Unlike the Eastern side of the city, the Northern District had been completely cleared of sand from the shamal in a day. It was as if a storm had never occurred. Such is the power of wealth, thought Ministry as he made his way up the Hekla Plateau to the Citadel.
The guards opened the gates and passed him through without question. He dismounted in the main courtyard and was met by one of Grimsoll Bolvekr's minions. He wore the long green robe and tall black head piece of the Bolvekr advisors that made him look more like a bishop-priest than an advisor.
"He wants to know why you need the tunnel maps?" the advisor spoke perfunctorily.
"I'll tell him myself."
"He's busy now."
"Is he?"
Ministry brushed past him towards the central hall, where Bolvekr held court.
The high windows of the cathedral-like hall cast long shadows across the main transept where Grimsoll Bolvekr sat upon the deposed Lark King's throne. The King and his family were being held captive in their own private quarters these last few weeks, and had no idea as to what fate awaited them.
The green-robed advisors stood on either side of Bolvekr. They were unusually silent and regarded Minstry's arrival with bristling contempt. They did not like this low-born First Consul, this common soldier, despite his fame in battle and long-held devotion to their great lord.
The tension in the air was felt by all.
Minstry bowed low, and then waited for Bolvekr to speak first, as was his want.
Seated on the King's throne, his stone-like face was cast in shadow so that it was impossible to see his expression. His one good arm rested languidly on the elaborate scroll of the chair's side. He'd lost the other arm from shoulder to hand in battle long ago. Despite this one small flaw and potential weakness, his powers of sorcery and enchantment were far reaching and greater than any other lord Minstry had known.
Ministry stood proud waiting. His feet were set apart, his chest held high, and his hands were clasped behind his back. He hoped Bolvekr would not ask about the small wound on his cheek.
"The hour has come for the Bolvekr to rule this land again. My people have waited an immeasurable sum of time to reclaim what is rightfully theirs: the Crymlin Mire and Skalla Mosse Bogs. Do you understand this?"
The deep contralto voice vibrated across the hall and reached like a black, smoky hand towards Minstry.
"I do, my lord," Minstry felt a strange tightening across his chest.
"These places belonged to the Bolvekr tribe long before the Peat Wars. And they shall belong to us again."
"They shall, my lord," Minstry's breath came short.
His heart and lungs felt as though they were slowly being compressed and squeezed. What was happening? His eyes grew large and fearful, and his vision blurred.
"There is another bog we seek," Bolvekr continued and did not seem to notice his First Consul's distress, "and once it is in our possession we shall rule every land... from the Marshlands to the the Wicken Fen to the Moor Mountains and far beyond."
Ministry could not stand up any longer. He fell to his knees helplessly, and pulled at his clothing. And then he caught a whiff of anise in the air... a harmless, savory herb for most, but a poisonous gas to Minstry. The small herb caused a profound reaction in his family and had secretly killed his father, and his father's father.
He stretched his head and neck from side to side trying to breath and find some air away from the sickly sweet herb. His lord must have learned of his family's secret, Minstry thought, pulling at the fabric of his tunic across his chest. And now he used it against him. He ripped the chain and gold medallion from his neck, and heard the small 'chink!' as it hit the stone ground in the hall.
"Y-yes, of course!" Minstry sputtered, coughed, and keeled over onto the ground.
While the advisors tried to appear impassive, their black headpieces fell askew. Their limbs shook of their own accord beneath their long robes. They were watching Dagur Minstry, the First Consul, the strongest and most clever of all soldiers, writhe on the cold stone floor before them, like a worm about to be squashed.
Minstry clawed at the ground in an effort to get away, overwhelmed by the putrid odor of anise (but if you were to ask any of the advisors later, they would say there was no scent.... only the dark, cruel power of their lord).
Minstry wheezed and rolled over onto his back and lay still. His legs and arms twitched as the last breaths left his body, and all he could think was, why now?
"Now Dagur, my friend, tell me why you need the tunnel maps?"
Bolvekr's tone had changed into a kind of chiding banter, as though the conversation had always been a friendly one.
All at once Minstry's lungs filled with air and expanded again and the vice in his chest was gone. The air was clear and dank as it always was in the King's Counsel. If there had been any grip on his insides or a garland of anise about his neck, both were suddenly gone now.
He took several deep breaths, rolled over and slowly got to his feet again.
It was the first time Bolvekr had used his power against him, and he was furious. How dare he, after all these years of servitude and loyalty, thought Minstry.
The advisors meanwhile fixed their headpieces, and quickly assumed a collective air of superior nonchalance. They acted as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Ministry approached the King's throne cautiously.
"I need the tunnel maps because the girl, those children, escaped through a tunnel in the Eastern District."
"The girl," Grimsoll Bolvekr snarled, "the girl! Who is this girl?"
"An orphan from Wobash Cynders," one of the advisors replied far too quickly with a self-satisfied edge to his voice.
In the time that Bolvekr glanced over at the advisor who had spoken, and returned his gaze to Minstry, that particular advisor had been reduced to ash. Disintegrated. Burnt to nothing. All that was left of him was a crumpled green gown and black head piece that twitched as though still alive.
Though the other advisors did not move, Minstry felt the wash of their fear from where he stood. His heart pounded fiercely in his chest, and he reminded himself that he would gain nothing with his anger right now.
He took a moment before speaking again.
"She is called Hero. She was left by her mother at the Home for Lost Lark Children when she was a small child."
"Who was her mother?"
"They do not know. They never saw her."
"How long ago was this?"
"Maybe fourteen years, my lord."
Bolvekr lingered over this information for a moment too long, thought Minstry, irritated and still consumed with fury. He thought he had an understanding with his lord, his respect after ten years of fidelity, service and even a certain camaraderie.
Evidently this was not the case anymore.
Bolvekr turned to his advisors.
"Bring the maps... and tell the soldiers to open the King's reservoir."
"The reservoir? It is scarcely filled- we need the water," a female advisor protested.
"Do you disagree with me?"
"No, my lord!" she replied, and walked quickly from the hall.
Bolvekr turned back to Minstry.
"If we can't catch them above ground, we shall flush them out below ground, like the little rats that they are!"
He stepped down from the King's throne and walked past Minstry out of the hall, followed by his advisors.
Mistry bowed deeply to his lord as he passed.
And then he cursed him. From that moment on, his loyalties were no longer to Grimsoll Bolvekr, but to himself alone.