The following day, Tembo and his small group of five rode through the barren terrain under the cover of darkness. Their journey had been quiet, save for the occasional distant sound of wildlife. The dry air was heavy with dust, and the landscape offered little in the way of cover, but they had managed to avoid any contact with Matalebe scouts.
As they approached the border of Votswana, the sense of urgency weighed heavily on Tembo's shoulders. This mission, and the survival of their kingdom, hinged on their success.
As the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon, Tembo and his men reached a ridge that overlooked the border checkpoint between Zambesi and Votswana. The crossing was modest—a few small outposts with fences and barbed wire marking the separation between the two nations. Armed guards patrolled the area, and Tembo could see the Triesenberg flag fluttering above the main checkpoint building.
Tembo signaled for his men to halt. They dismounted their horses, taking a moment to gather themselves before approaching the checkpoint. The guards, wearing the distinct uniforms of the Votswana Border Guard, were alert and heavily armed. They moved with precision, their eyes scanning the horizon for any potential threats.
It was clear they took no chances in this region, especially given the instability in neighboring Zambesi.
Tembo knew the situation could escalate quickly if they weren't careful. He instructed his men to stay back as he led the way forward, holding his hands up to show they meant no harm. As they neared the checkpoint, one of the guards noticed them and immediately raised his rifle, signaling to the others.
Within seconds, more guards emerged from their posts, all aiming their rifles at Tembo and his group.
"Stay where you are!" one of the guards shouted, his voice sharp and commanding. "State your business!"
Tembo took a deep breath, keeping his posture calm and non-threatening as he stepped forward, his hands still raised. He could feel the tension in the air as the guards kept their weapons trained on him and his men.
"We come in peace," Tembo called out, his voice clear but measured. "I am Tembo, an envoy from the Kingdom of Zambesi. We seek safe passage into Votswana to meet with the leadership of Triesenberg stationed in Gaborone."
The guards exchanged uneasy glances, clearly suspicious. One of them, who appeared to be the officer in charge, stepped forward. His rifle remained aimed at Tembo's chest, though his grip loosened slightly as he assessed the situation.
"Why should we trust you?" the officer demanded. "Zambesi is in chaos, and we have no way of knowing if you're truly who you say you are."
Tembo knew this was a delicate moment. One wrong word could spark violence, and they were outnumbered and outgunned. He took a slow step forward, ensuring that his movements were deliberate and non-threatening.
Tembo and his group were led to a shaded area under a tent near the checkpoint, where they were provided with some basic provisions—water and a few rations.
Tembo remained calm, his mind focused on the task ahead. Every second spent waiting felt like another missed opportunity to save Zambesi. He could only hope the message would reach Gaborone soon, and that the Triesenberg leadership would agree to meet them without delay.
The hours dragged on, the sun rising higher in the sky and casting a harsh light over the desolate border area. Tembo sat in silence, his thoughts racing. What if the Triesenberg officials refused to meet them? What if their diplomatic plea fell on deaf ears? There were no other options left for Zambesi.
Without outside support, the kingdom was doomed to collapse under the weight of the Matalebe uprising and the infrastructure failures left in the wake of Valoria's abandonment.
Tembo glanced at his men, who were sitting quietly nearby, their faces weary but determined. They, too, understood the stakes. There was no turning back now.
After what felt like an eternity, the officer from earlier returned, his expression more neutral this time, though still guarded.
"I've spoken with the Triesenberg officials in Gaborone," he said. "They've agreed to meet with you. However, it will take time for the arrangements to be made. You'll be escorted to Gaborone under our supervision, but they've requested that only you, Tembo, proceed to the final meeting point. The rest of your men will remain in our custody until the discussions are concluded."
Tembo considered the offer carefully. It was a risk, but one they had to take. "Agreed," he said. "We'll comply with those terms."
The officer motioned for his men to prepare the vehicles. Tembo's group would be taken to Gaborone in a convoy, much like the one that had been ambushed days earlier. This time, though, they would be under the protection of the Votswana Border Guard, who had a reputation for their discipline and efficiency.
As Tembo climbed into the back of one of the armored vehicles, he couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty that gnawed at him. He had made it this far, but the real challenge was still ahead. Convincing the Triesenberg officials to form an alliance with Zambesi would be no small feat. The politics of the region were complex, and Triesenberg had its own interests to consider.
The convoy moved steadily through the flat, dry landscape of Votswana. The heat was oppressive, and the dust kicked up by the vehicles clung to the air, making it difficult to see far into the distance. Tembo sat silently, his mind racing with possible strategies for the upcoming negotiations.
Hours passed, and the outline of Gaborone finally came into view. The capital of Votswana was a bustling city, its streets filled with traders, soldiers, and officials going about their business. It was a stark contrast to the crumbling infrastructure and chaotic streets of Maputo. Tembo felt a pang of regret as he thought of Zambesi's decline, but he quickly pushed the thought aside.
This wasn't the time for sentiment. He had a mission to accomplish.