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94. A Legend is Born
🕑 Added 2024-10-29 23:17:46 +0000 UTCDespite the cheers and celebrations flooding through the camps, Mark knew all was far from well within his fledgling kingdom.
He had united the clans and was the undisputed king, but many of the strongest clans had been promised all kinds of things by Dothran for their allegiance, and they weren’t about to just forget that.
However, Mark wasn’t about to take from the loyal to give to the newcomers. He would have to find new avenues to reward the clans pledging their allegiance to him and fast.
A real ceremony was being planned for his crowning. He might have already declared himself a king, but a lot had changed since then. However, the declaration would be far more impactful with the clans there to give him legitimacy.
The ceremony would take place in Winterclaw, the new capital of this land, and the clan lords were preparing their caravans to head back to the fort while their people were sent back to their homelands.
However, there was a lot to do before that happened. The warg armies might have been in retreat, but the land was far from safe. All kinds of warriors and beasts had fought beneath their banner, and many wouldn’t flee straight back to the Daggers. Regaining control and security over the land would be no easy task and likely take months or even years to achieve.
On the other hand, food was in scarce supply. The clans that had followed Dothran had exhausted their supplies and desperately needed their people to return home and start stripping rigar bark and hunting game, or they would starve.
At least Winterclaw had the means to process large quantities of rigar efficiently. If trade routes could be established, they could likely solve most food issues rather quickly.
From his flight south, Mark knew that access to the ocean wasn’t far off either. Securing the land and making sure his people had something to eat was his first priority, but securing trade with external nations had to come next.
Their most precious resource, furs, was essentially completely untapped without external trade, and they were going to need to start selling them as soon as possible if they were to strengthen the Frontier enough to fend off a possible future invasion from the Imperium.
Mark took his throne ship back to Winerclaw as his people prepared to pack the camp, and wagons were readied for their trip back to Winterclaw. He was satisfied with the work being done and was keen to get home.
He offered Yelinda and a couple of clan chiefs a ride back with him, but they chose to stay, insisting on helping their people with the move. A tinge of guilt hung on Mark for deciding not to assist with them, but not only did he have things to do, but Winterclaw was poorly defended with who knows how many broken enemies were currently on the run with a hunger for vengeance.
Still, Winterclaw was some distance away, and there was no way that even wargs would have traveled that distance already. The throne ship, on the other hand, could make the journey back in a few hours. The risk was low if he left, but the longer he hung around, the higher the chances of a small, broken force of wargs attacking a poorly defended Winterclaw were.
He ended up taking Elowen and a few of his own elites back instead, people who wouldn’t be needed for the clean-up but would be useful in Winterclaw.
As expected, Winterclaw looked about the same as he had left it when Mark pulled in. Those who had remained, mostly children and their mothers, rushed out of their homes to greet him.
Mark was all too happy to order his guards to open the inner gates and let them celebrate in the Imperial District on such a momentous occasion, and children rushed to his side, donning him with wreaths and whittled sticks they had crafted.
Songs broke free from their lips as the people celebrated Mark’s name. He could still see the worry on the faces of many, no doubt worried about what happened to their loved ones who had traveled to fight. But seeing Mark at least gave them hope.
No one expected everyone to come home, but victory meant there was a chance of seeing their loved ones again, and for now, they were happy to embrace naivete and celebrate.
Unfortunately, Mark only had so much time to celebrate with his people, and he soon excused himself and took his leave, burrowing back into his cabin.
Pulling out maps, Mark began to draw up plans with Elowen and Venjimin, who he had ordered to his residence.
Plans to parcel the land were rolled out immediately. His kingdom would not be a patchwork of clans with their own systems working in a loose alliance.
He would develop a feudal system in which each clan or lord would be given land and titles and expected to swear allegiance and recognize the crown’s power.
In addition to the feudal system, he drew plans for his knights, who would serve as sheriffs of this wild land.
