King Heffin stared through the window of his chamber, arms behind his back, shaking his head. Lightning danced across the sky with a flash.  'I can’t allow it, I simply can’t.'
'But Sire you must. It’s the only way to keep them safe.'
The King's head dropped to his chin. His daughter was now in her late teen years. Adored by all, particularly the males, she was growing up into a wonderful future Queen. His Wife had died just a few seasons earlier while giving birth to their son, their second child. Right now, he was reliving that night in his mind, like every other day. Holding his Wife's hand while she was in labour, it was quickly apparent that something was wrong. He watched as his son tore from the womb that held him. Blood released like water bursting from a dam. His Wife screamed in agony as all he could do was watch, helpless. For a split moment, it seemed the baby was being born from the blood itself, which washed over him. Blood and baby became one. As he landed in the arms of a Maiden, the blood splashed off him revealing him for the first time. Feeling the pressure from his, hand go, he broke from his trance, glancing back to his wife. She was already dead.
 Since his son had been born, rumours had quickly spread throughout the kingdom of a Devil Child being born. Most had called it, The Birth of Death. In the latter seasons it had grown so much that those caught uttering it were simply executed. The people revolted. Protected by the Knights under Balk, the King and servants were locked inside the castle. They were safe, but for how long? Even he could not pretend that something wasn't wrong. Something was stirring in the shadows, in the dark. Strange whisperings echoed through the hallways at night. Torches on the walls were blown out by invisible winds. And now, his own Marc, the leader of the Knights was in his chamber, sat on his high backed chair asking him to send his children to safety, to Windefell. He couldn't send them away. Could he? 
Reading his King's thoughts the Knight spoke soothingly. 'I know its hard. I myself could not imagine such a heavy burden. Nevertheless, I plead with you to let them be taken away, across the sea and to the Eastern Lands, where they can slip into darkness and be lost from this evil. There is a chance for them, in hiding.'
'Balk, we can't be certain that they will be safe, not even there.' He now turned from the window and faced the knight. 'Already the Dark consumes this land, and even I am unable to determine friend from foe. Who is to say that the corruption will not spread further.'
'That is why the need for urgency. We don’t know how much time we have. We cannot say who in your very keep is plotting against you this very moment. It is crucial that we do this and do this now. It's not safe here anymore. You know that to be true, I can see it in your eyes.'
The King studied his friend. They had only a season separating them in age. Friends since before either could remember. They knew each other and how each other thought. Both had been there for each other when needed most. When he had been crowned King, no one was surprised when he announced his Marc to be Balk. Now studying his friend, sat on the chair, eyes fixed onto his, sword lying on the desk and his cloak laid on the back of the chair. He knew Balk to be right. 'Ok...' he said with a sigh.
Balk stood and patted him on the shoulder. A gesture very few ever get to do to a King. 'I'll arrange everything immediately.' He turned away, picking up his sword and sheath wrapping it expertly around his waist and just as quickly throwing the cloak over his shoulders slipping it into place about his form.
'Balk...' The King called after him. 'I want you to take them to Windefell, I can trust no other with this.'
'No, I need to be by your side. I can send them with a score of Knights and...'
'No.' Heffin cut him off. 'You will take them alone, and I won’t be swayed otherwise. I am afraid this is where our paths must separate. I’m sorry my friend.'
Balk stood looking at the King, his friend. He knew there was no point in arguing. Heffin could be very stubborn when he wanted to be. With a simple nod, he turned away and left the chamber, closing the door behind him. He crossed the hallway, entering the room directly opposite the King's room. Upon entering, he was welcomed by the two handmaidens handpicked by the King to look after his baby. They were sat in a couple of chairs in the corner of the room facing the door. One was cooing softly while the other cradled a white blanket in her arms. Balk closed the door and crossed to them.
The one with the blanket spoke first breaking the silence. 'Evening welcome Marc...'
'I need you to get the baby ready for a journey.' Balk ordered cutting her off.
'Journey? But the King hasn't said anything.'
Balk looked down into the blanket noticing the sleeping Prince. 'We haven’t got much time. I am to leave for Windefell with the baby immediately.' He said in an urgent whisper. The two women set about making preparations with a quizzical glance towards one another, but both knew better than to question the Marc of the Knights. Satisfied he retreated back towards the door half watching them ready the baby. He creaked the door open slightly. Just enough for him to peer out into the corridor. Behind him, he could hear the whispering between the handmaidens. 'What you whispering about?'
