Up the face of the cliffs Ivkarha flowed, sure footed and as agile as a mountain goat, following well worn paths. From one protrusion to the next she sprung, ever onwards, fingers and toes clinging on as below her the lands dropped away. A single misstep would see a plunge to a broken doom, to be dashed upon the rocks below. Yet no hesitation she showed as she climbed.

Aedmorn studied her, of the course she took, fixing it in his mind. Securing his bronze tipped spear across his back, he began to climb, to follow. Slow was his ascent, for each step upon the way required testing, to search out the nook and crannies, the crevices and protrusions, to test they were secure before moving on again. Steady, though, did he move, as the winds whipped at him carrying with them the sands of the desert and the relentless gaze of the sun beat upon his back. Bright did the landscape glare, stabbing harsh at the eyes, reflected upon the cliffs of the mesa.

When at last he crested the top of the mesa, and tumbled over with limbs a-trembling, Ivkarha waited there, crouched down on her haunches. She gazed out from the heights, across the wastes, from horizon to empty horizon, unmarred but for broken, craggy ridges that thrust up out of the sands and stone.

“You can climb, it would seem,” she said, rising back once more to her feet.

Aedmorn stood, unslinging the spear from his shoulders, leaning against it. About to speak, the words failed to come as he looked across the top of the mesa and beheld what had been built there.

Buildings of creamy stone were spread across its surface, and of rich red and deep green, with forests of colonnades supporting covered walkways. Towers rose, thin and delicate, and walls snaked around it all. Where once had been pools and fountains now were dried out depressions choked with dust and sand. Statues of an unknown people and beasts peered around each corner, and the dried out husks of trees stood where once they had grown and blossomed, now withered and gnarled, skeletons of the past.

By unknown hand had they been wrought, for they were ancient things, weathered and worn by the desert elements, of a time before the coming of man, of a time when the world was young and alive.

Long had it been since any lived within the halls, be it palace or fortress, and slow age had seen parts begin to crumble, here a fan of fallen stone from a collapsed wall, there a caved in roof of a once proud building.

Towards the heart of the mesa Ivkarha set out, striding purposeful through a yawning gateway that pierced the walls that encased the mesa, a gateway that seemed not to have ever had gates, merely being an opening. The wall appeared no more than a separation that marked that which lay within from that which was beyond. Not a fortress then, Aedmorn decided. Even more so did it become evident as they walked the streets beyond, a fine covering of sand drifting across the surface of pavers that line it.

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The buildings that rose up around them were too delicate for use in defence, light and airy, with broad open windows that looked upon streets that had once been lined with trees. Now all that remained were the weathered stumps and limbs of the once proud trees. Aedmorn ran his fingers across them as he walked down between them, feeling the coarse surface, the splintered and worn wood, rendered hard as iron by elements and age. No trace remained of life within them; they were long gone; not even memory remained.

Statues stood between the trees, features scoured and blasted away so that none could tell what or who they were, mere shapes that hinted than gave anything away, now lumpen and misshapen things. Broad pools spread out along the way, from which the remnant of fountains rose, as worn as the statues, the piping that had once carried water protruding from them now rusted and decayed.

Aedmorn could see it all in its prime, a vision of splendour, with lilies floating upon flowing waters that splashed and gargled, while birds hummed and sang. Broad canopies of sheltering branches spread out across the ways and paths, gently whispering in the winds. Life, vibrant and profuse, would have touched all aspects of the complex.

All but an echo of past glories remained, though, for death hung heavy open the place, a discordant feel, one that set him on edge. The living should have been there, if just simple, small creatures, but none could he feel; they were gone. While Ivkarha strode on ahead, showing no signs of apprehension, his eyes were on the move, searching every building, every side street, searching out for any signs of the growing sense of danger that he felt welling up within. Fingers gripped tight on the shaft of his bronze tipped spear, while steps became ever more cautious.

If danger there was, and for certain he believed it to be, none showed itself by the time they reached the heart of the mesa, where rose the largest and most elaborate building in the complex. A large golden dome rose above the broad expanse of the building, with smaller ones at its corners, and statues of cream and red stone spread along its eaves, posed in victorious fashion. Tiles of a deep cerulean had once bedecked the roof, now faded and cracked, many having broken free, leaving gaps behind.

Columns of a nature most delicate and fragile appearing held aloft the roof, an act that should not have been possible, and yet it was. They ringed the structure, and within them was the central hall, of deepest green stone, set into which were a set of giant bronze doors. A mausoleum it might have been, a temple or throne room; whatever its purpose, it spoke of wealth and power, a monument to the ages.

The feeling of unease that had come upon Aedmorn, an ever prevalent touch of death, the absence of life, grew stronger still the closer they grew to the vast edifice. It suffused the air, a pall that clung to all things, unseen yet felt, cloying upon the skin. An itch swept over him and he repressed the urge to shudder.

Ivkarha halted before the edifice. “Long have we brought our dead here,” she announced, “To be prepared for the way and presented. When at last I fall, there shall be none to lay me to rest, to present me for the journey. Yet that is of no great concern compared to what stirs within. Brace yourself, for we enter a holy place, and one now befouled.”