Weche and Kibet didn’t stop running. Their bodies scread in protest, their lungs burned, but they forced themselves forward. The darkness of the forest wrapped around them, the scent of damp earth thick in the air. Every branch they pushed through left scratches on their skin, but they barely noticed. They had no ti to feel pain.
Their only priority was survival.
They reached the cave where they had hidden the horses—four strong beasts, their breath steady, unaware of the chaos unfolding around them. Weche and Kibet didn’t hesitate. They threw a few heavy stones into the saddlebags of two horses, whispered quick commands, and sent them galloping in the opposite direction. The sound of hooves thundered through the night, fading into the distance.
It wouldn’t fool the Kilwa army forever. But they didn’t need forever.
Just a few precious hours.
They mounted the remaining two horses and took off, keeping low as they rode. The terrain was treacherous—dense undergrowth, uneven paths, the occasional fallen tree forcing them to slow their pace. The forest had always been their ally, but tonight, it felt like it was testing them, pushing them to their limits.
Dawn was beginning to break when they sensed it.
A shift in the air.
The subtle wrongness of the silence.
They had been found.
Six Kilwa soldiers erged from the trees like wraiths—four gunn and two swordsn, their expressions smug, their movents slow and deliberate. They thought this was already over.
"Well, well," one of them sneered, adjusting his grip on his musket. "Look what we found."
His comrades chuckled, forming a loose circle around them.
"Two little scouts, thinking they can outsmart an army," another added.
Weche and Kibet exchanged a look. A silent agreent.
They would not be captured.
In an instant, they disappeared into the trees.
The Kilwa soldiers cursed, raising their muskets. But it was already too late.
The first gunman barely had ti to blink before an arrow buried itself in his throat. He gurgled, staggering backward, eyes wide with disbelief as he crumpled to the ground.
The second suffered the sa fate.
Panic spread through the remaining n. The gunn fired wildly into the trees, the sharp cracks of gunfire shattering the morning stillness. Bullets tore through leaves, snapping branches, kicking up dirt.
But Weche and Kibet were no longer there.
They moved like ghosts, navigating the terrain with ease. Every step was calculated, every breath controlled.
And then, they struck.
Dropping down from the branches, they beca whirlwinds of steel. Kibet drove his dagger into the side of the third gunman, twisting it before ripping it free. Blood sprayed across his arm, warm and slick. The man crumpled with a strangled gasp.
Weche went for the fourth, his blade slicing clean across his throat. The soldier’s musket fell from his grip, his hands grasping at the deep, gushing wound. He slumped forward, dead before he hit the ground.
The swordsn lunged, their blades flashing.
Kibet barely dodged the first strike, rolling away just in ti. Weche caught the other’s sword mid-swing, their weapons clashing in a shower of sparks.
They fought like animals.
The Kilwa swordsn were trained, but this was Nuri’s forest.
Weche feinted left, then drove his dagger up under his opponent’s ribs. The man gasped, his sword falling from numb fingers as he crumpled.
Kibet’s opponent swung wildly, but Kibet was faster. A quick sidestep, a brutal slash across the throat, and it was over.
But not without cost.
Weche hissed, pressing a hand to his shoulder where a bullet had grazed him. The wound was shallow, but the sting was sharp.
Kibet wiped his blade clean. "We don’t have ti to bleed. Let’s move."
They mounted their horses, pushing the exhausted animals forward. There was no ti to rest.
Every heartbeat counted.
By the ti the Nuri flag ca into view, Weche could barely keep his head upright. His vision blurred, his body numb with exhaustion. His limbs felt heavy, as if the weight of the entire war had settled into his bones.
Kibet slumped forward in the saddle, barely conscious.
They didn’t even have the strength to hold on when the horses finally stopped.
The mont their feet hit the ground, they collapsed.
The world blurred—voices, hands grabbing them, carrying them. The sharp scent of dicine.
Weche’s mouth was dry, his body trembling from exhaustion, his mind still screaming at him to stay alert. Keep fighting. Keep moving.
Soldiers sward them, shouting orders, pressing cloth to their wounds, forcing water past their cracked lips.
Weche barely registered the hands lifting him, the coolness of the tent’s shade.
But then he heard Lusweti’s voice.
"Tell everything."
Kibet’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "The Kilwa army—slowed, but not stopped. The avalanche crushed part of their camp, but they’ll recover. The water supply is disrupted, but they’ll find another way. We bought ti, but not much."
Weche swallowed, his throat raw. "And they’re hunting us."
Lusweti’s expression was unreadable. He nodded once, then turned to General Simiyu.
"They will co through the valley," Lusweti murmured, his eyes narrowing. "It’s the only clear path."
Simiyu unfolded a map, tracing a finger along the valley ridges. "It’s a perfect killing ground. We can thin their numbers before they reach us."
Lusweti exhaled sharply, his mind already moving ahead.
"They have more n," he said slowly. "More firepower. If we fight them in open battle, we lose."
He tapped the map.
"But if we control the terrain... drag this out... we bleed them before the real fight begins."
Simiyu nodded grimly. "War of attrition."
Lusweti’s jaw clenched. "We only need to hold them off long enough. The ones I sent to the coast will return. And then..."
His fingers curled into a fist.
"This war ends when Alida and the Sultan are dead."
Silence hung heavy in the tent.
Kibet and Weche, still battle-worn, exchanged a glance.
They had risked everything to buy Nuri ti.
Now, it was up to Lusweti to make that ti count.
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