Matilda Meets The Death Queen

* A Family’s Revenge Served Cold *

+ Lady Skulda +

From the safety of her roadside tree, Skulda watched her enemy’s garrisoned farmhouse estate. Fancy her, reduced to this, watching her enemy like a witch’s familiar.

It wasn’t how she had intended to spend the autumn.

For autumn, she had planned to cross the White Sea, eliminate the scattered remnants of Aliester Hanno’s abominations from the frozen plains, and celebrate by returning to her long neglected duties as patroness for the girls of Sheltie dormitory at Archmage’s school.

She could have spent her nights in a nice comfortable bed, her days being Sheltie’s housemistress, and not worry about enemies for a while. She thought about what would have been her celebratory meal. Cloudberry tartlets, blueberries, raspberries, mushroom-beef pie, and gosling in citrus sauce. It would have been fit for a queen. And afterwards...

She sighed. There was no use dreaming about such things, because her son had obliterated her much anticipated plans. She could curse him.

Actually she couldn’t, for he had well and truly cursed himself, and paid for it.

There she had been, near Kyzema, gathering supplies with her army, when a letter arrived. Its message? Her son, lured by her father’s servants, had abandoned his post. But worse than this, was the news of him copying his long dead grandfather’s misdeeds, misdeeds which struck against her every honour.

Her father’s household had their revenge on her, but her son paid the price. His betrayal was unforgivable. Needing to travel over three thousand kilometres and through countless cities to restore lost honour, she had little choice; she had to abandon her army. And go hunting.

Her now dead son was the reason she was up a roadside tree, without an army, spying on her enemy’s estate as if she were a witch’s familiar.

Meekly, she watched two men hide themselves under shade. She lowered her monocular. Tying another two knots into her piece of string, she ran her fingers over each knot, giving her a count of eighteen men with guns, seven women without. So at least twenty-five enemies. She always counted women amongst her enemies, only foolish men didn’t.

Plus the proprietor and his personal guards. And whoever else was inside. So at minimum twenty-eight, and maybe even up to forty enemies, depending on how many she was yet to see. And this wasn’t including any guests. There was no way she will let her enemy’s guests live.

Putting her monocular back into a pocket, she allowed her eyes to wander over the estate, and over the surrounding lands; making sure there were no tattletale crows, ravens, or magpies watching her with unnatural interest. Just a few distant birds staying away from anybody with guns, nothing for her to worry about.

Unconsciously, her eyes drifted to ground level, searching for a shadowy figure she had first noticed near Villers, then later in Saulxures, Mousson, and finally in St Vith. She forced her eyes back to her enemy’s fortifications, in time to spot yet another armed man hovering behind cover. She sighed, adding another knot to her string. What she wouldn’t give for her army now.

* Dead Girl Walking *

+ Lady Skulda +

Still watching her enemy’s estate an hour and several knots later, Skulda felt the reeking presence of death wandering below.

She looked down, for the dead were her servants, but instead of a walking corpse, she saw a young female who looked to be in her mid-teens. Harassed by the eager whisperings of invisible demons, the girl paused, her eyes only seeing the house, her eyes unconsciously seeking the death it would bring.

She should let the girl go.

If you rush in there, you die, she told the girl, who jumped with surprise and looked up. The girl stared, but not frightened as she should be.

I’ve been watching you, Skulda said, slowly lying down on her tree limb like a predatory snake. Resting her head on her arms, she gave the girl a rapacious smile.

Mathildis, or Tilda, or Matilda Mathews, or Matilda something, or Maud, or Tilly — well, Skulda wasn’t certain about this girl’s correct name. But as her old mentor often said, when you see somebody shadowing your movements while tracking down your enemy, you find out why.

Her suicide run interrupted, the girl looked bewildered. Skulda didn’t need to feel death tormenting the girl’s mind to know how far the girl was gone.

She glanced at her enemy’s estate before looking back at the girl. Wearing a bold jacket over the top of a full-length muslin outfit, the ivory faced girl looked like an exquisite buxom doll a child might receive. She remembered getting such a doll once. She also remembered pulling its head off in envious hatred of such perfection.

Her doll got off easy.

Could such a girl ever be of use to her? She should let her go, let her run in and die — it would make her own task so much easier. Sighing, she let one leg drop and dangle down.

You’ll be seeking to recover something stolen from you, Skulda said before the girl overcame her hesitation, for she wanted time to decide this girl’s fate for herself. She’d done her research — or more accurately, paid for the research. A mere teenager, hardly old enough to be on her own, and already have been in realms no human should go.

Scrutinising the girl’s clothing, Skulda frowned. A bold dark green-and-brown diamond-patterned jacket was partially opened to showcase a soft floral blouse, while a torn lacy white ground-kissing petticoat covered her legs. It was all suitable womanly clothing. But it didn’t look right, and Skulda knew why. Nothing matched. Not even the simple hat burdened down by a plague of strange hatpins. No girl would have chosen this combination.

Skulda had seen such girls before. Wounded souls, shattered spirits, despoiled husks, girls irreparably damaged. These girls didn’t usually have enough strength left in them to commit suicide on a mission for justice. Girls such as this one most often surrendered their bodies to life’s ugliest winds.

