CHAPTER 177: CHAPTER 177 - THE LURE OF WAR

The morning after the execution was unusually quiet. The cheers that had echoed through Mengo’s streets the previous night were gone, replaced by the heavy silence of a kingdom still licking its wounds. A somber pall hung over the palace halls — servants moved slower, conversations were whispered, and even the birds perched on the palace roofs seemed hesitant to sing.

Kabaka Nakibinge stood at the balcony of his chamber, gazing out over the capital with tired eyes. The weight of leadership pressed heavier than ever on his shoulders. He had delivered justice, but it had not healed the wound — if anything, it had revealed how deep it truly was.

Khisa found him there, hands clasped behind his back, the wind stirring his cloak.

"It’s time," Khisa said quietly. "We must begin preparing for what’s coming. Call your commanders — Buganda needs to be ready."

The Kabaka nodded wearily. "So soon?"

"There’s no such thing as ’soon’ anymore," Khisa replied. "Only too late."

By midmorning, the palace war hall was alive with tense energy. Commanders from across Buganda gathered around a large carved table, maps of the Kongo basin and the western border spread out before them. Khisa stood at the head, flanked by his three commanders — Bakari, Odinga, and Ole Samoei.

"We start today," Khisa said, unrolling a parchment of notes. "We don’t have time to harden bodies, but we can harden minds. Your soldiers must learn discipline, formations, and battlefield signals."

He gestured toward Odinga, who stepped forward and set down a set of carved wooden markers on the table — miniature representations of troops and units.

"First, marching formations," Khisa explained. "We’ll drill them in blocks of forty — five rows of eight. They’ll learn to move as a single unit, not a mob. Orders will be relayed by horn, drum, and banner — three horn blasts means regroup, one means advance, a rising drumbeat signals a flanking maneuver. If your men master this, they’ll react as one body, even amid chaos."

One commander, skeptical, folded his arms. "You make it sound simple, Prince Khisa. But these men are farmers and traders — not Nuri’s hardened soldiers. They’ll break at the first charge."

Khisa’s gaze didn’t waver. "Then they’ll break in training, not in battle. If we fail them now, we condemn them later. You cannot outrun war — you can only prepare to meet it."

Mugamba, a seasoned veteran with graying hair, leaned forward. "Formations and drums won’t change the odds. We’re outmatched — Lumingu has the Kongo army, and the Portuguese bring weapons we’ve never seen. Are we truly ready to send our sons into that?"

"We don’t have the luxury of choice," the Kabaka said firmly. "War is already here. The question is whether we meet it crawling... or standing."

The doors opened, and Onyango stepped in — cloak dusty from travel, face drawn but steady. He bowed deeply.

"Your Majesty. Prince Khisa. I bring word from the border."

"Speak," Nakibinge said.

Onyango set his satchel down and began. "We’ve extracted most of the names on Lumingu’s assassination list. Some were killed before we could reach them, but we now have several valuable allies — including General Kazadi of the eastern regiment. Many in the Kongo army still follow Lumingu, but intelligence suggests that once the truth is known, they’ll abandon him."

He continued, "Our operatives are spreading rumors of Lumingu’s betrayal in towns near Mbanza. The tension is rising — local leaders and their people are turning against each other. Lumingu’s frustration grows, and desperation makes him dangerous."

"Any word of the Portuguese?" Khisa asked.

"Only whispers," Onyango said grimly. "Ships off the coast, crates unloaded under guard — weapons, almost certainly. Soldiers too. Nothing confirmed, but they’re preparing for escalation."

Khisa nodded, jaw tightening. "Time is against us. Without knowing their strength, drawing a battle plan is almost impossible."

"There’s more," Onyango added. "Lumingu’s men are burning villages, hunting for our agents. Dozens are dead already. If we wait, he’ll scorch the land bare."

Silence fell heavy over the room.

"How do we stop this before it swallows us?" the Kabaka asked. "Even if Lumingu falls, the Portuguese will not retreat. Kongo is too valuable to them."

"Which is why Lumingu isn’t our target," Khisa said calmly. "We aim for the Portuguese commander. He’s the spine holding Lumingu upright. Cut him down, and Lumingu collapses under his own weight."

The room erupted.

"Impossible!" one commander shouted. "How do you reach him in the heart of enemy territory?"

"Marching in is suicide!" another argued. "They’ll crush us before we even reach the walls."

Khisa let them speak before raising a hand. "Then we don’t sneak. We march openly. We become the distraction. Our army will hammer the gates, draw their gaze. Meanwhile, Mkono wa Giza will slip behind the lines and strike where it matters."

Odinga folded his arms, skeptical. "That requires perfect timing. One mistake, and the distraction turns into a massacre."

"Then we plan it to perfection," Khisa said simply. "And we don’t give them the chance to adapt."

It was then that Commander Mugamba leaned forward, voice grave. "You speak of bait... but bait must be worth the bite. A simple army won’t lure the Portuguese commander from his fortifications. If you want him watching... you must be the one to lead the charge."

The room went still.

"The prince of Nuri," Mugamba continued, "marching on Kongo soil. With the animosity between your kingdom and Portugal, they would have to respond. You want their commander’s attention? Put your life on the line."

For a long moment, Khisa said nothing. Bakari tensed beside him, but Khisa’s gaze never left the map.

"Then so be it," he said at last. "If my presence draws their fangs, then I will lead from the front. If this is the price for victory — for peace — I am willing to pay it."

The Kabaka studied him, half in admiration, half in fear. "You understand what you’re committing to, Prince Khisa. If you fall—"

"Then Nuri will mourn me," Khisa interrupted, "but Kongo will still be free."

The silence that followed was heavy, but no one spoke against the plan again.

"Then it’s settled," Nakibinge declared. "We will march — Buganda beside Nuri, not as vassals, but as brothers-in-arms."

Khisa nodded, resolve in his voice. "Then let the Portuguese come. This time, we will not react to their plans. This time... we will make them react to ours."