A Touch of Power

         The city of Tamrial lay quiet, it’s streets deserted.

         The market had closed down with the setting sun and farmers had wandered in from their fields, weary from laboring since sunup. Now, the city’s inhabitants sat around their warm fires or slept dreamlessly in their beds, which was all Balik could ask for.

         As he navigated his was through dark alleys, Balik hummed softly beneath his breath, his leather soled boots barely making a sound against the cobblestone streets. He kept to the shadows as best as he could; veering away from light emanating from cottage windows and the flickering flames of torches carried by the Tamrial night guards.

         Having been born and raised in Tamrial City, Balik was able to maneuver through the alleys and back roads with effortless ease. Though the streets appeared abandoned, he kept his hand on the hilt of his dagger. He knew, as everyone else in this city did, that drunkards and petty thieves haunted these alleys. He prayed that they would keep to themselves, for he did not want to spill anymore blood tonight, although he would not hesitate to do so if it came down to that. He would not be deterred from his mission.

         Balik finally came upon the wall surrounding the castle and its courtyards. It was tall, although not as tall as the wall surrounding the city itself, and made of thick stone. A guard passed by overhead as he patrolled from atop the ramparts, his jaunty whistle echoing in the deep silence. Balik plastered himself against the wall and waited till his footsteps finally faded before moving again.

         What he’d come to find was here somewhere, that much he knew. With one hand against the cool stones he walked on, his mind concentrating on the one thing he was searching desperately for. He followed its perimeter, his nerves increasing with agitation when he did not find what he’d come here for. Where is it? Did I come to the wrong side of the wall? Perhaps he was mistaken when he’d told me…There!

         Balik stopped in his tracks and turned to press the palms of his hands against the stones. Ah, clever indeed...Here, beneath his palms, the stones were slightly warm to the touch. He would never have sensed the ward had he not been searching for it and he was skilled in the ways of magic. To anyone else, they might not have recognized the ward for what it was. Now, as he stood there, he could feel the thrum of magic radiating from the stones. Although he couldn’t see the symbols of Concealment etched into the wall’s surface, he could feel them pulsing beneath his fingertips. A strain of complex runes linked together to form a sophisticated ward. Whoever had cast the spell had been a strong mage.

         Balik closed his eyes and kept his hands where they were at. The magic that seeped from the stones made him light-head as he concentrated on the runes and the words he would need to break them. In a low, clear voice Balik attempted to speak the words of Unveiling and Unlocking, but they would not come. Instead, they caught in his throat causing him to choke on them. A foul taste filled his mouth and he let out an oath. As designed, the spell was attempting to fight him for it knew that he was not its castor.

         He could not fail now, however. That much he knew. He tried again, this time gagging on them before finally spitting them out. The stones grew hot beneath his hands and he yanked them away before they could sear his flesh. Hundreds of tiny odd runes flared to life, dimly lighting the darkness around him. They danced and flowed over the stones like water. Balik glanced nervously around expecting a guard to appear at any moment.

         When no one appeared out of the darkness he felt a bit of the tension leave his body. One by one the symbols winked out, their light succumbing to the darkness once more. As the last one died Balik could feel his body tingling with anticipation. With a crack that echoed through the stillness like a clap of thunder, the wall began to crack and break apart. Balik’s eyes immediately went to the rampart above him. Surely someone had heard that! Sweat formed on his brow and he wiped it away with the back of his hands. His heart was in his throat and he kept waiting for the call that would sound the alarm. Mysteriously, one never came.

         The stones continued to crack and crunch until they were nothing but a pile of rubble at his feet. Cut from the wall was an arched doorway and beyond it laid a deep, uninviting darkness.

         “Levis.” A tiny ball of light appeared above his head, its lustrous white light nearly blinding in the darkness.
Balik stepped through the entrance and into the passageway, his will-o-wisp bobbing ahead a few paces to light the path ahead. He turned to make sure he was still alone only to realize that the wall had soundlessly resealed itself behind him. He reached out and touched the cool stones that were now whole again. The spell had rekindled itself and the entrance was hidden once more. Amazing.

         With one hand against the wall, Balik followed the passage, stepping only where his light shone. He faltered as he came to a staircase, the stone steps spiraling down into what seemed like oblivion. The steps descended down several feet only to end at the entrance of a second passageway that seemed to stretch on for miles. He traveled along, faster now, noting the dampness on the stones and slight smell of mold on the air. The hall ended with another stairway, the steep stone steps spiraling upwards this time.

