The Maid Is Not Dead

The day began with a very fortunate and heart-moving event, but I couldn't let that get into my head. One stroke of good luck didn't grant me an extra holidary, and another trip into the dungeon awaited me, calling for the appropriately solemn mindset. Progress was only won through steady effort, with a committed hand and focused thought.

Beyond that, it was my belief that balance in the universe had to be maintained.

The gods gave away nothing for free, good luck least of all, and all the uplifting events that befell you had to be redeemed by proportionately virtuous deeds, lest the Heavens would collect the debt in a way of their own choosing—a way usually less pleasant for us mortals.

I had observed this balacing element in action way too many times to dismiss it as a mere coincidence anymore. Happiness had to be followed by sorrow, laughter with tears, and peace with strife, and vice versa. However, if you didn't grow too attached to the hot blaze of glory, but passed on the good received to others, then no reimbursement could be extracted from you. That would tip the scales the wrong way again and the gods suffered none of that. It was against the rules of the obscure game they played with our lives.

Perhaps it was only so much nonsense and superstition, but I'd held this faith since I was a small child in the mountains—even though I couldn't recall anyone teaching it to me—and I'd had no reason to ever question it. Let us call it my peculiar maid flavor of witchcraft, and leave it at that.

Entertaining such a philosophy, I made my way back into the desolate mountain halls.

The walking dead in the plaza of Arden maintained in their old footholds. It had been weeks since the King's stormy visit, but the Dreadweaver appeared to believe the threat had not passed and would not remove the legion in attendance. And wisely so, for even now, the King impatiently awaited reinforcements, his surviving troop training for a new attempt. But I already knew the way around the dead on the first layer of the burg and passed the retirees without sparing them another look.

My thoughts were far ahead of here. I ran along the rooftops towards the end of the level, determined to scout the stairs to the second floor and get a look at what lay deeper down. The King's company, as far as I knew, had made it to the third layer ere their forced retreat. This suggested I likely wouldn't find the gate to the next district in the west before reaching the third level, or lower than that. How long it took to cross only one layer of the glum burg was disheartening. The same as when coming here from the imperial side, the trip home was guaranteed to be a multi-day effort.

Even a maid was going to need to sleep eventually, but there was no safe place to do so anywhere in this realm of horrors.

The monsters grew stronger at night and more active, nocturnal species emerged from hiding; more supplies had to be carried, which slowed movement…I was going to need allies sooner or later. But joining someone else's party meant putting their goals above my own, while hiring helpers took more money than I currently had.

Certainly, there were enterprising souls out there who could pick up like-minded followers free of charge, but that required the sort of affable character I knew I sorely missed. And worse yet, I was a woman. Male adventurers tended to look down on female combatants. A proficient archer like Thiselt might still have been accepted, a cleric, or a mage, but a dagger-user in a maid uniform? Who would accept such a lunatic?

It was still less trouble to work on my own.

I arrived at a clearing in the southwestern corner of the burg. It was a pleasantly atmospheric plaza with a good view across the canyon opening to the south. A large stone fountain carved in the dwarves' preferred cubic fashion lay in the middle of the venue, by now dried up and empty, only an ominous box pit voicelessly calling for the blood of the damned. Near the southern limit, facing the wide gorge was a square gap pierced into the floor, with a regal, steep staircase going down. My way forward.

I was a bit unsettled by how close the steps brushed the abysses, before splitting up and turning back inward. The memory of the bridge's collapse lingered all too fresh in memory. I had to doubt even old age could erase that scene from me. Still, these stairs were the only way forward, and unobstructed at present.

But I didn't proceed right away.

Something struck me as inexplicably off about the site, though I struggled to explain what.

But I had learned to trust these vague sensations and suspect evil when I had them.

