but Darkheart brought his other front paw down, trapping him. He could see the griffin’s face looming above him, the eyes cold and savage, the features angular, the beak chipped and sharp. Darkheart’s breath smelt of death and decay, and the collar shone around his neck.
Arren’s wounded face twisted. “Kill me,” he snarled. “Finish it!”
Darkheart stared at him, unmoving for a moment, and then he brought his head down toward him. His eyes and beak filled Arren’s vision, so close he could hear the air whistling through the creature’s nostrils.
Cold, crushing terror came into him, paralysing him, and he screwed his eyes shut and turned his head away, bracing himself for the end.
“Arren Cardockson.”
Arren’s fear turned to bewilderment. He opened his eyes and turned his head back again. Darkheart had not moved. He was still there, above him, his talons pressing down.
“Arren Cardockson,” the griffin said again.
Arren just stared.
Darkheart’s eyes were wide, almost . . . frightened. “Arren Cardockson.”
Arren tried again to break free, to no avail.
“Arren,” the griffin repeated. “Arren. Arren.”
Arren stilled. “Darkheart,” he said, not knowing what to do.
“Arren.”
Arren turned his head away. “Kill me,” he said again.
“Arren,” said Darkheart. “You . . . Arren.”
Arren closed his eyes. “Yes.”
Darkheart paused, and then brought his head down still lower, until they were almost touching. “Arren,” he said. His voice was deep, slow and rumbling, like distant thunder. “You . . . Arren. You . . . human. You want . . . die?”
Arren could feel himself shaking uncontrollably. Yes. He wanted to say it. He wanted to shout it for them all to hear. Yes. Kill me. I want to die. Kill me.
“No,” he whispered.
The talons tightened around him. “Free . . . me,” the griffin’s voice rumbled.
Arren looked up, uncomprehending.
“Free me,” Darkheart said again. “Let me fly away. Free me, Arren Cardockson. Free me or I kill you.”
“Free you?” Arren said.
“Promise,” said Darkheart. “Promise free me. Promise and I not kill. Promise, Arren Cardockson.”
He could see the look in the griffin’s eyes. He could see it as clearly as he could see the cracks in his beak and the raw flesh around the edges of the collar. It had been there all along. “I promise,” he said softly. “I will set you free, Darkheart.”
Darkheart was silent for a moment. “Dark human,” he whispered. “Dark human, dark griffin. Promise me, Arren Cardockson.”
“I promise,” Arren said again. “I swear it. I swear.”
Silence reigned in the pit. Even the crowd had gone quiet.
Then Darkheart let him go. He lifted his talons and backed away, and Arren struggled upright and staggered away from him, blood streaming from beneath the collar and soaking into his torn and filthy tunic. He was gasping for breath and his chest was agonising, and he stumbled toward the wall and collapsed at its base, unable to move.
But Darkheart made no move to go after him. He watched him briefly and then turned away and began to groom his wings, apparently oblivious to the baying crowd above him.
Arren could hear them, but their voices seemed to be coming through a kind of curtain. He lay on his side, feeling as if a great weight was dragging down on his limbs, his senses dulled by pain. The wound on his face was bleeding again; he could feel the hot liquid trickling over his cheek like tears. More blood was coming from his neck. Too much blood. It was making him dizzy and confused. He made a brief attempt to get up, but then slumped back. A short time later, he blacked out.
The crowd had watched it all. They had seen the black griffin pounce on the prisoner and knock him down, and they had waited expectantly, knowing what would come next. Waited for the wet crunch and the blackrobe’s brief scream as his chest was crushed to a pulp. Waited to see him die.
But they had waited in vain. The black griffin had covered the blackrobe with his wings and brought his head down toward him, and they had sat back, disappointed. He was merely going to kill him with his beak, and they wouldn’t even see it happen. Not even the battle that had preceded it would make up for that.
And then they saw the black griffin move away, and they looked toward the spot where he had been, expecting to see the blackrobe’s mutilated remains. But they were not there. They saw the blackrobe get up and lurch toward the wall, and saw the black griffin glance