The wind was warm and fragrant with the smell of sun-split jackfruit as Khisa rode out of Buganda, treaty secured and tucked in a leather case at his side. A sense of triumph pulsed in his chest—not loud or boastful, but firm and steady. Buganda would send its children to Nuri. The bond was forming.
He didn't linger. There was too much to do. The students would arrive in Lusimba in less than two moons, and preparations needed to be flawless. Khisa was already thinking through classroom designs, accommodations, and teachers when the first drops of summer rain struck the roof of his escort's cart.
He also needed to prepare the trade materials. He hoped that the Kabaka was able to win this battle on his own.
"Who do you think did it Ayaan?"
[We know a foreign power is involved, but the kabaka does not. He can only survive if we help him.] Her soft mechanical voice rand in his head.
