demanded, advancing towards me, suddenly angry rather than baffled. I failed to move, still caught in a snare of uncertainty and also distracted by the fact that the black-robed woman wore no shoes. Her feet were black with accumulated filth, and for some reason I found the sight oddly fascinating.
“This is not a vision from the Father,” the woman said, lunging towards me. “It feels different. I can tell!”
My preoccupation with her feet, coupled with a consuming sense of utter surprise, forestalled any reaction as she actually took hold of my arms, her grip fierce. I remember noting the bloodshot condition of her eyes as her face came within inches of mine. It was a comely face, in truth, possessed of a smoothness that spoke of a woman somewhere shy of her thirtieth year. But it was crowned by an unruly mass of dark, unkempt hair, and her breath had a familiar acrid tinge that, coupled with her reddened eyes, provoked a singular deduction. A drunkard. My dream has been invaded by a drunkard with dirty feet.
“Do not try to fool me, witch!” she hissed. “What Dark design is this?”
It was the thin but pungent stream of her breath that roused me, twisting my features into a disgusted mask as I snapped my head forward, slamming my forehead against her nose. The desired effect was immediate, her hands slipping from my shoulders as she sank to her knees, groaning.
“You asked who I am,” I said, drawing the long-knife from my belt and putting it to her neck. “I would know your name first.”
I was gratified to see the edge of the blade press into her flesh. If we could touch each other here, it appeared we could damage each other too.
“I’ll tell you nothing, servant of the Dark,” she said, face tensed by pain as she stared up in defiance. “I will never betray the Father’s love . . .”
She let out a pained squeak as I whipped the blade across her cheek, leaving a small but deep cut. “How do you come to be here?” I demanded. “How can you see me? How did you find your way into my dream?”
Her pain and animosity faded for a moment and she gaped up at me in baffled wonder. “You mean . . . you too are a seer? But . . . you cannot know the Father’s love. He would not bestow so great a gift upon one such as you . . .”
“What father?” I demanded, angling the tip of my blade so that it hovered an inch from her eye. “What are you gabbling about?”
The sound of many horns swallowed my words, the pealing echo rising up from the army below in a great chorus of alarm. I raised my gaze from the drunken woman to see the army responding to the call. Soldiers ran to retrieve stacked spears and don armour, crossbowmen gathered their quivers and cavalrymen hauled saddles to tethered horses.
“What’s happening?” the woman asked. I realised I still had my knife poised to skewer her eye and stepped away, suddenly feeling somewhat foolish.
“A battle, apparently,” I replied, sheathing my blade.
“Where?” She got to her feet, wincing and rubbing at her nose. I saw that the bruise was now fading, as was the cut on her cheek. It seemed any wounds we inflicted here were only temporary. “Who is fighting?”
“I’m not exactly sure.” I turned away to watch the army form ranks. “I suspect we are somewhere on the southern Steppe, not far from the border with the lands of the Merchant Kings.”
“Merchant Kings?”
I turned to her, brows creasing in consternation at the genuine ignorance in her voice. How could she not have heard of the Merchant Kings? They possessed most of the wealth in the world entire. “I think it’s time we introduced ourselves properly,” I said.
She drew herself up, chin jutting at a self-important angle. “I am Lady Ivinia Morentes of the Western Marches,” she said. “Servant of the Church of the World Father, and Holy Seer by His blessing.” She paused, I assumed for dramatic effect. “Known as the Blessed Maiden to all who enjoy the Father’s love.”
I shook my head in bafflement but nevertheless raised an open hand to form the sign of peaceful greeting. “Luralyn Reyerik of the Divine Blood, daughter to the Cova Skeld of the Stahlhast.”
From the expression on her face it was clear she had no more understanding of my identity than I of hers. “You are .