Chapter one: Jasin

Thrice the bell tolled, its brassy tone calling out to the common people in their homes beyond Caladril Keep. They marched in silence, a horde of men, women, and children shrouded in the mists of dawn. Jasin watched as they came through the open gate and drawn portcullis of the keep.
They've seen too many burnings, he thought to himself. Yet still they came, came for the flames, for the gods, to watch a witch burn. Beside him stood the only two people in the world he might call friend, Logan Gallows to his right and Oben Thorn his left.
There was a balcony on the castle wall that jutted from the chambers of Lord Paladin Geryn Trant. On that balcony stood the Lord Paladin himself, grim and stoic, and beside him were Godsman William of Westreach, and Jasin's own overseer, Walter Foley. Walter caught sight of Jasin staring up at them and used two of his fingers to touch his forehead and then his heart. Jasin reflected the salute and returned his attention to the crowd.
When the crowd had gathered, Godsman William stepped in front of the Lord Paladin, clearing his throat. "On this dawn we welcome to our ranks the acolytes Jasin of the name Storm, Logan of the name Gallows, and Oben of the name Thorn. Each has accepted the tenants and proven themselves worthy of our order." The morning mists and stone walls of Caladril Keep did strange things to his voice, making it carry and echo like the words of a ghost.
One of the Devout, robed in gray and marked with black ink, came to drape a sash over each of their shoulders. The fabric was black wool, sewn with the badge of a golden eagle, the mark of the Wardens. When that was done he brought them a bowl of white ash. Each in turn they dipped two of their fingers into the dust and touched it to their brow and heart. "To protect and serve," they said when it was their time.
Jasin stood straight as he could, trying to convince himself the trembling was due the cold...but he knew it was not.
"They shall be given the title Warden of these, the northlands of Rovaine, and given the duty of guarding our kingdom from the horrors of the Witchlands."
Elder wardens clad in black came marching from the doors that led down into the dungeons, each holding a chain attached to a collar encircling the throat of a woman. She can't be much older than me, Jasin thought as they took her to her pyre. They rapped her chains around the stake and began dousing the wood and pitch in oil. She did not resist, it was apparent in the bruises on her face and her crooked hand, the fight had been beaten from her.
"This woman," called the Godsman, "is guilty of witchery and dealing with demons." Five devout approached the pyre, each baring a blazing torch. "She has confessed to welcoming a devil into her body in exchange for power." The crowd touched their brows and hearts, a blessing to protect from evil. "And now on this dawn, we consign her to the flames. We cast her evil from this world and send her to the judgment of the gods. May the fire purify you, witch," the Godsman drew symbols in the air, each representing one of the six gods. "May the winds deliver you, and may the gods look on you with mercy."
At those words, the Devout threw their torches and the pyre went up with a 'woosh,' the heat driving away the morning mists. The screams were the worst part. She thrashed against the stake, her shadow becoming an inhuman and twisted form. It took all his effort not to close his eyes or cover his ears. Jasin stared, face as cold and hard as stone as the witch burned.
When the flames had died, and the wood blackened. A sound like thunder roared as the logs supporting the pyre snapped, dropping the ashes into a pit dug deep into the earth.
William stepped aside for the Lord Paladin. "It is done," Geryn said, "return to your homes and remember the horror that waits in the Witchlands. To protect and serve."
"To protect and serve," the crowd echoed.
Jasin mouthed the words, but could not bring himself to speak them.
The common folk dispersed, some returning to their homes, others to begin work on their farms. Logan went first, then Oben after a time. Jasin stood there until noon came, when the mists had gone and the ashes had settled.
I'm a Warden, he thought. For the longest time that had been a dream, a wish of a young boy eager to protect his kingdom, his friends. I wanted this...
He was stirred from his stupor when a Devout grabbed his arm. They were pale more oft than not, heads shaved and marked with black tattoos in symbols of the Faith. "Lord Paladin Geryn wishes your presence in his chambers," the eunuch said, then left to go about the work of a devout.
Jasin looked up at the empty balcony, wondering if he had done some wrong. It's part of the initiation, he assumed, no doubt he has already spoken to Oben and Logan. But somehow he doubted it.
Castle Caladril was old, ancient actually, but well maintained. Weathered stones were replaced, mortar resealed. The gardens were known for their beauty, but were not in bloom, it was far too early in spring and the previous winter had been too harsh. Jasin found his way through the halls, listening to the hymns of the devout as he went. The door to Geryn's chambers was guarded by two Wardens. "His Lordship is expecting you," one said, opening the door and ushering Jasin in before closing it behind him.
The chambers were comely enough, warmed by a fresh fire burning in the hearth, the walls adorned by hangings bearing the badge of the Wardens of Rovaine. The room was bedchamber and study both, a single bed pressed against the wall surrounded by bookshelves and scrolls. A single table was placed in the center of the chambers, set with two plates of food and two chairs facing opposite one-another. Lord Paladin had claimed the one furthest from the door.
He was an older man, but none could say wizened. His head was bald, his bead stubbly, and eyes of a pale green. Pale, but never dull.
"I am glad you could take time from your sulking to pay me a visit, Warden," he said, carving a bite from the roasted chicken breast set on his plate. "Sit," he said, "eat."
"I've already broken my fast, my lord."
"Do not lie to me, Jasin, I was watching you." Geryn stared Jasin in the eye. "Now sit down."
He complied, lowering into the carved wooden seat. He didn't touch the food though, for fear he might not keep it down.
"When that witch stood upon her pyre, I did not watch the flames," he said, sipping at his mulled wine. "No, I was watching you. And even from the distance I could not help but to discern the glimmer of...what was it? Sympathy? Pity?"
"Pity, my lord," he said. Or both, he thought.
"Whatever you call it, it is unbecoming of a Warden of Rovaine to look upon the condemned in such a manner."
Jasin didn't answer.
Geryn wiped his mouth with a rag and threw it on his plate, a look of frustration adorning is weathered face. "Why do we fight the Witchlanders?"
"Pardon, my lord?"
The Lord Paladin rolled his eyes. "Why do we fight the Witchlanders? A Warden of Rovaine should know how to answer, do you not?"
Jasin searched a moment, he did not think any answer he gave would please the paladin. "We fight them because they practice black magic," he answered, finally. "Because they accept demons into their bodies in exchange for power."
"A child's answer. One for peasants and wet-nurses, not a warden."
"Then forgive me, my lord, I don't know."
Geryn left his seat and went to tend the flames, adding a fresh log and poking it with a metal rod. "We fight the Witchlanders because if we did not," he turned, pale eyes piercing Jasin's blue ones, "then they would claw over that wall and make war on the land. Without us, without the wardens, this land would be awash in chaos. They are savages, Jasin, they hang skulls on trees and drink the blood of their enemies."
Geryn approached Jasin where he sat until he stood above him, clasping his shoulder. "The pity you feel stems from a live you never lived, Jasin. I was there when we plucked you from your mother's arms, I was there when we burned her. You were named for the blizzard that almost killed you. But you survived, Jasin, you lived and we took you in, the first Witchlander to wear a warden's raiment."
"I remember, my lord."
"I remind you because you will be venturing into the very lands we took you from soon enough. And I need you to act as a warden, act as a servant of Rovaine, as you were raised to be."
Jasin felt his jaw tighten as he looked into Geryn's eyes. "I will act as the warden you and Walter trained me to me, Lord Paladin." He said the words, but he wasn't quite sure of them. "To serve and protect."
Geryn released his grip and nodded, pleased. "To serve and protect."