Suspicious Circumstances

Two Meanings

Rodney was having a hard time putting all the puzzle pieces together, simply because it did not make sense.

What kind of person would kill his own mother? The logic of the events simply didn't connect for the street orphan.

But something else did.

"Y'said your mam died after she got into an argument with Norton? All sudden-like -"

"Suddenly," Pritchard corrected absently. "Not 'all sudden-like'."

"...suddenly..." Rodney said slowly, glancing at Pritchard, displeased at the correction but unwilling to take it up with a King's Ranger, "after standing up to Norton? Of fever?"

Arald nodded.

Ranger Pritchard looked at the other boy with renewed interest. A new piece of the puzzle was surfacing, and Pritchard could sniff those out like a bloodhound. For years, he'd been trying unsuccessfully to work out some way to keep Norton from inheriting the barony, short of actually killing the boy (the King tended to look down on such measures). Now, finally, after five years, he was starting to see a way - if he could acquire proper proof.

And, he added silently, keep it safe from Norton's web.

"My parents died the same way." Rodney revealed bluntly. "Two - no, three years back now. Dad had some argument with Norton - about money, I think - and he and Mam got a fever and died about a week later."

"None of your family members took you in?" Arald interrupted, surprised. That didn't seem right to him.

Rodney shrugged. "Mam and Dad'd made an enemy of y'brother. None of them wanted to take me in and risk getting his attention."

Arald frowned.

Still doesn't seem right.

Ranger Pritchard was talking again.

"Do you have any way to prove this?" He asked, mind racing at the possibilities. Baron Peyton might not care much about a peasant worker and his wife, but he would care about his wife. If he could connect the deaths...

Rodney scowled. "You don't believe me?" He accused him angrily.

"I believe you," Pritchard soothed quickly, "but the Baron won't, unless we have good, solid proof."

"But you're 'is son." Rodney said indignantly, turning to Arald. "Won't he believe you?"

Arald shook his head glumly. "I'm his second son. Norton was his first. And Father's completely blind to what he is."

Sometimes, Rodney thought cynically, being cynical had its upsides.

Heh...he was cynically saying that optimistically, there were upsides to being cynical, which was...he wasn't exactly sure anymore. Tangent over. Back to the story.

Arald was looking back and forth between Rodney and Pritchard. "So...what are we going to do?" He asked.

Pritchard made a dispirited shrugging motion. "There's not much we can do right now," he admitted. "We'll just have to wait -"

"Just a moment!" Rodney cried out, sitting bolt upright in his chair. "You don't mean to say that you're going t' let 'im get away with it all?!"

"And what would you suggest we do?" Pritchard asked sarcastically. "March up to him and go 'oh, hello my lord Baron, how nice to see you - by the way, your favorite son is a psychopathic serial killer, but we don't have any proof beside the testimonies of two eleven-year-old boys'? Yes, I can imagine that would go over magnificently! If you like being locked in the dungeon. Idiot boy." He finished scathingly.

Rodney had shrunk back into his chair, eyes wide at the Ranger's sudden explosion.

"R...right," he stammered out meekly, refusing to meet the Ranger's eyes.

Arald had the courage to scowl at Pritchard, who sighed and slumped backward into his chair.

"I'm sorry, Rodney. But please understand my frustration - I've been trying to compile a case against Norton for the past five years. Now I've finally got a solid link, but no way to prove it."

Rodney nodded mutely. He didn't speak.

Arald poked his friend's shoulder, then looked at the Ranger. "I think you broke him."


Norton was not having a good day.

Snarling internally, he stalked the halls of Castle Redmont, searching for any sign of his younger brother. Arald was, infuriatingly enough, a fairly intelligent boy, but he was young, and Norton could usually intimidate him into keeping quiet. An image flashed before him of little brother, shrinking away from him, eyes wide with fear as Norton recalled tales of unfortunates who had made his life difficult and paid the painful price. A feral grin flashed across his face before his black mood reasserted itself and the thunderous frown returned.

The story of the mill worker, his wife, and their orphaned son was a favorite, he recalled, his dark humor offering one last parting shot before surrendering completely to the anger and paranoia that had ruled his life these last few days.

Arald, the infuriating little brat, had somehow figured out that Norton had caused the death of the Lady Cynthia. Norton didn't believe their father would take his word over Norton's, but if he somehow managed to acquire proof! That would prove disastrous, especially with that damn Ranger already dogging his steps, waiting for the smallest mistake...

Luckily for him, he never made mistakes. He was the perfect killer, the perfect Baron - he could be, if he wanted, the perfect King.

Ever since he was a small child, Norton had known he was different than others. Better. He possessed the cold, calculating ability to get what he wanted, and the raw intelligence to see that people were not as unique as Arald and other 'good' people would have him believe.

