguished. As the Ravagers saw their master weakened, they broke rank and fled into the gathering gloom.

“He’s close, Galtar,” she whispered, her hand resting on the hilt of her own blade. “I can feel the coldness of the Shadow Shield.”

Goleeta moved with the grace of a mountain cat. She intercepted a pair of soldiers, her movements a blur of defensive strikes that bought Galtar the seconds he needed.