The city of Machford rose from the surrounding forests, built atop a stony plateau. A river runs right beneath one side of the cliff, where a complex set of pulleys and pumps were constructed to pipe water up to the city proper. Historians and wizards have debated endlessly whether the plateau is a natural or magical phenomenon. The shape is too regular, and the raised land is as high as a large hill.

  I’d have to ask King Petronius if he remembered the details. When he’d founded the Alzian Empire, Machford had been a backwater province. Regardless, it makes for a defensible and commanding position. Tall stone towers overlook each corner, with thick walls protecting the entire perimeter. A gentle dirt ramp led up to the main gate from the surrounding area, and at the base of the cliffs on all sides, a tremendous amount of industry had sprung up.

  From above, the most distinguishing feature of Machford is the main keep. A second set of walls enclosed a castle with a commanding view of the city and surrounding area. The stones were a beautiful pattern of blue and white bricks arranged in mesmerizing geometric patterns. Colored pane-glass windows decorate the entire edifice, a product of a century at peace.

  Below, good citizen toiled in the streets. Above, I watched from my scrying pool inside my palanquin. We were on the back of my war-elephant, Hanno. He was lumbering up the road towards the city, while Lambert and I sat in a brass edifice on his back. Hanno was from an extinct race of elephants that the Spectra had given me. They’d preserved his corpse and reanimated his spirit, gifting him to me at thirteen to command battles from atop. His skin was rough like obsidian, and I’d once watched him barrel through a stone wall six feet thick.

  His size would make for an imposing but appropriately stately entrance. Already, we’d passed a few wagons who’d rushed off the road to make way for their new princess. A few riders had even turned around and rushed back to the city to prepare a welcome. It was slightly rude not to greet us themselves but I would forgive them because of the surprise. I already felt like I was failing my father’s trial. I should have sent a herald ahead to announce my arrival.

  I considered the lessons my tutors had given me.

  Vladislav the Crucifier had encouraged me to start by crucifying a few peasants as a lesson, but he also thought crucifying solved everything. I could admit that it worked for him, but maybe not something so extreme to start. We could always revisit crucifixion.

  The Wraith Gestalt at the soul well by the river Cocytus had given me instruction on manipulating a populace. To control the senses was to control their thoughts. Perception was its own reality. I’d need to establish my propaganda machine for all of that to start being relevant, however.

  This was a trial of leadership, and not whether I could mentally ensnare my kingdom in an illusion. My people should want to follow me for my virtuous leadership.

  In the end, I felt Sforza had given me the most sound advice. “Nothing is more difficult than to introduce a new system. The innovator is the enemy of all those who benefit from the old ways, and their allies shall be tepid even if they gain from the new. The bringer of change will confront opponents who are protected by the old law, and they must overcome the resistance of those who cannot believe in a new thing until they see it,” he’d once told me.

  I would be the bringer of change. I’d read the most contemporary works in my father’s library. Machford was a successor state to the Alzian Empire. Their language and culture stemmed from the first settlers of the continent from across the starless sea. A feudal system of wage-slavery under the guilds, church, and local nobility prevented people from ever rising above their station. I would end these oppressive regimes, and bring about an era of equality and merit, just like the City of Dis.

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  A group of farmers huddled behind their cart of produce. Their gazes averted from their new royal. I gave them my best smile.

  “Good day!” I called out.

  They redoubled their cowering. “Spare us, please! Great faerie queen!”

  I chuckled. A simple mistake for the uneducated. Hanno paused his lumbering gate. Fae nobility would’ve made sport of their caravan on the spot. That they weren’t screaming in agony should be proof enough. Luckily, there was an easy way to show I wasn’t a fae.

  I pulled out an iron spike and shoved it straight through my hand. Cold iron was the bane of all fae, so it should serve as a demonstration I wasn’t one of their kind. With a twist of will, I congealed the blood around the hole I’d made in my hand. There was no sense in wasting any here.

  “I am no faerie queen. I am flesh and blood like yourselves. Please spread the word that your rightful princess has returned!” I said from my palanquin. Satisfied I had allayed their fears, I spurred Hanno on with a mental flick. The red and black elephant sounded a trumpet, and we continued down the road. I pulled out the iron spike from my hand and put it into my ring of holding. They were useful to have on hand in case any real Fomorii showed up.

  Speaking of roads, one of the first acts I’d have to make as princess would be to get these fixed up. They were of terrible quality and liable to break a wagon’s wheel as much as help it along. I made a mental note that I’d need to hire some engineers to build some proper infrastructure. There was no shortage of stone in the kingdom, but without good roads, we could never become a hub of trade and culture like I dreamed.

  We continued to ride past more and more citizens as we got closer. I didn’t see any need to repeat the first encounter. They’d spread the word soon enough.

  However, I understood why my father kept a herald for when he visited the other clans or received guests in his halls. The giant skeletal vulture in his entrance hall announced his arrival with a voice like winter and carrion. Announcing myself to people seemed gauche in retrospect. Perhaps I could conscript the next passerby.

  Unfortunately, the travelers in front of us were rushing ahead into the city to prepare for our arrival.

  We finally passed out of the forest and entered the town at the base of the plateau. Ahead of us there was a set of switchbacks carved into the cliff face leading into the city proper. To our right, pedestrians and carts filled the slowly rising ramp leading to the main gate.

  The quaint pastoral buildings around us belied a simple life devoid of pretension. I had always found the Draggul vassal’s township to be dreary and gauche. Here, it looked like people had embraced a more ascetic lifestyle. I applauded such a view.

  The inhabitants cowered in homes and shops as we passed by. No children ran out to greet Hanno, but I doubted they had seen an elephant and he was quite large. He was much gentler than he looked and I doubted he would trample anyone unless he wanted to.

  No trumpeters greeted us either, but I was expecting the real welcome up in the castle. Normally, the entire city would feast upon royalty arriving, but with such short notice, I would forgive it. I smiled and waved as was appropriate. They would cheer me once I was properly announced.

  One thing stood out to me, however. Beneath us, there was some kind of sewer system, and my magic reacted to the festering corpses and strong emanations of death below. What was concerning was that there had been clear tampering with the emanations to form patterns to enhance their effect. It was crude work and amateurish, increasing the amount of undead but doing nothing to bind a soul or intelligence to them. The whole thing was a threat to the safety of anyone who entered.

  I directed Hanno to the nearest entrance. We would need to chide whoever put this together for their sloppy efforts before we greeted the rulers. My pride as a magician demanded it, and it’d also be a good look at the local population of wizards or more likely warlocks.