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“No.”

The door flew open and a tall man strode in, his dark eyes hauntingly familiar, the fresh scar on his cheek now healing. “What’s going on?”

Relief filled her. Perhaps he would help her. He knew she didn’t want violence. “My name is Shuree and I’m from the Saltar tribe. I wish to talk to your khan so I can take my people home.”

“She drew her weapon, Dagar” the guard complained. “She attacked us.”

“My friends screamed in fear.” She kept her gaze roaming over the men in the room. She was outnumbered. “I attacked no one, simply stopped him from hurting another man’s wife.”

“Put your pants on,” Dagar growled at the man who had attacked Yesugen. “The khan will speak with you later.”

The man looked a little worried as he dressed.

Dagar turned his attention to Shuree. “I can take you to the khan. Leave your sabre on the table.”

She hesitated. “Do you swear by Qadan to offer us safe passage until I have spoken to the khan?”

“I swear.”

Hopefully her mercy the other day would offer her some protection.

She lay her sabre on the table and took Yesugen’s and Tegusken’s hands. “Show us the way.”

“Go back to your post,” Dagar said to the guard. “See that her wagon doesn’t get misplaced.”

Shuree nodded her thanks and followed Dagar out of the tent. He was silent as he led them through the camp, the shadows drawing long as the sun sank towards the horizon. Tribesmen, and the occasional woman, stopped to watch them, word having spread about her arrival. Yesugen’s hand trembled in hers and Tegusken sobbed quietly. “Be brave,” Shuree whispered. “Jambal has been frantic and I hope you will be home to him tomorrow.”

“Are they coming to free us?” she whispered.

“No. I will free you.”

Nearby some young men stood in a circle cheering around two grappling wrestlers. Just like the young men did back home.

Dagar stopped outside a large yurt in the centre of the camp and pushed open the flap. “Ogodai Khan, you have a visitor.” He gestured for them to enter. “This is Shuree from the Saltar tribe. She wishes to speak to you.”

Ogodai turned to her. He was a large man, tall and lean, but muscled like a sleek scout horse. His dark hair was tied in a top knot and he wore the tunic and pants of their people, yet his dark cloth was of an excellent, more refined quality. “Are you here to beg for mercy?”

Her muscles tightened as chills raced along her skin. “I am here to put an end to the endless fighting between our tribes.”

He laughed. “They send a woman to do a khan’s job?”

She straightened her spine. “Our khan left me in charge until he returned, when he attempted to retake the things you stole. He did not return.”

Ogodai’s eyes widened.

“So I am khan until an official ceremony can be performed. As such, I wish to negotiate with you, and end our hostility.”

“What can you possibly offer us?” Ogodai said. “We have your harvest and your women.”

This was her only chance. If she couldn’t convince him, her people were doomed. “Peace,” she said. “Access to our harvest every year and perhaps more, depending on what you want.”

He laughed again. “It seems the Saltar tribe is on the verge of capitulating. Do you not have enough men left to fight?”

“Our women are tired of burying their loved ones as I’m sure are yours.” She straightened her spine and kept her voice steady. “There is a better way of living which doesn’t require constant fear and vigilance.”

Dagar shifted, his expression speculative.

The khan yawned and glanced at his nails. “No. You can join the other women as wives for my men.”