Chapter 52 - Smoke, Blood and Betrayal
While Kilwa burned, Lusweti raced toward it, his heart pounding against his ribs. Uncertainty gnawed at him—he had no idea what awaited him. But he didn’t care. This war would end today. No matter what it took, Almeida would fall.
Malik, on the other hand, awaited news from the scout he had sent. With the war dragging on, reinforcements from Kilwa would be a godsend. He had no idea the man he depended on was already dead. He had no clue that Almeida—the Sultan’s most trusted man—had already claimed Kilwa for himself. They were fighting for a kingdom that no longer existed.
The scout reached the outskirts of Kilwa, his horse gasping for breath, foam flecking its mouth. He, too, was exhausted, his muscles burning from the relentless journey. But his hope for reinforcements pushed him forward. Then he saw it. Smoke.
Thick, black, and endless, the smoke blanketed the city like a funeral shroud. The sky itself seemed choked by it.
His heartbeat faltered. His lips went dry. He urged his horse forward, dread curling in his stomach. This can’t be right.
As he neared the gates, mercenaries lounged carelessly, their rifles propped up beside them. Their relaxed posture didn’t match the devastation beyond the walls.
"What is happening?!" The scout barely recognized his own voice, thick with panic. "Why is there so much smoke?! Were we attacked?!"
One mercenary turned, a grin splitting his face. Too wide. Too cruel.
"Oh, look who’s here! More merchandise for us."
The words didn’t register at first. "What did you say?"
The man only laughed.