Blood of the King - Khirro's Journey Book 1 Page 0,137
his neck and under his armor. It felt good after the fire, refreshing, but would be uncomfortable until it dried.
“By Water, with Water, do you vow to give your life to strengthen your kingdom and all its people?”
“As king, I swear by Water.”
He lowered his head, looked at Aurna, and felt the droplets of water running off his face. The High Confessor looked back at him with bloodshot eyes brought on by last night’s wine. The church guarded Aurna’s secret indulgences like a new born babe, but the king must know all for it might come in handy one day.
As a final apprentice took the ewer, the High Confessor raised his arms above his head, hands spread open, palms facing Therrador.
“By the Gods Earth and Wind, Fire and Water, the givers of life, the takers of life; the Gods see all and know all, and now they know Therrador as king, regent of Erechania, Protector of the Realm, the Life of the People.”
Aurna stepped away from the new monarch, hands still held above his head. No one in the hall made a sound as the High Confessor disappeared behind a curtain at the back of the dais and Lord Emon Turesti, Chancellor of the High Council, stepped out to take his place.
Turesti wore the red robe trimmed in white ermine denoting his office; a golden belt adorned with jewels of many colors, no two alike, encircled his waist. The chancellor carried a great sword in his hands, six and a half feet long and gleaming gold. The Sword of the Realm, the Chooser of Kings. Its edge honed daily by a master, the sword saw little work these days. Two decades had passed since it last chose a king and, under Braymon, beheadings became scarce. With war happening, the Sword of the Realm would see more work in the future as there were always traitors and enemies to be made examples of during wartime.
Therrador, still kneeling, swallowed hard as Turesti stood before him; the water Aurna splashed upon him had collected at the small of his back, causing him discomfort.
Thank the Gods this will soon be over.
“The Gods have given their blessings, Therrador Montmarr,” Turesti began, his voice surprisingly loud and strong from a man so slight and frail. “But it is the Chooser of Kings who passes final judgment. Are you ready to be judged, Therrador Montmarr?”
“I am ready.” Therrador kept his voice steady with effort. If he didn’t flinch, if the blade didn’t draw blood, he’d be confirmed king.
Therrador wondered if he should trust Turesti, who held his fate in his hands. If the chancellor didn’t want Therrador to be king, all he need do was touch the sharp edge to his flesh and all would be at an end. Bringing the blade down on the right spot meant everything. A hair’s breadth to one side or the other could mean the kingship, or death.
Too late for worry now.
Therrador breathed deep and held it, readying himself as Turesti raised the blade above his head, thin arms shaking with the effort. Sweat broke on Therrador’s brow. Perhaps it wasn’t trust he needed to worry about, but strength. Could the frail man wield the sword? It was the chancellor’s job, no one else’s.
The great hall fell into deeper silence as the crowd held their breath along with the man who’d soon be their king. Therrador bowed his head but kept his eyes on Turesti’s shadow to see the blow when it came.
Light glinted on the blade and it made a faint whistle as it sliced the air. Therrador gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw bunching. The clang of metal meeting metal rang through the still hall. Therrador didn’t move.
No pain.
The blow to his shoulder came swift but light, the flat of the blade striking against his epaulet. Turesti had done his job well. To the throng crowding the hall, it appeared Therrador survived a deadly blow. Lord Emon Turesti raised the Chooser of Kings above his head again, the shake in his arms more pronounced this time.
Only a few more moments.
The blade cut the air a second time. Therrador tensed. The flat of the blade struck his armor, harder this time, and the edge slipped under the corner of his epaulet. Years of combat and training kept Therrador from reacting, but Turesti must have realized what happened. He pulled the sword away quickly and examined the blade. After a few seconds, he nodded, signaling it free of blood.