Kingdom of the Elves
Chapter 2 — Matilda
A flurry of Matilda’s father’s men came and went in the last few weeks, their tempers growing fiercer with each passing day. Daily, she observed her father grappling with petitions from the distant reaches of his domains — from Skitt in the far north to Zealandia in the Bay of the Northmen, all the way to the mountain range bordering Jasil desert territories in the far east. For three long years, the sun had shunned them, casting a relentless shadow over the land. A merciless famine tightened its grip on the entire continent, leaving the Northmen struggling to feed every mouth. Amidst this plight, the once-scattered Jasils had united under a single leader, launching a direct frontal attack against the Northmen. Matilda felt the weight of her people’s desperation and her father’s burden pressing down on her with each passing day.
Matilda Bloodmoon stood resolute in her chainmail, the cool metal pressing against her skin as she tightly gripped the haft of her double-bitted axe. Before her, the leader of the Northmen, Leder Einar Thunderstrider, stood deep in contemplation, his brows furrowed in a knot of concern. It pained her to witness this, and she longed to advise him not to reveal any sign of weakness. The local warchiefs, she knew, might seize the opportunity to challenge his authority. However, she held her tongue. His worries were genuine, born out of a deep concern for his people, not himself. The weight of his burdens and the fate of their people hung heavily in the air, and Matilda felt the silent exchange of responsibility pass between them with each passing moment.
Ulrik Frost, a man nearly her father’s age, strolled into the courtroom with an air of self-assurance. A smile crept across his face as he announced, “I may have a solution for us, Leder,” the tone of his voice tinged with amusement. Matilda’s gaze narrowed. She never liked Ulrik. Few did. His demeanor was as cold as his name suggested, and an air of self-importance clung to him like frost on a winter morning.
Father looked up, his brows creased. “And what is your solution?” He inquired, intrigued, much like Matilda, whose eyes studied Ulrik with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
“We boast the finest ships in these waters, yet we squander their might on harassing the coasts of Elbenia, and occasionally, we venture south, all the way to Haque,” Ulrik lamented. “It vexes me. Our vessels could command the seas, forge alliances, or secure vital resources. Instead, they are confined to these limited exploits.”
Father said nothing. Matilda’s gaze lingered on the captain of Backbiter, her mind racing with questions about where he was leading the conversation. A subtle glint in his eye hinted at a revelation, and the air in the room grew heavy with anticipation.
Impatience flared in her eyes. “Get on with it,” She found herself saying. Her father always told her that at seventeen, all he did was have her. Meanwhile, she, a braver warrior and a more willful Northman, had already achieved victories in battles while successfully leading men at that same age.
Ulrik chuckled. “The strength of a nation lies in how much influence she wields,” He lectured, a sly smile playing on his lips. “We might not be strong enough to expand in the direction of Elbenia, but some lands might be within reach in the west.”
He paused, looking thoughtful. “We know of Orijendo to the south. Are Ostenus and Orijendo all there is to this world?” He asked, his gaze scanning the room as if searching for answers among those present.
Father shook his head.
Matilda sighed, her shoulders slumping with the weight of exasperation. “We are preparing for an invasion from the east while our northern brothers wail to us for food and fur. Yet, you will have us chase ghosts on the ocean. Have the mermaids been whispering to you on your sails?”
Ulrik regarded her with an expression she could not read. He hid his feelings too well. “I’d rather you whispered to me as my rock-wife, with secrets only the waves could carry.” He sounded amused before father interrupted.
“Oh — just bloody get on with it, Frost,” her father finally spoke, rubbing his temples. “You never know when to say little.”
He sounded just as pissed as she felt.
“Apologies, great leader,” Ulrik bowed. “Once, the elves lived on Orijendo, and humans, with our fast-growing population, sent them off. They came here to Ostenus, and we came after them decades later to send them away once again. They went west — everyone agrees. We call them Children of Creation. My risk-taking mind tells me the gods protect them from the clouds that have hidden the sun from us. If we want an abundance of food and lots of fertile lands, with beautiful women to repopulate our ranks, we had best turn west as well. We did it twice; we can do it again.”
Matilda loathed the fact that she could hear the voice of reason through Ulrik, a man she despised. Despite this, she hoped fervently that her father would reject the captain’s idea.
“We can do it again, and if we fail, there is nothing to lose!” She heard her father say. Matilda’s heart sank, but she kept her expression neutral. “I approve this expenditure. Sail to Skitt. Go with as many ships as you can lay your hands upon. Take offerings of food, fur, and herbs to them. Buy their services for the expenditure. We will feed them and then put them to good use at once that way.”
Matilda hated that Ulrik easily got his wish. “Father!” She called urgently. “Allow me to lead this mission. There must always be royal blood leading the Northmen wherever they go.” Her jaw clenched, and her eyes pleaded for his approval.
She could not believe her own words. She had never been away from home. All the fighting experience she got was from settling civil disputes between warchiefs who felt like they could steal lands from another. There was that one time, though — after she turned fifteen. She led a company of her father’s guards against Warchief Rasmus, who hoped to seize Warchief Tar’s lands in the Leder’s absence during a raid. The weight of her inexperience pressed on her as she contemplated leading a mission beyond the familiar borders of their homeland.
“That won’t be necessary, princess,” Ulrik stated, as if worried his shine would be dimmed in her presence. Matilda’s jaw clenched, but she maintained her composure. “Women do not belong on long voyages.”
“That’s the nonsense you all say to leave your rock wives at home only to come back from raids with salt wives,” Matilda rebuked, her nostrils flaring and ears burning with indignation. “I am no one’s wife. I am blood of the thunder and daughter of the Storm God.”
Father laughed. Matilda knew it was not to make jest of her claims, and his words confirmed her thinking.
“Told you she is more willful than most men,” He said proudly. “I accept. Matilda Bloodmoon, daughter of Einar Thunderstrider and descendant of the Storm God, will lead this expedition that will determine the fate of the Northmen. Go west, my daughter. Show the men how great a woman can be as well!”
Matilda had never felt more pleased with her father. She knelt down, her right arm on a knee, and bowed.
I will not fail you, father, she promised, determination burning in her eyes.
