The journey to Kilwa had been long, filled with discussions, strategizing, and silent contemplation. As the weeks passed, the delegation's mission became clearer, yet the uncertainty of what lay ahead lingered like a thick mist in the air.
Inside the carriage, Teacher Mshale sat with Rehema, the priestess, alongside Jumba, Jabari, and Mutiso. The weight of their task bore down on them, but none felt it more than Jabari.
He was just a young boy who had run after his parents were killed. He was no warrior, but this mission was more important than anything he had ever done in his life. He wasn't facing an enemy with a spear in hand; he was stepping into the shadows of a familiar city, relying on wits alone.
Still, he masked his unease well. He sat with his arms crossed, staring out the window as the dense forests gave way to the flatter coastal terrain. Yet, his foot tapped against the floor of the carriage in an anxious rhythm.
Mshale, ever perceptive, caught the slight movement. He turned to Jabari with a knowing smile.
"You seem deep in thought," Mshale remarked.
Jabari exhaled through his nose. "I just want to make sure I don't fail." His voice was steady, but there was a flicker of hesitation beneath it. "This city… I have grown up there my whole life. Although the Sultan caused my parents and many others to suffer, it is still my home. I would like to save as many as we can. If I slip up and get caught, I won't be able to fight my way out."
Jumba let out a chuckle, nudging him with his elbow. "Then don't slip up."
Rehema shot Jumba a look before turning back to Jabari, her expression soft. "You're brave, Jabari. And bravery is not the absence of fear—it's knowing the risks and walking forward anyway. You ran for your life, fought wild animals in unfamiliar lands, and still made it to Nuri. You are already a brave warrior."
Mutiso nodded in agreement. "Your job is dangerous, yes, but you won't be going in blind. You'll have gold to grease the right palms. Coin speaks louder than swords in places like Kilwa."
Mshale reached into a small pouch and handed Jabari a few gold coins. "Use these wisely. Street urchins, dock workers, even the servants of the wealthy—they all see and hear things others do not. Earn their trust, and they will be your eyes and ears."
Jabari took the coins, rolling them between his fingers. The weight of them was reassuring. "I'll do my part," he said firmly.
"And if things go south," Jumba added with a grin, "you're fast enough to disappear into the crowd before anyone realizes what happened."
Jabari smirked, his confidence returning. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
The conversation shifted to finer details of their strategy as the carriage rocked steadily toward their destination.
As the delegation neared Kilwa, the great white walls of the city loomed before them, bright against the morning sun. Beyond them, the towering minarets of mosques and the domes of palaces rose into the sky. The salty tang of the ocean carried on the wind, mingling with the scents of spices, roasted fish, and unwashed bodies.
The moment they reached the main gate, two armed guards stepped forward, crossing their spears to block their path.
"Halt!" one of them barked. "Who are you, and what business do you have in Kilwa?"
Mshale stepped forward, his voice calm and measured. "We are a delegation from the great kingdom of Nuri. We seek alliances with the great rulers of this land."
The guards exchanged skeptical glances. Their eyes flicked over the group's traditional attire, taking in the simple fabrics and lack of foreign luxuries.
"You bring goods?" the second guard asked, his tone laced with suspicion.
Jumba nodded, gesturing to the carriage. "We bring gifts for the Sultan—gold, silver, and iron."
One of the guards stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "We must search the carriage before allowing you entry."
That was when Akolo exploded.
"You dare?" he bellowed, stepping forward so forcefully that the guards instinctively gripped their weapons. "Do you insult the kingdom of Nuri by treating its delegation like common traders?"
His voice carried across the crowd, heads turning to watch the spectacle. The guards stiffened, their fingers tightening around their spears. Even the merchants paused, their whispers rippling through the market.
"Step aside, or I will show you what happens to men who dishonor warriors of my land!" Akolo's hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, eyes blazing with fury.
The guards hesitated. One swallowed hard, his fingers twitching toward his spear.
The second guard, however, seemed torn. His gaze flickered toward the carriage, his mind clearly working through a different thought—how much gold did they truly carry? And how easily could it be taken?
"They are only traders," he murmured to his companion. "If we take a few bars of gold, who will know?"
The first guard hesitated. "And if the Sultan finds out?"
The second guard's face paled. "Then we are dead men. Either that or we will be sold to the foreigners."
With great reluctance, they signaled for a messenger to be sent to their commander, who in turn relayed word to the palace.
The delegation was allowed through the gates.
The streets of Kilwa were alive with color and movement. Vendors shouted over one another, advertising goods from across the known world—silk from the east, ivory from the south, rare spices that made the air thick with their aroma.
Begging children darted through the crowd, their hands quick as they swiped fruit from careless merchants. Dockworkers, their skin glistening with sweat, carried heavy sacks of grain toward the harbor.
The people of Kilwa were diverse—some wore elegant robes embroidered with gold thread, while others shuffled barefoot, their clothing patched and tattered.
Yet one thing was clear. Many looked upon the delegation with barely disguised disdain.
A nobleman sneered as they passed. "Barbarians," he muttered under his breath.
Mshale ignored it. Let them think that. The more they underestimated them, the better.
The palace of Kilwa was a dazzling display of wealth. Silk curtains draped the walls, golden incense burners filled the air with sweet-smelling smoke, and intricately woven carpets lined the floors.
At the far end of the hall sat Sultan Muhammad Ibn, his form heavy with jewels and silk. Beside him stood a tall foreigner, his pale skin and sharp blue eyes marking him as one of the powerful outsiders who had entrenched themselves in Kilwa's affairs.
Mshale and his team knelt respectfully. The Sultan did not speak immediately. Instead, he turned to the foreigner, murmuring something in a tongue they did not understand.
Finally, he addressed them. "You claim to be from a great kingdom," he said lazily. "Yet you dress like common men."
Jumba smiled, stepping forward with a deep bow. "We are simple in our ways, but our wealth speaks for itself."
At his signal, the servants uncovered the bars of gold, silver, and iron. The Sultan's eyes gleamed with greed, but it was the foreigner whose expression darkened with desire.
The Sultan, too, had his own thoughts. He had long resented the power of the foreigners in his land. If Nuri was truly wealthy, perhaps it could be taken.
"You will stay here while we discuss your… proposal," the Sultan said smoothly.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Jumba exhaled sharply. "That was easier than I thought."
Mutiso smirked. "They think they are playing us."
Mshale's expression darkened. "Let them think that. Soon, the real game begins."