The plan was reckless—dangerous—but if it worked, it could change everything.
Khisa sat before his father and the village elders, his expression calm yet determined despite the storm brewing in the cramped hut. He had just finished outlining his idea, and for a long, heart-stopping moment, silence reigned.
Then Lusweti exploded, slamming his hands onto the wooden table so hard that the clay cups trembled.
"Are you out of your mind?!" he bellowed.
"You want to send our enemies back to their own people—as if we could ever trust them? Do you think we are fools, Khisa?"
The elders murmured in bitter agreement, their faces twisted with disbelief and fury. Omolo, one of the older men, pointed a gnarled finger at Khisa.
"We fought and bled to protect our people, and now you expect us to kneel beside those who would have slaughtered us?"
Khisa's jaw tightened, but he remained resolute.
"If we want to get our people back, we must outthink our enemies. The Angwenyi warriors we captured have just as much to lose as we do—if their own families have been taken, their loyalty is broken."
Lusweti paced, his eyes dark with anger and sorrow.
"And what happens when they run back to their chief and report our victory?"
Meeting his father's gaze without wavering, Khisa replied,
"They won't. Their loyalty now lies with their families, not with a tyrant who has forsaken them."
Nearby, the prisoners—tired, frightened, and beaten down—listened. One young man, Baraza, clenched his fists and his voice trembled with raw grief,
"My little sister… she was taken. She's only nine. I don't even know where she is."
An older prisoner, scarred by battles past, added bitterly,
"My wife... my sons... they vanished in the night. I fought for our chief because I had no choice, but now I see he sold us all."
His words hung in the air, amplifying the desperate urgency of their situation.
Khisa's heart ached as he turned to the elders again.
"Look at them. They are not mere warriors—they are fathers, brothers, and sons. They are our kin. We must give them a chance to reclaim their honor."
Lusweti's jaw tightened further, his anger and doubt mingling as he glared at his son. After a long, heavy pause, he exhaled sharply, rubbing his forehead.
"Damn it."
Omolo sighed deeply.
"This is madness, Khisa. But perhaps it's a madness worth trying."
Without another word, Khisa declared,
"Then we move at dawn."
And so the plan was set in motion.
---
Before dawn, the Angwenyi prisoners were sent back to their village under the cover of darkness. Their return was swift—so swift, in fact, that their chief had yet to hear of his army's defeat. The foreign slavers were gone. If fortune favored them, the enemy had time.
At the gates, the guards sneered as the prisoners passed.
"Back already? I thought you were meant to be at the front!"
One prisoner replied evenly,
"The general deemed us useless. He said we weren't worth the food."
The guards laughed cruelly.
"I always knew you lot were weak."
The spies kept their heads low, swallowing their fury. They weren't there to fight—yet. Instead, they moved quickly, gathering crucial information. Many in the village still believed the war was turning in their favor, though the absence of a full army left them vulnerable. Their greatest discovery, however, was that the foreigners had left. There were no white-skinned men patrolling the lands, no thunderous sounds of modern weapons. The chief had sent them away, convinced his warriors could claim the Abakhore mines without interference.
The spies exchanged determined glances. This was their moment. Under the guise of checking on lost comrades, they raced back to Abakhore with news that could change everything.
Back at Abakhore, preparations for war were underway. Warriors sharpened their blades, reinforced their shields, and checked their horses. Spears clanked, fires roared, and the air was electric with tension. Yet beneath it all, an undercurrent of rage simmered.
One warrior bellowed,
"They want us to fight alongside the Angwenyi?!"
Another spat,
"The same people who have ravaged our homes? Madness!"
The outcry grew louder.
Khisa stood before them, his eyes burning with resolve.
"I will not force anyone to fight beside our enemies. But tell me—how many of you have lost family to those slavers? We have suffered more losses than we can bear. We fought against hundreds just yesterday, and we did not hesitate then. Our children, our kin, stood on the battlefield."
A heavy silence fell as every man recalled the cost of war.
"The Angwenyi have lost just as much as we have," Khisa continued softly. "Their own people were sold, their trust shattered. They no longer fight for a tyrant—they fight for their families."
Lusweti stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension.
"And what happens when they turn on us? Fighting for their families does not guarantee they will die for us."
Khisa met his father's gaze, unwavering.
"That is why we do not leave them a choice. We give them a new home, a new chief—one who fights for all of us."
Murmurs spread among the warriors as Khisa pressed,
"They will become part of our clan. Their children will marry our children, and their warriors will fight under our banner. Their strength will be ours."
Faces shifted. This was no longer just about survival—it was about dominance, about reshaping the future.
Lusweti watched his son with a mix of anger and reluctant pride. The boy was dangerous—his mind sharp and his vision radical. And, perhaps, he was beginning to believe in his son's plan.
Before anyone could respond, a commotion erupted near the village gates—the spies had returned.
Khisa and Lusweti rushed out, panting and drenched in sweat.
"They are vulnerable," one spy gasped. "Their warriors are scattered. Their chief still believes he has a full army. The foreigners are gone."
Khisa's eyes gleamed with new hope.
Lusweti exhaled slowly, rubbing his face.
"Damn it."
Turning back to the gathered warriors, Khisa's voice rang like steel,
"This is our chance. We seize the Angwenyi village, overthrow their chief, and make their people ours. Then, we chase down the slavers before they take our families across the water."
The warriors roared in response.
Lusweti looked at his son, his chest tightening. The boy was no longer just his son—he was a leader. And if this plan succeeded, he would be the kind of leader the world had never seen before.