I looked around with care, but could see no obvious cause to be restless. The nearest corpses were a good hundred yards away between the houses, dormant and still, the broad plaza itself clear of enemies. The fountain—nothing off about that either, if not for its unappealing barrenness and depth. Left of the staircase, a stout stone railing followed the edge of the floor, as if to prevent an idle sleepwalker from slipping into the canyon. My gaze swept over it unstopping eastward.

There it was.

An odd reluctance hit me, peering towards the southeast. My eyes fluidly skipped over a section of the balustrade, though there was nothing amiss there. A straightforward stone handrail posing on carven legs. But it was a bit strange how hard the nothingness wanted to convince me it was nothing.

I was such a meddlesome person by nature, as many maids were, that when I was urged to ignore something without given a good reason why, I only became bound to probe around more. You could call it a professional disease, even. So instead of heading down to the next floor, I turned away from the stairs, walked to the side, and followed close along the balustrade, my hand brushing along the dusty edge of stone. And then, all of a sudden, where had previously been only empty air appeared a person.

Upon the handrail bordering the abysses sat a girl reading a black-covered book.

A very pale and frail girl, with long, alder-brown hair. Alone, in the middle of this necropolis.

You may imagine my surprise, as much as I had in common with this stranger,

The girl's thin figure was veiled in a dress of earthen colors, a darker cloak over it, and on top of her head posed a conic, comically large, wide-brimmed felt hat of frayed edges. In short, she looked a lot like a witch. As witchy as they come.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The girl sat with her feet dangling above the pavement, her back turned at the shadows of the Vein, and she didn't seem to have noticed me at all. She looked rather like human, but who could say for sure, in a dungeon? Surely it wasn't the Collector of the Dead herself I stared at? My dagger loose in the sheath, exercising healthy caution, I went closer.

"Pardon me."

"Oh?" The girl now stirred and looked up at me from the book without much of a shock. A faint smile appeared on her little lips. "Goodness me. Isn't this rare? I did not think I would meet a living person in such a place. Not to mention, a fellow woman."

She took the words right out of my mouth, if you may forgive the worn phrase. My lines thus robbed from me, I had to think of something else.

"I hope you'll excuse my rude words—but you are a human being, yes?"

Examining her closer, the girl was indeed dreadfully bloodless and thin. Her voice itself seemed like it would be swallowed by the ghost of daylight from above.

"You mean to say, you cannot tell?" she asked, amused. "Admittedly, I have been here for long enough that the matter has become somewhat suspect in my own eyes also. But my blood ought to still run liquid, should you spill it. Only, I ask that you shan't. I yet retain a faint hope of getting out of here, alive."

"I would rather not cut a human whose heart still beats, if only it can be helped," I assured her. "Unless you give me a pressing reason to."

Instead of appearing intimidated, the girl faintly chuckled at me.

"You have naught to fear from me, friend. As you may see, I am not what you would call a warrior, in the best of terms. Avoiding conflict where possible is my preference. On that note, might I ask how it is that you found me? I am fairly sure I had a barrier set up to ward off detection. Whoever should see through it—must be a thing to fear."

Her unnatural elusiveness wasn't only my imagination, apparently.

"I am only a humble maid," I told her. "And my class is trained to pay particular attention to detail. So when there's a spot in a scene that tries so very hard to escape notice, that only makes it more conspicuous to me."

"Hm, hm." The girl nodded in thought. "Your words make absolutely no sense to me. But let us leave it at that. I do not pretend to know how the mind of a maid operates, although I have met quite a few of your kind before. Even employed a number myself. And, I hope you won't take this as a form of undue criticism, but this is a very odd place for you to be."

"Understandable. I should mention, I am also a part-time adventurer, looking for a way through this labyrinth. Now, it is not my place to police the state any better, but could I ask you who you are, precisely, and if you wouldn't rather be elsewhere?"

The girl closed the book in her hands with a smile and put it away.

"Pardon me, Miss Maid. My introduction comes awfully late. I am Mariel, the Terrestrial Scholar, of the Order of Constellations. A professional magician, as certified by Wiseman Island. And I happen to be on a grand personal quest—to collect every Sigil there exists in the world!"

