Chapter fourteen:A coronation and a knighthood.
Marcellus paced anxiously within the confines of his dark, damp chamber. It had been days since he'd sent the assassins to Thorne's residence, and yet, there was no word of their success. The silence was deafening, and Marcellus's worry grew with each passing moment.
Meanwhile, in the village of Brindlemark, preparations for Thorne's coronation as lord mayor were in full swing. The villagers were abuzz with excitement, eager to celebrate the appointment of their beloved leader.
At the heart of the village, a magnificent new home was being built for Thorne. The structure, designed by the finest architects in the land, was a testament to Thorne's newfound status. With towering spires and grandiose halls, the mansion stretched across a sprawling estate, its walls adorned with intricate stone carvings and stained glass windows that shimmered in the sunlight.
The estate, which would serve as Thorne's official residence, boasted beautifully manicured gardens, a crystal-clear lake, and a private forest teeming with wildlife. It was a fitting abode for the lord mayor, one that would provide a comfortable and secure environment for Thorne and his family.
As a gesture of their support and admiration, three of Brindlemark's most influential men – Lord Edwin Blackwood, a wealthy landowner; Sir Lucas Ross, a renowned knight; and Bishop Julian St. Clair, a respected spiritual leader – gifted Thorne with substantial tracts of land. These generous donations not only demonstrated the villagers' esteem for Thorne but also served to further solidify his position as lord mayor.
As the day of Thorne's coronation drew near, the villagers' anticipation grew. It promised to be a grand celebration, one that would be etched in the memories of the people of Brindlemark for generations to come.
As the villagers worked tirelessly to prepare for the coronation, Thorne and his family were equally busy making their own preparations. Helen and Lyra were in high spirits, overseeing the creation of magnificent robes for Thorne and Drinian.
With the help of a few young maidens from the village, who had offered to serve as their servants, Helen and Lyra worked tirelessly to craft exquisite garments. For Thorne, they designed a majestic robe, made from the finest velvet and adorned with intricate gold embroidery. The robe was a deep, rich blue, symbolizing wisdom and loyalty, and featured an ermine-trimmed cloak with a golden clasp in the shape of a regal lion.
For Drinian, they created a stunning knight's attire, complete with a white tunic bearing the emblem of Thorne's family crest, a pair of polished silver gauntlets, and a flowing cape with a golden brooch. The outfit was a testament to Drinian's bravery and honor.
Meanwhile, able-bodied men who had volunteered to join Thorne's service were busy with various tasks. They polished Drinian's armor until it shone like the sun, ensuring that every dent and scratch was meticulously removed. Others assisted with household chores, such as preparing the new family's estate for the upcoming celebration, while some helped with the training of Thorne's horses, making sure they were groomed to perfection.
As the day of the coronation drew near, Thorne's estate was filled with the sound of laughter, music, and bustling activity. The air was electrifying with anticipation, and Thorne's family was filled with pride and gratitude for the love and support of their community.
Thorne was deeply involved in the preparations for his coronation, ensuring that every detail was meticulously attended to. He spent hours overseeing the preparation of the grand feast that would follow his inauguration, sampling dishes and selecting the finest wines to be served. His commitment to excellence was evident in every aspect of the celebration.
In addition to the logistical arrangements, Thorne also engaged in a series of meetings with village leaders, discussing matters of governance, trade, and security. His fair and just judgment in settling disputes and addressing grievances earned him widespread admiration and respect. People began to sing his praises, eagerly anticipating his official appointment coronation as lord mayor.
Drinian, despite being part of the soon-to-be ruling family, remained humble and dedicated to his duties. He continued to work at Thorne's fabrics shop, assisting customers and making sales with his characteristic charm. People admired his willingness to serve, even when he could have easily rested on his family's impending privilege. As he helped customers, Drinian's kindness and humility only added to the growing esteem in which the people of Brindlemark held him.
The villagers' enthusiasm for Thorne's coronation grew with each passing day, and Drinian's humility only served to strengthen their affection for the entire family. As the day of the coronation approached, the atmosphere in Brindlemark was electric with anticipation, and the people eagerly looked forward to celebrating Thorne's inauguration as their new lord mayor.
