The clatter of swords had died away, the shouting of the slaughter was hushed; silence lay over all except the beating of his heart, which seemed to fill the whole night.
The battered body of Owein, stalwart hero and King's Champion, still lay where it fell in the midst of a circle of dead demons. The great sword that he held so proudly aloft now hung from its broken hilt at his side. His shield, too, had been shattered and like him stood useless on the ground.
He had fought well, but not well enough.
Already the demonic army was swarming through the breach in the city wall. Unstoppable, implacable, unconquerable, they would sweep through the city like a flood and then flow on to the rest of the kingdom.
Looking at the starry sky above him, Owein muttered one last prayer before closing his eyes and allowing the dark shroud of unconsciousness to enfold him and carry him away from his pain.
When Owein awoke, he found himself shackled to the wall of a dungeon cell. All was dark around him save for the torches that lined the wall opposite him.
Armor and clothes had been stripped from his body, sweat running freely down his muscled body. He knew not how long he had been left there, naked and chained to the wall, but he knew it could not have been for long. The pain was still too raw for that.
He yanked hard on his chains, filling the stone room with the sound of his grunting and the squeal of aging metal and rusting iron. But the chains did not give.
"You're going to injure yourself like this my love." A sultry feminine voice said from the darkness. "Your chains are spell-proof, and more than strong enough to handle a great hulk of a man such as yourself. It would be far better to relax and save your strength."
"Who are you?" Owein demanded, still straining against his chains and ignoring her advice. "Show yourself witch, let me face my tormentor!"
"I am no witch, dear Owein," the woman said, finally stepping into the light. "I am much, much more than that."
She was tall, and the thin dress she wore clung lovingly to every curve of her wondrous figure. Dark unbound hair streamed to her knees, framing a perfect oval of a face white as sea foam. Her lips were red as fresh blood, her eyes twin orbs of gold. Never before had he seen a woman of such breathtaking beauty but Owein was no fool. He knew her for the demon whore she was.
"Return to hell you damned succubus!" Owein spat, yanking hard on his chains once more. "Go whore yourself to a goblin or something desperate enough to want you!"
"I'm afraid my tastes do not run to green, Owein," the demon woman purred, letting her fingers trail lightly over the muscles of his chest. "Oh no, I far prefer the strength and power of a fine warrior such as yourself."
The look she gave him was predatory. Even through the pain of his wounds he could feel his body respond to her closeness,