The girl continued staring at her. A tiny part admired the child for not lying down and accepting her fate; but another, much larger part, despised her for resisting. No, hated her: although she wasn’t about to admit to herself as to why.

Still, did she have the luxury of hate? Of letting a potential tool go to its death out of resentment? But how could the girl be useful? Do you have a name? she asked.

Ma—Mathildis…, Matilda.

Miss Matilda Mathildis, she said quickly, giving her a smile, having decided how to use her. Well, girl, our quests have aligned, so I’ll make you a proposal.

Proposal?

Skulda slowly stretched her body as if she were in bed waking up, but still the only tremor from Matilda was death beckoning. If she hadn’t watched the girl move gracefully and without hesitation, Skulda would have concluded that Matilda was suffering from a parasitic cat disease Hanno’s minions had experimented with before she destroyed their facilities. She scowled, thinking of Aliester Hanno escaping to live under a rock at World’s End, out of her reach.

Finally, a tiny whimper of discomfort from Matilda. At least this was something.

But how easy it would be to simply kill the girl, and deliver her into death’s service. Skulda slipped her hand into her cloak. Kill the girl — bring her back from the dead — order her to attack her enemy. It was a simple plan. Correcting her movement, she forced her hand to drop.

Your journey has led you onto my path, so why not? she said, disguising her temptation.

Matilda looked away, her feet twisting towards the enemy.

If you wish to die without getting past their front gates, go ahead.

Matilda’s feet twisted back, but the girl didn’t look up. Her body appeared to shrink in defeat, a personal death cocoon tightening against her young frame.

I shall be going in for my stolen possession. You may come with me if you accept my proposal, Skulda prompted.

Proposal? Matilda whispered, looking up.

She smiled, for whereas Matilda’s first proposal? had been distrustful, this was half a plea. Her old mentor would have disapproved of offering anything to somebody like Matilda, but it would be nothing compared to her next violation.

I need a shieldmaiden to help me reclaim something stolen from me, she told Matilda. Do you know anything about shieldmaiden service?

Matilda stared, her lips moving, struggling to understand, but Skulda just stared back. A little, Matilda finally admitted.

Well?

Shieldmaidens were female warriors of legend, Matilda mumbled after another stare down.

Not legend. And not were: are. And?

And fought in a king’s or queen’s army.

To be accurate, who pledged themselves to their sovereign.

Matilda’s green eyes glazed, before sparking as if something from within was waking her up. So you’re royalty?

Of sorts. Don’t you know who I am?

Matilda shook her head.

I’m Lady Skulda, also called the Queen of Death.

The girl’s eyes bulged, and evaluated Skulda for the first time. Evidently Skulda’s name meant something to her. She waited for Matilda to bring out a religious trinket to ward off evil. And you wish me to be your shieldmaiden? Matilda asked instead.

Sure. I warn you, though: once you become my shieldmaiden, you’ll be a shieldmaiden until you die.

Die.

And in return for your pledge, I promise my services to reclaim your... precious jewel, she continued, ignoring the interjection.

My preci—

No; not a word about your quest, for even forests have ears.

But, how can I tell—?

Not a word. Be satisfied I know your mission, and decide whether you’ll accept my generous offer.

Matilda frowned. Her eyes temporary loosened from death’s cocoon were looking back with critical examination. Would Matilda ask for compromise, for compassion?

This wouldn’t be acceptable.

She saved the girl from running in and committing suicide, so it was right she got servility in return. Envisioning Professor Ríoghain, the youngest member of Archmage’s teaching staff, she put on her toughest scowl, and was rewarded by Matilda’s shocked expression.

So, if I pledge subservience to you, you’ll help recover my..., precious jewel? If I don ‘t, you won’t.

Absolutely, she said brightly. And as a gift, if you ask to be released after we’ve concluded activities in our enemy’s lair, I’ll release you from your contract. Do I have your pledge?

Matilda’s head dropped in defeat. Lady Skulda smiled, for this was better than taking sweets from a baby, after all, babies shouldn’t have sweets. Matilda would agree, because it was servility, or walking to her death, if the girl even had enough willpower remaining to do so.

Matilda nodded in submission.

No, say it, properly she growled, or I’ll abandon you here.

She could see the child battling not to sob.

I Matilda, in return for your assistance, pledge to be your shieldmaiden…, until death. The girl wiped her cheeks dry. Regardless of how far Matilda had fallen, this was one girl brought up proper, who understood pledges.

That wasn’t typical of humans... but Skulda didn’t care, for she had her shieldmaiden.

Join me, she ordered, making room for Matilda up her tree.

Ignoring Matilda’s difficulties in attempting to climb the tree in her ground-kissing skirt, Skulda returned her attention back to her enemy’s position. The estate was a tangled web of a premises, built up from a one-room cottage over several centuries to become a labyrinth of extensions, walls, semi-detached outhouses, and enclosed yards; each extension a new tale of dishonest prosperity from humble beginnings.

Facing the road, a luxurious stone gateway and vine covered lattice may welcome visitors, but it also provided gunmen hiding positions against approaching enemies. To the sides and rear,