The council hall of Buganda stood tall, woven from thick reeds and beams of aged timber. Shafts of light poured through gaps in the roof, striping the floor with golden veins. Outside, rain clouds threatened the afternoon, but within, the air was warm with tension.
Khisa stood before the Kabaka and his council of elders—each seated on carved wooden stools, wrapped in barkcloth and layered robes, their expressions guarded but curious. Mugwanya, the eldest among them, tapped his flywhisk absently against his knee. Ssebugwawo, sharp-eyed and lean, watched Khisa as if weighing every breath. And beside them sat Kato, younger than the rest, his beaded armband glinting as he leaned forward.
The Kabaka nodded at Khisa. "With the disease under control, we must look ahead. Let us discuss the terms of the trade agreement."
There was a low murmur of assent. One elder—a broad-shouldered man named Mugwanya, chieftain of the Buziga hill clans—nodded stiffly but didn't smile.
