Ceranthor
Banned
This timeline has two major points of divergence from the OTL of the Zulu kingdom: King Shaka manages to escape the attempt on his life, and continues to expand his empire further, bringing him and his exploits to the attentions of greater powers, who begin to view him as a threat(he also regains his hold on sanity). This throws the history of the Zulu, South Africa, and indeed the entire world completely off the tracks.
*
It was a dark night over the kraal as the three men crept through the yard, silent, their faces grim and determined. They were all heavy, one with fat, the rest with muscle; all three wore only loincloths from the skin of the sable antelope, and they moved quietly, like great cats. At their waists were buckled small knives and they clutched in their hands short, brutal spears that were smeared with filth. Their skins were clammy with sweat, and their breathing raspy with fear, for their very presence here was punishable by death, if they were caught, and their intention was that of murder.
They were a corrupt trio, these men, schemers and plotters who thirsted for the power of rule. For years they had waited under the shadow of their master, the king; for years, they had hungered to sit upon the mahogany throne that hugged the earth of the great kraal, from where one could exert his will over all the land. And in each of their minds they knew that they deserved to rule, for the king was a madman who abused his subjects and offended the spirits. All three of them were of royal blood, and to each one it seemed destiny that they would ascend to a high position; Mpondo, he would become first among the iziCwe, while Mhlangana would assume lordship of the Highveld. And Dingane, the fat one, he aimed highest of them all, for in his heart he wished for kingship over the Zulu, the tribe who stood above the others in valor and wealth.
A better time to strike, they could not have found. The host of impis that guarded the royal kraal were to the south, marching along the blue Tugela, while those few who still stayed to keep watch had been bought off with promises of women and cattle. The kraal’s courtyards were empty and the balconies were similarly unmanned, and the three were unhindered as they crept forward to murder their king.
The gate was close now; they cast surreptitious glances about the yard and broke into a loping run, ambling toward the great doorway of the inner palace. They ascended the stairs, their hearts thumping with anticipation; they licked their lips and shifted their hands on their spears, and slithered into the darkness between the tall doors.
Now they moved slowly, crouching low on the floor, their palms slick with sweat on the hafts of their weapons. Quietly they fanned out, pressing their backs against beaded pillars for cover, for torches lit on fires of dung burned ahead, illuminating the path to the throne, and they could not be discovered. If they lost the element of surprise, they were doomed, for even alone, unarmed, the king was more than a match for any three men, and they could not afford to be overcome.
For there he sat, massive upon the dark-brown throne, his muscles thick and shining, his eyes black with brooding, bedecked in regalia that gave him a dark majesty. Mbopa was tall, Mhlangana was strong, and Dingane was large, but the king was a titan, like a rock rising from the seas; he seemed to be bigger than an elephant, more powerful than a rhinoceros, more terribly regal than a lion. This was a man far above the petty three who waited in the shadows to slay him.
For upon that seat of power sat Shaka, son of Nandi of the Langeni and Senzangakhona of the Zulu, ruler of an empire that clenched the Umfolozi and the Highveld in a fist of iron, and for a moment a feeling of terror sank into the hearts of the three men. But they were here, and they were commited, and all three knew that the deed had to be done.
The king did not stir from his reverie. His shining head was rested in the cradle of a great hand and he was hunched over, seemingly deep in thought. Silence drowned the room, and the three tensed, readying themselves, their teeth clenched. In seconds they would dash forward and sink their spears deep into his chest, and then they would rule the Tugela and the Umfolozi, and the Zulu and the Langeni, and the hundred others who herded their cattle atop the Highveld. For one sprinting run and a quick, savage thrust, Shaka’s empire would be theirs.
Five long moments passed, and there was silence.
Then the bead of marble, falling, striking the floor with a shrill crack that rove through the quiet and the darkness, horror dropping into all three of their bellies like the bead that had fallen, kicked loose by Dingane’s foot in his anxiety. In that moment Shaka lifted his head, his eyes narrowed, and he began to rise from his seat, his hand closing around the haft of the axe that lay at his foot.
