II-17: Trail of Blood II

And that's how Greg ended up here, sitting in what turned out to be the castellan's office.

Apparently, a castellan is the guy who handles running a castle while the lord's out. The more you know. The walk had taken longer than he'd expected, past guard posts and through iron-bound doors that creaked like they hadn't seen oil in years. By the time they arrived, his stomach had mostly settled, though the climb up what felt like a thousand steps had left him grateful to finally sit down.

The castellan's office was a cramped room that looked like someone had tried to stuff an entire library into a closet, the air thick with the smell of old parchment and candlewax. A single narrow window sat opposite Greg, though it probably didn't let in much light even during the day, its leaded glass clouded with age. Every wall disappeared behind overstuffed bookshelves, packed so tight with scrolls Greg wondered if taking one out might make the whole thing collapse like a game of Jenga. A massive oak desk dominated the middle of the room, its surface vanishing under stacks of papers and puddles of red wax seals that caught the flickering light. A single oil lamp cast more shadows than light, making the room feel even smaller than it was, the flames dancing in the draft from the doorway.

The wooden chair creaked under Greg as he shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable on the hard seat. Ash had curled up on top of his backpack at Greg's feet, somehow managing to fall asleep despite everything, his tiny snores barely audible in the quiet room.

On either side of him sat the captain and the innkeeper – one looking like this was just another night at work, the other like he might pass out any second. The captain's armor clinked softly as he settled into his chair, while Norren's eyes kept darting around the room like he was looking for escape routes, his fingers drumming a nervous pattern on his knee.

"So... what's all this fuss at this hour, then?" The castellan's voice matched his appearance – tired but somehow still alert, like a cat pretending to nap. His face was nearly as pale as the snow on the treetops, wearing weariness like a mask despite the slight smile that kept trying to form at the corners of his mouth.

Dark circles ringed his eyes like bruises, but there was something sharp in his gaze that cut through the fatigue, something that reminded Greg of his mom when she knew he was lying about homework. Weirdly enough, the man's arms looked like they belonged on someone twice his size, muscles bulging oddly against his otherwise skinny frame as he leaned forward over the cluttered desk. "I hear tell ye've been makin' some claims."

"Yeah, about that," Greg started, fighting to keep his voice steady despite the mix of frustration and lingering nausea churning in his gut. Whatever the guy had slipped into his dinner was still there, if only a trace of it left, but now it was fueling his anger more than anything else. "I didn't start any trouble. Those guards burst into my room out of nowhere. And the innkeeper," he shot Norren a look that made the man flinch, "seems to have served me some really bad food. Made me sick as a dog. I figure maybe it was poisoned or something." Because who gets this sick this fast from normal food?

The castellan's eyebrows climbed up his forehead at that last part, his tired eyes suddenly much more alert. Even through his enhanced vision, Greg could see how the man's whole personality and body language shifted from weary worker to something sharper. "Poison, ye say? That's a grave charge. Norren, what ye got to say for yerself?"

"I don't know wot 'e's on about, ser," Norren answered back, but his fingers betrayed him, tapping an anxious rhythm that screamed guilt. Greg watched the man's throat bob as he swallowed hard. "I gave 'im the same food we give everyone else, I did."

"Hmm," the castellan nodded slowly. "I do know ye, Norren. A man like ye… a good man from a good people…"

Greg raised an eyebrow, wondering what this had to do with anything as the well-dressed servant continued. "T'ain't like ye to act like… well… like this."

"Ye s-speak true," the innkeep echoed.

The man sitting across the desk clicked his tongue with another slow movement, this time a shake of the head. "Breaking guest right, such a thing… t'ain't done."

"T'aint."

Greg frowned, studying how the innkeeper's eyes wouldn't stay still, bouncing around the room constantly and refusing to meet anyone's gaze fully, least of all the castellan's. Yeah, that's not suspicious at all. "Then why are you acting so nervous?"

