97. Where’d my Trolls go?

Mark sat in attendance as Mohan and his priests readied for trial. The people had elected the jury and judge. While Mark maintained control in most things, it had been the commoners who had suffered when the cultists abducted their children, and he believed it right that they chose their punishment.

Venjimin had risen to high prominence within Winterclaw, not just because of the station provided to him by Mark but because of the wisdom he regularly passed down to the people. For this, he had been the obvious choice for the judge, elected by the people.

The jury was mostly elders and picked from both the commoners of Winterclaw and a few of the clans.

They had turned one of the training areas in the Low District into an outdoor courthouse so that people could attend, and a crowd filled the area around it.

The clan elders and leaders, alongside many soldiers, remained in Winterclaw. Caravans of soldiers and their leaders were constantly leaving, but the most important hung around as plans for the new kingdom were still being drawn up, not to mention the titles and formalization of the feudal contracts that Mark had planned but had not gotten around to completing.

The crowd legitimized the trial. No one could accuse him of leniency against the cultists if the trial provided them with it. All were present, and all had a say in forming the jury.

Arguments were flung in all directions, and witnesses cried in the stands as they spoke of their missing loved ones.

The cultists admitted to abduction but swore they never killed a child or baby. With no witnesses from the Daggers themselves, where the babies were taken, it was hard to prove, but that wasn’t necessary.

The cultists went on to explain that the wargs took babies into their ceremonial chambers and were not aware of what happened to them afterward. 

Based on these statements, Venjimin decided that any cultist found guilty of personally abducting a baby would be found guilty of its murder. He reasoned that unless the cultist abductors had reasonable reason to believe that the babies were not being killed, then they were essentially sentencing them to their deaths by providing them to the wargs. And since no one knew what happened to them nor saw them afterward, it was sensible to believe that their lives had ended.

However, proving the guilt of individual cultists was far harder. Witnesses pointed out a couple of dozen men, but there were still over a hundred priests and their retainers, including Mohan, who were not implicated.

Erin had briefly taken the stage and described her own abduction at the hands of Mohan. But she had survived, so he could not be accused of murder.

Rumors circulated that Mohan had acted as a minor priest in the region prior to the battle at Winterclaw and that he was likely responsible either for other abductions or for organizing the cultists who carried them out. However, Venjimin ruled that without evidence of at least one witness, he could not be declared a murderer.

Mark was satisfied with this outcome. He didn’t believe it just to slaughter all of the priests without evidence. And since Mohan was the leader of the remnants of the cultists and had helped at the battle to defeat the wargs, he thought this transitional period would be far smoother with his support.

Even if they had been allied to the wargs, the followers of the Seven-Headed Wolf God were no strangers to the Frontier. These people had lived here for hundreds, if not thousands of years, following their beliefs. The people here mightn’t have shared Mark’s modern beliefs, but he couldn’t shake the idea that the group sentencing them was tantamount to genocide. Even if he had to keep a watchful eye on them, he thought allowing them to exist was important for his kingdom’s very soul.

Besides, the wargs had been defeated, and badly. His power was stronger than ever, and Mark simply doubted any force within the Frontier itself possessed the ability to defeat him. The Imperium was the only adversary that still possessed this strength in the region, and they were too arrogant and zealous to ally themselves with the wargs or cultists.

Public executions were organized for those found guilty. This, too, churned Mark’s stomach. He had seen much death, but the thought of execution never sat right with him, but he forced himself to spectate for the sake of his people.

The people of this land had been through too much and suffered too greatly. They deserved a chance to feel a little justice being laid out, especially when he had been lenient at the same time. And it wouldn’t be right if he, their leader, shied away from this justice, so he put on a brave face and watched.

For the titles, Mark organized to split the land into duchies, with minor lords reporting to dukes, who in turn reported to him while maintaining the land around Winterclaw itself as directly ruled by himself.

He didn’t even know the names of half the clan leaders. There were literally hundreds of clans that were either entirely independent prior or at least very close to being so. 

For the most part, there hadn’t been direct subservient clans. Instead, most smaller ones paid tribute to larger clans but were otherwise free.

Managing all of this would have been an absolute nightmare, so he picked the largest clans and made their leaders dukes under his rule. In fact, he didn’t even bother to announce minor lords, leaving that for the dukes themselves to do. 

