The City lay beneath us, cloaked in the darkness of a moonless night and barely visible with the campfire's glare in our eyes. My guide and companion sat across from me, gazing down into the glowing embers. I knew little about the man, other than his name, and that he shared my desire to pay homage to the Lonely City. Despite my talkativeness on the road, I could not penetrate the shroud of silence hanging over us on the penultimate night of our journey. Thankfully for me, my companion still had one last conversation left in him.

"I suppose you have heard the tale of the city which we seek?" He asked in a deep voice, heavy with his long years. I shook my head, knowing of it only as an ancient city of unrivalled beauty. "I remember my own youthful years, when my mind was too full of passion to make way for such trifles as history. Many ages ago the city that now lies before us had a king. The marble towers and columned promenades in those times were filled with people busy about their daily lives, draped in the finery of prosperity. The beauty of its walls were rivalled only by the great performances put on regularly by the cream of the citizenry, and the clanging of its golden bells matched only by the trade songs exulting their wares in the many busy markets. It was a time of true peace and prosperity, yet as those of us with the benefit of hindsight and history know, the wheel must always turn. For such a rich city, rivals were inevitable, and there was one state amongst its neighbours with a particular penchant for jealousy. As inevitably as the clouds run in rivers down the mountainsides, so did their armies burst forth from their gates and march upon the City. Having little experience with war, the City's defenders were easily routed from the field and forced to take refuge behind their peace wearied walls."

He paused, glancing in the direction of the City, before returning to his story, a hint of grief now present in his voice. "I can tell that you have never been in a siege before, so I will do my best to describe the raw terror running in rivers through the streets. No order can be sustained in the panicked masses of ten thousand men backed into ten thousand corners. All that is good and beautiful comes to serve as a farcical backdrop to the cacophony of violence and theft, and fear usurps whatever power ruled momentarily in its place. This was the sight that met the eyes of the King of what we now call the Lonely City. Of all the citizens of that City, the noose around his neck was the tightest, not with fear, but with love, for he was that rare king that serves the state willingly with adoration in his heart. To see the center of his life so savagely violated must have filled him with rage, but to know that there was nothing he could do to stop it surely would have filled him with despair. Or, almost nothing. In the later days of the siege he conferred often with the City's leading sorcerers, who had discovered a way of contacting the primal forces of the world that they hoped would lead to a solution to the present dilemma. He had of course denied their offer, not being foolish enough to believe that such power could ever be safely wielded in the hands of humanity. But staring out the highest window of his palace, and seeing the purples and greens of markets replaced by blazing reds and oranges, and beyond it all the swarming mass of the hated invaders, misery consumed him, taking the reigns of his mind and forcing him back to the dark chambers in which his magical practitioners exercised their art. Together with his warlocks, he summoned Death herself and sent her against his enemies to do with them as was her mandate. The next day, he sent his bravest men to sally forth from the walls, but when they returned they reported not the invincible host of the previous day, but a graveyard of unburied soldiers, all seemingly struck down where they stood during the night, the watchers slumped with their hands still gripping their spears, and the restless lying with their heads face first in their fire pits. The ensuing celebrations quickly put the memories of chaos from the minds of the citizenry, and the cause of this mysterious miracle became hotly debated in all the streets. The King, uninclined to reveal the true forces at work, proclaimed that it was a sign of the gods favour, and that many new temples would be constructed in thanks to their saviours. Filled as they were with relief, this explanation was readily accepted by all, and the question left their collective memories, at least for a time." With the sun well and truly departed, we agreed that it would be wise to get some rest and leave the tales for another time. He promised me however that he would continue the story come the morning, and to my relief, that he would take the first watch.

The next day we approached the cyclopean marble entrance of our destination. The arch, designed as if for giants, was curiously missing the gate that normally would have guarded such a magnificent city. I have found in my travel that ancient ruins often lack such defences, whether as a byproduct of the events that lead to their ruination, or simply through the wearing efforts of the sands of time. It was clear however that such was not the case in this City, for the arch had not the barest mark to hint that it might have once worn hinges. Asking Antarios about this oddity, he replied that, had I been listening the previous night, I surely would already have guessed the cause. Of course, a city under the protection of death herself has no need for corporeal defences. The mystery of the arch was nothing compared to the strangeness past it however. The streets were the most beautiful and pristine, that I had ever seen, yet not a soul stirred within them, neither man nor beast. Not even plants seemed brave enough to mar the marble perfection of the terraces surrounding me, apart from the spruces and oaks planted in neat lines along the streets. Not a scrap of lichen nor a single rat could be found anywhere, even under the most intense scrutiny. The effect was quite unlike anything I had ever witnessed, like walking into a glass vault sealed for centuries immemorial, yet built in the suns shining rays. The day continued in such a fashion, equal parts beautiful and unnerving. Eventually, I broke the eerie blanket of silence resting on the City, and asked my companion what possibly could have caused such desolate perfection. Turning to me, he gladly continued the story, speaking as we strolled through the white pillars and shining promenades of its setting.

