Page 71 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

Her father interrupted Jambal and asked Amar, “How many injured?”

“Twenty, and ten dead,” Amar answered. Their tribe was getting smaller with each raid.

Temujin sighed. “They took much of our harvest.”

So that’s what they wanted. Shuree placed some cheese and meat on the table and ensured the men’s glasses were full before she poured herself a glass of mare’s milk and sat.

“And my wife and daughter!” Jambal shouted. “We must go now!”

“We will have to get both back,” Amar said.

“Without the harvest, we won’t survive the winter,” the khan agreed. Jambal opened his mouth and Temujin continued, “We will take the time to extinguish the fires and restock our weapons only. We can attack this afternoon.”

He couldn’t be serious. They couldn’t go on like this. “Fighting isn’t solving anything,” Shuree argued. “We need to talk to the Erseg tribe, and perhaps we can compromise, trade with them so they don’t have to raid.”

The men around the table grumbled at her. “We must not show any weakness,” one of the advisors said.

The khan nodded. “Daughter, you do not understand. There is no talking to these people.”

“Have we tried?” she asked.

“If we do not strike back, they will think us vulnerable and will take advantage,” Amar said.

“They must pay for the lives they took, little dragon,” her eldest brother, Yul added, his affectionate smile revealing the gap between his two front teeth.

He’d given her the nickname the first time she’d sparred with him. He’d said she was as beautiful as a dragon, and just as dangerous, her sword her fire. She wouldn’t let the endearment sway her. Why wouldn’t they recognise that fighting wasn’t working? “We’ve been raided by three tribes in the past four moons,” she said. “Too many people are dying. We must find a different solution.”

“Your brothers are right,” Temujin said. “Talking will only show we don’t have the men to fight and they will raid us more frequently.”

Frustration simmered in her blood. “More die each raid,” she said. “Our people are grieving. Continuing on the same path is madness.”

Her father’s expression darkened. “You have had your say, daughter. Now do your duty as Tribal Mother and visit the families of the dead.”

She’d been dismissed. “Yes, Khan.” She rose from the table and pushed aside the heavy tent flap, the soft felt not at all soothing.

Outside, she took two deep breaths to calm her anger, but the normally fresh air of the steppes was mingled with smoke and blood, souring her stomach. How could she convince her father and the elders of the Saltar tribe that change was desperately required?

“Shuree, have they made a decision?” Her grandmother, Nergui walked over to her.

“We are to raid them this afternoon.”

Nergui’s face fell. “Will there be no end to the violence?”

Shuree tucked her arm into her grandmother’s and walked her towards Erhi’s tent. “Has it always been like this?”

“Yes, but it’s getting worse. The interior of the steppes is drying out, and the tribes there are struggling to grow food. They need what we can produce here on the edges in the more fertile areas.”

“Has no one tried to trade?”

“There have been times, but then a khan gets greedy and wants more and the fighting starts again.”

“I suggested we talk to the Erseg tribe, but no one listened.”

“You are a good child.” Nergui patted her arm. “You are wise beyond your years, but your father will never listen, not when their people killed his father.”

Revenge was a vicious cycle.

They stopped by the spiritual tent. “I must visit the bereaved,” Shuree said.

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