Shaka the Great (63 page)

“You say you expected more?” says Dingane.

Ngoza nods.

“Do you now contradict yourself? You said the massacre was to punish, yet now you seem to be saying it was to provoke …”

Kingale, the bodyguard, is staring into the middle distance. It must have seemed a good idea, choosing one who is too stupid to follow—or be interested in—what's said at this meeting, the theory being that he will not be distracted from his role. In practice, though, with the Zulus sitting where they are sitting and not moving, Kingale appears to have drifted off into a stupor—as one will when one is bored. The Induna can only hope Radebe hasn't drifted off in the same way, although, unlike the bodyguard, he has something to wait for.

“Ha!” A bark of laughter from Ngoza. “Perhaps you and he really are related. For you, too, are mad if you think you can sit in my house and call me a liar. Besides, if anyone's dissembling here today, it's your king. Coming here meek and quivering, when he has the Qwabes lined up with him! Am I to be surrounded while you entertain me? Is that what your brother intends?”

Ngoza's hand comes up again. “But why assume
you
would know? You might be of his blood, but you are not trusted by the Beetle. No, let us ask someone who
will
know.”

He straightens.

And calls …

“Pakatwayo!”

The ruler of the Qwabes emerges from behind the hanging situated a few meters to the Induna's right. The Zulus watch the portly, gray-haired chief waddle forward. The Induna notices how he avoids their gaze; spots the slight tremble in his hands.

“What say you, my friend?” says Ngoza, and the two go on to exchange the customary greetings. Then the Buffalo shoos away Kingale, and offers the latter's seat to the inkosi of the Qwabes.

“Do you hear that?” demands Dumo, stalking back over to where Njikiza stands. “If you thought your cousins would help you, you were wrong.”

Njikiza shrugs. “And if you think you can punch me in the stomach again and live, you are wrong!”

Dumo turns to the sentries standing a few meters away. “Did you hear that, boys? A challenge! You surely do not expect me to ignore such foolishness.”

The other two look at each other. They have their orders, but Dumo is a favorite of Ngoza's. And the Zulu has had the effrontery to challenge the executioner … and besides this should be good …

“Very well, Dumo, one punch.”

Dumo nods and slams his fist into Njikiza's gut, as he turns back to the big Zulu.

For the second time that day, the Watcher bends forward. Joining his hands together, Dumo steps sideways, raises his arms and brings them down …

It's as if Njikiza has been hit on the back of the head with his own club, and he drops to his hands and knees.

“Dumo,” hisses one of the sentries.

“Oops, sorry.”

Turning back to Njikiza, he extends a hand: “Here, let me help you up.”

“So,” says Ngoza, patting Pakatwayo's knee, “what's this I hear? You have allied yourself with Shaka?”

“Hai! I do not consort with dead men!”

Ngoza turns back to Dingane. “Did you honestly think they would side with you? Or did you think the mere suggestion would scare me into submission? First you imply I am a liar, then you try to take me for a fool. Have you come here to insult me? Is that it?”

“No,” says Dingane, “we have come here to kill you.”

Partially hidden by his two comrades in front of him, a few moments ago Radebe had been able to remove the assegai blade secreted in his left amashoba, leaning forward and pulling it from the legging just as Pakatwayo entered. Consequently, he's the first into action. With a cry of “Njikiza!” he bounds past the Induna, and stabs Kingale in the throat before the bodyguard has even begun to raise his spear. It's a perfect strike, the blade finding the notch between Kingale's collar bones on its downward arc and traveling on through the wet softness of the throat. And even as the bodyguard topples away from him, Radebe's on his left knee, pulling a second iklwa blade from the amashoba wrapped around his right leg.

Over on the other side, Kobo was rather quicker than Kingale. As Radebe pounced on the bodyguard, the chamberlain threw himself forward, trying to make it past Dingane. Ironically, he's too quick. If he'd waited just a few seconds, the prince would have been leaning forward, fumbling for his own blade. As it is, however, Dingane moves even as Kobo moves, his dive bringing down the Thembu at the same time as Kingale hits the ground. The chamberlain manages to call for help just once, before Dingane's on top of him, pressing his face into the floor.

Pakatwayo's the next to jerk himself out of shock. Rising from his seat, he kicks out wildly at Radebe. The Zulu dodges the chief's foot easily enough but, because he's still reaching for his second blade, he overbalances. Pakatwayo swerves, leaps over Kingale's body and heads away from the Zulus, and the partitions, looking to get out of the dome through its open rear section. Blinded by the glare, he careers off a pillar, but fear and adrenalin send him forward again, out into the sunlight, bellowing: “To arms! To arms!”

The blade has been broken off an iklwa, but with enough of the haft left for you to be able to grip it firmly. And each of you carry two of these, one in each of your leggings. And you lean forward, slipping your hand between the cow tails below your left knee. Then you rise and free the blade, in one fluid movement. And there's Ngoza, half on, half off his throne. He looks like someone who's had a pot of boiling water thrown at him: rooted to the spot, horror splashed across his face, in that split second before stunned nerve endings recover and start screaming out in pain. Although, in this case, it's you who'll supply the pain.

And the Induna steps forward, twisting his body slightly, bringing his left hand across his face.

And then your arm is freed, launched, sent swinging away from you in a smooth slashing motion that throws Ngoza's chin backward. And you follow through, follow the blade, so that you turn your back to him and protect your eyes from the spray of blood.

Dumo has his palm pressed against the pillar next to Njikiza. “What did you expect, Zulu?” he says. “Telling me not to punch you … hmm? What did you—?”

NJIKIZA!

Dumo's head snaps up, and he pushes himself away from the pillar, frowning. Then looks back at Njikiza. A burning wetness. He looks down. Sees the broken haft protruding from his stomach.

“And what did
you
expect, savage? That we would fight as challengers before a battle?” says Njikiza, who had removed the blade from its hiding place when he dropped to the ground, after Dumo had hit him the second time.

HELP! HE—!
A desperate cry truncated.

And the sentries are moving toward them. Njikiza slips past Dumo, pulling the blade free as he does so. Grabbing the first sentry's long spear and wrenching it from the man's hands as he lowers it, he rams the bloodied iklwa blade into the soldier's chest as he passes him, then gets the spear pointing the right way.

Somewhere a frightened cow is bellowing “To arms! To arms!”
And the second sentry has already turned, and is running along the curving corridor formed by the hanging skins. Only he doesn't get far, because there's Radebe coming the other way. The sentry stops, then makes ready to charge, but it's too late. Because, coming up behind him, Njikiza skewers him with his comrade's spear. The warrior drops forward, and is left dangling at a forty-five-degree angle as the assegai blade embeds itself in the dirt.

“All is well?” asks Radebe.

“As always,” says Njikiza, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Need help, old friend?” asks the Induna, moving away from the dead Thembu king.

Dingane shakes his head. “See to the others.”

Pressing his knees against Kobo's shoulders, the prince leans back, reaching for the blade in his right amashoba. At the same time, Dingane feels the chamberlain's ribcage expand, as Kobo tries to find his voice amid shattered teeth and a bleeding tongue. Gripping the broken haft with both hands, Dingane raises the blade above his head and brings it down into the back of Kobo's neck.