Fear seized their hearts with fingers of iron, and Mbopa, maddened, exploded from behind his pillar, racing for the throne, his spear poised for the king’s heart. Shaka snarled in surprise, but he stepped to the side and avoided the piercing weapon; he struck his attacker in the face with a blow that made him bleed from his nose, and wrapped iron fingers around Mbopa’s neck, lifting him bodily and raising his axe, ready to split the man’s skull. But then he saw the assassin’s face, and paused, his eyes wide with shock; “Mbopa?” he cried, for Mbopa was a chief of the iNduna, and had fought at Shaka’s side in the past. “Treachery, from you!”
Their plan thrown awry, Mhlangana and Dingane knew they had but one option . Terror beating at their hearts, they twisted out from behind their pillars and ran forward as fast as they could, hoping, praying that they could end the king with a lucky stab. But Shaka saw them, and he roared in rage, knowing of their treachery and their cowardice, and he hurled Mbopa away with an impact that broke the iNduna’s spine, planting his feet firmly into the floor, his axe raised and his eyes wild and mad with fury.
Mhlangana uttered a war cry and leaped for his king, his spear readied to rip through the chest and slice deep into the neck. Shaka reached out with one arm and seized him around the throat, lifting him aloft as he swung down with the axe; his bellow of fury was drowned in Mhlangana’s scream as the blade tore through his shoulder, severing his arm from his body. It flopped down to the earth, grey and dead, and Shaka roared again, this time cleaving into the joint of his neck. Mhlangana hung mangled in his grasp and the king flung the corpse away, to reveal Dingane, who stood rooted to the spot. In his fear, he had spilled the contents of his bladder across the floor.
One hour later justice was passed, and the sentence given. The two corpses were thrown into a house filled with hyenas and jackals, and devoured; the building was then burned to the ground. Dingane, however, had a heated stake hammered into his rectum, from which he was hoisted on high, bleeding from his mouth. When the sun reached its zenith and his agony became unbearable, he was brought down and thrown onto the savannah, barely alive, from where the beasts of the plain ripped him to death.
But it would be the deaths of these three men that would change the course of history forever, for in another world they would have succeeded in their fatal mission, and so doomed the great nation that they would try to rule. From this attempt on his life Shaka would be shaken from his madness, and would go on to lead his Zulu empire towards conquest and victory. His people would defeat the Boers, dominate the Xhosa, and challenge the greatest empire on earth, forging from their strength and their hardship a nation that would change the history of not only an entire continent, but the whole world.
*
It was a dark night over the kraal as the three men crept through the yard, silent, their faces grim and determined. They were all heavy, one with fat, the rest with muscle; all three wore only loincloths from the skin of the sable antelope, and they moved quietly, like great cats. At their waists were buckled small knives and they clutched in their hands short, brutal spears that were smeared with filth. Their skins were clammy with sweat, and their breathing raspy with fear, for their very presence here was punishable by death, if they were caught, and their intention was that of murder.
They were a corrupt trio, these men, schemers and plotters who thirsted for the power of rule. For years they had waited under the shadow of their master, the king; for years, they had hungered to sit upon the mahogany throne that hugged the earth of the great kraal, from where one could exert his will over all the land. And in each of their minds they knew that they deserved to rule, for the king was a madman who abused his subjects and offended the spirits. All three of them were of royal blood, and to each one it seemed destiny that they would ascend to a high position; Mpondo, he would become first among the iziCwe, while Mhlangana would assume lordship of the Highveld. And Dingane, the fat one, he aimed highest of them all, for in his heart he wished for kingship over the Zulu, the tribe who stood above the others in valor and wealth.
A better time to strike, they could not have found. The host of impis that guarded the royal kraal were to the south, marching along the blue Tugela, while those few who still stayed to keep watch had been bought off with promises of women and cattle. The kraal’s courtyards were empty and the balconies were similarly unmanned, and the three were unhindered as they crept forward to murder their king.
The gate was close now; they cast surreptitious glances about the yard and broke into a loping run, ambling toward the great doorway of the inner palace. They ascended the stairs, their hearts thumping with anticipation; they licked their lips and shifted their hands on their spears, and slithered into the darkness between the tall doors.
Now they moved slowly, crouching low on the floor, their palms slick with sweat on the hafts of their weapons. Quietly they fanned out, pressing their backs against beaded pillars for cover, for torches lit on fires of dung burned ahead, illuminating the path to the throne, and they could not be discovered. If they lost the element of surprise, they were doomed, for even alone, unarmed, the king was more than a match for any three men, and they could not afford to be overcome.
