Speaker 1: The Scum Kings, a broad Sword Studio production created and
written by Mike Daltrey. Chapter one one, The Golden Anchor.
Speaker 2: The sound of a military horn is a funny thing.
It's designed to put ice in your veins. It's designed
to make you feel small, to remind you that a
machine is coming to grind you into paste. I stood
in the center of the vault, the torchlight dancing off
a mountain of gold ingots that reached my waist, and
listened to that horn. It should have terrified me. We
were seven exhausted wounded rats trapped in a hole, and
the cat was scratching at the door. But I didn't
feel fear. I felt the gold. I reached out and
picked up a chalice. It was heavy, studded with rubies,
the size of my thumbnail. It felt like an anchor.
It felt like the only real thing in a world
of ghosts. They are coming, orso said. His voice wasn't panicked.
It was cold, flat, the sound of a man reading
a death sentence. He was standing by the archway, his
sword drawn, looking back up the dark stairs we'd just descended.
That's a heavy patrol, Drey. Maybe a vanguard. They saw
the fire at the gate. They'll be inside the walls
in ten minutes. Selaine didn't hear him. She was on
her knees in the pile of loose solari, scooping handfuls
of coins and letting them cascade through her fingers like water.
Her face was a mask of terrifying religious ecstasy. It's
too much, she whispered, her voice, cracking the math, the weight.
We can't, the logistics are impossible. We leave it, or
so snapped, turning to me, Dre, listen to me. We
take a handful each, enough to live, like kings in
the south, and we run. We slip out the back
while they're breaching the front.
Speaker 1: We live.
Speaker 2: It was the smart play, the logical play, the rat play.
I looked at Stigant, the big Northman was leaning against
a stack of gold bars, his axe dripping blood onto
the pristine floor. He was staring at the wealth with
a glazed, drunken look. He wasn't seeing money, he was
seeing a scoreboard. He was seeing the proof that he
was better than the world that had burned his hands.
I looked at Gigs. He had found a golden crown,
a delicate thing of filigree and pearls and jammed it
onto his head. He was giggling, looking at his reflection
in a silver platter. We don't run, I said. My
voice sounded strange in the vault, deadened by the acoustics
of the gold. Or So took a step toward me.
Dre use your head. We cannot fight an army. We
cannot carry this. If we stay, we die in this room.
I looked at him. I saw the fear behind his logic.
He was afraid of winning, he was afraid.
Speaker 1: Of the weight.
Speaker 2: I didn't break down a god's door to steal a
few scraps, I snarled, the rage flaring up, hot and bright.
I kicked a chest of coin, sending gold spilling across
the stone. This is ours, all of it, by right
of conquest, by right of blood. And how do you
propose we move two tons of gold through a mountain
pass with an army on our heels. Or So shouted,
his composure, finally cracking. I didn't answer him with words.
I turned to stigand the wagons, I said. Stiggin blinked,
pulling his eyes away from the gold. The what the courtyard,
I said, The plan forming in my mind like a fist.
I saw them by the stables, heavy transport wagons for
hauling grain up the mountain road. Or So through his hands,
up wagons. You want to load wagons in the middle
of a raid, it will take an hour. The patrol
will be here in ten Minutesops, then buy me the hour,
I ordered. I walked up to Orso, crowding his space
until I could smell the old blood on his tunic.
Take Bryn, take gicks. Go back up those stairs. Collapse
the tunnel behind you. If you have to hold the courtyard.
If a single sea soldier gets down here before I
say so, I will kill you myself. Or So stared
at me. He looked at the madness in my eyes,
and he looked at the gold behind me. He weighed
the odds, and as always, he chose the path that
kept him alive for five more minutes. He spat on
the floor, gix Brin move. Then they vanished up the stairs,
back toward the fire and the night. Stigging, I barked
Selaine Cob. Cob was still unconscious on the floor. I
grabbed him by the tunic and hauled him upright. He sputtered,
eyes rolling wild. I slapped him hard. Wake up, cook,
I hissed. You wanted food, you wanted safety. It's heavy.
Start carrying it. We became animals. We didn't treat the
gold with reverence anymore. We treated it like bricks. We
stripped off our cloaks and made sacks. We filled chests. Stigganed,
ignoring the sword wound in his shoulder, hoisted a chest
that would have broken a mule's back, and staggered toward
the stairs. I grabbed an armful of ingots, the metal
cold and slick against my skin. I was sweating, panting
my muscles, screaming bah whom. The horn was closer, louder
I could hear shouting from above. Now the clash of
steel or so was buying my time with blood. Selaine
was weeping as she worked, shoving jeweled icons into a sack.
We can't take it all, she sobbed. We have to choose.
The silver is heavy. Leave the silver, take the gems,
take it all. I roared, thrown a gold plate onto
a pile, every last ounce. I won't leave a copper
filing for those bastards. We hauled, we sweated, we bled,
We dragged the wealth of an empire. Up those stairs,
back into the smoke choked chapel, Back out into the
burning courtyard. We found the wagons. They were heavy, iron
rimmed things. The horses were panicked, screaming in their stalls.
Stiggined bleeding freely. Now smashed the stable lock and dragged
two terrified dray horses out, harnessing them with clumsy, brutal efficiency.
We threw the gold into the wagon beds. It wasn't neat.
It was a pile of chaos, goblets crushing crowns, ingots,
sliding over loose coins. An arrow whistled past my ear
and thudded into the side of the wagon. I spun around.
Or So was backing into the courtyard, his sword a blur,
parrying a thrust from a sea soldier who had breached
the gate. Gigs was on the roof dropping stones on
a squad trying to form a shield wall. Dre or
So screamed, we are out of time. I looked at
the wagon. It was full, it was groaning under the weight.
It was a mountain of gold on wheels. I vaulted
into the driver's seat. I grabbed the reins, get and
I bellowed. Everyone in stigging, hauled Selaine and Cob into
the back on top of the gold. Or So and
Brin scrambled onto the running boards. Giks dropped from the roof,
landing on the pile of loot with a cackle. The gate,
the broken face of the stern visage was a wall
of fire. The sea soldiers were pouring through the breach.
I snapped the reins. The horses screamed and lunged. The
wagon groaned, the wheels grinding against the stone. For a second,
I thought it was too heavy. I thought my greed
had anchored us to this spot to die. Then slowly, heavily,
it moved. We didn't flee like thieves. We rolled like
a landslide. I steered the horses straight for the burning gate.
We smashed through the wreckage of the timber, sparks showering
over us. We burst out onto the mountain road, the
wagon skidding on the gravel, the weight of the gold
threatening to tip us into the abyss. Behind us, the
abbey burned. The horns were screaming. Now angry, confused, I
looked back. I saw the fire. I saw the gold
shining in the wagon bed. I saw my crew clinging
to the hoard like barnacles. We were slow, we were loud,
We were a beacon to every thief, soldier, and killer
for a hundred miles. But we were rich. I threw
my head back and laughed, a sound that got lost
in the wind. We weren't hiding, we weren't sneaking. We
were the scum kings, and we were taking our kingdom
with us.