of him there was nothing but a sheer drop.
But it was already too late to go back. Arren turned back the way he had come, and saw that the first of the guards had struggled through the gap and was advancing on him, sword drawn. Others joined him, and then spread out to cover the full width of the platform. They had bows in their hands and were already nocking arrows in place.
Arren reached to his belt and drew Orome’s sword. Taking it in both hands, he pointed it at them.
The foremost guard came closer. “Arren,” he said.
Arren stopped and squinted. “Bran? Is that you?”
Bran raised one large hand. “Please, Arren, don’t struggle. Just come quietly.”
Arren did not lower the sword, but the tip was shaking slightly. “Please,” he said softly, as more guards emerged and took up station behind Bran. “Please, Bran, don’t do this. Let me go. Please, just let me go. I’ll never come back here; I’ll go away forever.”
“Put the sword down, Arren,” said Bran. “Just put it down.”
Arren looked back over his shoulder at the landscape far below him. The wind blowing up the mountainside was icy cold and tugged at him, seeming to invite him to let himself drop. The fear burned in him, and he went toward Bran. The guards drew back their bows, and Bran raised his sword. “Drop the sword!” he shouted. “Do it!”
Arren stopped. He looked at Bran, then at the sword, and then hurled it away. It clattered over the planks, fell from the edge and was gone.
The fear had consumed him utterly. He felt sick and dizzy, and he trembled all over. He lurched away from the edge, holding a hand out toward Bran. “Please!” he said. “Don’t let me fall, Bran, I don’t want to fall. Help me!”
Bran reached out to grab his hand. “It’s all right, Arren, just take my hand, I’ll get yeh outta here—”
From somewhere high above, a griffin’s cry echoed, and then one of the guards loosed an arrow. It shot past Bran, narrowly missing his shoulder, and hit Arren square in the chest. He screamed and staggered backward, clutching at the shaft, and then another arrow hit him in the leg.
“No!” Bran shouted, rushing forward.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion then. Bran tried to catch Arren’s tunic, but the bloodstained cloth slipped through his fingers. For a moment, as Arren teetered on the edge, his black eyes looked into Bran’s.
Then he fell.
Bran heard his last scream as Arren disappeared into the darkness below, and then he, too, was falling, straight forward, yelling in panic. Hands caught him by the back of his armour and pulled him back, and he crashed onto the planks.
Someone helped him to his feet. He didn’t look at them. His eyes were fixed on the edge of the planking where Arren had been. “No,” he whispered. “Arren—”
“Come on, sir,” said one of the guards behind him. “We’ve got to get back to the Eyrie and tell them what happened.”
Bran turned. “Yeh killed him!”
“He was about to attack you, sir,” said one of the guards who had fired. “We all saw it.”
“He was askin’ me to help him!” said Bran. “He was scared!”
The guard shook his head. “He was going to die anyway, sir.”
Bran hit him. “That was murder,” he snarled.
The guards glanced at each other. “He was only a blackrobe, sir,” said one.
Free! Darkheart struck another human in the chest, almost tearing him in half, and crushed the skull of a second one in his beak. The rest had turned and were trying to run, but he went after them and caught up with them in the tunnel. There he cornered them and killed them, down to the last man, and when he was done, he lifted one of the corpses and swallowed it whole. He carried the rest back to the enclosure, two at a time, and heaped them up by the platform with the others.
There was no sign of any more guards coming, and he settled down to eat while the other griffins screeched at him from their cages, cheering him on.
“Kill! Kill! Kill the humans! Kill them all, Darkheart!”
Darkheart paid no attention. He tore into a second corpse and swallowed the pieces, savouring the taste of blood. Caught up in his hunger and bloodlust, he completely forgot about his wish to escape and continued to eat, gorging himself on human flesh. So sweet. So soft.
When he was full to bursting, he sat back on