The Wrath of the Unchained

The royal council chamber of Buganda was full by midday.

The scent of burning bark and perfumed oils clung to the air. Outside, drums beat faintly from the hilltops, signalling a rare full gathering of the court—clan heads, nobles, military officers, elders, and three spiritual leaders in pale ochre robes. The Kabaka sat at the head of the hall, arms heavy on the lion-carved throne. His crown was placed beside him, not on his head. His face was lined with fatigue.

Behind him stood Onyango, quiet as stone.

When the last elder sat, the Kabaka rose slowly, and addressed his council.

"I did not call you here lightly," he began. "These past moons have tested us all. The sickness that swept our borders, the whispers of betrayal within this court, the unrest in the outer provinces—all these things have left scars. Some visible. Some not."

The hall remained silent.

"I wish to speak now of something difficult. But you deserve the truth. We have found the man who orchestrated the plague. A noble from Kongo—Lumingu. A man who has turned his kingdom into a house of whispers and knives. He used Buganda as a stepping stone."

Shocked murmurs rippled through the room.

One of the younger clan leaders, Chief Bemba, leaned forward. "And why would this Lumingu target us?"

"He meant to destabilize us," the Kabaka said. "To weaken our border. To him, Buganda was just a way to expand trade routes. From what we have gathered, he caused the plague in order to come as saviours by offering antidotes.

If not for Nuri’s intervention, we would be dancing in the palm of their hands.