Arren’s mind raced. He would have to find somewhere to hide, of course, but the idea of going to the North almost revolted him. It was far away; even if Ymazu was willing to carry him there, it would take at least a month. On foot, it would probably take six. Assuming he wasn’t caught along the way. And, in spite of everything that had happened, in his heart he still felt tied to Eagleholm, where he had spent his entire adult life; it was the only place where he had ever been truly happy and where Eluna’s spirit still lived.
But, as the night air cut through his ragged tunic and made him shiver, he saw that there was no way he could stay. There was nothing left here for him, only suffering and death.
His resolve hardened. “I want to go northward. Toward Norton. But first . . .”
“Speak,” said Ymazu.
“Do you know where the Arena is?”
“Beside the prison district,” said Ymazu.
“Yes. I want to go there before we leave. I still have something to do here.”
Ymazu was silent for a long time. “Very well. For Vander’s sake. But I will not fight to protect you. If we are discovered, I shall leave you.”
“I understand.”
The brown griffin angled her tail and flew downward, toward the dark mass of the Arena. There were only a few sources of light down there, and the enclosure behind the pit was completely dark. Ymazu landed neatly on top of the wall, and Arren got down off her back and perched beside her, looking down at the cages. There was a steel net stretched over the top of the enclosure, fastened to the wall where he stood, but the gaps in it were big enough for him to get through.
Arren breathed in deeply. All he had to do was jump down through the net, find the black griffin’s cage and let it out. There were no guards down there. Anyone who broke into the enclosure would have to be insane; there was nothing in there to steal, and if they let one of the griffins out they would be killed before they had the chance to remove the thing’s chains.
The only question in Arren’s mind was how he would get out afterward. If he took the conventional route he would run into guards and locked doors, but the walls of the enclosure were too sheer to be climbed or consisted of bars with man-eating griffins behind them. Anyone trying to use them as a ladder would lose a leg.
Very carefully, Arren began to move along the top of the wall, looking for a loose length of cable or something else that could be used to pull himself back up. He didn’t think he could climb a rope, but perhaps he could ask Ymazu to pull one up while he held the other end. If he could only find one.
Ymazu was watching him. “What are you doing?” she asked softly.
“I’m trying to find something I can use to climb out of there,” said Arren. “Can you see anything, Ymazu?”
She shifted, talons digging into the wall. “Not from here. Why do you want to go down there at all?”
“Because I made a promise,” said Arren. He continued on, putting one foot in front of another and trying to avoid looking at the drop. In his head, words whispered and spiralled. Wear a collar, live in a cage, wear a collar, live in a cage . . .
He rubbed his neck, just under the collar. It was horribly swollen. The fight in the Arena had reopened the wounds; he could feel the spikes embedded in his flesh, jabbing at his windpipe as he breathed. Without thinking, he dug his fingers under the collar and tugged at it, trying to pull the spikes out a little way. That made the back of his neck hurt badly, and he swore and yanked his hand away instinctively. But his fingers were trapped under the collar, and the motion pulled his head sideways. Caught off balance, he tried to straighten up, but once again the weight of the collar made him clumsy. He scrabbled desperately to stay on the wall, and then he fell.
He hit the net and fell through one of the gaps in it; a cable hooked him under the arm and he almost managed to save himself by grabbing it, but the cold metal slipped out of his grasp and he dropped into the enclosure, landing