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.'