Chapter 43 - The March of Fate
The weight of leadership pressed heavily on Lusweti’s shoulders, but he stood firm, unwavering. The decision to let Duarte go had already sparked debate, but now, with the army ready to march, Simiyu could no longer hold back his frustration.
Simiyu approached Lusweti at dawn, his expression grim. The cool morning air did nothing to temper the fire in his voice.
"You should have killed him." The words were blunt, direct.
Lusweti, adjusting the straps on his armor, sighed but didn’t turn around. "Duarte was a prisoner. He was shown mercy."
"Mercy?" Simiyu scoffed. "You’re a fool if you think he will not return to his masters. He has no loyalty to us, Lusweti. That man is a snake, and you set him free to bite us later."
Lusweti turned now, his gaze steady, his tone calm but firm. "And what of us, Simiyu? Were we not once enemies?"
Simiyu clenched his jaw but said nothing.
"I remember a time when you thought I was unfit to lead. That my vision of Nuri was weak. That we would fail." Lusweti took a step closer, his presence commanding. "And yet, here you stand, not as my enemy, but as my greatest warrior. Because Khisa showed us another way."
Simiyu’s eyes flickered with something—resentment, maybe, but also reluctant understanding.
"Duarte has yet to prove himself," Lusweti admitted, "but I believe he will. Nuri is not just a land of warriors, Simiyu. It is a land of hope."
Simiyu exhaled sharply. "Hope does not win wars. Swords do."