Marcellus seethed with resentment, unable to accept Thorne as his lord mayor. He continued to concoct secret plans to sabotage the coronation, his mind consumed by jealousy and hatred.
Elizabeth Culkin, Marcellus's wife and the woman who had once harbored a deep grudge against Drinian, shared her husband's sentiments. She couldn't bear the thought of Helen, a pauper, ruling Brindlemark alongside Thorne, while her own family was relegated to obscurity.
Their son, Marcel, inherited his parents' disdain for Drinian. He nurtured a deep-seated hatred for the young man, often seeking opportunities to cause him trouble.
One day, Marcel created a scene at the market square, intentionally causing a commotion and attempting to shift the blame onto Drinian. However, the passersby who witnessed the incident saw through Marcel's deception and promptly gave him a sound beating.
As Marcel lay on the ground, nursing his wounds, Drinian rode into the square on his horse. Instead of acknowledging Marcel or reacting to the scene, Drinian simply glanced over, then calmly mounted his horse and continued on his way.
The crowd, impressed by Drinian's poise and indifference to Marcel's antics, cheered and nodded in approval. Marcel, on the other hand, seethed with anger and humiliation, his hatred for Drinian burning brighter than ever.
As the sun rose over Brindlemark, casting a warm glow over the village, a day to the coronation of Thorne, Thorne and his family prepared for their grand departure. Outside their humble abode, a procession of coaches, adorned with colorful streamers and banners, awaited their arrival. The most influential people in Brindlemark, including Lord Edwin Blackwood, Sir Lucas Ross, and Bishop Julian St. Clair, stood proudly beside their coaches, accompanied by their servants.
At precisely six o'clock, Thorne, resplendent in his formal attire, emerged from his house with his family. Helen, his wife, and Lyra, his sister, were dressed in elegant garments, their faces aglow with excitement. Thorne assisted his wife and sister into the luxurious coach, specially crafted for them, with intricate carvings and plush cushions.
Drinian, their ward, opting for a more practical and comfortable attire, wore a sturdy pair of leather breeches, a crisp white shirt, and a supple leather jerkin. He mounted his majestic horse, its coat gleaming in the morning light. The village warriors, who would serve under his command, fell into formation behind him, their faces set with determination.
With a final farewell to their humble home, the procession began its journey to Talmare, the capital city. The coaches rattled over the cobblestone streets, while Drinian and the warriors rode alongside, their horses' hooves clattering in unison. As they departed, the villagers gathered to bid them farewell, cheering and waving as the procession disappeared into the distance, bound for the grand coronation ceremony.
As the sun began to wane, casting a warm orange glow over the landscape, the procession arrived at the capital city of Talmare. At precisely three o'clock in the afternoon, they entered the city gates and made their way through the bustling streets, finally arriving at the grand royal palace of King Arin III.
The king, resplendent in his regal attire, awaited their arrival in the grand throne room. Thorne, Helen, Lyra, and Drinian dismounted and approached the throne, bowing deeply to pay their respects.
Lord Edwin Blackwood, after exchanging a few words with the king, took his leave and departed for his state house within the city. Sir Lucas Ross and Bishop Julian St. Clair also bid the king farewell, heading to the Cathedral Church of Saint Michaels, where they would reside as guests of Bishop Isaiah Wilson.
King Arin III's face lit up with a warm smile as he laid eyes on Drinian. He immediately summoned his servants, instructing them to escort Thorne and his family to the royal guest apartments, specially prepared for their stay.
"Please, make yourselves at home," the king said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "I have taken the liberty of preparing a grand feast in your honor, which we shall enjoy tonight. But for now, rest and refresh yourselves. We have much to celebrate tomorrow."
With that, the king nodded to his servants, who escorted Thorne, Helen, Lyra, and Drinian to their luxurious quarters, leaving the king to attend to his royal duties.