"The questions surrounding that miraculous day never completely left the minds of the people, and in none did they rest more heavily than in the thoughts of their king. Hard as he tried, he could never forget the measures to which he turned that day, and in all his decisions made since, always the possibility of resurrecting that ancient power lay in the back of his mind. It happened that there came a period decades after the miracle day when a combination of poor harvest, mismanagement and weak trade submerged the City in turmoil. In truth, it had been on the horizon for many years. The other nations of the land had begun to grow distrustful of the City ever since the mysterious fate of the invasion force had become wide spread knowledge, and the traders upon which its prosperity was built were beginning to turn their eyes to other markets. The citizens of the City, who were used to an abundance of silk and honey, now found themselves bereft even of bread, and many a man in that time fell to banditry to make ends meet. Reports of the most hateful and violent crimes began to become commonplace, and once again the City that the King loved so much began to fall into chaos. Seeing no way of undoing the foolish decisions of decades, the King decided that if he were to preserve the object of his dedication, he must once again turn to dark forces. Having wrestled with the implications of his actions all those decades ago, he had long since come to accept and justify his choice, if for no other reason than to calm the wails of his conscience, so the decision came far easier this time than it had on that terrible night so long ago. Additionally, in the time since the siege he had been gifted with a son, turning his thoughts not just to the continuation of his kingdom, but to the legacy left to his heir. With the advantage of experience, and an extra decade of research, his warlocks were easily able to conjure the power he desired, and the deed was done quickly and without hiccup. Even in his old age, he was not so foolish as to assume that he would be able to accomplish his goals subtly enough to avoid detection, so he immediately called all his officials to the great pillared hall of his council room to explain his motives. With all his most trusted advisers before him, he explained the mysterious events surrounding the siege of years past, and described his plan to put to death one tenth of those who had fallen to thievery, in hopes that the others would repent at such a show of force. He was at least wise enough to surround himself with men and women brave enough to contradict his judgement, and the majority of them forcefully advised him against such an act. The chief amongst them stood, the clanging of his ceremonial rings resounding throughout the hall, and spoke as follows. "For decades have we, your trusted advisers, gladly followed your rule, and served our City as best we could. To hear that such means were used to save us all those years ago is unnerving to say the least, but to hear that you plan to use those same means again is unbelievable. I'm sure I speak on behalf of all your advisers when I implore you not to do this. There must be another way". The King explained simply that without such means there would be no City left standing to serve, and that he had already witnessed the rituals, and was only informing his advisers so they could undertake the necessary measures in the following days. And there were many measures left to be conducted, for the wave of fear spreading from that dark act quelled the populace into submission sure enough, but Death still walked those streets as she pleased regardless of invitation. Eventually however, the dry spell of trade passed and the City began once more to feast, plunging it back into the peaceful revelry it had always enjoyed, albeit this time with a good deal less revellers, and those left now possessive of arms strengthened by long hours of grave digging."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

It was beginning to grow dark, and we decided to make camp in a grand plaza large enough to fit an entire village. The chill that night was fierce, and I suggested to my companion that we make use of one of the many great spruces planted in the vicinity for firewood. He sharply rebuked me however, saying that such an action would likely be suicide in this place, a notion that I was quick to believe given the oddity of all else I had seen. He suggested instead that the final part of his story might help shake away the night's cold, a notion I eagerly agreed to, curious as I was to learn the secret behind the desolation of that place.

