Chapter 11 - The Tides of War

The battle had turned in their favor—until the horn sounded.

A deep, echoing note rippled through the battlefield, sending a chill down Khisa's spine.

Reinforcements.

Mumia's face tightened. "That's not a retreat signal. More are coming."

Khisa's stomach twisted. He had accounted for many things, but this… this was dangerous. If the enemy regrouped with fresh numbers, their advantage would shatter.

For the first time, doubt clawed at him. Did I miscalculate?

The weight of command bore down on him, and for a terrifying second, he felt like he couldn't breathe. The battlefield blurred—the smoke, the blood, the screaming—all of it spinning in a chaotic storm.

Then Ayaan's voice cut through the fog in his mind.

[Khisa! You need to keep your cool. We have to adapt. Right now!]

He ran through all the simulations in his head. One of them just had to work.

He exhaled, pushing the panic down. No time to hesitate. Think. Move.

He turned to Lusweti. "We can't hold them in the open. We need to break them apart before the reinforcements merge with their main force."

Lusweti nodded, already rallying his warriors. "Then tell me what to do, strategist."

Khisa's mind sharpened.

'Ayaan, How do we stop them?'

[We don't. We slow them down. Force them into terrain they can't control. Buy time for your traps to work.]

Khisa nodded. 'Then we lure them into the marshland by the river bend.'

[Now you are thinking like a warrior]

Khisa turned to the warriors and shouted, "Archers, shift to high ground! We hold until the last second—then fall back to the eastern ridge. We cut them off from their own men."

Khisa turned to Weche. "You, Mumia, and Simiyu take a group and harass their scouts. Make them think we're breaking."

Weche grinned. "I do love a good illusion."

Mumia cracked his knuckles. "Let's give them something to chase."

Khisa's heart pounded, but this time, it wasn't fear—it was determination. He had stumbled for a second, but he had caught himself. This wasn't the end.

They still had a chance.

The battle raged, but far from the main clash, the last of the villagers were still slipping away into the safety of the forest. The younger ones, however, moved differently—hesitant, restless.

They had heard the echoes of war behind them. The sounds of their home being defended. And for some, fear no longer outweighed the pull of duty.

Then someone noticed.

"Naliaka? Ndengu?" a young woman whispered, eyes wide.

Others turned just in time to see the two darting away from the group, their figures vanishing back toward the battlefield.

"They're going back!" someone gasped.

"For what?" an older man scolded. "They will die!"

But not everyone saw it that way.

"If they are willing to fight," a young warrior said, gripping his spear, "then why are we running?"

Murmurs spread through the group.

"If we go back, we die," an elder warned.

"But if they stand, if they risk their lives for us… then how can we live with ourselves if we don't do the same?" another argued.

A moment of silence passed.

Then a handful of young men and women exchanged a glance. Without a word, they turned and ran—not toward safety, but toward battle.

More followed.

Not all of them had weapons. Some grabbed stones, others carried farming tools, anything they could use. They might not have been trained warriors, but they would not be cowards.

By the time they arrived, the battle had already begun turning in Khisa's favor. Warriors clashed in the smoke-filled air, the sounds of steel and flesh meeting in violent rhythm.

"Khisa!" a voice called. He turned sharply to see Naliaka crouched beside a fallen warrior, her chest rising and falling with exertion. "We're not leaving!"

Behind her, Ndengu stood, gripping a broken spear like a club. His knuckles were white, his breath coming in heavy gasps.

Khisa clenched his jaw. He had wanted them to be safe. But now, in the heat of battle, he realized something—this was their fight too.

"Fine," he muttered. "But you listen to me."

They nodded.

"Naliaka, use your speed. We need to confuse them, make them think we have more warriors than we do. Draw their attention, make them chase ghosts."

A grin flickered across her face. "Now that, I can do."

She disappeared into the trees like a wisp of smoke. Moments later, the distant shouts of Angwenyi warriors echoed through the battlefield—falling for the trick.

Khisa turned to Ndengu. "You're strong. We need to take down their riders. Break their legs, their weapons—anything to even the fight."

Ndengu rolled his shoulders, hefting his makeshift club. "I'll smash every single one of them."

Khisa gripped his shoulder briefly. "Then go."

Naliaka moved like wind through trees—too fast to catch, striking where no one expected. She danced between the enemy ranks, cutting, slashing, evading. A warrior swung at her, but she twisted at the last moment, leaping onto his back and slicing clean across his throat before flipping away.

Ndengu was the opposite—unyielding, brutal. His club crushed bone and sent men sprawling. When one enemy tried to tackle him, he barely budged, instead grabbing the man and hurling him into another like a sack of grain.

The villagers who had returned saw them and felt the fire in their veins.

"To battle!" one of the young men roared, raising his crude spear.

The unexpected reinforcements slammed into the weakened enemy lines. They weren't trained, but they were many. Their numbers alone tipped the scales even further.

And that's when Lusweti saw them.

His fury was instant. "What are they doing here?!"

He stormed forward, hacking through an enemy before grabbing one of the young warriors by the arm. "I ordered the evacuation! You were supposed to—"

The young man cut him off, his expression fierce. "And let our village fight alone?"

Lusweti stared at him, chest heaving, his grip tightening—then loosening. He looked around at the unexpected reinforcements, at the way they had thrown themselves into battle with nothing but raw courage and desperation.

He wanted to be angry. He should have been angry.

But he felt something else instead.

Pride.

"You reckless fools," he muttered, shoving the young man toward the fight. "Fine. If you're here, then fight like warriors."

And they did.

With renewed strength, the defenders of the village pressed forward.

The Angwenyi reinforcements thundered forward, their cavalry pressing hard. The main force, seeing their allies approaching, tried to regroup.

But then the village warriors began to retreat.

Or at least, appeared to.

Weche and Simiyu led the first withdrawal, slipping into the trees, forcing the Angwenyi to chase them. Meanwhile, archers rained down arrows from above, picking off riders and breaking their formation.

And then came the marsh.

The first wave of cavalry charged straight in, expecting firm ground—only to find their horses sinking into the soft mud, their momentum vanishing.

Before they could pull back, the second trap was triggered.

Logs and sharpened stakes hidden in the undergrowth were released, slamming into the tangled riders.

Confusion. Panic.

And just as planned, they separated from the main force.

That's when Lusweti struck.

The moment the enemy formation weakened, he and his warriors surged forward, cutting through their ranks before they could recover.

Naliaka darted between them, her speed making her untouchable. A soldier lunged for her, but she vaulted off a fallen tree, using her momentum to drive a blade into his neck before twisting away.

Ndengu, meanwhile, was a wall of destruction, his club crushing armor and bone alike. When a dismounted rider tried to charge him, he simply caught the man's spear mid-strike, yanked him forward, and sent him flying into two others.

And then, the moment of truth.

The enemy commander—a scarred, battle-worn warrior—saw the chaos unfolding and roared, trying to rally his men.

Lusweti saw him too.

He turned to Khisa. "That's the heart of their army. We take him down, the rest will shatter."

Khisa didn't hesitate.

"Then let's end this."

Lusweti tightened his grip on his spear, locking eyes with the enemy commander. No more retreats. No more mercy. Today, they would obliterate the Angwenyi—completely.

The enemy commander's expression hardened. He saw it too—the shift in momentum, the fire in Lusweti's eyes, the warriors who no longer fought to survive, but to conquer. For the first time, uncertainty flickered across his face. But then, with a guttural roar, he raised his blade, refusing to falter. If they wanted his army broken, they would have to shatter him first.