Tempests and Slaughter. Tamora Pierce

are over there.’

      Arram nodded. Ozorne was going to be so jealous – whenever the emperor insisted that the princes attend the games, Ozorne made sketches of the gladiators and wrote down all the information he could glean. He would give anything to see this, rain or no. ‘What are those things? The big white rolls, the log stick figures, and the barrels?’ he asked, pointing.

      ‘The white rolls are practice dummies for wrestling and hand-to-hand combat,’ Yadeen replied. ‘The log figures are for weapons practice. The barrels hold weapons. They must have taken the weapons themselves indoors. I didn’t know you were interested.’

      Arram was saved from having to explain that the information was not for him, when more guards opened another gate in a massive wall before them and waved them through. ‘The arena,’ Yadeen told him. To the escort he said, ‘We can manage.’

      One of them shrugged. ‘Suit yourself, Master.’ He and his companion rode back to the training yard. The slam of the gate as the soldiers closed it made Arram flinch. They were alone in the vastness of the sleeping arena, under the many rows of seats.

      The way before them was a tall, wide corridor lit by baskets full of burning coals. Arram’s jaw dropped. An appalling stench reached his nose: at once he was reminded of what he always thought of as the Day of the Elephant, when he had met one in addition to gladiators. The day he had seen a woman die. He swallowed. Part of the smell was definitely blood, human and animal, darker than the scent of blood in his animal dissections. Another part was sweat, and still another was animal dung. It made him dizzy. He held his sleeve under his nose as he clamped his free hand around his saddle horn.

      They were passing cells on both sides, large ones, barred with iron. Both smelled equally of dung and piss, but the straw gave away the knowledge that the right-hand cages were used for animals. Arram wondered why anyone would place humans who would fight the beasts in cells across from them.

      The huge gate at the end of the temple was wide open. Near it he saw cells far larger than those secured with iron on both sides of the tunnel. These chambers were closed and barred with wood. ‘What are those?’ Arram enquired.

      If the stink bothered Yadeen, the master showed no sign of it. ‘The healing rooms,’ he explained. ‘The wounded go in those.’ He pointed to the doors on the left. ‘That’s if they’ve used up the tables in the workrooms on the right. Sorry – surgeries. Don’t be in such a rush to learn about them. You’ll be chopping and sewing men and women soon enough if Cosmas has his way. Got your hat on?’

      Arram touched his head. ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘Out into it, then. I hope they have a dry place for us.’

      Yadeen led the way out onto the wet sands as the horses protested. The rain had begun to ease, but winds swirled around the vast structure, pulling at Arram’s hat. In the distance thunder boomed softly.

      ‘Odd to hear that!’ Yadeen remarked as he steered them towards the lanterns that gleamed ahead. ‘Thunder, so late in the season. The storm gods are amusing themselves.’

      They passed the part of the arena where Arram had once sat with his father and grandfather, the length of rail where a man had once shoved him and Musenda had caught him. Arram’s heart pinched in his chest. Was the big man even still alive? And what of Ua the elephant and her rider? He had put offerings of bits of meat at the school’s shrines to Mithros, when he remembered to, and pieces of fruit at the shrines for Hekaja, the Carthaki goddess of healing, just in case, but he had been too afraid to ask those followers of the best-known gladiators if they knew about Musenda or the elephant riders. He didn’t want to know if they had been sent on to the Dark God’s peaceful realms.

      Ahead he could see the imperial seats. They stood in the blaze of mage fires over the wall. A shadowed space filled the corner of the stand where it jutted forwards into the sands. A roofed structure had been built over the entire corner to keep the rain off the area.

      Nearby was the tunnel used by the imperials and the favoured nobility to reach their seats high above. Torches burned in brackets on the walls, casting their light over large white chunks of stone on sledges. Each stone had to be as tall as Arram.

      Yadeen reined up and drew Arram close to him. ‘Keep my kit beside you,’ he said quietly, his eyes never leaving the stones or the half-naked men who stood between them. ‘No one but you must handle either workbag, understand? You will be more aware of the outer world than me. Only touch my shoulder and I will return to it.’

      A burly man in a leather vest and kilt trudged out of the tunnel. ‘Are you coming to work or gossip?’ he roared. He was short and squat, with long, knotted black hair wound into a fat roll at the back of his head. His skin was not quite as dark as Yadeen’s, but his eyes were as dark as the night around him. Hammers and chisels hung from his sagging belt.

      ‘We are settling upon our own approach, Najau! When we are ready, we will consult you!’ Yadeen bellowed in reply.