Rastaban could only stare in cold fury and horror at the women who surrounded his men.
“Who are you?” Khouri demanded.
“I am General Shanka, and this land is our home,” the woman said. Her hair was dark and pulled tightly back out of her face the way men wore it. Her sword was bright and slick with blood. “Turn away or face destruction.”
An army of women. Rastaban had heard stories as a child, rumors about wild women who rode like men and fought like beasts, but this woman was - small. Pretty.
“I will not turn back,” Rastaban said.
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