'Sir, we would like to come with you.'
'No!' he snapped. 'I must go alone, now hurry the baby ready for...' He cut off abruptly. A clamour of voices and footsteps raced towards him. Peering out the door, the feint glow of torchlight could be seen bouncing off the walls towards the room.
'What is...?’
'Silence!' Balk silenced the maidens and waved them back into the far corner of the room. He turned his attention back to the corridor, where he was suddenly aware of a figure at the King's door. His eyes narrowed has he fought to recognise the figure. As he studied her, she half turned to him revealing an unmistakable scar. He quickly closed the door. Not staying to find out if she had spotted him, he fled into the middle of the room. 'We have to get out of here, now!' He spun around trying to find some means of escape.
'I don’t understand, what's happening.' The two maidens looked worried, one still held the baby rocking her arms back and forth soothingly.
 Balk shook his head. 'No time to explain.' He paced to the window and looked out. From the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the women nudge the other with her elbow. 'What is it?' he asked spinning towards them.
 'There is a way out.' The Maiden without the baby strode over to the fireplace. 'We were shown this by the King when he gave us the job. He said we should use it when things went wrong.' She bent down at the centre of the fireplace and stretched her arm into the opening. After a second, a loud click sounded.
 'What is...?’ Balk was left open-mouthed. The wall to the left of the fireplace shuddered. With an explosion of dust, it cracked open. As if it was a door, it opened outwards revealing a dark passage with a faint flicker of light coming from somewhere deep inside. Balk snapped shut his jaw and nodded, too much in a rush to question. 'Alright, quickly, let’s go.' The women went first disappearing into the black. Balk made to follow. With a last look back, he made one last promise to the room and slipped into the shadows after the Maidens. The wall cracked once more and closed inwards as he disappeared.
 He will return!

 After they had entered the secret passage, they had worked their way down a steep staircase. Following it right, Balk had guessed on how it spiralled from the top of the castle to the streets of the town. Torches mounted the walls on the right of them as they went, flames flickering, dimly lighting the way in the dark like a tunnel. The women were at the front, while Balk followed them until they found their way out into the streets.
 The two women were huddled against the wall seeking some small cover away from the wind and rain. Balk was just ahead of them knelt down and peering around the corner of the wall and into the street beyond. Though he was only a few yards ahead of them he was only just visible through the downpour. His cloak was blowing out ahead of him from the wind wrapping it tightly around his form. He fought upright and headed back to them, a hand holding his hood in place, the other on the pommel of his sword ever ready. His eyes narrowed against the weather as he reached them. 'The boat to the East is still moored. Probably been searched already. There are just the two guarding it. I can just about make them out through the rain.'
 'Well what can we do? We can't stay here much longer.' The woman hugged her arms to her chest, more to keep the little figure that slept against her bosom warm than herself.
 Balk knew the truth of her words all to well. It would not be long until those that attacked the castle realised they were missing and moved to search the streets. 'Alright...' he said finally coming to a conclusion. 'We make for the boat. I know the Captain, he's a stubborn sod. A storm won't stop the fool from taking to the sea.'
 'But will he help us?' Worry was plain to see in the faces of the women, but he wasn't sure if it was from their current situation or the idea of a trip on the sea in this storm.
 'He owes me a favour and don’t worry he's a true sea dog. If anyone can make it through this storm it's him.' With a deep intake of breath, he spun around drawing his sword in one clean movement. 'Stay here until I come back for you.' He began to move away.
 'What if you don’t come back?'
