Chapter 3 (Cont.)
The condemned man stared up at him, over the rim of the half-drunk wooden cup of water.
“Aye, just like ye will do to me.” He answered.
The Executioner sat down across from. The wooden table separating them by only a few feet, but it felt like a deep chasm, one that he had to cross to ensure the man had come to terms with what would happen in a few days’ time.
“I was told, by the Governor, that you and a group of anarchists, attacked a royal transport, killed five guardsmen in the ensuing attack, held the Royal Tax Collector hostage and relieved him of four coffers collected from Hearthholme… does that sum up the charges against you?” He asked the hunched over man.
It was normal for people to deny their actions. For them to reason them away with logic, or have excuses for why it had to be done. The Executioner was taken aback by the condemned’s response.
“Aye, that sums it up tidy-like. There was a sixth guard, I put an arrow in his calf. Pro’ly have to walk with a cane.” He answered.
The Executioner stared at the man. There was no remorse on his face. He did not hold an ounce of guilt for his actions.
“Do you wish to discuss why you committed such crimes?”
The man hacked and coughed.
“Crimes? Mayhap we should discuss that. Ye think these actions are crimes, have ye asked yerself why?”
“The King determines who governs each region, they hold those who have broken his laws accountable. By the edict of the King, your actions violate those laws.” The Executioner replied.
“Aye, and by what right does yer King rule? Hmmm? Who gave him the authority to make these laws?”
The two men stared at each other, in the freezing gloom of the prison cell.