Norren's head snapped toward Greg so fast it looked painful, his whole body jerking with the movement. "Th'... th'... 'm not n-nervous…" Each stutter dug his hole deeper, making him sound about as innocent as a kid with chocolate all over his face denying he ate the cookies.

"And why are you sweating so much?" Greg pressed, watching more beads of sweat roll down Norren's temples. Man, this guy has a shit poker face.

"I... I... I... no," the innkeep shook his head violently, like he could shake off the accusations. His hands twisted in his lap, knuckles white with tension. "I didn't do…"

Greg tilted his head, channeling every disappointed teacher he'd ever had as he watched Norren squirm. The innkeeper's anxiety was practically a living thing now, filling the space between them. "Then why do you look so scared?"

"No, no, wait... it ain't like ye think," Norren stammered, voice climbing higher with each word. His eyes darted between Greg and the castellan like he was watching a tennis match. Or looking for someone to save him.

"...you used poison, didn't you, Norren?" Greg nodded slowly, watching the man's face crumble. Wow, a Spongebob reference with no one to enjoy it. My life sucks.

"I ain't!" The innkeep almost launched himself out of his chair, desperation making his voice crack. He spun toward the castellan, hands raised like he was pleading for salvation. "Ser, ye've got to believe me… this weren't supposed to—i'd never go agains—"

The castellan's hand cut through the air, silencing Norren mid-panic. The authority in that simple gesture was impressive, making even Greg straighten up a bit. "Norren, enough. Ye're speaking nonsense. Go on, wait outside with the captain an' the guards."

Wait, what? Greg watched in confusion as Norren and the captain rose to leave, studying their reactions. Norren moved like his clothes were on fire, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to escape, while the captain maintained that easy confidence that came with real authority. The contrast was almost funny, or would have been if Greg's stomach wasn't still doing slow flips.

The heavy door closed behind them, and Greg's enhanced hearing picked up their footsteps moving away down the hall. The castellan turned back to him, and something in the man's expression had shifted. That slight smile was back, but now it felt calculated rather than tired. Oh great, here comes the politics.

"No need to worry, I'd just like a word with ye in private, if it suits." The castellan's tone had changed too, smoother now, like he was trying to sell something.

Greg nodded hesitantly, feeling his guard go up. Below his feet, Ash shifted in his sleep, letting out a tiny snore that somehow made the tension in the room even more obvious. At least someone's relaxed.

The castellan leaned forward, and Greg could practically see him choosing his next words carefully. "This town's seen its share o' trouble from travelers, mind. that's likely why the guards reacted… all strong-handed."

The teenager blinked, disbelief mixing with his lingering nausea. Are we seriously doing this right now? "Strong-handed? I reacted strong-handed," Greg corrected, letting his annoyance show. The memory of throwing guards around like rag dolls was still fresh, along with the taste of bile. "They're the ones who acted in the first place. I didn't do anything to make them attack me other than be sick in my room." Because apparently that's a crime now.

The man's hands came up in what was probably supposed to be a calming gesture, but Greg had seen enough adults try to smooth things over to recognize the move. "An' rest assured, we'll be lookin' into the claims against the guards an' Norren alike."

He paused, fixing Greg with a steady look that carried volumes of unspoken meaning. Here it comes. "Thing is… Norren's roots here in Thornwell run deep as the old oaks. his kin's been here for generations. hard to believe he'd be mixed up in poisonin', an' the villagers would likely say the same."

A pair of blue eyes narrowed as Greg caught the underlying message. Politics over justice, again. Some things really were universal, even in medieval fantasy land. "So... what now?"

"So, best we keep this quiet while we sort it, eh?" the castellan suggested smoothly.

Greg frowned, the boy shifting in his uncomfortable seat as he stared back at the castellan. This guy really thinks I'm that dumb? "And I'm just supposed to hang around while you sort that out?"

