briefly at him and then turn away. The blackrobe collapsed, either dead or wounded, and the griffin merely sat and groomed himself. They continued to wait, filling the air with savage shouts, but nothing happened. Neither man nor griffin moved.
In the end Darkheart rose onto his paws and walked away toward the gate he had entered by. He tried to open it, and when it wouldn’t move he lay down on the sand and went to sleep.
He didn’t wake up until the gate opened and the griffin handlers came through and threw a net over him, tangling his wings. He started up and rushed at them, but they expertly avoided his beak and talons and wrestled him into submission. The chains were put back on his wings and legs, more were attached to his collar, and he was dragged out of the pit, screeching and struggling.
Arren, though, did not get up. He lay where he was, unmoving, until a pair of guards hurried into the pit and carried him away.
Falling, he was falling.
There was blackness everywhere, and icy wind rushing past him. He could feel the void pulling him in, pulling him down, faster and faster, and somewhere below him the ground waited, hard and unforgiving. His scream was whipped away in the wind. Blood was coming from his chest, but the drops flew away, straight upward, and he fell.
And then he hit the ground.
Arren opened his eyes and groaned. He was lying on his back on a hard surface, and every inch of him hurt. But there was something warm covering him and a pad under his head, which made him feel safe.
His vision was blurry, but he managed to make out a ceiling above him. It was wooden. Was he in his home?
No. His own ceiling had been different: peaked in the middle and criss-crossed with wooden beams, and beyond those had been the underside of the thatch. And his home didn’t exist any more. It had burned down. He had seen it burn. And after that he’d . . . he’d . . .
Memories came rushing back. The chick, the trial, the cage and after that the pit and the black griffin, swooping down on him, its screech ringing in his ears. Darkheart!
Fear gave him strength. He sat up sharply, nearly falling over when the sudden motion made his head spin. He felt weak and shaky, and the collar was heavy.
He was back in his cage. It was still daylight, and he had been lying on the floor, by the door. Someone had picked up the black robe and put it over him like a blanket. He shoved it off and rubbed his head. His eyes were aching.
“Hello, Arren.”
Arren looked around sharply and saw Bran standing on the other side of the door. “Bran?”
Bran looked shaken. “Yeh all right?”
“My head hurts. Bran, what—what happened?”
Bran nodded at the floor beside him. “Brought yeh some food.”
Arren managed to pick up a piece of bread. Chewing felt like the hardest struggle of his life.
Bran watched him. “I came to watch,” he said. “At the Arena, I mean. Arren, what happened?”
Arren dropped the piece of bread. “Bran, what’s going on? Are they going to set me free?”
“I dunno. Arren, I’m sorry for what I said.”
Arren shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Are my parents coming to see me again?”
“Don’t think so. They ain’t lettin’ no-one in except guards. Arren, how did yeh do that?”
“How did I do what?” The sound of Bran’s voice was making his headache worse.
“Control the griffin!” Bran said urgently. “How’d yeh make it back off like that?”
“I didn’t. I don’t know what happened. It just didn’t kill me.”
“What? Yeh didn’t do nothin’?”
“Yes. Bran, please, I’ve got to know. What’s going to happen to me now? Are they going to let me out?”
“I dunno,” Bran repeated. “I think they ain’t decided yet. This ain’t never happened before.”
“They’ve got to let me go,” said Arren. “I survived, didn’t I?”
“Yeah . . . I guess yeh did.”
Arren lay back. They had to let him go. It wasn’t just an empty promise they made to tempt prisoners; it was law. A prisoner who survived the Arena had to be set free. They couldn’t break the law. Not when everyone knew about it.
“Guess you’ll find out,” said Bran. “Eat. They’ll come and see yeh soon, I reckon.”
Arren nodded vaguely and went back to his food. But he felt much better now. He was going to be released, he knew it. They’d let