Chapter 39 - The Art of Playing the Fool
The days passed swiftly in preparation for what all sides knew was inevitable.
In Kilwa, the Sultan's forces swelled, their training intensifying under the weight of an impending conflict. Their ruler, arrogant as ever, believed himself untouchable. He saw Mshale and his warriors as insects buzzing around his grand kingdom, unworthy of concern.
Almeida, however, was far from complacent. He polished his plans with ruthless precision, moving his disguised agents like chess pieces across the board. His goal was clear: let Kilwa and Nuri exhaust themselves, then seize everything in the aftermath.
And in Nuri, Lusweti and his warriors sharpened their blades, both literal and metaphorical. They knew war was coming, but instead of rushing headlong into battle, they honed a different strategy—one that would lull the enemy into overconfidence before striking them down.
A lone rider approached the eastern barracks under the blistering sun. His horse, foaming at the mouth, galloped with the last of its strength before Kibet finally pulled it to a stop.
The soldiers stationed at the barracks rushed forward, recognizing the exhausted scout.
"Kibet! You made it!" one of them exclaimed, gripping his arm.
Kibet barely nodded, his body aching from the journey. "I must see the King."
They wasted no time, leading him through the settlement to Lusweti's war chambers. The king sat with General Simiyu, poring over maps, but as soon as he saw Kibet, he gestured for him to speak.
Kibet did not waste words. He described Kilwa in grim detail—the sprawling wealth, the lavish markets, the military might being gathered, and the opulence that contrasted sharply with the suffering of its people.
"Some of the nobles despise the Sultan," he said. "They tolerate him because they either fear him or are benefiting from his rule. But deep down, they would see him fall if they had a guarantee of victory."