Another thing - 'good' and 'evil' were simply abstract concepts defined by one's position, personality, and outlook on the world. And as such, they had no meaning. The only thing that mattered was power.

And the best kind of power was the power nobody knew you had. Even better - the power that others thought they had.

His position as the Baron's son and heir, coupled with his unique gifts and understanding of how the world worked made him the perfect candidate to become the ruler of his shadow empire.

There were only two obstacles.

Ranger Pritchard and his young brother, Arald Trammel.

Wouldn't it just be so very convenient if they found each other? A kindred spirit to whisper their treason to, a fellow 'clear-sighted' soul who only saw the ruthless side and didn't understand that it was that ruthlessness that made him perfect?

The young man's smile was reminiscent of a vampire.

Norton was having an excellent day.


Outside the Ranger's cabin, Norton ground his teeth as the small, shaggy pony neighed loudly. Even the Ranger's stupid horse was against him. He made a mental note to do something about the kingdom's special forces in the near future. They could prove to be a nuisance - or worse, an obstacle, if they should get too uppity.

On the other hand, if they answered to him instead of the King...

A Ranger might be just what he needed, in the future.

Ignoring the bay pony's shrill whinny, he stepped smartly up to the door and knocked, lowering the hood of his traveling cloak and picking a mask out of his collection to wear. He settled on outwardly calm, with worry-tension around around the eyes and mouth. The image of a brother worried about his younger sibling and trying not to show it. He knocked politely.

The door opened to reveal Pritchard. The man was tall, for a Ranger, which meant he was only some inches shorter than Norton rather than close to a foot. Pritchard was thirty-eight, and had inherited the Redmont Fief from his mentor - what had the man's name been, Carson? No, Carwyn, that was it, the Ranger Carwyn Blackwood - after the older Ranger had died under...suspicious circumstances. Norton had needed to arrange the old man's 'untimely' demise after he'd discovered a connection between Norton and the string of bandit raids that had plagued the outer town.

His apprentice was proving to be equally troublesome. Surprise, surprise. But Norton had been careful since that incident. There was no way this Ranger had any solid evidence against him.

The Ranger in question was wearing a polite-but-cool smile as he let Norton into the small cabin and offered him a seat at the table. The desk was cluttered over with papers that had been recently moved.

Doing paperwork...or making room?

Springer did not offer him coffee. That was just as well. Norton hated the taste of coffee.

"So," Springer began, before Norton could speak and set the conversation on the correct path, "what brings the Baron's favorite son to my cabin?"

Norton offered a thin smile in return. "I was looking for my little brother, actually." He admitted, injecting worry and fraternal care into her voice and mannerisms. "He's been...out of sorts, lately, ever since our mother died. Jumping at every shadow, suspicious of everyone...he's taking it quite badly."

"He's young yet," Springer responded with a fatherly smile. Norton scowled inwardly at this. "They were very close, as I'm sure you're aware."

Meaning, I know why you're really here.

Norton offered a rueful half-smile. "That's quite true. I hope he'll move on soon."

If you know what's good for you, old man, leave it.

Springer's smile grew a few degrees colder. "I'm sure he will, Norton. It merely came as shock - to all of us. The Lady Cynthia was such a strong woman, after all."

I know what you did.

Norton forced a smile on his face as he fought down panic. He knew. This old, bastard Ranger knew. How did he know? Who had told? Who had made a mistake?

Someone, he vowed, would pay for this.

Then he shook his head and chuckled. "But I'm getting distracted. You haven't seen Arald, have you?"

"I'm afraid I haven't," Springer responded smoothly. "Have you checked the Battleschool? It's possible he went looking for you there. I don't believe he's aware of your arrangement with Battlemaster Fredrick."

Something else the Ranger knew. Norton briefly wondered if he would have to think of a more permanent solution to the Battleschool debacle. It took up his precious time and energy, but it was a requirement to keep up the masquerade. So arrangements were made.

These thoughts swirling around in his head, Norton stood. "I shall look for him there. My thanks, Ranger Pritchard." He excused himself, striding to the door with a swish of his black traveling cloak.

He knew.


So...Norton may be a bit of a psychopath. Sorry Arald...I love you, I really do, but first I need to ruin your childhood by making your older brother a complete jackass.

And possibly my favorite character to write, ever. Doesn't say much about me, does it?

So far, not much has happened action-wise - but next chapter, it should pick up a little!

Also, I'm leaving tomorrow for a two-week cruise around the Baltic sea. I won't have internet access, and I may or may not have a computer. If I can, I'll work on the next chapter, but I can't promise anything!

Until next time.