The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 118 - Storm on the Horizon

In a dim chamber of carved stone deep within the port fortress of Massawa, General Qasim the Iron Hand paced like a lion behind bars. His fingers drummed against the hilt of his scimitar, the sound echoing softly as the sea wind hissed through the shutters.

Scrolls and missives littered the desk beside him—torn open, reread, and cursed over. He glanced at the latest one, his upper lip curling.

"The Abyssinians have blocked all communications inland," came a voice from the far end of the room. Vizier Harun, draped in cream silk and smelling of clove and musk, approached slowly. "Our agents in Gondar haven’t sent word in over a month. We fear the Emperor has discovered our spies."

Qasim scowled. "Discovered or exterminated? Every day without word confirms it."

He slammed a rolled map of the region onto the table. "First the Abyssinian army withdraws from the frontlines. Then the Adal spies go quiet. The inland slave camps managed by the Adal haven’t sent word either. Then the ships—gods, the ships—vanish in the Indian Ocean as if swallowed by the sea itself."

"You think it’s Abyssinia? Are they even smart enought to pull that off? Besides, its not like they have better weapons than us, we use superior rifles and they are stuck with swords and spears." Harun asked scoffing.

Qasim’s one good eye burned. "I think there’s more than Abyssinia involved. Someone is playing a deeper game. And we’ve been blind."

"The Portuguese? Are they foolish enough to side with Abyssinia?"

"Maybe, we did manage to push them out of the Indian Ocean trade routes, their influence might not be as great as it was before but we still can’t overlook it." Qasim said, running his hand through his greasy hair.

He turned sharply to face Harun. "You know what I heard? A blockade. A damned blockade. No flags. No heralds. Just sails in the mist and fire on the waves. I sent a small squad, with several ships to inspect the area our ships go missing, in stead of coming back victorious, they came back with their tails tucked between their legs. We not only lost ships, we also lost soldiers. Those fools couldn’t even win a simple battle, they are probably a band of pirates, we should crush them so they know not to mess with the Ottomans. "

Harun didn’t deny it. "The captains say the southern waters are cursed. They report losses near the Kilwa coast—now called Nuri, apparently."

Qasim sneered. "Nuri. Another self-declared kingdom. Rebels and fishermen with illusions of power."

Harun raised an eyebrow. "And yet they’ve cut off the slave trade routes and seized the sea lanes near Kilwa. Our merchants can’t reach the coast. Our superiors are getting frustrated from the losses. They will not accept that someone is resisting. Our army is the most powerful here, if we can’t crush a small upstart kingdom, then do we even deserve to be in the army."

Qasim clenched his jaw. "I sent pirates months ago to test those waters. Skilled men, bloodthirsty and loyal. They were supposed to raid and return with goods—perhaps answers. But nothing. Not a whisper. They’ve either turned or been killed."

He reached for a parchment—his draft report to the Ottoman high command—and read it aloud, voice low and bitter:

I can explain the loss of merchandise. As far as my reports go, Almeida is dead—killed in the southern coast, his cargo lost. The locals refuse to sell slaves and are openly hostile to merchants. Merchants claim that a new King has taken control. He openly despises foreigners.I dispatched privateers to seize back control, but they have not returned. Their fate is presumed grim.

There also appears to be a blockade near our waters past the Zeila port and another in Kilwa. The presence is not confirmed, but patterns suggest well-coordinated naval pressure. I suspect whoever controls the Kilwa coast may be orchestrating this interference. We cannot completly rule out that Abyssinia is fighting back. We have no visual confirmation of their ships yet. Request permission to sail south with a battalion and establish dominance.

Qasim ibn Rashid, General of the Eastern Sea Gate, Massawa.

Harun folded his hands behind his back. "They won’t approve it."

Qasim’s face twisted. "Why not?"

"Because we’re stretched thin. Because they still believe the Adal can handle this, and more importantly—because no one in Constantinople is ready to admit we might be losing control in the region."

He took a step closer. "They don’t believe there’s a true threat. Not yet."

