"I don't care about Harrowgate, we have our own problems!"

That was the moment she understood that she was serving the wrong warlord.

"We're Wardens, Lord Daubeny," Joyeuse snarled as she slammed her fists into the table between them, shaking the wine bottle that was sitting on it. "We're sworn to defend our people!"

"Yes, and my people are here!" The warlord pushed himself up, pointing to the shields that lined his quarters. "See those? Those are the shields of all the owners the last ten years - Westhold Castle has not seen the stability it deserves, the stability I will provide it!"

"So you said," she retorted as she looked at the shields - Legion and Warborn pattern alike - then to her present employer's sun emblemized shield that took the last spot. "But who are you afraid of?"

"Jealous rivals! The Regals were first defeated by the Greycloak Legion after all, who then were destroyed by the Warlord Stigandr, who abandoned the fortress to…"

"So was that why a Blackstone emissary came in yesterday? What did you do to antagonize…"

"Enough questions!" Daubeny bellowed, "You swore to the contract, one Warden to another, do you hold our oaths so lightly Joyeuse Maylis?"

Joyeuse glanced down to the Warden's shield strapped over Daubeny's chest, bronzed like the rest of his armor and with a skull engraving. This is why we've fallen to dust, she thought as she took a step back.

"No, but we are sworn to defend our people. All of them."

"And if you run off to Harrowgate, a two day's march each way, you will fail that oath should I come under attack here! The Iron Legion has held Harrowgate even when the Vikings were raiding this far south, they will hold this season." He rested his hands on his waist and looked to the door. "Now then, you have your duties to tend to today. I suggest you see to them."

Gritting her teeth, she bowed her head and he dismissed her with a wave. As she strode through the mostly bare halls towards her chambers, she passed by several guards. They were hardly the stuff of legend - mercenaries or household warriors who had served with Daubeny before, ex-legionnaires, and outside local levies were being trained up to serve in the conflict that would inevitably come. She had fought alongside worse fighters, but those village militia at least had the good cause of not being victim to a roving band of mercenaries that took to pillage.

The smaller men at arms - and this was a statement of physical size rather than standing - greeted her as she passed and she returned the greetings half-heartedly, her warlord's words troubling her. She had come to Ashfeld to seek a worthy cause, and Westhold was on the southern border. Daubeny had hired her last winter with a seasonal mercenary contract - the same kind he offered all his soldiers - and she had accepted hoping it would get her into Ashfeld.

"I should've listened to the sellswords," she muttered as she remembered the warnings that the veterans had given her that night in the tavern. They told her that in Ashfeld when a lord at peace only hired seasonally, he was expecting something he may not be able to win and did not want lingering debts after slinking away. But she had allowed the fact that he was a Warden blind her to the possibility that he did not live up to the ideal. After all, what were sworn brothers and sisters for if not helping each other in times of need?

Pushing open the wooden door to her room, she looked around. It was small, but compared to the common barracks most of the foot soldiers shared was a luxury. A benefit of being a knight… even if not sworn to a legion like a true knight was supposed to be. Shaking her head, she made her way to the dresser and opened it, revealing her partial plate armor.

As she armed herself for the day's duties, she thought back to the path that had led her here. Almost two years of freelancing in assorted conflicts, and never finding a legion to serve. Most were because the lord was unworthy of a Warden's service, or they were too close to home for Joy to linger.

And now she was stuck serving another petty warlord, at least until the season was over and the contract ended. Was this what she was looking at for her life, fighting for causes that under all the shining armor amounted to different warlords wanting what others had and the willingness to spend lives to take it?

"Stop thinking that Joy," she muttered to herself as she held her helmet's lamellated back plates down so it did not catch her braid as she pulled it on. "A Warden shouldn't be looking for glory…"

But as she let go of the helmet plates, she looked down at the shield strapped around her chest, on her left side. Her Warden's shield had been engraved with a roaring lion, supposedly to symbolize the bravery that she had shown during her trials. Now she had to wonder if it was roaring out of frustration rather than pride of its duty.

Shaking her head, she made her way to the armory to get a longsword since she no longer had her own. Another day, another boring wait and maybe dealing with the odd dispute… or maybe whatever Daubeny feared would finally attack. It would not be a fight to be proud of, but at least then she could get some answers…

XXXXXXX

"My lord."

An hour's march from Westhold Castle, a balding knight blinked as he was woken up in his tent, made of black and orange cloth. Groaning, Holden Cross rose, his arming jacket rustling as he did, and looked up to the knight before him in the same colors as his tent, a shield around his torso that had been painted black and defaced with a single deep cut.

"Ademar," the second in command of the Blackstone Legion grumbled as he ran his hand along his face, "Is everything ready?"

"They're making the final preparations now."

"Good." Holden pushed himself up and looked to his heavy armor and pole-axe on a stand nearby. "Let's deal with the traitor and get a move on to Harrowgate."

"We could go to Harrowgate first," Ademar suggested, "Daubeny won't leave Westhold."

"Then we'll give the Vikings a chance to regroup after we send them running," he shook his head. "The Iron Legion be unable to keep them on the run."

"Not with their numbers, no. And if we don't crush the Vikings in one campaign…"

"They'll just be back next year," Holden finished as he glanced towards his heavy armor. I really need to get a proper squire, he thought as he glanced to his second. "Well, the coward's only going to be waiting. I don't suppose I can…"

Ademar chuckled. "You really need a squire. Don't the Lawbringers take on juniors?"

