Speaker 1: The scum Kings created and written by Mike Daltrey, Episode fourteen,
The Ambush.
Speaker 2: The march South was its own kind of hell. It
was not the sharp, clean hell of battle, but the slow,
grinding hell of hopelessness. For four days we walked through
the gray, skeletal woods, the priest's bloody laughter a constant
echo in my mind. The hunger returned a dull, familiar ache.
The six copper spokes in Selaine's purse felt heavier than
a sack of gold. Each won a testament to our humiliation.
The men didn't speak, They just walked, their shoulders slumped,
their eyes fixed on the dirt, a silent shuffling procession
of failures. On the fifth day, the trees began to thin.
The oppressive canopy of the tangle gave way to flint
strewn hills and hardy, wind swept scrub. And then we
saw it, Just as Orso's crude map had promised, there
was a road. It was little more than two parallel ruts,
carved into the dry earth, overgrown with weeds and littered
with loose stones. It was clear no wagon had used
it in years, but.
Speaker 1: It was a road.
Speaker 2: It was a sign that men had once passed this
way with purpose. It was the most promising thing we
had seen in weeks. The sight of it put a
sliver of steel back into the men's spines. This will work,
I said, and the kings knew what I meant. We
didn't waste time. This was what we were good at.
This was the one thing we knew how to do. There,
I said, pointing to a narrow cut where the road
passed between two rocky bluffs. A perfect throat to slit
or so knotted in agreement, classic kill box, no room
to maneuver. The work began. There was a dead, leaning
ironwood tree on the edge of the bluff. It took
four of them, with Stiggin as the main engine, to
put their shoulders into it. With a great groan and
the sharp crack of splintering wood, the tree fell. It
was a crude but effective barricade. We took our positions.
Brinn scrambled up to the highest point, a silent lookout.
I took my place with Stiggin and Gicks, behind a
cluster of boulders directly overlooking the barricade, ready for the charge.
The others fanned out, hiding themselves in the rocks and
scrub on either side. We settled into wait. The sun climbed.
The heat became a physical presence, baking the rocks and
shimmering off the dusty road. Flies buzzed, lazy and persistent.
The initial tense alertness of the ambush began and to fade,
replaced by a sullen, familiar boredom. The silence of the
empty road was a heavy blanket, smothering the fragile spark
of hope we'd nurtured. Hours passed, The sun reached its
zenith and began its slow descent towards the western mountains.
My muscles ached from staying still. My throat was dry. Doubt,
a cold and creeping thing began to seep back into
my bones. Orso's map had been right about the road,
But what if it was truly dead? What if we
had marched for days only to set a perfect trap
on a road no one ever traveled. It was the
shrine all over again, another grand plan that would curdle
into a pathetic failure. The sun touched the horizon, painting
the clouds and bruised colors of orange and purple. The
shadows grew long, the air began to cool. Dre Orso's
voice was a low, moone murmur from beside me. Nothing
we should call it. In a small, pathetic acknowledgment of hope,
he added, Brynn can keep watch and alert us from
camp if she sees anything in the dark.
Speaker 1: He was right.
Speaker 2: It was over, another day wasted. I felt the familiar
bitter taste of defeat in my mouth. I opened my
mouth to give the signal to release the men from
their vigil and retreat into another night of hunger. A
sharp hiss cut through the quiet. It was Brynn. Every
man froze. All eyes snapped to the far end of
the road, to the horizon now painted in the fading light.
At first I saw nothing, Then a flicker, a dark speck, slowly,
almost imperceptibly, growing larger. It was a lone figure walking
with a steady, unhurried pace, walking right toward our trap.
It wasn't a caravan, it wasn't a patrol. It was
just one person, but it was something. It was prey.
A wave of hot, predatory focus washed through me, clearing
away all the doubt and despair. The weight was over.