Speaker 1: The scum Kings, a Broadsword Studio production created and written
by Mike Daltrey. Episode fifty two, The Challenge.
Speaker 2: Selaine's plan hung in the cold, still air. It was
a sensible plan, a logical plan. It was a plan
for survivors, for scavengers. It also was the sound of
a nail being hammered into our own coffin. I saw
the flicker of pathetic relief on Cobb's face. I saw
Stiggin's shoulders slump, not in defeat, but in a weary acceptance.
Even Orso gave a slight appreciative nod. This was math.
He understood. One coin, seven mouths, a return to a
life of meager, predictable survival. They were all ready to follow,
to go back to being nothing, back to the mud. No,
My voice was a low rasp. It was the only
sound in the twilight. Selaine's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing.
What did you say? I said, No, I repeated louder,
this time, my own anger, a sudden, surprising spark in
the cold. We're not going back. We're not going back
to hiding in ditches and fighting over scraps. We're not
going back to being routed by caravan guards and mugging
beggars on the road, dre Seline said, her voice laced
with a cold, sharp pity. Look at us, that is
exactly what we are. We just forgot it for a while.
She's right. A new voice cut in. Or So he
stepped forward, taking his place beside Selaine. He wasn't challenging me,
not yet. He was simply stating a fact. Her plan
is the only logical one. It's the only plan that
offers a chance of survival. Survival, I spat the word
is just a slower way to die. I turned on them,
my gaze sweeping over their tired, beaten faces. We had
a city, we had a throne. We failed because we
were small, because we were stupid. You want to go
back to that, go back to being the prey. I don't.
I had crushed their last practical hope, and in doing so,
I had finally broken the pack. Or So stared at
me for a long, cold moment. The scarred side of
his face was impassive, but his eyes were hard as flint.
The moment of debate was over. This was the mutiny.
This is over, Dre, he said, his voice flat and final,
He wasn't shouting, he was just closing a ledger. Your
leadership has failed, your gut, your fire. It led us
to a burning city and an empty purse. Now we're
starving because you won't listen to reason. He turned away
from me, addressing the others. We are splitting up. It's
the logical choice. Selaine's plan is sound. She can buy food,
We can hunt again properly. Anyone who wants to live
can come with me. It wasn't a fistfight. It was
a battle for their souls, and I had just been disarmed.
Orso was offering them a path, a miserable, pathetic path,
but it was a path, a path to probable survival.
I was left with nothing, no plan, no food, no coin,
no future. I watched as Selaine, her face set, moved
to stand with Orso. Bryn, after a moment's hesitation, her
loyalty to the hunt and to a practical meal outweighing
any loyalty to me, gave Orso a slight nod and
joined him. Cob weeping, scrambled to his feet and huddled
behind them. Only Stigand and Gicks remained. Stigan looked torn,
his gaze shifting between me and ors, his simple code
of loyalty at war with his own misery. Gis just watched,
his painted smile, unreadable, fascinated by this new, delicious chaos.
Or so looked at me, his face a cold mask.
He had four, I had two. Maybe he had won.
I stood there. My authority shattered. My will, which had
held them together through sheer, ferocious determination, was now just
the empty roaring of a dying animal. I was a
king with no kingdom, no subjects, and no plan. I
had lost sus