Read Online Devil's Dominion by Kathryn Le Veque - Free Book Online
Authors: Kathryn Le Veque
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confiscated her, we brought her back to Cloryn and locked her in the vault while we moved on to Ithon Castle, another of de Velt’s holdings. Now, it belongs to me as well. After Ithon, we will take Rhayder Castle and then we will have an unbreakable link of three castles, all bordering one another. Once we have that stretch of the border secured and under my control, we will move to Comen Castle, Erwood Castle, and finally Four Crosses Castle. By that time, I will have taken every castle along the Marches that de Velt ever held and, hopefully, he will be moving his army to engage me.”
The commanders listened to the plan that had been drilled into their heads ever since they had known Bretton. Much like the rest of them, Bretton had a background as a mercenary but, unlike them, he had lived the life of a mercenary with an end goal in mind. The man had plans. Mercenaries didn’t come any meaner or deadlier than Bretton de Llion. Since having lost his parents at a young age, his younger years were rather blurred but it was rumored that he had been sold to a merchant who had taken him to Ireland and subsequently abused him until he had been old enough to fight back.
After that, it had been established that Bretton had become a squire for an Irish mercenary who had taught the lad his trade. Powerful and skilled at only seventeen years of age, Bretton left his Irish master and began to sell his sword to anyone who would pay a high price, earning himself a great deal of money in the process. Then, it was his turn to hire men on, and with his army for hire, he had made even more money because Ireland was full of lords willing to pay to destroy their neighbor. But there came a point where de Llion had his own plans for his army, and that was to take six castles along the Welsh border, castles that belonged to the feared English warlord, Jax de Velt. Bretton’s men came to understand that there was a vendetta in these plans, a vengeance that sang of bitterness and sorrow, something de Llion wouldn’t easily discuss.
But he did discuss it, every so often when he was drunk, and the reasons behind his vendetta would make brief appearances, enough so that his commanders understood that de Velt had murdered his family and stolen his father’s castle. Men with vendettas were often the fiercest and the most isolated of men. Fierce because there was emotion in their cause and isolated because their pain was their own. Bretton de Llion was one of these men. He kept his emotions bottled up, yet wore his pain on his sleeve in the guise of blood-letting brutality, an odd combination. He was lonely, as he had been his entire life, and that was the way he wanted it.
“It is difficult to believe that we are finally here,” the commander with the heavy Irish accent spoke in response to Bretton’s statement. Sir Dallan de Birmingham was from a fine Irish family and had indeed been knighted, but he discovered early in his career that he liked being paid for his services. His loyalty could be bought and de Llion paid handsomely for the privilege. “All of the years we have been planning this – how long has it been? At least six years that we have been planning to take de Velt’s castles in Wales. The plan has become a part of my very foundation and I am eager to establish myself along the Marches.”
Bretton eyed Dallan. The man was in it for the money and power, purely. He was greedy and he could be shifty, so Dallan was a commander that bore watching. As long as things were going his way, he was loyal to the core, but the moment he was displeased, he could very easily show that displeasure in dangerous ways.
“Your time will come,” Bretton said steadily. “I promised you a castle and you shall have it, but it will be a castle of my choosing. Rhayder is rumored to be a large castle with two villages paying tribute, so mayhap that will be the one I grant you. Mayhap not. Either way, you will never forget that your loyalty is to me
The commanders listened to the plan that had been drilled into their heads ever since they had known Bretton. Much like the rest of them, Bretton had a background as a mercenary but, unlike them, he had lived the life of a mercenary with an end goal in mind. The man had plans. Mercenaries didn’t come any meaner or deadlier than Bretton de Llion. Since having lost his parents at a young age, his younger years were rather blurred but it was rumored that he had been sold to a merchant who had taken him to Ireland and subsequently abused him until he had been old enough to fight back.
After that, it had been established that Bretton had become a squire for an Irish mercenary who had taught the lad his trade. Powerful and skilled at only seventeen years of age, Bretton left his Irish master and began to sell his sword to anyone who would pay a high price, earning himself a great deal of money in the process. Then, it was his turn to hire men on, and with his army for hire, he had made even more money because Ireland was full of lords willing to pay to destroy their neighbor. But there came a point where de Llion had his own plans for his army, and that was to take six castles along the Welsh border, castles that belonged to the feared English warlord, Jax de Velt. Bretton’s men came to understand that there was a vendetta in these plans, a vengeance that sang of bitterness and sorrow, something de Llion wouldn’t easily discuss.
But he did discuss it, every so often when he was drunk, and the reasons behind his vendetta would make brief appearances, enough so that his commanders understood that de Velt had murdered his family and stolen his father’s castle. Men with vendettas were often the fiercest and the most isolated of men. Fierce because there was emotion in their cause and isolated because their pain was their own. Bretton de Llion was one of these men. He kept his emotions bottled up, yet wore his pain on his sleeve in the guise of blood-letting brutality, an odd combination. He was lonely, as he had been his entire life, and that was the way he wanted it.
“It is difficult to believe that we are finally here,” the commander with the heavy Irish accent spoke in response to Bretton’s statement. Sir Dallan de Birmingham was from a fine Irish family and had indeed been knighted, but he discovered early in his career that he liked being paid for his services. His loyalty could be bought and de Llion paid handsomely for the privilege. “All of the years we have been planning this – how long has it been? At least six years that we have been planning to take de Velt’s castles in Wales. The plan has become a part of my very foundation and I am eager to establish myself along the Marches.”
Bretton eyed Dallan. The man was in it for the money and power, purely. He was greedy and he could be shifty, so Dallan was a commander that bore watching. As long as things were going his way, he was loyal to the core, but the moment he was displeased, he could very easily show that displeasure in dangerous ways.
“Your time will come,” Bretton said steadily. “I promised you a castle and you shall have it, but it will be a castle of my choosing. Rhayder is rumored to be a large castle with two villages paying tribute, so mayhap that will be the one I grant you. Mayhap not. Either way, you will never forget that your loyalty is to me
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