"In the years following those bloody times a dark pallor infested the City, muting the joyous calls of the populace. Although Death had been recalled after the chaos had been quelled, her spectre would hang over the City till the end of its days. Amidst the murmurings of discontent that had been growing steadily since the days of famine, one rumour stood out amongst all those reported to the King by his myriad spies, a rumour that would prove itself to be no idle gossip. A conspiracy was brewing in the heart of the people, a plot of such breadth and magnitude, reaching from the very roots of society to the highest of leaves, that the King dared not seek the council of his advisers in combating it. As the trap closed tighter upon him, he escaped using the only way he knew how. Scurrying to the chambers of his warlocks, he dismissed them in fears of their participation in the plot, not needing them regardless, as he had at this point obtained a level of familiarity that no longer demanded their assistance in the necessary rituals. With hands shaking from fear, he burned the required sacrifices and scattered the ritual ashes, and as he completed the incantations Death appeared before him, wreathed in shadows. Just as before, he explained his predicament, and ordered the primal force to slay those most entwined in the conspiracy. Unlike the previous summonings however, Death deigned to respond, not just with an affirmation of her obedience, but with forebodings of doom. "Twice before have I, at your command, set my scythe against living flesh, though it pains me to beckon souls into the darkness before their time. This time however I would counsel you against this action, if only because I would serve you as more than a mindless lackey. This path you have chosen will lead to nothing but despair, you must seek another." The King, surprised by this unexpected intervention, stumbled momentarily before replying. "I have always deliberated greatly before calling on you, and this time is no different. There is no other way. In my old age I care not for the abortion of my rule that the plot would bring about, but rather I look to the safety of my son. I have brought him up in the image of myself, to rule as I would have, and the revolution would surely dispose of him as too closely attached to my maligned rule. Perhaps another ruler could be found, but not without a period of chaotic violence and upheaval that would destroy the City I have tried so desperately to preserve. For that has always been my goal, above all else. How can history condemn me for such a motive?". For a moment Death's eyes glowed a virulent violet, before she replied with great solemnity. "That may be true, but it would be better to have no path, than to walk this death march." Death immediately set about her cruel work, and the King began to hear screams throughout the palace. Swiftly leaving the dark sanctum of his sorcerers, he was met with a hysterical servant rushing down the marble shod corridor. Grabbing his arm, he asked the youth what the matter was, to which he received a panicked flurry of words describing the sudden death of half his advisers, as well as many of the minor officials and courtiers. Nodding his head, he decided to weather out the chaos in his chambers, and on the way there he received the same story from every man and woman whom he encountered. As the list of slain councillors lengthened, his heart grew heavy with doubt, and as he ascended the grand staircase to his private garden a sight met him that filled him with dread. His wife, silhouetted against the setting sun, sat there weeping on one of the ornate benches gifted to him by the City's leading craftsmen, long before the dark events that tarnished his rule. Turning at his entrance, she managed only two words between her sobbing gasps, yet those two words were enough to plunge him into depths of misery he had never reached, not even during that terrible siege a decade ago. Retreating to his private rooms, he barred the entrance to anyone seeking him, and collapsed into solitude. Over the coming days news spread of the deaths of most of the City's leading men, spreading panic in the city. What's more, the King himself had disappeared, and his sole heir had been amongst those slain. It was not long before all understood what had happened, easy as it was to match these events with those of the dark day that had occurred mere years before, and the city began to haemorrhage citizens. Afraid that the King's dark servant would be turned upon them next, for who could be safe when the madman would slay even his own child, they left in droves. Eventually only those most dedicated to the City were left, and even they departed after becoming cognisant of the ghost town their beloved home had become. Soon enough it was empty of all life, abandoned, though the city itself bore no blemish. There was one soul however that never left those gates, for no one saw the King again after he barred himself in his chambers. He most likely succumbed to his own grief, and we can only hope that his tortured spirit found a way to make amends for his crimes in life. Some say however that he dwells here still to this day, imprisoned by his victory and doomed for all eternity to watch over the shell of the City that he still can not help but love, for how could Death ever take her own master."

My bones were stiff in the morning, lacking as they were the benefit of a fire to warm them, yet my companion appeared well rested and strangely at peace. As we left the city, passing more dead streets and bone white pillars, he told me of the burden that had been lifted from his mind. "I never told you why I decided to visit this city, even though you were so forthcoming with your own reasons. In a time long past, in a place long forgotten, I was once forced by fate to make a decision not too dissimilar from the choice that met the King of this City. I came here to see whether I had decided correctly." We parted ways at the gate, and I never did run into my companion of that journey again. Whether he hung up his wanderer's cloak, or moved to different spheres of the world I do not know, but I will always remember the sadly contented smile that rested on his face as we passed out of that marble graveyard.