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Shuree ignored him. “Perhaps if there are others in your tribe who feel the way you do, it would help to voice those concerns to your khan. The more people who speak up about change, the better chance it will occur.”

“I will speak to the other women. I know many feel the same as I do.” Narangerel glanced at her husband. “Sit down, Batbayar. I’ve told you I hate the fighting. If I can prevent it, I will.”

The children had been silent until now, watching with wide eyes. Saran spoke up. “I would like you to stop fighting too, Father.”

“Me too,” Naran said.

Batbayar studied them both and his bluster deflated. “You talk about making us weak.”

“It takes far more strength to lower your weapons and talk, than it does to swing a sabre,” Shuree said.

He glared at her and she sipped her drink. If both the khan’s sons could be convinced, would they help her to convince the khan as well?

Naran tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “Does this mean they’ll stop eating babies?”

Shuree laughed. “We don’t eat babies.”

“My friend said you did.”

“Well your friend is wrong,” Shuree told her. “The Saltar tribe is much like the Erseg tribe,” she said. “We live in yurts like you, we eat curd and dried meats, our young men wrestle like yours do. We simply live closer to the mountains and share our border with the country Bonam in the south which means we have more fertile ground. We grow crops in the summer and raise sheep. Our people are craftsmen, warriors, healers and teachers, just like yours.”

“But women aren’t warriors and you said you fought Father.”

“Most women aren’t warriors, but my father was khan and allowed me to learn. I have…” Her chest constricted and she corrected herself. “Hadthree brothers and I used to watch them train and wanted to learn. Finally I convinced them to teach me.” She smiled as she remembered the lessons. “I only fight when our camp is raided.” As would the other women she was teaching.

“Can I learn to fight, Father?” Saran asked.

He frowned. “There is no need.”

“There might be if we don’t have peace,” Narangerel said. “Our girls are vulnerable during any attack.”

Perhaps this was another way to convince him. “Two of our women were kidnapped during the last raid,” she pointed out. “When your daughters are older, that could easily be them.”

He clenched his jaw and sat. “I would die before I would let anyone take my girls.”

“That might be, but your death might not stop it from happening.” Was she pushing him too far? Surely he had to realise what could happen if the warfare continued. She glanced at Dagar and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. Maybe this was why he’d brought her here.

Narangerel sat back and stared at her husband with horror. “You allowed the men to kidnap women?”

“I didn’t know about it until we got back to camp. Father is dealing with those responsible.”

“Where are they now? We must set them free.”

“They are already on their way back to my tribe,” Shuree said. “Ogodai agreed to free them and let us take our dead home to be properly buried.”

“Good.” She glared at Batbayar. “I expect you to tell the warriors it is not acceptable. We might not have enough women, but that doesn’t excuse such behaviour.”

Shuree sat forward. “Why don’t you have enough women?”

Dagar stood. “It is time to meet with the khan.”

Shuree ignored him and waited for Narangerel to answer. “Part of our agreement with the Tungat and Adhan tribes is to allow our young girls to be wedded to their young men.”

“But surely you receive young women in return.”

She shook her head. “Neither tribe has many women to spare. People say the gods realise we need warriors to fight, so they don’t gift us with many girls.”

And the Saltar tribe had far more women than men. It was another negotiating point. If more marriages occurred between the tribes, it would make them less inclined to attack each other. Dagar walked around to her side of the table and she stood. “Thank you for breakfast, and for your time. I hope we meet again.”