Qasim looked toward the open sea, his jaw grinding. "Then let me show them. Let me burn these ’rebels’ out of their holes."

Harun’s voice dropped. "And if they’re more than rebels? If they’re organized?"

Qasim turned sharply. "Then it is war. We have held onto this port for years. Abyssinia is cornered. I don’t know why we haven’t just stormed inland and taken everything yet."

Harun hesitated. "Yes, but wars like this are not that simple. Abyssinia put up a decent fight, and our superiorsare aiming for total submission. We need workers as well, what better than free slaves? We make money from their lives. You might want to go to war but you have to wait for the order. Right now we maintain our posts and our hold here. If we try to do things on our own, we will be replaced just as easily."

Just then, a dusty, breathless messenger entered the chamber. He knelt and held out a sealed letter.

Qasim snatched it and read quickly. His brow darkened.

"The Adal commanders are furious. Multiple caravans ambushed. The eastern routes to the interior are failing. Their spies in Abyssinia have gone dark as well."

He tossed the letter onto the brazier where it curled and blackened.

"The walls are closing in, Harun."

"And the Ottomans," Harun added grimly, "are watching for someone to blame."

Qasim stared at the map again, his voice low and bitter.

"Then let the darkness come. We will meet it in fire."

The air in the Imperial Council Chamber was heavy with the scent of incense and sweat. Ornate stained glass bathed the floor in red and gold, but no one noticed the beauty. The Viziers were gathered, their voices low, their expressions grave.

At the center of the chamber stood Grand Vizier Halim Pasha, old and dignified, his fingers laced behind his back as he stared at the letter from Massawa.

He read Qasim’s words again, slowly:

"Please allow me to sail there and show them our might."

Halim Pasha exhaled and turned toward the crescent table of officials.

"So. Qasim has lost another squadron. Pirates gone. Slavers ambushed. A major supply route compromised. And now he blames some unknown force operating near Kilwa. A kingdom of rebels."

"Ridiculous," scoffed Emir Bayezid. "Qasim is losing his grip. The Adal are incompetent. These are growing pains, nothing more."

"I would agree," murmured Vizier Murad, stroking his beard, "but this is the third confirmed report of a blockade. Something is stirring in those waters."

"Storms, piracy, sabotage," Bayezid countered. "Nothing new."

"It is new," Halim said flatly. "Because now multiple fronts are going dark. Abyssinia. Adal. Caravans. Even our traders report a drop in traffic."

He walked to the map of Africa and tapped his finger on the coastline. "Something is disrupting the flow of slaves and gold. Someone is building power in the shadows."

"Portugal perhaps? They are definitely angry we pushed them out of the Indian Ocean. They will probably want to find a way to stop us." Another said.

"Our nation is strong, and the Portuguese lost to us, but they still maintain considerable influence in these waters, they will definitely come after us the first chance they get."

"We should withdraw support from the Adal," one of the senior Viziers muttered. "They’ve proven ineffective. Every letter from Qasim reeks of desperation. This war should have already been over, we have supplied them with weapons and they still fail to deliver a decisive victory."

"Agreed," said another. "They were useful once, but we did not come here for loyalty. We came for profit."

Bayezid leaned forward. "So what do we do? Send a fleet?"

"No," Halim said. "Not until we understand the enemy. If this ’Nuri’ kingdom exists, it poses a threat not just to our trade routes—but to our image. We cannot afford another embarrassment like the Portuguese."

Murad nodded. "And if Qasim fails again?"

"Then he is replaced," Halim replied coldly. "The empire does not reward failure."

He turned to the council. "We send informants. Scholars. Merchants. Let them move through the markets and ports of the south. We will find out what Nuri is. And who leads it."

Bayezid scoffed. "Let the naive king enjoy his moment in the sun. It will not last."

"No," Halim agreed, voice like stone. "But let us not strike until we know where to aim." freeweɓnovel.cøm

He stared down at the southern coastline once more.

Let the barbarians bask in his their power.

They do not yet understand the rules.