CHAPTER 181: CHAPTER 181 - THE WEIGHT OF TRUST

Mengo was a hive of tension. Courtyards that once hummed with court music now thundered with the tramp of boots and barked commands. Spears gleamed in the sun, shields were stacked in careful rows, and drums rolled endlessly as new levies filed in from the villages. The air was thick with the iron smell of sweat and the sting of smoke from the forges, where smiths worked day and night.

Inside the great council hall, Kabaka Nakibinge sat at the head of the long carved table. Around him clustered his commanders and ministers, while Khisa and his companions stood to one side, maps and troop lists spread out before them.

"The warriors are learning well," Khisa said, his voice even but edged with fatigue. "Day by day they harden. Give us a little more time, and they’ll march as one."

A grizzled commander leaned forward, fingers drumming the table. His gaze slid toward Khisa’s belt, where no firearm hung. "And when do you plan to teach them to wield your weapons?"

The words dropped like a stone in still water. The room froze. Men shifted in their seats, eyes darting between Khisa and the Kabaka. It was a question they had all whispered, but none had dared ask aloud.

Khisa exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I was wondering when that would come up."

"So," Kabaka Nakibinge said, leaning forward, "you do have an explanation?"

"Yes." Khisa’s voice was firm. "Guns are dangerous. Without proper training, accidents happen. Men could kill each other before ever seeing battle. And besides—" he spread his hands— "we do not have enough. What little we have must remain with trained Nuri soldiers."

The commander scoffed. "Then why not bring more? We still have time before we march. Surely Nuri can arrange a transport? Unless—" his eyes narrowed— "you mean to keep us dependent. Perhaps you do not want Buganda rising too high."

Murmurs rippled around the table. Several ministers exchanged uneasy looks.

"With respect," Khisa said sharply, "wasting time on more shipments will cripple our preparations. Your men need unity, not muskets. Coordination wins wars. Discipline wins wars. Not shiny weapons."

"And yet," the commander pressed, "your men do carry them. Always Nuri above Buganda. Always your weapons hidden, your secrets kept. If you truly came to help us, why hide the very tools that give you strength?"

The rumble of discontent grew louder. Chairs scraped. Some commanders nodded, others frowned.

Khisa’s jaw tightened. He wanted to snap, but before he could, Kabaka Nakibinge’s hand rose. Silence fell.

"You forget yourselves," the Kabaka said coldly. "Have you all forgotten what Nuri has done? Our people were saved from the plague by their medicines. They have risked their lives here, not for glory, but to see Kongo freed. Do not insult their sacrifice."

The Kabaka let the weight of his words settle before continuing. "Still, I see the concern. And I have a solution. After this war, Buganda and Nuri will negotiate a new alliance. A fair one. It will include the sharing of knowledge—advancements, medicines, even weapons. Nothing hidden."

The chamber hummed with agreement. To them, it sounded like balance.

Khisa’s teeth clenched. After all we’ve given, they still see us as ambitious schemers. Do they think Nuri bends so easily? That we will hand them our lifeblood just to prove our loyalty?

He inclined his head stiffly. "We will revisit this after the war. I will not agree to anything here, not while men’s lives are yet to be lost. But know this—the terms must be fair. Both kingdoms will decide, not one binding the other."

He turned and left before more could be said.

Outside, the air was cool against his skin, but the heat of the hall still burned inside him. He found Bakari near the training grounds, watching a line of Buganda warriors practice shield walls.

"Teach them to prepare simple explosives," Khisa ordered quietly. "Clay pots, oil, powder. Enough to frighten, enough to break lines. But keep it controlled."

Bakari frowned but nodded.

Khisa moved on, finding Ole Samoei by the stables. "Send a scouting team. The roads into Kongo must be watched. We cannot walk blind into their traps."

The days blurred. Then, a week later, the call came.

Mengo’s courtyards overflowed. Families clung to warriors, mothers tying charms onto spears, children clutching their fathers’ legs, refusing to let go until gently pried away. Drums thundered, echoing in the ribs of every man and woman present.

At the head of the great host, Kabaka Nakibinge stood tall, his voice carrying like a storm:

"Warriors of Buganda! Sons and daughters of this land! Today, we march not for conquest, but for survival. The Kongo is our neighbor, their chains could soon be ours. If Lumingu is not stopped, the fire will spread. But together, with Nuri at our side, we will push it back! We will fight not just for ourselves, but for the generations yet unborn!"

A roar split the air. Spears lifted, shields clashed, the ground itself seemed to quake.

And so the army began its march. Khisa at the vanguard, Bakari and the others spread through the ranks, rifles loaded, eyes sharp. The road to Kongo stretched long before them, dust rising like smoke with every step.

It was going to be a hard march. And behind every drumbeat, Khisa felt the weight of eyes—friend and skeptic alike—watching to see if the prince of Nuri would falter.

Khisa rode at the front, his gaze fixed ahead, but his thoughts swirled back to the council chamber.

After everything, they still think Nuri hides its teeth like a snake, he thought bitterly. Do they not see that if we fall, they will follow?

The voice came, steady, calm, edged with steel.

[You cannot blame them, Khisa. Trust is slow to grow, and fear is quick to spread. They fear not only Lumingu, but you — because you are different.]

Khisa clenched the reins tighter. They should be grateful, not suspicious.

[Gratitude is fleeting. Power is what they recognize. If you give them all of Nuri’s secrets now, they will never respect you. They will only consume you. Hold fast. You lead not only soldiers, but kings.]

He let out a low breath. "And if holding back costs us their trust?" he murmured under his breath.

[Then earn it another way. Show them victory. Win them battles no one else could win. That will silence every whisper.]

Khisa’s jaw eased slightly. You always make it sound simple, Ayaan.

[Because the truth is simple. You cannot save everyone, but you can save enough. And enough is what keeps the flame alive.]

The army’s chants rose behind him, a tide of voices that made the earth tremble. For the first time since leaving the hall, Khisa’s chest eased.