The war room was dimly lit, the flickering oil lamps casting long shadows against the walls. Lusweti stood at the head of the table, his hands pressed firmly against its surface, staring at the map of Nuri and its surrounding lands. His expression was unreadable, but the weight of his thoughts was clear.
General Simiyu stood across from him, his arms folded, waiting for his king to speak.
Lusweti finally exhaled, his voice calm but laced with quiet fury. "Matenje must be dealt with."
Simiyu gave a slight nod, unsurprised. "He grows bolder by the day. If we allow this to fester any longer, he will become a real threat."
Lusweti clenched his jaw. "Nuri is expanding too fast. If we secure victory against Kilwa, more challenges will follow. We cannot afford internal strife—not when we stand on the edge of greatness."
Simiyu studied Lusweti’s face. "What do you have in mind?"
A slow smirk curled at Lusweti’s lips. "We lure him into a trap of his own making."
By the time the rumors began to spread, they had taken on a life of their own.
It started as whispers among the merchants—half-truths twisted into enticing stories.
"The foreigners came with riches beyond imagination."
"Their army waits to march to our aid against Kilwa, but our arrogant king refuses."
"The Kilwa invasion could be stopped if only Lusweti weren’t too proud to accept help."
At first, the people dismissed the rumors. Lusweti had proven himself time and time again. But as the whispers grew into conversations, and conversations turned into complaints, doubt began to take root.
Matenje watched it all unfold, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. He knew what this meant. The king was losing his people. His moment was near.
That night, he approached a group of merchants, pressing gold coins into their hands. "Take me to the eastern barracks," he ordered.
They obeyed without hesitation.
The barracks were exactly as he had hoped—discontented and restless.
The warriors stationed there murmured among themselves, the weight of uncertainty pressing on their shoulders. Why wasn’t Lusweti addressing these rumors? Why refuse help in the midst of war?
Matenje approached the guards near the prison. He pulled a heavy pouch of gold from his robe, letting it clink softly.
A knowing glance passed between the warriors. As per their orders from King Lusweti, they let Matenje do as he pleased.
A moment later, the doors to the prison swung open.
The stench of sweat and damp stone filled the air. The dim torchlight flickered against the cold iron bars.
Matenje stepped forward, his gaze landing on the man chained to the wall—Duarte.
The once-proud spy sat with his back against the cold stone, his wrists bound in thick iron shackles. His usually sharp eyes were dull, clouded with exhaustion, but there was still something dangerous beneath the surface.
Matenje’s lips curled in amusement. "You’ve seen better days, haven’t you?"
Duarte lifted his head slowly, his eyes flicking over Matenje with wary calculation.
"I’ve come to offer you a deal," Matenje continued, stepping closer. His voice was a purr, smooth and confident. "Help me kill Lusweti, and I will give you whatever you desire—slaves, minerals, wealth beyond imagination."
Duarte studied him for a long moment. Then, he laughed.
Matenje’s smile faltered. "Something funny?"
Duarte’s laughter faded, replaced by a smirk. "You’re a fool."
Matenje’s brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"
Duarte shook his head. "You walked into a trap, and you don’t even realize it."
He was a proud man, but even he had to acknowledge the brilliance of King Lusweti.
Matenje’s face darkened. "You foreigners are all the same. No ambition. No drive. If you refuse my deal, you may as well rot in here like a dog."
Spitting in disgust, he turned away. Original content can be found at noⅴelfire.net
His gaze landed on the farthest cell. Rodrigo.
Rodrigo sat with his head bowed, his hands bound in iron, his body still bruised from his last fight. Unlike Duarte, there was no amusement in his expression. Only cold, simmering fury.
At the sound of footsteps, he lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto Matenje.
Matenje studied him, then smirked. This one was different.
"I can see it in your eyes," Matenje murmured. "You burn with hatred for Lusweti."
Rodrigo’s jaw clenched.
Matenje crouched before the bars, his voice smooth as silk. "Duarte may have given up, but you—you still have your fire."
Rodrigo scoffed. "You think I’m so easily swayed?"
Matenje’s smirk widened. "You hate Lusweti, don’t you? Hate that he made a fool of you?"
Rodrigo’s fingers curled into fists.
For a moment, Rodrigo almost walked away. He was trained to see deception, to recognize a bad gamble. But then—he remembered. The humiliation. The shame. The way Lusweti had used him, toyed with him.
The memories burned through his reason, and his grip on control loosened.
"I know men like you," Matenje whispered. "You won’t rest until your pride is restored. Until Lusweti is bleeding at your feet."
Rodrigo exhaled sharply, his shoulders tense.
Rodrigo’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. "Duarte is a coward." His voice was laced with venom. "But I am not."
The other spies murmured their agreement.
Duarte stared at them, eyes filled with disappointment. "Blind fools."
Three nights later, the plan was set.
Matenje returned, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "It’s time."
He offered Duarte the deal once more.
Duarte didn’t even look at him. "I refuse to be a pawn again."
Matenje scowled. "Then die in chains."
With that, he led Rodrigo and the others out.
The night was thick with silence.
Rodrigo’s grip tightened around his dagger. His heart pounded, his breath steady. This was it. The moment of revenge.
He stepped into the chamber.
A figure lay on the bed, sound asleep.
Rodrigo wasted no time. He lunged—
Lusweti’s eyes snapped open.
His sword caught the dagger inches from his throat.
Rodrigo’s eyes widened. No.
Before he could react, a boot slammed into his chest. He crashed backward, pain exploding through his ribs.
The chamber erupted with warriors.
General Simiyu’s voice cut through the chaos. "Seize them."
Matenje turned to flee—only to find a blade pressed against his throat.
Desperation filled his eyes. "Wait! I—I can explain!"
Simiyu stepped forward. "For the crime of treason, attempted murder, and freeing foreign spies—"
Matenje’s breath came in short, panicked gasps.
"—you are sentenced to death."
The world came crashing down.