 With a shake of his head and words lost in the storm Balk disappeared around the wall. Upon stepping out from the wall and into the middle of the road a cold blast of wind hit him, forcing his free hand up to cover his face. His eyes narrowed through the rain just managing to pick up the two figures stood guard. He took a few paces forward. Something was wrong. The hair on his neck stood on end, but it wasn't from the cold or the rain. Suddenly agitated his eyes flicked from left to right. His hand tightened around the handle of his sword. As he neared the two guards, His mind raced. Why weren't they moving towards him? Surely, they had seen him. Then it clicked. Trap! A sudden movement caught his eye to the left, a flash of steel. With the speed of a Knight, he parried the blade away from his head. Twisting savagely from the hip and with his right hand, he brought the handle of his sword crashing against the attacker’s nose. Blood hit him in the face but the rain just as quickly washed him clean again. The man fell onto his back holding his nose with both hands whining pitifully. With a click of his wrist balk had his sword gripped firmly and deadly once more. A quick side step to his left saw a blade glance past his ear. In a breath, he spun his own sword in his hands and with a push stabbed; the stunned man threw his chest. He brought his hands back and with it his sword. The man collapsed in a heap, dead. Not wasting time by even looking at the man he slew, he turned to face the boat once more. One figure remained guard. Though he had by now stepped forward, no doubt expecting his friend to have killed him. He was now close enough for Balk to see his face.
 A boy! That’s all he was. A boy. His hair was dark and hung loosely to his shoulders. His eyes were bright and large. Though he had his sword drawn, he didn't seem to know it. His body shook all over. Partly from fear and partly from the weather. The sword was held by numb fingers, hanging low as though it was going to be dropped. Balk kept his own sword held low not wanting to show a threat as he stepped forward. He was hoping the boy would maybe run off when he approached. However the boy didn't move. Lost in his own horror he remained a statue, shivering in the cold. Balk took another step forward and this time moved his sword slightly wider. The boy snapped backwards with his head suddenly breaking free of his own mind. As though only now aware of his surroundings he glanced at Balk and then down at the sword in his hands. His friend's blood was washed clean from its blade but he seemed to see it. Reliving the death of his friend in his mind, his face twisted savagely into something of hatred and revenge. In a flash, his sword was up aiming for Balk's head. However, Balk had already moved. He ducked quicker than the eye could follow and thrust his own sword upwards. The move caught the boy by surprise and the blade hit him under the chin burying itself halfway and going straight through his skull.
 Only after moving away and heading back towards where he had left the women did he notice somebody was missing. The man whose nose he had broken. Where was he? There was a small pool of blood where he had been lay. He had obviously used the time Balk had been fighting to get away. Had he just ran away? A sudden shriek told him where the man had fled.
 He bounded round the bend in the wall and almost crashed into the woman holding the baby Prince. Looking over her shoulder, he saw the man. His nose still bled heavily. but the man didn't try to stem the bleeding. Instead, he had the other woman from behind. One arm around her waist and the other at her neck, a dagger pressed against her throat.
 'Don’t move' he snapped, blood spitting from his mouth. 'I'll kill her I will. I'll kill her!' To prove his warning he pressed the dagger deeper into the woman's throat drawing blood and a moan of pain from her.
 Ok, Ok.' Balk sheathed his sword slowly. The man studying him hard. He felt the woman with the baby step backwards into his body. Seeking some small comfort and assurance that everything will be fine. 'What do you want?'
 'The boy, give me the boy. Or I'll kill her!'
 'I can’t do that.' Balk looked to draw on the man's fear. Hoping he wouldn't be so stupid to kill the maiden. The only thing standing in front of him and death. 'Now let the girl go and we'll just be on our way. No one needs to know.'
 The man glanced around seeking someway out. Someway to escape from the situation but not finding one. 'I'll take the girl.' The man spat. Almost in a panic. And he began to retreat, the dagger still pressed to her throat.
 'No! Please No.' the other woman sobbed, and stepped further back into Balk.
 He placed his arms around her. 'I’m sorry. But we must go. We haven’t got much time.'
 'No, please...'
 The other maid choked from her position 'Please go.' Tears were rolling down her face. Clear to see despite the rain.
 The woman holding the baby ran from her position against Balk and towards the boat. In a beat Balk was backing away towards the boat, his eyes fixed on the man.
 'I'll take good care of her.' He chuckled as he too began to back away.
 'Sorry...' And with that that the maid stamped on the man's foot and went to run away. The man's other hand tightened around her waist and pulled her quickly back. With his other hand, he stabbed the dagger into the side of her neck and released her to fall to the floor. He didn't have a chance to glance up as Balk leaped forward running his blade threw into his stomach and out his back. With a kick, he removed his sword and snapped it shut into its sheath. He knelt down by the woman. Blood poured from her willingly.
 'I'm sorry...' He sobbed, cradling her in his hands. 'I'm sorry!' but she was already dead.