With politics somewhat organized, Mark set his sights on their economic position. 

Most of his people were busy getting back to work. But that didn’t stop him from making plans for a caravan.

His plan was to build another settlement on the coast to the south. On his maps, there appeared to be a small cove not far from the miasmic fields along the foothills. It was rather close to the Imperial-controlled land, but he doubted they were a threat at the present moment, and when they became one, he would be forced to face it regardless. Hiding from them wouldn’t be an option.

The map showed a relatively small patch of flat land flanked by mountains in all directions, save for a narrow pass connecting it to the rest of the Frontier. The cove was also just about as close to Xaarn as you could get in the Frontier, and since he had formed some kind of relationship with the so-called King of Xaarn, Mark had thought it the perfect place to connect via trade. 

While Xaarn was tiny, it was useful. Mark guessed the little island likely only had between ten and twenty thousand inhabitants; however, it also had a busy trading port. Even if it took a while for them to reach other kingdoms and develop trade, if he could at least reach the market of Xaarn, he should be able to find buyers for most products and find people selling what the Frontier couldn’t produce. Of course, trading through another nation would come at a price, and they would no doubt end up paying taxes or fees to Xaarn, but that was an acceptable price to pay until they found alternatives.

Allocating resources, Mark penciled out his plan. The moment Elowen and her underlings confirmed that the storehouses across the newly minted Kingdom of Dawnheim were adequately supplied, he would order an expedition to build the new settlement. 

This coastal trading town would remain under his direct rule, Mark decided as he finalized the plans. Being the Kingdom’s only port, he believed that its trade, and therefore wealth, would explode. It wouldn’t be hard to attract immigration under such conditions, and it wasn’t inconceivable that its wealth could grow to eclipse Winterclaw’s, and he wasn’t yet willing to risk elevating another above himself.

Mark knew that there was little doubt that some still doubted his legitimacy, and so until the kingdom had been given a chance to stabilize following the war, he would have to be careful how much he empowered his vassals.

Finally, Mark sighed as he made the final touches on his plans. 

**Scouts**

On the first day, the scouts cleared the immediately adjacent caves. They found signs of civilization within them but no current occupants. 

With the caves cleared, they began to spread out, venturing beyond them and along the narrow paths that ran around the external faces of the mountains. A day later, they found another platform beside a mountain wide enough for the throne ship, and Callum moved it after hearing word from the scouts.

Over the following day, they caught the shadows of figures that appeared to be spying on them, revealing that someone lived around here.

As the scouting continued, they found more signs of settlements, including crude, primitive tools and furniture in several chambers within the mountain.

Despite the looming threat, the scouts quite liked venturing into the caves away from the cold. Steam vents funnel up from below, warming most chambers to the point of being straight-up relaxing. 

However, despite their efforts, the group still failed to find any signs of the trolls.

It seemed they would need to delve deeper into the deadly mountains if they were to complete their mission.

Exiting the throne ship, Callum gathered up his knights alongside half of the scouts. The other scouts were already exploring.

“As everyone knows, the scouts have found that the passages of this cave system lead deeper into the mountain and that there are signs of it connecting to the civilizations that live here. I’ve decided that to facilitate the completion of our mission best, we will enter the caves as a group and set up camp within them.”

“Is that safe?” Clay questioned. “What if we find wargs?”

“The wargs are broken,” Callum shot back. “This is the best chance we’ll get to explore these caves. The longer we wait, the more dangerous they will become.”

“Our mission is to find the trolls, remember,” one of the scouts interjected.

“I’m aware,” Callum said. “We haven’t found them out here and are no closer to doing so. If we fail to find evidence of them, then so be it. We can only work with what we have. But I’m not reporting my failure to the King without properly exploring this place. Especially not when this is likely our last opportunity to do so.”

“Come on, ye cowards,” Radic said. “Our captain has given us a command.”

Erin turned to Radic with a raised brow. “You’re on his side now?”

“Our brave captain?” Radic chuckled. “I’m just not letting you cowards pull me down with you. When I get back to Winterclaw, it’ll be with pride,” Radic flashed back with a greasy smile.

“Alright, alright,” Callum said. “If anyone has complaints, you can bring them up with King Atlas once we return. Now, let’s move out.”

“If we return,” Clay muttered under his breath.

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