The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 150- The Hyenas Within

The estate of Muwanga of the Nyangabo clan stood tall amidst the lush hills to the east of Buganda’s royal city. It was an old, stone-built mansion passed down through generations—its outer walls veiled by creeping vines and moss, its grounds guarded by ancient fig trees that whispered with every gust of wind.

Torches flickered along the path, casting an eerie glow on the obsidian-carved pillars, while the scent of roasted goat meat and spiced banana wine lingered in the evening air. This was no ordinary gathering—within its walls, the true sickness that had plagued Buganda festered still.

Inside, three men sat in a dimly lit chamber around a round ebony table engraved with the Nyangabo clan sigil. Muwanga of Nyangabo, lean and cold-eyed, drummed his fingers impatiently. Beside him was Kasajja of the Balongo clan, thickset with a face weathered by age and ambition, and Kaboggoza of the Nsenene clan, youthful and sharp-tongued, whose eyes darted like a predator’s.

Muwanga spoke first. "Everything we built is in ruins. All those weeks of silence, careful planning—gone. Our people are alive. The Kabaka is stronger. The Nuri medics have made him a hero."

Kasajja growled, "We underestimated them. And now, worse, we have to explain this humiliation to our friends in the Kingdom of Kongo."

Kaboggoza snorted. "Friends? Lumingu Mbemba is no friend. He is a buyer. A buyer of power, influence, and nations. He will not take kindly to failed goods."

They fell into a heavy silence, the crackling of the hearth the only sound.

"It should have worked," Kasajja finally muttered. "The disease would have spread uncontrollably, people would have begged for a solution. Then Lumingu would swoop in with healers, foreign trade, and military protection. The Kabaka would fall. One of us would rise."

"Instead," Muwanga spat bitterly, "Nuri intervened. Those medics, those cursed songs, even their damn soap—"

"The people sing their praises," Kaboggoza finished, disgusted. "Worse, they respect them. Even my own clan whispers of the ’wisdom of Nuri.’"

A knock echoed through the chamber.

"He’s here," said Muwanga, standing.

A servant opened the door and in stepped Lumingu Mbemba, a high noble of the Bongo people in the Kingdom of Kongo. He wore a long indigo robe laced with gold embroidery, and two bodyguards in scaled leather armor flanked him, faces blank, eyes cold. Lumingu’s presence was commanding—his bald head gleamed in the firelight, and his voice, when he spoke, rolled like distant thunder.

"Three men with ambition, held hostage by one boy from the east," Lumingu said, pacing toward them. "This was not the agreement."

Muwanga bowed his head. "We did not anticipate outside interference." frёewebηovel.cѳm

"That is the problem with weak plots," Lumingu said. "They crumble at the first unexpected touch. You have failed me."

"We can still correct this," Kaboggoza said quickly. "We believe the true threat lies in Nuri. Their prince is wise and cunning. We must know more before we act."

Lumingu raised a brow. "You do not know the strength of your enemy?"

"Not fully," Muwanga admitted. "We suggest sending someone—someone skilled, subtle, able to gain their trust. A spy. If Nuri is truly the key to future power, we must understand its structure, its weaknesses."

Lumingu nodded slowly. "One of mine will go. A servant, posing as a scholar or merchant. We will find a crack in their walls."

Outside the estate, hidden in the dense underbrush and masked by moonlight, a lone figure crouched in silence—Musoke, a loyal warrior of the Kabaka’s elite. He had been trailing the three traitorous clan heads for days, following whispers, movements, and secret meetings. Now, hearing this conversation with his own ears, everything fell into place.

He pressed his back against the bark of a fig tree, heart pounding, and began the quiet journey back to the palace. The Kabaka’s suspicions had been correct. The plague had been no accident. And now the danger had shifted—toward Nuri.

***

The morning air was still as Musoke rode hard across the final stretch of forest into Mengo, his cloak tattered, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. His steed, a proud russet-coated stallion, was foaming at the mouth from exhaustion. Dust clung to Musoke’s armor like the weight of the truth he carried. The palace gates opened for him without question—his crest bore the mark of the Kabaka’s inner circle.

Guards saluted him as he dismounted and ran up the stone steps, boots thudding against the wood and marble halls. He ignored the murmurs of courtiers and the bowed heads of servants. His only focus was the king.

In the inner chamber, Kabaka Mwanga stood before a carved ivory map of Buganda, his advisors quietly studying new trade routes and student lists bound for Nuri. The air smelled of burning incense and polished sandalwood, the flicker of oil lamps dancing off gold-etched murals.

Musoke fell to one knee, his breath ragged.

"My king... I bring news that cannot wait."

The Kabaka dismissed the others with a wave of his hand. "Leave us."

Once the chamber cleared, he walked forward, helping Musoke to his feet. "Speak, my hawk. What have you seen?"

Musoke swallowed hard. "Your suspicions were correct. The plague was no accident. I followed the movements of Clan Heads Muwanga, Kasajja and Kaboggoza to a hidden estate on the southern shore. They met in secret. There, they revealed everything."

The Kabaka’s jaw clenched. "Everything?"

"They plotted your downfall from the start. The plan was to allow the disease to claim as many as possible. They intended to negotiate salvation not with us, but with a noble from the Kingdom of Kongo—Lumingu Mbemba. With your people desperate and your rule weakened, the deal would place Buganda under their control. They would then divide the spoils and let one of their clans ascend."

Nabikinge’s eyes blazed with fury. "Hyenas in lion’s robes..."

"They were furious that our alliance with Nuri succeeded. They lost their leverage—and their profits. But they are not done. I overheard them speaking of revenge... They believe Nuri robbed them of their future. Mbemba is pressuring them to deliver something. They mean to send a spy into Nuri to uncover weaknesses. They still underestimate Nuri’s power."

The Kabaka moved to the window, looking out over the royal courtyard, where young students from different clans laughed and played beneath the mango trees. The sound of distant drums training for Nuri’s martial exchange echoed faintly.

"They dare plot while these children rebuild what they tried to destroy."

Musoke nodded. "They grow more desperate. And dangerous."

The Kabaka turned back, eyes sharp. "We strike before they do. Quietly. Let them believe their plan is still in motion. But I want their spy followed. And when the time is right—we rip this treachery out by the root."

He paused. "Send word to Prince Khisa. Tell him that war may not come with drums and banners, but in shadows and whispers."

Musoke bowed low. "As you command, my king."

As the warrior left, the Kabaka called for his scribes, his generals, and his shadows. The days of sickness were behind them, but a different kind of poison now flowed—ambition, betrayal, and foreign greed.

And Buganda would not fall again.