Chapter 13 - The Cost of Victory

The weight of this battle hung heavy over the villagers. Though they had won, they knew their people were still in danger.

Khisa walked toward his battered father, watching as the chief stood tall despite his injuries. On the battlefield, Lusweti's leadership had shone brilliantly—commanding warriors, making decisive calls, and leading from the front. In this moment, Khisa finally understood why people looked up to him. Tactics alone weren't enough. A leader's presence was just as important.

"Father, that was a glorious victory." Khisa said proudly.

Lusweti scooped him up in a tight embrace, his strength reassuring despite the exhaustion in his muscles.

"Thank you, son. This victory is yours. Without you, we would have never had the strength to fight." His father smiled, pride filling his heart. He had always known his son was clever, but to see him command a battle like this… He never expected his cheeky boy to become a warrior of the mind.

Lusweti turned to the warriors, raising his voice so all could hear.

"People of Abakhore! Today, we proved our strength in battle. We drove our enemies to their deaths! But our battle is not over. Our people are still in their hands, and the enemy still has warriors willing to fight for them. We have suffered losses, but they have lost even more. Gather the survivors, seize their weapons and animals—

Tomorrow, we bring our people home!"

A roar of triumph echoed through the battlefield. This was the most incredible battle they had ever fought—outnumbered, facing superior weapons and fast animals, yet they had won.

The warriors moved quickly, rounding up the remaining survivors of the Angwenyi. To their surprise, most of the horses had survived.

'This will give us an advantage in future battles. We just gained over three hundred horses, along with weapons and armor.' Khisa thought, already planning ahead.

As they returned to the village, the waiting crowd erupted into cheers and chants. The villagers had spent the battle in agony, unsure if their loved ones would return. Now, seeing their warriors victorious—alive—they rushed forward, helping them with wounds, offering food, and tending to the fallen.

Amidst the celebration, Naliaka bounced toward Khisa, eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Khisa, did you see me? I was like... whoosh... it was amazing! Can we fight again next time? Can I have a horse?" she asked, barely able to contain herself.

Her enthusiasm made him chuckle, easing the weight on his heart. This—this joy, this innocence—was what he was fighting to protect.

"You did a wonderful job, Naliaka," he said, ruffling her hair. "You and Ndengu will be the greatest warriors in this village."

"Yes!" She cheered, then dashed off, probably to tell everyone about her heroics.

Khisa let out a soft sigh. Children were truly the future of any society.

But he couldn't dwell on that. There was no time to waste. He needed information before tomorrow's battle. He made his way to the hut where the prisoners were being held.

Ochieng, the warrior tasked with guarding them, met him at the entrance. There was a newfound respect in his gaze.

"Strategist Khisa, what do you need?"

"I need to talk to them. We have to prepare for tomorrow."

Ochieng hesitated, then softened. He had once doubted Khisa, but after today, he would lay down his life for him.

"It is alright to rest, Khisa. You played a big part in today's battle. Tomorrow will worry about itself. Get some sleep. I'll let you speak with them in the morning."

Khisa opened his mouth to argue, but exhaustion weighed on him like a heavy cloak. He hadn't even realized how drained he was until now.

He's right.

He sighed, nodding. "Alright, you win. I'll come back in the morning. Be careful—the prisoners may be weakened, but they're still dangerous."

"Leave it to me."

The moment Khisa lay on his straw bed, sleep took him instantly.

Right after breakfast the next morning, Khisa made his way to the prisoners. They had captured around fifty, but he was certain some had escaped. If those men fled back to their leaders, reinforcements could already be on the way. They had no time to waste.

He found Lusweti and a few elders already there.

"Khisa, there you are," Namwamba greeted, offering a small smile.

"Have they told us anything yet?" Khisa asked.

"Not yet. We just got here. We were about to start interrogating them," Lusweti said.

The prisoners looked defeated—not just physically, but in spirit.

Khisa stepped forward. "Our people have been captured by your clan. We need to get them back. What can you tell us about where they're being kept?"

One of the warriors scoffed. "Why would we tell you anything? You killed our entire army. We know we're going to die. Just finish us off already."

Khisa took a moment to really look at them.

They were young. Some were barely past childhood. Teenagers, forced to fight in a war they didn't understand.

His voice softened. "Was this your first battle?"

A bitter nod. "Yes. But we failed, so we might as well die now. We couldn't protect them."

Khisa frowned. "Protect who?"

Another prisoner scoffed. "Your people are long gone. And since we failed, ours will probably die too."

Lusweti lunged, grabbing the young warrior and slamming him into the ground. "Tell me where my wife is before I kill you!"

The prisoner gasped but finally spoke.

"Our chief betrayed us. Three seasons ago, he met some men... their skin was different. After that, our people started disappearing. He told us they were killed by wild animals, but we found out the truth."

His voice trembled.

"He was selling our people. In exchange for weapons and armor."

Silence fell over the hut.

"We tried to fight back, but those men with the different skin... they had weapons that made a loud sound. The moment they fired, our warriors dropped dead."

Khisa's heart clenched.

Guns.

This was worse than he thought. If those men had rifles, they could wipe out his entire village before they even got close.

If he had time, he could craft bullet-resistant armor, something to give his people a chance against gunfire. But there was no time.

'Damn it.'

"Father, what should we do?"

Lusweti clenched his fists. "What else can we do? We fight! I promised your mother, I promised our people that I would protect them. Those men want our mines, and they're willing to trade people for it. That makes them dangerous. I am not leaving your mother behind."

Khisa stared at him, a new wave of pride filling his chest. His father wasn't just a warrior—he was a man who would stop at nothing for his people.

"If that's the case, then I have an idea."

A sharp smile crossed his face.

Those foreign men would regret ever setting their sights on the Abakhore clan.