Torren's tanned chest glistened with sweat, his face contorted in pain.  The ropes cut into his wrists and ankles, the sun burning his eyes.  Where had Balia gotten to?  He had been a fool to trust her, he knew that in his heart.  No, not in his heart.  His heart was a treacherous thing, leading him down dangerous paths.  It was his mind, scimitar-keen, that told Torren he should never have placed his life in the hands of his beautiful, ruthless rival.  And yet, that night under the moonlit palms, the wild waves devouring the beach as their passion had devoured them, he had trusted her.   But now... now, where was she, when Death itself stalked him on four silent paws?  Gone, no doubt, trusting her osprey wings to carry her to a ship glimpsed on the horizon, leaving Torren to a fitting fate for a pirate captain.  He cursed himself a fool a thousand times over, cursed his weakness, cursed that night, even as his treacherous heart wished her swift flight and kind winds away from this evil island.
A growl from the woods brought him back to the jungle clearing where he was staked.  The sacred tiger had found its latest offering.  As it lunged forward, a cry split the air, a flash of white feathers plunging through the sky, and the battle was joined.  His heart surged with joy, filling him with the strength to fight his bonds again.  She had returned, as she had promised.  Not ropes nor pain nor the very King of Demons himself would keep him from fighting by her side.  As if the King had heard his silent vow, a deathly low horn sounded from the jungle, picked up by another, and another.  The island gods would not be denied their feast...