But without Allaston, he would be nothing at all. Difficult choices were coming in his future. He could sense it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Comen Castle
Out of allthe castles so far on Bretton’s list of conquest, Comen seemed to have fallen the fastest. A rather large, spread-out castle with inadequate walls and a very vulnerable postern gate near the kitchens, Comen fell in only two days. On the evening of the second day, the hall and stables were in flames and Bretton’s men were mounting the walls, killing everything that moved. At sunset, when the sky was turning shades of orange and yellow, the blood and destruction of Comen was something unparalleled in recent times. It was as if the very gates of Hell had opened up, revealing the horror of Satan’s realm inside. In truth, Comen, that night, became Hell personified. The Devil had expanded his dominion and no one was safe because of it.
The soldiers defending Comen had suffered the worst. Bretton’s men had rounded up the ones who were able-bodied and those wounded but still strong enough to stand, and crowded them all into one corner of the bailey while gangs of Bretton’s men had cut down trees in the nearby forest, making posts to impale the submissive army on. The impalings beganjust after dark and the agony of those who were put to the stakes filled the smoky, cold air.
The keep of Comen had held for another couple of hours after sunset, finally being breached when Bretton’s men had managed to reach the entry door by way of ladders, as the retractable staircase had been burned away. Unfortunately, the door was solid oak and after a half-hour of chipping away at it to make the wood raw enough to flame, they ignited the door and it burned steadily for an hour, finally falling away to ash sometime before midnight. Teague and several de Llion mercenaries were the first ones into the keep, rounding up the lady of Comen and her three frightened daughters.
Bretton was with Grayton and a few soldiers, coming in after the damage had been done to take stock of what was left. The hall was almost in total ruin, as were the stables, but several fine horses had been saved that Bretton immediately laid claim to. The rest of the bailey seemed relatively intact and that included a very nice armory. Bretton was inspecting the kitchen yards, noting that the cooks, or someone, had destroyed most of the supplies once the castle began to fall, when Dallan appeared.
“My lord,” he addressed Bretton formally. “We have the commander of Comen. Would you like to interrogate him before we put him to the stake?”
Bretton’s gaze was lingering on the castle garden where there seemed to be an abundance of peas before, shuddering in disgust at the peas, turning to Dallan. He noted that Dallan seemed particularly weary, covered in soot and sweat.
“I will see him,” he said. “Where is he?”
Dallan pointed to a group near the smoldering ruins of the hall. “Over there,” he said as he and Bretton headed in that direction. “It seems his father is with him, too, a man who was one of de Velt’s original commanders.”
Bretton looked at him with interest. “Indeed?” he said. “What is his name?”
“Sir Ares de Gault,” he replied. “His son, the garrison commander, is Sir Augustus de Gault. It is Augustus’ family that we took from the keep, his wife and three daughters.”
Bretton could spy the two beaten knights ahead, surrounded by his soldiers. Being in possession of one of de Velt’s original knights was quite an unexpected event and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.
“Where are the women?” he asked.
“I think the men have them.”
A note of warning sounded in Bretton’s head. “Are they having their fill of the women?”
“I believe so.”
Bretton suddenly came to a halt. “Go stop them,” he said, giving Dallan a shove. “Tell them not to touch the women until I give permission. Hurry and do this now. Then, I want you to take the women to the kitchen and keep them there until I arrive.”
Dallan nodded and ran off to find where the soldiers had taken the women. He didn’t give a second thought about Bretton’s command, mostly because he assumed Bretton wanted to see the women before anything was done. Perhaps he wanted to interrogate them or perhaps he even wanted them for himself, but that would have been unusual. Bretton had never taken a woman by force in all the time Dallan had known him. But he didn’t give the command much thought beyond that. He simply moved to carry it out.
Bretton watched Dallan head off, wondering if he was too late to prevent his men from defiling the women. He kept thinking about what Allaston had said about showing mercy. The concept was foreign to him but he sought to try. So many things Allaston had spoken of were alien in his world, compassion and mercy being the two largest issues, but heunderstood that those two attributes meant a good deal to her. Her words, spoken in Newtown, were haunting him:
Mayhap you will think of mercy the next time you are faced with a frightened woman whose only crime was living in a castle you want as your own. Throw her in the vault, or do whatever you have to do in order to keep her from your men, but I would pray that whatever comes, you consider showing mercy in all things.He seriously wondered if he could.
But he pushed those thoughts aside as he came upon the commander of Comen and his aged father, an original de Velt knight. A man who had helped de Velt conquer the Marches and perhaps even a knight who’d had a hand in killing his father. His initial reaction to an original de Velt knight had been curious but ambivalent, but now he was starting to feel some anger. Pure, unbridled anger that fed off his sense of vengeance. Ignoring the son altogether, he walked straight to the old knight to get a very close look at him. He wanted to see the face of those who had killed his father.
As Bretton scrutinized the old man, he was met with a fearless expression. The old knight was big, perhaps a bit round, but he had been very muscular in his youth. He was still handsome as far as old men went, with very big hands. Bretton looked into the old knight’s eyes and saw nothing but courage and resignation. He wasn’t sure if it impressed or infuriated him. Here was a man who had seen all of de Velt’s dealings, who had experienced everything that had ruined Bretton’s life. The man before him, essentially, had made Bretton what he was. A killer.
“You are Sir Ares de Gault?” Bretton finally asked.
The old man with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair nodded. “I am.”
“I am told you are one of de Velt’s original knights.”
De Gault merely nodded, the gesture of a man who saw no need to announce his accomplishments in life. It was an understated gesture, but Bretton merely cocked an eyebrow.
“This is a rather momentous moment for me,” he said. “I never thought to meet one of de Velt’s original knights.”
The old knight regarded him carefully. “And so you have,” he said. “Now that you have me where you want me, what are your intentions?”
