The journey was going slow. Without horses, they had to walk, and the won pressed forward carried only by determination and the desperate hope of returning ho.
Khisa used the ti to teach them Swahili, knowing it would help them communicate with the Shadow Guard and future traders of Nuri. Every evening, they gathered around fires, repeating words and phrases until their tongues were sore and their minds overwheld.
The first night, Khisa pulled Faizah aside.
"Your training begins now," he said without preamble. "You have much to learn if you wish to catch up. Languages, economics, politics, military strategy—everything in between.
What I teach you, you will pass down through generations. Your children and grandchildren will learn from you. This knowledge must not be lost. Write down everything you hear, see, and learn.
Our job is to pave the way for the future. You will also learn weapons—swords, daggers, clubs, sticks, arrows. Once you’re proficient, you’ll choose your specialty.
You’ll feel like dying from exhaustion every day, and even then, I won’t let you rest. Your sword must be sharp—but your mind, even sharper."
Faizah gulped, but her eyes burned with resolve.
"I won’t disappoint you, Prince Khisa. I’ll be your sharpest sword. Whatever it takes."
"Make sure not to lose yourself in the process," he warned. "Always rember what you fight for. Never let the monsters you kill turn you into one."
Faizah had never known a man like Khisa. Most were stubborn, arrogant, or cowards pretending to be brave. He was different. He saw her potential. He didn’t try to possess her—he tried to elevate her. That night, she silently vowed to follow him for the rest of her life.
It took five days to reach the next village.
The mood there was slightly better. Burn marks scarred several buildings, but people were still moving, working, rebuilding. Then they saw Khisa and his group.
n rushed out with curved blades, eyes fierce with suspicion.
"Let those won go, Adal scum!" one yelled, sprinting toward Khisa’s horse.
He swung his blade—
Clang!
Steel t steel. Naliaka stood before him, twin daggers gleaming.
Before another word could be said, a woman from the group ran forward.
"Ali!"
"Maraki!"
The man dropped his weapon and sprinted toward her. They collided in an embrace, sobbing. Maraki’s knees buckled in relief—she was finally ho.
One by one, more won stepped forward, eyes scanning the crowd. Shouts of recognition, of disbelief, of joy echoed. Mothers reunited with daughters. Sisters embraced. The village softened.
"Please wait, Biruk," Maraki pleaded. "Prince Khisa saved us. He brought us back safely."
Biruk’s hardened eyes softened. "Co in, rest. Your journey must have been long."
The villagers welcod them, offering water, food, and shelter. They stared in awe at the Shadow Guard—won ard and unyielding, a rare sight. So whispered in curiosity. Others scoffed quietly, unconvinced.
Khisa was brought to the main hut, where a group of elders waited.
"So, they say you are a prince?" one elder said, skepticism heavy in his tone.
Khisa bowed politely. "I am Khisa Lusweti, Prince of the Kingdom of Nuri. We co from the south, seeking allies against the foreign invaders who poison our lands."
"We thank you for bringing our people ho," the elder replied. "Tell us, what happened?"
Khisa recounted the events with clarity—the burning village, the enemy camp, and their intervention. He left nothing out.
"Why would you help us?" Biruk asked. "n usually want sothing."
"What other reason would I need besides it being the right thing to do?" Khisa answered simply.
An elder narrowed his eyes. "And the won in your company? Do your n need protection from won now?"
Khisa chuckled. "Those won are warriors. Trained in Nuri. You’d be wise not to underestimate them—or insult them."
"Are you threatening , little boy?"
Khisa’s smile was calm and cold. "How about a wager? Your best warriors against mine. If we win, you help us reach Shewa. If we lose, we leave your lands and take our business elsewhere."
The elder scoffed. "You think won can fight n? Your kingdom must be full of cowards."
Khisa said nothing—he only smiled. "Actions speak louder than words. I have eight warriors. Send your best."
The elders smirked and agreed. They led Khisa and the Shadow Guard to the training grounds.
Khisa turned to them. "Shadows! Show them what you’re made of."
The warriors stepped forward.
Faizah stood beside Khisa, watching.
The training grounds were packed. Word had spread quickly, and the entire village had turned up to watch. The atmosphere buzzed with tension, curiosity, and the scent of challenge.
Eight warriors from the Shadow Guard stepped forward, each one calm and collected.Across from them stood eight of the village’s finest—broad-shouldered n ard with long spears, swords, and heavy clubs.
"Ready yourselves," Biruk barked.
The elder smirked. "Let’s end this fast."
Khisa leaned toward Faizah. "Watch closely. These are the won who have stood beside through battles and blood. They are Nuri."
A horn blew. The fight began.
The warriors surged forward.
Naliaka moved first. She ducked under a swinging blade, her short sword slicing clean across her opponent’s thigh. He howled, dropped to one knee, and she spun around, her dagger grazing his collarbone. He collapsed—alive, but done. The crowd gasped.
"Too slow," she muttered.
Nia was elegant, her sword dancing like wind. She parried, twisted her wrist, and disard her opponent in three movents. When he lunged again, she struck him in the chest with the blunt end of her sword, sending him tumbling backward, coughing.
Zuberi grinned like a madwoman. Twin blades flashed in her hands. She engaged two n at once, ducking and weaving, her blades crossing to block one strike while she flipped over another. With an acrobatic spin, she slashed the back of one warrior’s knees, then turned and jabbed the flat of her blade into the second man’s stomach.
"Keep ’em coming!" she yelled.
The crowd was no longer silent. Cheers broke out—mostly from the won—but many n watched with disbelief, their mouths ajar.
A fourth Shadow Guard mber—Musimbi—wielded a heavy staff. She cracked one man across the face, then spun and swept another’s legs out from beneath him. When he tried to rise, she jabbed the staff’s end into his sternum with bone-crunching force. He didn’t get up again.
Another, nad Zara, fought with twin daggers. She blurred through her opponent’s defense like water, twisting past his guard, cutting through fabric and skin until his blade clattered to the ground.
Only two of the village warriors remained standing, breathing heavily. Their confidence had turned to fear.
They charged as one, but Faida and Jelani were ready. Faida’s spear found the gap in one man’s armor, sliding just beneath his ribs—non-lethal but decisive. Jelani cracked her shield against the final opponent’s chest and followed up with a punch to the jaw. He staggered back, dazed, and she kicked his legs from under him.
Silence.
The villagers stared. Eight village warriors down. Eight Nuri warriors still standing, so barely scratched.
The elder looked like he had swallowed a goat.
Naliaka walked forward, blood staining the tip of her blade. "Would you like us to go again? Maybe with twelve this ti?"
One of the villagers who had scoffed earlier whispered, "They fight like lightning."
Children stared in awe. Won smiled. So of the younger warriors clapped, pride swallowing their previous doubts.
Biruk slowly turned to Khisa, swallowing his pride.
"You have warriors indeed, Prince Khisa."
Khisa didn’t gloat. He simply said, "I told you. Nuri isn’t a kingdom of cowards. We are a kingdom of purpose."
Faizah whispered, "I want to be like them."
Khisa smiled. "You will be."
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