After settling into their luxurious quarters, Drinian decided to take a stroll around the castle, eager to explore the grandeur of the royal residence. As he wandered through the labyrinthine corridors, he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the sheer scale and majesty of the castle's architecture.
The towering spires, grand halls, and intricately carved stone walls left him breathless. Drinian felt as though he had stepped into a different world, one of wonder and magic.
As he explored, Drinian's curiosity led him to the castle's library, a vast repository of ancient tomes, scrolls, and manuscripts. The musty scent of old parchment and the soft glow of candlelight enveloped him as he browsed the shelves, running his fingers over the spines of the books.
Drinian's eyes widened as he delved into the history of the kingdom, devouring accounts of great battles, wise rulers, and legendary heroes. The stories transported him to a realm of chivalry and honor, and he felt his heart swell with pride and ambition.
Just as Drinian became fully absorbed in his reading, a soft voice interrupted him. "Drinian, the king requests your presence at dinner." A liveried servant stood in the doorway, bowing slightly.
Drinian closed the book, marking the page with a slender finger. He rose from his seat, smoothing his attire, and followed the servant to the grand dining hall, where the king and his guests awaited.
They had a nice time during dinner with the king and went to bed a little bit later than expected, because of the tales told by both the king and Thorne about the kingdom and about wars they individually fought or lead.
The next morning, the castle stirred to life as the sun rose over the horizon. Drinian, Thorne, and their family prepared for the grand coronation ceremony, their excitement and nervousness palpable.
The ceremony would take place in the grand cathedral of Saint Michaels, the same church where Sir Lucas Ross and Bishop Julian St. Clair had taken residence the previous day. The cathedral's soaring vaults, stunning stained-glass windows, and intricate stone carvings created a breathtakingly beautiful setting for the occasion.
As the morning progressed, the cathedral began to fill with an assortment of dignitaries, nobles, and commoners. The rich and powerful, resplendent in their finest attire, mingled with the humble and poor, who had risen early to secure a spot within the cathedral. Merchants, artisans, and villagers from Brindlemark and surrounding towns had traveled far and wide to witness the historic event.
The air was alive with anticipation as the crowd awaited the arrival of the king, the lord mayor-elect, and their entourage. Trumpets blared, and the cathedral's doors swung open as King Arin III, accompanied by Thorne, Drinian, and the bishops, made their grand entrance.
The procession moved down the central aisle, the king's guards and the village warriors forming a protective cordon around the dignitaries. The crowd parted, allowing the procession to pass, before closing in behind them.
At the altar, the bishop of Saint Michaels, Bishop Isaiah Wilson, awaited the king's arrival. He was flanked by Bishop Julian St. Clair and other high-ranking clergy. The bishops were resplendent in their ornate vestments, their mitres glinting in the morning light.
The king took his seat on the throne-like chair placed at the front of the altar, while Thorne, Drinian, and the bishops arranged themselves around him. The crowd held its collective breath as Bishop Isiah Wilson began the coronation ceremony.
"My dear friends, nobles, and commoners," the bishop declared, his voice booming through the cathedral, "we gather here today to witness the coronation of Thorne, the lord mayor-elect of Brindlemark. Let us pray for his wisdom, justice, and guidance as he assumes this noble office."
The bishop led the congregation in prayer, after which he stepped aside, allowing King Arin III to take center stage.
Thorne the mayor elect then stepped forward and knelt down with respect in front of king Arin lll.
King Arin then began the coronation process.
"Thorne, do you swear to uphold the laws and traditions of our realm, to defend the weak, and to promote justice and prosperity throughout your tenure as lord mayor of Brindlemark?" the king asked, his voice resonating through the cathedral.
Thorne, his voice firm and resolute, replied, "I do solemnly swear to uphold the laws and traditions of our realm, to defend the weak, and to promote justice and prosperity throughout my tenure as lord mayor of Brindlemark, so help me God."
The king then presented Thorne with a ceremonial scepter, symbolizing his authority and power. "By the authority vested in me as king of Emberfell, I King Arin lll dub you Thorne Smith, lord mayor of Brindlemark. May your reign be long, wise, and just."
