An Execution

Donnall awoke to the distant sound of a crowd cheering. At half past midnight, the order came in for his immediate execution. The vicious echo of men, women and children screaming for blood had him on edge. After three weeks of rotting in the castle dungeons, he had come to accept his fate out in the courtyard where the noose hung and heads were removed; where men were crucified and women stoned. The methods of execution differed, but they all offered the same result. It was not the fate he had in mind, but one which he sullenly recognised.

All men die sooner or later, he thought to himself as he stared at the wall of greyness that was presented. The cell block was bitter and damp, with a faint aroma synonymous with disease. There were about twenty cells in the hall, each occupant as mad as his neighbour. The oldest was a grey-bearded man, about twenty years Don's senior, with wrinkles on his wrinkles; a balding dome covered his head. There are no women, he observed. In this part of the world women were never tried for crimes, the only judge, jury and executioner happened to be down to the blade of a soldier. What a marvellous system. His cell was as small as the others, but smellier. On his first night, he opened up to Nate, the guardsman. "Am I going to die?" Don had asked, to which the guard blinked, and replied "Let me put it this way. I've never seen a man get out of here alive, even when they escaped."

Don went silent for three nights after that. The entire block had been freezing when he first arrived, but he eventually grew accustomed to the temperature. One morning he swore he saw a rat frozen on the floor across the hall. Don wasn't given much to wear, only the standard rags that all prisoners wore. It was lonely; the madness of the other prisoners didn't satisfy Don's need for company. It wasn't quiet either, each cell had no walls but the outer one, and were only separated by thin metal bars. Other prisoners kept to themselves, On the fourth night, Wyl was on guard duty. "What are you in for?" he asked.

"I thought all guards knew?" Don replied, scratching his arm where the irons dug into his skin.

"Nah, we're just told who's who. Your name is Donnall Lockwood. You grew up in Denton Valley. Your father was a low lord who was killed by bandits when you were seven. I'm… I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He was an arse. Always beating mother and ignoring his children. Only time he was nice to her was when food was on his plate or ale in his belly." Don said, scratching at his arm again. There was truth in this, although his father's death had saddened him greatly. 'Promise me, son' were his final words. "What else did they tell you?"

"Not much else. You spent your adolescence on your grandfather's ship, Silver Princess, after your mother died of the Plague." Don stirred at the mention of his mother's death. She died when he turned twelve, and if he hadn't left the valley some lord would have come by and conscripted him into his army. Fighting isn't for me, he'd always thought. He never used to be the violent type.

"So they didn't mention my crime?" he asked.

"Nope." Wyl answered, "It's funny that they question you for all this shit, tell us, and then never even tell us what you gone and done!" Don coughed, and scratched at his arm. "So go on then, what did you do?"

"It was right. It was just. I shouldn't be in here!"

"If I had a gold coin for every time a prisoner said that!" Wyl laughed, and slapped himself on the side. Go on, laugh away. I'm getting executed and you're just going to laugh about it. Don walked across his cell and sat down on the cold stone floor. The beds were the worst part. They were hardly beds, a pile of hay and a half-beaten pillow was what Don lay down on every night. He twisted and turned constantly, never finding a comfortable position. 'Don't take a comfy bed for granted, you'll find it's what you rely on most' his mother had once told him as a boy. The Lockwoods had lived like kings in Denton, and despite Don being from a lower branch of the noble family, he was still accustomed to the hot roasts, warm beds and cool breeze that made the valley a great place to live, but here the air was so still it was hard to breathe. A week after his imprisonment Don noticed the cell had increasingly become infested with rats. They came and went fast across the floor, as if they were playing games with him. Don concluded that the lack of bathing was what caused this. The next night, he didn't sleep once due to all the flies. They're trying to kill me in here. The real execution happens on its own in the dungeons. On the ninth day, Wyl was back.