'Red Blades,' Duiker said as more armoured men appeared on the transport, standing alongside their mounts.
'From Dosin Pali,' Kulp said. 'I recognize the first two: Baria Setral and his brother Mesker. They have another brother, Orto. He commands the Aren Company.'
'The Red Blades,' the historian mused. 'They've no illusions about the state of affairs. Word's come they are attempting to assert control in other cities, and here we are to witness a doubling of their presence in Hissar.'
'I wonder if Coltaine knows.'
A new tension filled the market; heads had turned and eyes now observed as Baria and Mesker led their troops onto the pier. The Red Blades were equipped and presented for war. They bristled with weapons, with full chain leggings and the slitted visors on their helms lowered. Bows were strung, arrows loosened in their quivers. The horse-blades were unsheathed and jutting from their mounts' forelegs.
Kulp spat nervously. 'Don't like the look of this,' he muttered.
'It looks as if-'
'They intend to attack the market,' Kulp said. 'This isn't just for show, Duiker. Fener's hoof!'
The historian glanced at Kulp, his mouth dry. 'You've opened your warren.'
Not replying, the mage slid off the sea wall, eyes on the Red Blades who were now mounted and lining up at pier's end, facing five hundred citizens who had fallen silent and were now backing away, filling the aisles between the carts and awnings. The contraction of the crowd would trigger panic, which was precisely what the Red Blades intended.
Lances dangling from loops of rawhide around their wrists, the Red Blades nocked arrows, the horses quivering under them but otherwise motionless.
The crowd seemed to shiver in places, as if the ground was shifting beneath it. Duiker saw figures moving, not away, but towards the facing line.
Kulp took half a dozen steps towards the Red Blades.
The figures pushed through the last of the crowd, pulling away their telaba cloaks and hoods, revealing leather armour with stitched black iron scales. Long-knives flashed in gloved hands. Dark eyes in tanned, tattooed Wickan faces held cold and firm on Baria and Mesker Setral and their warriors.
Ten Wickans now faced the forty-odd Red Blades, the crowd behind them as silent and as motionless as statues.
'Stand aside!' Baria bellowed, his face dark with fury. 'Or die!'
The Wickans laughed with fearless derision.
Pushing himself forward, Duiker followed Kulp as the mage strode hurriedly towards the Red Blades.
Mesker snapped out a curse upon seeing Kulp approach. His brother glanced over, scowling.
'Don't be a fool, Baria!' the mage hissed.
The commander's eyes narrowed. 'Fling magic at me and I'll cut you down,' he said.
Now at closer range, Duiker saw the Otataral links interwoven in Baria's chain armour.
'We shall cut this handful of barbarians down,' Mesker growled, 'then properly announce our arrival in Hissar … with the blood of traitors.'
'And five thousand Wickans will avenge the deaths of their kin,' Kulp said. 'And not with quick sword strokes. No, you'll be hung still alive from the sea-wall spikes. For the seagulls to play with. Coltaine's not yet your enemy, Baria. Sheathe your weapons and report to the new Fist, Commander. To do otherwise will be to sacrifice your life and the lives of your soldiers.'
'You ignore me,' Mesker said. 'Baria is not my keeper, Mage.'
Kulp sneered. 'Be silent, pup. Where Baria leads, Mesker follows, or will you now cross blades with your brother?'
'Enough, Mesker,' Baria rumbled.
His brother's tulwar rasped from its scabbard. 'You dare command me!'
The Wickans shouted encouragement. A few brave souls in the crowd behind them laughed.
Mesker's face was sickly with rage.
Baria sighed. 'Brother, this is not the time.'
A mounted troop of Hissar Guard appeared above the heads of the crowd, pushing along the aisles between the market stalls. A chorus of hoots sounded to their left and Duiker and the others turned to see three score Wickan bowmen with arrows nocked and bows drawn on the Red Blades.
Baria slowly raised his left hand, making a twisting gesture. His warriors lowered their own weapons.
Snarling with disgust, Mesker slammed his tulwar back into its wooden scabbard.
'Your escort has arrived,' Kulp said dryly. 'It seems the Fist has been expecting you.'
Duiker stood at the mage's side and watched as Baria led the Red Blades forward to meet the Hissari troop. The historian shook himself. 'Hood's breath, Kulp, that was a chancy cast of the knuckles!'
The man grunted. 'You can always count on Mesker Setral,' he said. 'As brainless as a cat and just as easy to distract. For a moment there I was hoping Baria would accept the challenge — whatever the outcome, there'd be one less Setral, and that's an opportunity missed.'
'Those disguised Wickans,' Duiker said, 'were not part of any official welcome. Coltaine had infiltrated the market.'
'A cunning dog, is Coltaine.'
Duiker shook his head. 'They've shown themselves now.'
'Aye, and showed as well they were ready to lay down their lives to protect the citizens of Hissar.'
'Had Coltaine been here, I doubt he would have ordered those warriors forward, Kulp. Those Wickans were eager for a fight. Defending the market mob had nothing to do with it.'
The mage rubbed his face. 'Best hope the Hissari believe otherwise.'
'Come,' Duiker said, 'let us take wine — I know a place in Imperial Square, and on the way you can tell me how the Seventh has warmed to their new Fist.'
Kulp barked a laugh as they began walking. 'Respect maybe, but no warmth. He's completely changed the drills. We've done one battlefield formation since he arrived, and that was the day he took command.'
Duiker frowned. 'I'd heard that he was working the soldiers to exhaustion, that he didn't even need to enforce the curfew since everyone was so eager for sleep and the barracks were silent as tombs by the eighth bell. If not practising wheels and turtles and shield-walls, then what?'
'The ruined monastery on the hill south of the city — you know the one? Just foundations left except for the central temple, but the chest-high walls cover the entire hilltop like a small city. The sappers have built them up, roofed some of them over. It was a maze of alleys and cul-de-sacs to begin with, but Coltaine had the sappers turn it into a nightmare. I'd wager there's soldiers still wandering around lost in there. The Wickan has us there every afternoon, mock battles, street control, assaulting buildings, break-out tactics, retrieving wounded. Coltaine's warriors act the part of rioting mobs and looters, and I tell you, historian, they were born to it.' He paused for breath. 'Every day… we bake under the sun on that bone-bleached hill, broken down to squad level, each squad assigned impossible objectives.' He grimaced. 'Under this new Fist, each soldier of the Seventh has died a dozen times or more in mock battle. Corporal List has been killed in every exercise so far, the poor boy's Hood-addled, and through it all those Wickan savages hoot and howl.'
Duiker said nothing as they continued on their way to Imperial Square. When they entered the Malazan Quarter, the historian finally spoke. 'Something of a rivalry, then, between the Seventh and the Wickan Regiment.'
'Oh, aye, that tactic's obvious enough, but it's going too far, I think. We'll see in a few days' time, when we start getting Wickan Lancer support. There'll be double-crossing, mark my words.'
They strode into the square. 'And you?' Duiker asked. 'What task has Coltaine given the Seventh's last cadre mage?'