Words of Swords

1 . 0 - Hoofing Night

If it were not for the decree of God I would continue to weep ceaselessly.

I submit to God's law and confess my obedience to Him: may He pardon and forgive me.

Sonnore 'Abd Allah
Nana Asma'u bint DanFodiyo
1829 A.H, 1245 A.D

The dawning of the eve of a great event had befalling Indarari and it would afford no rest to all who lived within its walls till it was over. It was the moon of the harvest and with it, came the moon of the trading fair. When traders and buyers alike crossed the rivers of the Niger to the south and even the Great Desert to the north all so they could attend the affair.

Within this season, all of the Sudan could be said to be concentrated at the heart of Indarari. The Moors flocked in their tiny numbers to batter away their rock salt with anything that advantaged their wandering desert lifestyle. The Bambarrans came in great numbers, their caravans bearing everything from slaves to gold dust, and fabrics to exotic spices. The natives of Indarari welcomed a rainbow of tribes, with their respective tongues all finding a common language and blending in that of their host's--Hausa.

The gates of Indarari were never so guarded as they were now. Part owing to the fair but mostly to this new trend of Kingdoms lost to the hands of the Foulahs. True, they had claimed many a kingdoms, they had gotten more powerful and their campaign, more famous.

But to the people of Indarari, their Kingdom was impenetrable especially by barbaric and radical marabouts. They considered the Foulah's mere flies. Mere flies on the back of a hippo that didn't stand even for a disturbance talk less of a hindrance, mere flies that could be thwarted anytime without much effort nor attention. And so for the King the purpose of this fair wasn't as much for trade as it was for a war tactic.

And so this year, the preparations were greater than they've ever been; the palace's premises a sight to behold. The stalls were erected just at its walls and decorated in hues of festive reds and yellows with glimmering beads of shiny metals hanging down and catching each glimpse of the sun. Every trader was assigned a stall according to the size of his merchandise and party. And for those whose expeditions had led them to lands across the Red Sea, they swore these grounds were no less in comparison with the bazaars of Arabia.

Such was what King Kallam of Indarari had attained and as he gazed down at it all from the balcony of his chambers, a moue grazed his lips. Surely he could put on an act for his subjects, after all, it was one of the traits of the strong leader he claimed in himself after all, but he couldn't lie to himself. He knew Katsina had fallen less than a fortnight ago and in its wake, all the other kingdoms had taken up arms, realizing the Foulahs were not to be taken as lightly as they had been all this while. But he had no arms to show, his kingdom was not as mighty as he portrayed it to be and now what tortured his mind was how long he'll be able to keep up the act and how much he'll need to expend for it. Footsteps and then a much awaited announcement broke Kallam's chain of thoughts.

"My King, Prince Ala has returned with the men."

Kallam barely looked at the speaker before raising a hand and dismissing him. He then looked down again, his aerial view affording him a sight over the multitudes of bare heads, circle caps and loose veils and the bloated tops of stalls till he spotted were the movement had stiffened, and an ocean of soldier helmets led by two turbans, one a plain white and the other a distinct blue, flowed between the valley of of the swarm of heads.

"How many are they?" Kallam asked his Vizier who's stood by his side all the while.

"The prince wrote about having negotiated a thousand but we wouldn't know for sure till they're all sworn."

"A thousand... a thousand won't do, no. We need more, is that all those wretched Blue Skin's have to offer in exchange for three thousand of our horses!?" He barked.

"But My King, at least it's a start. You know our neighbors, our own tribe have turned their backs on us, all turning to be fair weather friends. Absolutely no one agreed to negotiate with us especially since..." Bala stopped himself, realizing that topic was forbidden to his tongue and had been buried six feet under three months ago. He breathed out a heavy sigh, preparing for the consequence of what he was about to utter. "Pardon me My King but lets face it, in light of our situation now, those Blue Skin's have done us rather an unrepayable favor."

Kallam was silent and his teeth clenched, his grip on the earthen bannister tightened till he felt grains of sand loosen and dig deep into his palms. In truth, Indarari was no more than a decked up sinking ship but he dreaded voicing and his rage was about to charge at the Vizier's felony when a familiar presence entered upon them.

"Father." Prince Muhammad Ala bowed slightly, the loose cloth of his white turban stooping down also, and stood at the balcony's threshold, he had not been granted permission to enter just yet.

With a wave of his hand, Kallam ordered his son in to stand by his side.

"Father, I've arrived with the men; eighteen hundred Blue Skins all waiting for Your Majesty's order."

For the first time in days he's lost count of, Kallam had received good news - and as he turned to look at Ala with a grin and envelope him in a hug - good news worth the stone hearted king showing affection to his son and even smiling at the Vizier for good measure.

"On this day, Muhammad, you've done your father's fathers proud. May you be kept by their blessings and guided by their light." Kallam pulled away and held Ala by the shoulder leading back into the dark interior of the palace.

Before they got to the threshold, a thought held Ala and made him stop in his pace making Kallam do the same. "Father, I have not come alone."

"Of course my son, you've come with eighteen hundred men all to protect your land."

"No father that isn't what I mean." Ala looked almost crestfallen, the pride that beamed in his eyes just seconds ago cowered into fear.

Just then Kallam remembered the top of the blue turban he had spotted close to the white of Ala's earlier. "Speak Muhammad." he ordered annoyed at Ala's hesitance.

"The negotiation was... you see I... "

"Abu Bakar ben Ibra at His Majesty's service" a foreign voice both in turn and accent invaded Ala's shaky excuse of an explanation. "Prince of Razf."

Kallam looked from his son to the man but all he saw of the man were his eyes - hazel orbs with a curious pinch of emerald - the remaining features of his face being fully concealed within the indigo of his turban and if stares were flames, the fire of Kallam's would have since burned through the scanty fabric.

"I see..." Kallam answered, the authority in his voice not diminished by his surprise. "To what do we owe the pleasure of hosting one of the sons of Ibra?"

"I believe the Prince knows best how to explain." Abu Bakar side eyed Ala with a shadow of a smirk. "Your Majesty." Abu bowed again to announce his leave before disappearing into the darkness of the interior.

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