The congregation then began to cheer the lord mayor and only stopped when king Arin raised his hand, signifying silence.
The king continued, "Thorne, lord mayor of Brindlemark, do you swear allegiance to me, your king, and to the crown?"
Thorne replied, "I do solemnly swear allegiance to you, my king, king Arin lll, king of Emberfell and defender of the faith,and to the crown, and I pledge to defend the realm and uphold its laws."
Bishop Julian St. Clair then stepped forward,to continue the coronation process by leading the congregation in prayers for the lord's guidance on the lord mayor. The cathedral's choir sang a ceremonial song, their voices soaring through the vaulted ceiling. Then there was silence for a little while.
The sudden stillness was almost palpable, and in the quiet moment, the cathedral's choir began to sing a majestic hymn, their voices soaring through the vaulted ceiling:
"O Lord, our God, who reigns supreme
Over kingdoms, realms, and every dream
We gather here, in this sacred place
To consecrate this noble knight's noble face
With honor, valor, and virtue as his guide
May he defend the weak, and justice provide
May his heart remain pure, his spirit true
As he serves the realm, and all its people, anew
O Lord, our God, who reigns supreme
Bless this noble knight, and his noble dream
Grant him strength, wisdom, and courage in the fight
To defend the realm, and shine with honor bright."
As the hymn concluded, Sir Lucas Ross stepped forward, leading Drinian, resplendent in his shining knightly armor, to the altar. The armor, polished to a brilliant sheen, seemed to radiate an aura of nobility and valor.Drinian knelt before the king.
King Arin III smiled warmly as he greeted Drinian, his eyes shining with a deep sense of pride and satisfaction. "Drinian, you have proven yourself a worthy and noble knight. Your bravery, honor, and virtue have earned you a place among the noblest knights of our realm."
The king paused, his voice taking on a more solemn tone. "Now, as you prepare to take the oath of knighthood, remember that you art not only swearing allegiance to me, your king, but also to the people of our realm.You are their defender, their protector, and their champion.And now do you promise to uphold the sacred vows of knighthood, do you promise to serve and defend the people protecting them from all dangers and do you also promise to defend the crown and to uphold justice at all times all your life?"
Drinian, his voice firm and resolute, replied, "I do solemnly swear to defend the realm, to uphold justice, and to protect the weak. I pledge my loyalty to you, my king, and to the people of our realm."
The king nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Then, by the authority vested in me, I king Arin lll of Emberfell dub you Sir Drinian, Knight of the kingdom of Emberfell"
With a swift motion, the king tapped Drinian's shoulders with the flat of his sword, the traditional gesture of knighthood. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause once more, as Sir Drinian, the newly minted knight, stood tall, his armor shining, his heart filled with pride and purpose.
The king continued, "As a symbol of your office, I present to you this sword, forged from the finest steel, and tempered in the fires of honor and valor. May it serve you well in your quest to defend the realm, and to uphold the noble ideals of knighthood."
Sir Drinian accepted the sword, his eyes shining with gratitude, as the crowd's cheers and applause continued to echo through the cathedral.
The cathedral erupted into a joyous cacophony of music, as the crowd's shouts of "Long live the king!" "Long live Lord Mayor Thorne of Brindlemark!" and "God bless Sir Drinian!" echoed off the stone walls. Amidst the tumultuous celebration, the family and well-wishers gathered around the newly appointed knight and lord mayor, offering their warmest congratulations.
Helen, overcome with pride and emotion, kissed her husband, Lord Mayor Thorne, as Lyra hugged her brother tightly, tears of joy streaming down her face. She also hugged Sir Drinian, as a sign of her congratulations to him.
As the festivities reached a fever pitch, King Arin III, with a benevolent smile, departed the cathedral, returning to the palace amidst a retinue of guards and attendants.
The bishops, led by Bishop Isaiah Wilson and Bishop Julian St. Clair, began their procession out of the church, marking the end of the coronation service. Lord Mayor Thorne, resplendent in his formal attire, followed closely behind, accompanied by his family, including Sir Drinian.
