The Council of Southport, great and mighty mortals that they imagined they were, still scampered to their feet as their Lord entered the chamber where the Council met. “Great Lord—” the Speaker attempted to speak for the council, as was her duty.

  She was interrupted by the thump of his sack hitting the long marble table and the heads sliding out. One actually slipping along the length of the table and slapping against the thighs of the Commander of the Southport Rangers, who did not scream, but only barely. The man was soft, inheriting his position from a more worth father—grandfather? It had been so long since any dared attack Southport that their military grew weak.

  The Guildmaster of the Goldsmith’s Guild was not weak, nor was she soft, but she still screamed, presumably because one of the other heads that came out belonged to her son. The Captain of the Home Guard clapped a hand over her mouth. He wasn’t soft either, but he was responsible for making sure that none of the people annoyed their lord so much that he needed to discipline them himself.

  The Deliverer, who, as his title suggested, delivered Southport’s tribute to its Lord and Master, gathered the heads up and tidied them back into the massive sack as the Speaker spoke, as was her duty. “Great Lord, may we request to understand how these have erred?”

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  “I swore that none of my people would trespass in the northern forest. This was the bargain made and this is the bargain that will be kept. The borders are the borders. Any of mine who trespass them are violating my oath and will die for it.”

  The Council bowed to his word, even if the Guildmaster was more bent than bending. He stormed out of the chamber, leaping from the balcony, leaving the heads and shocked mortals behind. Such foolish creatures. He had to teach them the same lessons every generation or two, though it had been a long time since he had to burn down part of the city...he wondered how long it would be before he had to do it again.

  As wings burst from his back and his features twisted and spread, he considered the smoke rising from countless (to mortals, he could count them and had, knowing exactly how many houses, people and chimneys belonged to him) chimneys and considered how strange it had been to burn the city last time. He did so love fire, but he hated losing anything that was his. But, if it rebelled, it wasn’t his...if only he could convince his innate greed of that fact…