Mengo was a hive of tension. Courtyards that once hummed with court music now thundered with the tramp of boots and barked commands. Spears gleamed in the sun, shields were stacked in careful rows, and drums rolled endlessly as new levies filed in from the villages. The air was thick with the iron smell of sweat and the sting of smoke from the forges, where smiths worked day and night.
Inside the great council hall, Kabaka Nakibinge sat at the head of the long carved table. Around him clustered his commanders and ministers, while Khisa and his companions stood to one side, maps and troop lists spread out before them.
"The warriors are learning well," Khisa said, his voice even but edged with fatigue. "Day by day they harden. Give us a little more time, and they'll march as one."
A grizzled commander leaned forward, fingers drumming the table. His gaze slid toward Khisa's belt, where no firearm hung. "And when do you plan to teach them to wield your weapons?"