The warriors of Brindlemark, proudly bearing the village's banner, formed a protective cordon around the lord mayor and his family, as they made their way out of the cathedral, into the bright sunlight, where a grand procession awaited them.
The crowd, still cheering and shouting, parted to allow the procession to pass, as Lord Mayor Thorne, Sir Drinian, and their family made their way through the streets of Talmare, basking in the adoration of the people, and the glory of their newfound honors.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm orange glow over the landscape, Lord Mayor Thorne, Sir Drinian, and their entourage began their journey back to Brindlemark. The influential people of Brindlemark, including Sir Lucas Ross and Bishop Julian St. Clair, accompanied them, along with their convoy and the warriors of Brindlemark.
At exactly five thirty in the evening, they arrived at Brindlemark, where the villagers had gathered to welcome their lord mayor and the newly appointed knight, Sir Drinian. The air was electric with excitement as the villagers cheered and shouted, waving flags and banners as the procession made its way through the village.
The procession finally arrived at the new estate built by the villagers for Lord Mayor Thorne, a grand and beautiful structure that reflected the villagers' love and respect for their leader. The house was adorned with flowers, greenery, and colorful streamers, and a large banner that read "Welcome Home, Lord Mayor Thorne!"
The feast that followed was a truly spectacular affair, with tables groaning under the weight of delicious food and drink. There were roasted meats, stews, soups, and an assortment of sweet and savory pastries. The villagers had spared no expense in preparing for the feast, and the result was a truly unforgettable culinary experience.
As the guests ate and drank, musicians played lively music on their lutes, harps, and flutes, adding to the festive atmosphere. There were jugglers, acrobats, and jesters, who performed daring feats and told jokes that left the audience in stitches.
Lord Mayor Thorne, Sir Drinian, and their guests feasted with reckless abandon, enjoying the music, the food, and the company of their friends and neighbors. The night wore on, with the celebration showing no signs of slowing down. In fact, it seemed to be getting more and more lively, with the musicians playing faster and more energetic tunes, and the guests laughing and cheering with increasing abandon.
As the clock struck midnight, the feast showed no signs of ending. In fact, it seemed to be just getting started. The villagers had prepared a special surprise for Lord Mayor Thorne and Sir Drinian, a grand fireworks display that lit up the night sky with colorful explosions of light and sound.
The crowd gasped in amazement as the fireworks erupted into the sky, casting a magical glow over the village. It was a truly unforgettable moment, one that would be remembered for years to come.
As the fireworks finally came to an end, the guests began to disperse, exhausted but happy after a night of feasting and celebration. Lord Mayor Thorne, Sir Drinian, and their family retired to their new home, tired but content after a day of triumph and celebration.
Meanwhile while the village of Brindlemark was happy and feasting over the coronation of their new lord mayor and the knighthood of their brave and young warlock, some people weren't at all.
Marcellus, still seething with anger and disappointment, paced back and forth in his opulent parlour. His wife, Elizabeth Culkin, sat on a nearby couch, her face a mask of discontent.
Despite their best efforts to sabotage the coronation, Lord Mayor Thorne had emerged victorious. Marcellus's plans had been foiled, and his pride was wounded.
Just as Marcellus was about to explode with rage, his most trusted servant, Ravenswood, entered the parlour. "My lord, I have news," Ravenswood said, his voice low and cautious.
Marcellus stopped pacing and turned to face Ravenswood. "What is it?" he snapped.
Ravenswood hesitated before speaking. "My lord, our men who were sent to...take care of Lord Mayor Thorne have not returned. However, some of our servants reported seeing the bodies of several men, dressed in dark clothing, near the outskirts of the village"
Marcellus's eyes narrowed. "What does this mean?" he growled, his mind racing with possibilities.
Ravenswood shook his head. "We're not sure, my lord. But it appears that something went terribly wrong."
Marcellus's face darkened with anger and concern. He knew that his plans had been compromised, but he had no idea what had happened to his men or why they had failed.