"If you know someone who'd be willing to become a symbol of terror to the masses for the right reasons…"

That answered the question well enough, and the two started working on getting the heavy armor on.

"So, Hervis Daubeny. How well did you know him before this?" Holden asked as Ademar was strapping down the leggings.

"He was there at my trials to become a Warden, but we never spoke at length."

"Hmmmmm. So, he was a Warden… and yet he refuses trial by combat."

"A Warden in name and skill only now," Ademar snorted. "He's let power go to his head. A disgrace."

"That we agree on," Holden nodded as the two turned to unhook the breastplate and backplate from the stand. "The castle is meaningless… it's Daubeny we need, then we can move on to Harrowgate."

"Are you sure a direct assault is the best way to get to him?"

"No, and personally I would rather forget about him until we've dealt with this year's Viking horde," Holden sighed as he thought back to his orders. "But Apollyon wants him punished for his betrayal, and before he can consolidate. Harrowgate can't hold much longer so we can't wait for a proper siege… we're going to lose a hundred men at least."

"And you're not leading the climb," Ademar remarked as he tightened the straps on the torso pieces. "Our ladders aren't that good."

"Is that a crack about my weight?"

The other knight grinned. "Your weight? No. Your armor, on the other hand…"

"Laugh it up. Last time we took crossbow bolts, you were stuck in the surgeon's wagon for a week and I impaled the lot."

"So you like to remind me."

After the armor was on, Holden reached for his poleaxe and pulled it from the stand, looking across the weapon and nodded to himself. Sharpened and ready for the day's battle. "Right then, let's get this over with. Sound assembly."

Ademar quickly bowed his head and strode out of the tent, and soon after horns echoed throughout the camp.

XXXXXXXX

"Mornin' Joy."

"Morning John," she answered as she was walking along the wooden bridge over the damaged eastern wall. The outermost layer had been fixed, but the inside was still damaged and the masons would not be able to get around to it for another week.

"Another day, another watch," John grumbled, the thickly bearded sergeant holding his halberd bitterly as he looked down the hillside towards the outlying villages that were within Westhold's influence. "Hopefully it stays boring."

"Hopefully, but you're a sworn bannerman, not a mercenary. You're stuck here."

"Hah, no need to remind me. 'Course, I'm sworn to the Lord of Westhold, not the man holding the title. Maybe next year's warlord won't have the same ego."

Joy grimaced beneath her helmet. "And maybe he'll care enough about the legions to help his comrades in need…"

"Surprised to hear that out of a lady from the south. Didn't one of those Iron Commanders attack your family or something?"

Unbidden, the memories of that battle came back… her first, all because of a desire for territory masked in claims of the greater legions. But also the battle that set her to become what she was that day.

"The so-called Iron Duke is Iron Legion in name only, he doesn't even fly their colors anymore," she grumbled. "But this is Ashfeld… the Iron Legion is still here."

"Well, the only commander I know of is Stone. He's Harrowgate's commander. Good enough man from what I've heard, but…"

"Yeah, it's what you've heard." They trailed off for a moment as she curled her lip beneath her helmet. "How's your wife doing? Is Flavia alright?"

John frowned for a moment, then his face immediately brightened as if he remembered something. "Oh, right, yeah. So it turns out what had happened was, well, she's going to have a baby. I'm… I'm going to be a father."

"Hah!" she laughed, patting him on the shoulder. "Congratulations, John, I'm happy for both of you."

"Thanks! It's kinda hard to believe, I mean we got married just before winter, but now…" he took a deep breath. "It's a lot to take in, and I've got the easy part! At least until the little guy comes out, then I've got two babies to take care of!"

The two immediately looked around, but Daubeny was busy lecturing the archers on the west wall about maintaining a proper watch. Too far for him to hear them, especially since he had put his winged helmet on.

"You sure he's not a fake Warden or something?" John asked as he looked back at her.

"He's a real Warden… if not particularly adherent to his oaths," she grumbled. "But he hasn't done anything that actually breaks them. And if he has, no one's come to me about it."

"Sounds more like a former Warden then… can't you write to your Lord-Warden or something about this guy?"

She shrugged. "There hasn't been a Lord-Warden in centuries. But if I wrote, it would take weeks for the letter to get to Anastasis, then if there's a Warden to spare there they'd need to send him to investigate, and then if he finds anything we'd need to call a tribunal together…"

"... and by that time we're meeting the new boss, just like the old one but a new banner." John sighed, pivoting his halberd hand to hand as he shook his head. "Welp, you've got better things to do than listen to a sergeant's grumblings. Happy patrol, Warden."

"You too," she answered as she made her way past to the steps to the courtyard. It was going to be another long day of patrolling fully manned walls and halls with regular guards. If she had not seen the roster, she would never have thought that they were undermanned. But everyone had a guard shift, even if they would be moving to man the walls if an attack actually came.

And the question of what Daubeny had done to make him so fearful rang in her mind again. Why was he so afraid, why did it seem like the Blackstone emissary had shaken him so badly? Had he attacked them somehow, or were they just another warlord's legion eager for more conquest? The last shield before Daubeny's was of the Regal Legion, and they had been reduced to a scattered band of deserters. So how did the Blackstones figure into this?

Sighing as she pushed past the door out of the courtyard to make her way to the west wall, she put the thought aside. There was nothing she could do about it short of breaking her oath to Daubeny as a mercenary. The price of upholding her oaths as a Warden.