For there he sat, massive upon the dark-brown throne, his muscles thick and shining, his eyes black with brooding, bedecked in regalia that gave him a dark majesty. Mbopa was tall, Mhlangana was strong, and Dingane was large, but the king was a titan, like a rock rising from the seas; he seemed to be bigger than an elephant, more powerful than a rhinoceros, more terribly regal than a lion. This was a man far above the petty three who waited in the shadows to slay him.
For upon that seat of power sat Shaka, son of Nandi of the Langeni and Senzangakhona of the Zulu, ruler of an empire that clenched the Umfolozi and the Highveld in a fist of iron, and for a moment a feeling of terror sank into the hearts of the three men. But they were here, and they were commited, and all three knew that the deed had to be done.
The king did not stir from his reverie. His shining head was rested in the cradle of a great hand and he was hunched over, seemingly deep in thought. Silence drowned the room, and the three tensed, readying themselves, their teeth clenched. In seconds they would dash forward and sink their spears deep into his chest, and then they would rule the Tugela and the Umfolozi, and the Zulu and the Langeni, and the hundred others who herded their cattle atop the Highveld. For one sprinting run and a quick, savage thrust, Shaka’s empire would be theirs.
Five long moments passed, and there was silence.
Then the bead of marble, falling, striking the floor with a shrill crack that rove through the quiet and the darkness, horror dropping into all three of their bellies like the bead that had fallen, kicked loose by Dingane’s foot in his anxiety. In that moment Shaka lifted his head, his eyes narrowed, and he began to rise from his seat, his hand closing around the haft of the axe that lay at his foot.
Fear seized their hearts with fingers of iron, and Mbopa, maddened, exploded from behind his pillar, racing for the throne, his spear poised for the king’s heart. Shaka snarled in surprise, but he stepped to the side and avoided the piercing weapon; he struck his attacker in the face with a blow that made him bleed from his nose, and wrapped iron fingers around Mbopa’s neck, lifting him bodily and raising his axe, ready to split the man’s skull. But then he saw the assassin’s face, and paused, his eyes wide with shock; “Mbopa?” he cried, for Mbopa was a chief of the iNduna, and had fought at Shaka’s side in the past. “Treachery, from you!”
Their plan thrown awry, Mhlangana and Dingane knew they had but one option . Terror beating at their hearts, they twisted out from behind their pillars and ran forward as fast as they could, hoping, praying that they could end the king with a lucky stab. But Shaka saw them, and he roared in rage, knowing of their treachery and their cowardice, and he hurled Mbopa away with an impact that broke the iNduna’s spine, planting his feet firmly into the floor, his axe raised and his eyes wild and mad with fury.
Mhlangana uttered a war cry and leaped for his king, his spear readied to rip through the chest and slice deep into the neck. Shaka reached out with one arm and seized him around the throat, lifting him aloft as he swung down with the axe; his bellow of fury was drowned in Mhlangana’s scream as the blade tore through his shoulder, severing his arm from his body. It flopped down to the earth, grey and dead, and Shaka roared again, this time cleaving into the joint of his neck. Mhlangana hung mangled in his grasp and the king flung the corpse away, to reveal Dingane, who stood rooted to the spot. In his fear, he had spilled the contents of his bladder across the floor.
One hour later justice was passed, and the sentence given. The two corpses were thrown into a house filled with hyenas and jackals, and devoured; the building was then burned to the ground. Dingane, however, had a heated stake hammered into his rectum, from which he was hoisted on high, bleeding from his mouth. When the sun reached its zenith and his agony became unbearable, he was brought down and thrown onto the savannah, barely alive, from where the beasts of the plain ripped him to death.
But it would be the deaths of these three men that would change the course of history forever, for in another world they would have succeeded in their fatal mission, and so doomed the great nation that they would try to rule. From this attempt on his life Shaka would be shaken from his madness, and would go on to lead his Zulu empire towards conquest and victory. His people would defeat the Boers, dominate the Xhosa, and challenge the greatest empire on earth, forging from their strength and their hardship a nation that would change the history of not only an entire continent, but the whole world.