"No need for ye to stay put," the castellan quickly assured him, hands spreading in what was probably meant to be a welcoming gesture but came off more like a merchant trying to sell bad merchandise. His tired smile didn't quite reach his eyes, even. "Ye're free to go, o' course. We'd even offer a bit o' recompense for yer troubles, help ye along yer way."

Greg's eyebrows rose as he caught the implication. And there it is. "...so, a bribe?"

The castellan's face stiffened, that fake smile vanishing as his jaw clenched. "...no, not a bribe." Each word came out careful, measured, like he was testing thin ice.

"You just described a bribe." Greg watched the man's shoulders tense at the blunt statement, his face getting icier. Already dropping the friendly act, huh? That was quick.

"No, I did not," the castellan insisted, his tone sharpening like a knife being drawn and his muscled arms tensing on the desk.

Greg's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward slightly, watching the man's reaction. "Sounds a lot like a bribe to me." Let's see how long before he drops the act completely.

The castellan bristled, shoulders squaring as his patience visibly wore thin. A muscle jumped in his jaw. "It's not a bribe, it's assistance."

"But it's money to keep me quiet," Greg countered sharply, watching the man's composure crack further.

"That's not what I'm saying, lad," the castellan responded through gritted teeth, his earlier weariness burned away by barely contained anger. His hands pressed flat against the desk now, like he was trying to ground himself.

Greg pushed back his chair with deliberate slowness, the legs scraping against stone as he stood. Every muscle tensed for what he knew was coming. Here we go. "You just described a bribe, whether you admit it or not."

The castellan stood as well, using his height to loom over his desk. His tone carried no trace of its earlier smoothness, rough as the rusted iron gates outside the keep. "I'm tryin' to settle this without stirrin' up further trouble."

Greg scoffed, feeling his own anger rise to match the poison still churning in his gut. "By bribing me?"

"Just ensurin' we've got yer cooperation, ye see," the castellan argued, voice rising with each word as his control slipped further.

"And what exactly am I cooperating with? Being poisoned?" Greg retorted, letting his frustration show. Because that worked out so well for your innkeeper friend. Real professional operation you're running here.

The castellan faltered, his carefully constructed mask shattering completely as his mouth worked soundlessly.

Gotcha! Greg felt a smirk tug at his lips as he began to rise, watching desperation replace the man's anger. "You know what, I'll just go sleep in the forest. I'm used to it," Greg said, turning toward the door with deliberate casualness.

"Fool boy!" The scrape of metal on leather was Greg's only warning. His enhanced senses caught the castellan's movement as the man lunged across the table, papers scattering as he brought the dagger down toward Greg's back. The blond whirled just as the blade came down, feeling it slice into his arm. Without hesitation, he grabbed the castellan's wrist and twisted hard, bone snapping beneath his grip like dry wood. The dagger hit the floor with a sharp clatter that went almost unheard compared to what came next.

The castellan's howl of pain filled the small office as he dropped to his knees, cradling his ruined wrist. Greg stepped back, his arm bleeding but the pain barely registering through the haze of betrayal and anger. Yeah, sure, you fucking crazy Northern bastards. Pull the coward shit you always do.

The door burst open, wood slamming against stone as the captain rushed in with sword drawn and a hard look on his face. His men spread out behind him, weapons ready as they took in the scene – their superior on his knees, clutching a broken arm, and a young outsider standing over him with blood dripping down his sleeve.

"What in the gods' name happened here?" the captain demanded, his blade steady and ready.

The blond met his gaze steadily, breathing hard through his nose as blood dripped from his fingertips. "He attacked me," he responded, voice cold as ice and twice as sharp, "right after trying to bribe me to leave town quietly."

The guard captain stared for a long moment, his expression unreadable behind his helm. Then his gaze snapped to Greg, and as he let out a slow, tired sight, any pretense of justice vanished like morning mist from his face. "Kill 'im."

The blond clicked his tongue. Knew it was too good to be true.

"Aard!"

Grimoire Points: 750