         The climb up was far more tedious, his breathing becoming more labored with each step he took. Upon reaching the landing he collapsed, needing a moment to gain a collective breath before moving on. After a moment he forced himself to stand again, his leg muscles groaning in protest.

         The passage had ended there upon the landing. He touched the stone wall before him and felt the familiar tingle of magic trapped within. The spell wasn’t nearly as potent as the first and it was easy enough to cast the counter-spell. The stones did not crumble as they had before, but slid away silently to form another doorway.
Balik immediately distinguished his willow-o-wisp, which plunged the passageway into darkness, and drew his dagger from its sheath. He stood with his back pressed into the nearby corner, listening for a signs of life beyond the entrance. When he was certain there wasn’t a threat he crossed the threshold, dagger firm in hand.

         The room beyond the archway was dimly lit by streams of moonlight that had managed to find its way in through gaps in the draperies that hung over the large arched windows. The bedchamber was empty save for the king tucked safely in his large and comfortable bed. Balik put away his dagger, feeling at ease now that he was in familiar territory.

          “Who’s there?” Balik whirled, his fingers instantly curling into a casting position. King Alisdair rose up on one elbow, peering at him from across the room.

         “Your highness…I’m sorry to have awoken you at such an hour. I apologize.” Balik replied, his hand falling back to his side.

         “Remus?” Alisdair struggled into sitting position and fumbled for the candle at his bedside.

         “No, sir. Balik.” He approached king’s bedside, pulling the candle holder out from under Alisdair’s questing fingers.

         “What are you doing here, Balik?” Alisdair demanded. “Why are you in my bedchamber?” Balik smiled in the darkness. He touched the candle’s wick and it caught fire.

         King Alisdair was glaring up at him, obviously not pleased by Balik’s sudden visit. He couldn’t help but notice the king’s pale complexion under the candlelight and the heavy lines beneath his eyes. Though the rest of him appeared haggard and sickly, his dark eyes were clear and full of suspicion

         “I apologize once more, your majesty. But Remus bid me to come here.”

         “Remus?” Alisdair shook his head, not understanding. “Why? What has happened? Is Remus unwell?” Balik bowed his head and turned away.

         “Remus is fine, but something urgent has taken him away. Urgent business regarding your son.”

         “What about Tallow?”

         “There was an… accident.” Balik whispered as he crossed the room, stopping in front of an overstuffed chair. Sitting on the chair was a delicate silk pillow, tiny gold and silver stars sewn into the fabric. He picked it up and ran a gloved hand over the stitching.

         “What kind of accident? Speak up, man!” Balik turned to face him, pillow bunched in his hands.

         “It seems that while young Tallow was out hunting...His guard said that the prince’s horse spooked and threw Tallow from its back, which caused him to fall down an embankment.” He paused and looked into the king’s face. “Tallow broke his neck in the fall. Your son is dead, your majesty.”

         The silence that came after his words seemed deafening. The king’s face remained blank at first, as if the words he’d spoken hadn’t registered. He shook his head once, his eyes welling with tears. He let out a choked sob and reached out to Balik, needing someone, something to hold on to as devastation flooded through him. Balik went to him and Alisdair grasped weakly at his arm as he cried out in despair.

         “This cannot be!” Alisdair rasped, his breathing becoming ragged with grief. “Not my son! He’s all I had left!” Balik remained silent, allowing the king to weep uninterrupted. Alisdair released his hold on Balik and fell back against his pillows, his face red and tear streaked.

         “I wish I could have seen him…before he’d gone away.” he murmured, his eyes staring at something just beyond Balik’s shoulder.

         “You will see him again, your majesty. Much sooner than you think.” Alisdair met Balik’s eyes, his gazing questioning. The corners of Balik’s lips twitched, giving away to a smile he just couldn’t seem to repress. Revelation suddenly dawned on the king. Balik brought the pillow down on his face before he could summon the strength to call out.

         Alisdair thrashed and bucked, his fingers clawing at Balik’s. His weak attempts at saving himself made Balik chuckle with pleasure. The king grasped at his hands, his fingernails digging into Balik’s flesh. It stung a bit and caused him to bleed, but he refused to lessen his grip upon the pillow. After a moment Alisdair’s grip slackened and his hands fell back upon the bed

         Removing the pillow, Balik stared into the king’s vacant eyes. He reached out and closed them. Balik threw the pillow back upon the chair and straightened the covers around the king’s body. A great king dies in his sleep…No one will be wiser, he thought to himself.

         Whistling to himself, he left the way he’d come, the passage sealing behind him as if he’d never been there.