The Challenge

The scum Kings, a Broadsword Studio production created and written by Mike Daltrey. Episode fifty two, The Challenge. 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