So there truly were such fools out there?

"I understand. So it was this wild goose cha—Ahem, noble quest for knowledge that brought you to Baloria?"

She nodded.

"You have seen to the heart of the matter. The chief problem in collecting Sigils is that it often takes a lot of funding, heavy even on the purse of those who call themselves rich. However, there remain corners in this world where people have once dwelt and from which they have been, for reasons, banished. Though dwarves have their own peculiar runic system, the mystery of the Sigils was not unknown to them either. It is the superior system—though they would never admit it. Their grand city here, largely unexplored as it lies, should still contain an ownerless Grimoire, or two, or perhaps even three. Ripe for the picking, eheheh."

The girl, Mariel giggled greedily, which then turned into a sickly cough.

"Alas," she spoke again after steadying her breath, "I failed to account for the high number of undead in these ruins, and so find myself in something of a…pickle. I have been separated from my foolish assistant, and have no hope of clearing the fiends crowding the entrance on my own. I am denied escape. Thus, here I sit and await my miserable end."

"A most unfortunate situation," I commented, empathetically.

"Oh, not so!" she denied. "For, instead of my end, it was you who appeared. O' brave adventuring maid, credit to your maidenly kind. Seeing as you've found your way in, it should not be beyond you to find a way out also. Would you then take it upon yourself to guide me to safety? I could make it worth your while."

"That depends," I said, reservedly. "How many marks of silver would you say your life is worth?"

"Thousands, undoubtedly. Millions! Regrettably, I'm afraid I haven't so much as a copper on me now. I am wholly above such trifling concerns as money, you see. My attendant sees to the mundane, barbaric side of existence—and he is, as stated, not here right now."

"I see. In all honesty, this is beginning to seem less than worth my while."

"My. Are you sure your heart is still in its place? I have met corpses that held more warmth than is in your words."

"I sympathize with your plight, my lady. Wholeheartedly. However, I am in the middle of my dungeon foray. Interrupting the day's excursion to your benefit is going to cost me money and progress. You would no doubt find it a good bargain if I sacrificed my wellfare for your sake, but I can only see it as taking a stranger's place in the grave. If that is all, then have a pleasant day."

I bowed to her and turned to head for the stairs.

"Now, now, you sly little thing!" she waved me back. "I may not have coin to give you, but perhaps there could be another way of compensation? Oh, I can tell. I have an eye for these things. You, Ms Maid, have the makings of a fine witch yourself! Yes. You were able to see through my boundary, after all. I could teach you magic in exchange for your aid. Well? Have I piqued your interest? I cannot prove my worldly wealth, but in front of your very eyes here sits living proof that I am indeed a witch. Thus, your reward is guaranteed, if you would choose to have it."

"I see," I remarked and turned back. "In that case, I would much like to know how your grimoire collection fares thus far, and if any of the signs you know could be of use to me. Otherwise, I fear your bargaining power has little improved."

Here, the girl called Mariel smiled at me from under the rim of her big hat and put a finger across her lips, alongside a mischievous wink.

"Aha. You may think I am terribly easy, Ms Maid, but I was not born yesterday. And I am most prudent when it comes to matters of the arcane. A witch should keep a surprise or two in her sleeve, should she not? After all, betrayals are a common event amongst humankind. Reward is what you may look forward to…after the successful completion of the task. Ehehehe."

"…"

Drat. I thought she was coming along quite nicely, but suppose I was pushing too hard already.

Of course, I would not have abandoned another person in such a bind, even if she had nothing to offer in exchange. It violated the adventurer's code, after all, when help was directly petitioned. But I did dislike going back empty-handed and wished to see if the mysterious magician had anything at all I could use. Now, it seemed my day would be for charity.

Truly, the Heavens never failed to claim their dues.

I gave up the merchant act and offered my hand to the witch, to help her down from the balustrade.

"Then, Lady Mariel, I am yours for the day."