The royal council chamber of Buganda was full by midday.
The scent of burning bark and perfumed oils clung to the air. Outside, drums beat faintly from the hilltops, signalling a rare full gathering of the court—clan heads, nobles, military officers, elders, and three spiritual leaders in pale ochre robes. The Kabaka sat at the head of the hall, arms heavy on the lion-carved throne. His crown was placed beside him, not on his head. His face was lined with fatigue.
Behind him stood Onyango, quiet as stone.
When the last elder sat, the Kabaka rose slowly, and addressed his council.
"I did not call you here lightly," he began. "These past moons have tested us all. The sickness that swept our borders, the whispers of betrayal within this court, the unrest in the outer provinces—all these things have left scars. Some visible. Some not."
The hall remained silent.
"I wish to speak now of something difficult. But you deserve the truth. We have found the man who orchestrated the plague. A noble from Kongo—Lumingu. A man who has turned his kingdom into a house of whispers and knives. He used Buganda as a stepping stone."
Shocked murmurs rippled through the room.
One of the younger clan leaders, Chief Bemba, leaned forward. "And why would this Lumingu target us?"
"He meant to destabilize us," the Kabaka said. "To weaken our border. To him, Buganda was just a way to expand trade routes. From what we have gathered, he caused the plague in order to come as saviours by offering antidotes.
If not for Nuri’s intervention, we would be dancing in the palm of their hands.
But the truth is simpler: he sought power—and we were in his way."
"He killed hundreds of our people!" roared another elder. "He deserves no mercy! We must demand reparations from Kongo, how dare they use our people as pawns!"
"Agreed," said another. "Let Kongo burn. Let its traitors feed on their own poison! We should turn this plague toward them and see how they like it."
The Kabaka raised a hand.
"There is more. Lumingu has orchestrated a coup in Kongo. The king has been isolated, his family targeted. From our information it will be weeks until they fully overthrow their government. Lumingu has portugese backing so right now he has an army and weapons. And now..."
He hesitated, choosing his words.
"...Now, soldiers from Nuri have entered Kongo. They are working with loyalists there to stop the coup before it spills into other kingdoms."
"They have no right!"
"This is colonisation masked as kindness!"
"You would let foreign troops walk into a sovereign land?"
"Have we learned nothing from the Portuguese?!"
The Kabaka stood firm, though the outrage flooded every corner of the hall.
"They are not doing this for conquest," he said sharply. "Their prince, Khisa, sent no armies—only shadows. A few skilled soldiers. Their goal is to prevent another war before it reaches us. And if you think this is someone else’s problem—think again."
He gestured to a scroll beside him.
"This report details the Restorers—a foreign-trained elite unit backing Lumingu. If Kongo falls, we are next. They will come for us, for our resources, for our land. This is not theory—it is already unfolding."
Chief Kaboggoza stood.
"With all due respect, Your Majesty—how do we know Nuri isn’t playing both sides? You yourself said they sent soldiers. They offer medicine, now they offer weapons? That is a familiar tale. You speak of threats from Kongo—yet you’ve opened our doors to Nuri without the consent of this court."
"You forget yourself," the Kabaka snapped. "I opened our doors to survival. You speak of colonisers while refusing to lift a blade for your own people. Who brought medicine when our children died in the streets? Who exposed the rot in our southern clans?"
Kasajja rose beside Kaboggoza.
"Nuri exposed the rot? Or did they plant it? You trust strangers over your own kin. And if you do not trust us... perhaps it is you who should be questioned."
The room held its breath.
For a moment, nothing stirred.
Then a voice broke the silence—one of the spiritual elders, an old woman known as Mother Nakito.
"Peace," she said. "You speak of foreigners and allies. But you forget the spirits. The gods watch not with eyes of land or border. They watch the heart. Ask yourselves—who weeps for the people? Who acts when the ground shakes? If Nuri acts, and our own hands remain still... then perhaps it is our shame, not theirs."
Some nodded. Others still bristled.
Another elder stood, draped in ceremonial beads.
"I have watched the Kabaka grow since he was a child. I have served three kings. And I say this: if our king chooses to act—not for himself, but for the kingdom—then we must act too. Let us not be divided by old fears."
The Kabaka looked around.
His gaze fell on Kaboggoza, Kasajja, and Muwanga. Their faces were tense. Pale. Watching every move, calculating every ally lost.
He knew now what he had to do.
He took a long breath, then said:
"In three days, I will travel to the royal shrine at Bulemezi for a public ritual. The people will see us united—or they will see us as we are."
He turned to his guards. "Invite the entire council to join me." Follow current novᴇls on novel{f}ire.net
Kasajja blanched. "Why now? In such a tense hour?"
"Because I want the people to see who still walks beside their king. And who walks behind shadows."
Kaboggoza, Kasajja, and Muwanga moved in silence through the moonlit courtyard, cloaks drawn tight, eyes darting.
"He knows," Kaboggoza muttered. "He knows. That old woman—she’s the worst of them. Whispering poison like it’s wisdom."
"We need to speak to the Prime Minister," Kasajja hissed. "If the Kabaka has allies gathering around him, we need to know how deep this goes."
"The shrine is a trap," Muwanga said, voice dry. "He means to bait us in front of the public."
They passed under the northern gate—unaware that shadows followed.
Unaware that the Kabaka had already sent guards to tail them.
Unaware that the hour of reckoning had begun.