‘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.’