The idea was influenced by how the Sabretooth Warriors worked in the West, except that his knights would directly serve and take orders from the crown.
Mark knew that if they were to have any effect, he would need a massive intake of new knights to serve across all of the lands they would be incorporating, but that would have to come later.
The magnitude of the task at hand might have been larger than he wished, but to legitimize himself as the king of this entire land, he would need to stake claim to all of it, even if it brought chaos with it.
There was another issue this raised—the Kingdom’s identity. Winterclaw wasn’t fitting. It was the name of an Imperial fort, and it was a small one. Sure, it could remain the capital and the heart of this new kingdom, but this wild land he new of as the Frontier was so much more than that.
Even the Frontier was an Imperial name, while the barbarians had several names for the land, most of which were not actually applied to the entire land but parts of it.
He needed a name that encompassed and represented all the people and clans that called this land home, both East and West.
“Venjimin, do you have any idea?” Mark said, sitting on his chair and eyeing the maps sprawled across his desk.
“Hmm, it’s no easy ask. Most of the clans are as distant from one another as rival kingdoms are. Traditions vary a lot between West and East, and the people speak different languages in their homes, even if they do have a handle on common tongues and can communicate well enough. The eastern clans see the West as backward and weird. In contrast, the Western clans see those in the East as arrogant and self-obsessed.”
“Great,” Mark groaned.
Elowen kept out of the discussion on names. Clan traditions were not her specialty, and their interests became increasingly important as the kingdom grew.
Mark wanted to maintain his kingdom’s image as an open place that celebrated and welcomed all cultures and religions, but a certain amount of lip service was required to unite the clans. This meant that at least the name and image of the new kingdom would be more closely aligned with the locals than the Imperials. But what choice did he have? There were probably less than a thousand Imperials remaining in the entire Frontier outside of World’s Edge Citadel, and it was hardly worth structuring the kingdom around their needs when there were probably over a million people spread across the land.
“Come on. There must be some idea in that head of yours,” Make groaned.
“Hmm,” Venjimin hummed. “Well, there is the mythical land that the Vanquisher comes from.”
“Oh?” Mark’s brow perked.
“Yes, I’m not sure why I didn’t think of that sooner. It really is the perfect name to unite us. Dawnheim,” Venjimin cleared his throat. “The place is described as the home of all heroes, filled with plentiful crops and unimaginable wealth. The Vanquisher and his lieutenants passed through a passage deep in some unnamed mountains, fought back the enemies of man, and, in doing so, formed the first human kingdom. The location is vague, but in legend, it is somewhere within this land you call the Frontier. That kingdom eventually fell, but it is said that all human life spread out from it.”
“I like it,” Mark nodded along. “But what was the Kingdom they formed called?”
“Kulrenia. It is also a great name,” Venjimin nodded thoughtfully.
So, are we picking names from the legendary birthplace of heroes or the first human kingdom?
“What do you think, Elowen?”
“Me?” Elowen squeaked, raising her nose from a stack of papers.
“Yes, you, Elowen. What do you think?” Mark questioned. “Should we name ourselves after the home of heroes or the first human kingdom?”
“Well,” Elowen said, tapping her lip. “The Kulrenia one is probably more uniting since it is the home of all humans, according to legend. That being said, who doesn’t want to be from the home of heroes?”
“She’s got a point,” Mark leaned back on his chair. “Besides, I like the sound of Dawnheim. Kulrenia sounds so… I dunno, average?”
“I’m not sure about average, but I agree about Dawnheim,” Venjimin said, nodding. “It is a brilliant name that inspires hope and a fine name for a kingdom. And if I say so myself, a fine name for the beginning of a legend.”
“Then let it be so. We shall become the Kingdom of Dawnheim. The home of mighty heroes,” Mark grinned.
It might not have seemed like much by itself—a purely symbolic change—but Mark knew as well as anybody that branding was important, and he believed that this brand was something people would be honored to fight for.
