The warden smiled as he pounded on the iron-bound prison door, rudely waking the condemned inside.

"Rise and shine, Boys. Today is the day you meet your maker. Which means I get the pleasure of roasting you alive"
"Mercy" the weak voice behind the door called. "We did... nothing"
"That's not the way the Crown sees it. Now, you gonna shut up, or will I cut out your tongue too?"

Unlocking the door and throwing it open, Lewis grabbed the heavy iron shackles that the prisoners were wearing, pulling them roughly to their feet and corralling them out of the cell - where they stood blinking in the early morning sun, hands covering their naked bodies.

It was a short walk to the awaiting pyres, the priest already standing there with his Holy Book. The warden scowled slightly, knowing he would be in for a boring lecture before the fire could be lit under the feet of the condemned. Paying no attention to the priest, he roughly threw the first prisoner against the thick wooden stake and began binding them to it with heavy rope. His long suede gloves stopped the rough rope from hurting him as he pulled it as tight as possible around the prisoner's wrists. He didn't like it when they could move away from the flames that licked at their flesh.

Once both prisoners were tied in place (the smaller boy wetting himself as the gravity of the situation became apparent) the strong warden backed away, knowing the priest would want to wait until sunset to light the pyre – the best time for the townsfolk to see the spectacle of “justice”. That meant waiting another hour, at least. Grumbling quietly to himself, Lewis contemplated punishing the prisoners a little more, but he knew better than to take the initiative when the Church was present. Instead, he sat down among the wood, leaning against a stake, and tried to get some sleep.


The sounds of the villagers gathering woke up the sleeping man. Looking up, he could see the sun sink slowly behind the rolling fields of farmland.
"Perfect timing" he thought to himself, as he dusted off his jerkin and gloves.

The priest launched into the usual boring sermon, speaking about how heretics would burn and salvation lay in the ways of the Book. Things the warden had heard before at every other execution. He managed to ignore the same old message, looking over the now struggling prisoners. He knew the rope would hold (he'd tied it himself), so it was good to see their wrists start to bleed where they cut themselves with futile struggling. Soon, the ceremony was underway, the priest addressing the condemned and damning them to righteous fire.

Finally, the priest raised the book high, completing his sermon. Keeping his expression neutral (he didn't want to smile, and let the whole village know how much he loved this), Lewis walked to a near-by prison guard, picking up an unlit torch as he approached the nervous looking man that held a small oil-lamp. Carefully placing the torch within the flame until fire to spread along the pitch-coated rags around the wooden pole, Lewis was reminded of his previous exploits with a torch. He could still smell the burning thatch of the villages he had raided – before he turned away from a life of a mercenary and became a “respected” member of society as a prison warden. He walked over to the condemned and pushed the torch into the dry tinder at the base of the stakes, the flames quickly spreading through the pyre.

"NO! PLEASE, NO! MERCY! WE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!"

Lewis punched the yelling boy in the stomach, being careful where to stand on the pyre. The blow was enough to wind the bound creature. Lewis smiled as he continued spreading the flames around the two bodies.
Soon, he had to back away, the heat finally driving him back. But he stood as near to the pyre as he could, keeping his eyes on the flames as they started licking at the legs of the two prisoners. Hair singed away, flesh quickly turned from pale to red. And the screams became louder and frantic. Lewis still held the torch in one gloved hand, enjoying the show as much as he could. The cries mimic the sounds of the other prisoners he had executed. And the other villagers he had ravaged in his earlier days. Closing his eyes, he remembered how much the heat of a burning village would warm his blood. He breathed deep from the smoky air, relishing the taste on his tongue.

The victims were unlucky, the fire staying low and the smoke blown away from their faces. They would not suffocate or succumb quickly. The flames gradually moved higher, destroying their feet, then their legs. It would be many long minutes before it reached their torsos and started destroying organs. All the while, the warden stared into the fire and into the pained faces of the condemned. This was why he had become a warden - to be able to inflict such wonderful pain and suffering (not to mention taking advantage of a few prisoners when the other guards were away - there was nothing like raping a starving convict who thought you would free them if you enjoyed it). His eyes barely blinked as he looked at the thrashing bodies in the fire.

The priest had already departed, clearly the old man had no stomach for gore (or his nose could not stand the smell of burning flesh). The other guard had turned his back to avoid the sight. And the villagers either wept (as they watched friends/family die) or staring at the burning heretics, not wanting to depart until the prisoners were dead.

But Lewis would be here until the bodies fell into the ashes. He was disappointed that the older boy's head had already fallen slack - his body going limp as only the ropes held him upright. The weakling died far too early for the warden's taste. At least the other one was still pulling futilely at the ropes that held him in place. The flames were now waist-high, his leg bones already visible through the charred flesh.

Taking a deep breath of the bitter-sweet smell of burning flesh, Lewis savoured the sight. As soon as the bodies fell, he could go back to the tavern and celebrate his latest masterpiece.
By the time the flames faded and embers glowed under the moonlight, all that was left was one grizzly skeleton leaning against a stalk of charcoal. The other body was lost beneath the dark ashes of the pyre. A light wind stirred the lonely corpses. They would remain there, the villagers knowing not to disturb the dead, until the next fast day when the Priest returned to gather and bury the remains.