Chapter 11: The Cells

The cells under the Arena had one door, and four Thornwick guards stood in front of it.

I came down the tunnel at midnight with a bear behind me.

The champion followed on silent paws, each as wide as a dinner plate, and it had to stoop under the arches.

Behind the bear came the night-stag from the Pens, the one Cassian had starved.

Behind the stag came twelve Hollow wolves, grey in the lamplight, walking in single file with their heads low.

The guards saw us and stopped breathing.

"Evening," I said.

One of them dropped his spear.

"Miss, we have orders. Stand back."

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said. "I'd like the key to the third cell, please."

"We can't."

"Then I'd like you to step away from the door."

The bear took a step forward.

It didn't growl.

It only breathed out, slowly, and the guards' lamp flames bent flat.

They went.

They went so fast that one of them left his boot behind.

The champion put a paw the size of a shield against the iron door of the third cell and leaned, almost politely.

The hinges screamed, and the whole door fell inward with a crash.

Bran was sitting on a stone bench inside with his boots up.

He had a black eye and a half-eaten piece of bread.

"I knew you'd be here in under an hour," he said. "I told them. They didn't believe me."

I flung my arms around him so hard we both fell over.

"You came with a bear," he said into my shoulder. "A bear, Anwen."

"I came with a bear and a fox and a very large wolf."

"I'm moved."

"Get up. We have about four minutes."

We were halfway back up the tunnel when I saw the figure at the top, black-coated, with a lantern.

I stopped.

Kieran Falkirk looked at the broken door, the stag, the wolves, and the bear.

Then he looked at the empty wall where four guards should have been standing.

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