With that, he closed the door to his chambers and began  the preparations to fulfill the scheme he started years
before.
             
The Page tried to catch Demorus before he reached the staircase. He always dreaded the climb to the  Counselor's chambers and with each step he took he added a different reason  why. He now had 153 reasons for his  dislike and still had seven steps left.  

The Page grabbed the door latch and was about to enter the room when he  remembered the last time he forgot to knock upon the door.   The "lesson", as Demorus put it, for teaching the proper ways of a  Court's Page consisted of a three day confinement within one of the kitchen's  oak barrels that was normally used for food storage.   He shivered to think that he came close to learning another of Demorus's  lessons.
             
"Come in if you must!" declared Demorus as he heard the Page on the other  side.
             
In a tone more candied than Mrs. Rhone's yams ***reference point  needed***, Demorus spoke.  "Ah, I  see the lessons have done you good."
            
"Aye my Lord.  King Mylor  summons you.  He waits in the  courtyard.  The garrison is  prepared to leave for the tournament and you’re their departure requires your  presence."
           
"Of course my presence is required," snapped Demorus.  "The King is incapable of action of any sort without out me. 
The man is feeble *** describe his arrogance better ***and practically  unfit to rule; nevertheless he is the King, for now.  

Leave me and inform Mylor that I come at  once."
           
The Page wasted no time in escaping the confines of the room and raced  down the staircase, adding in his mind the 161st reason why he disliked  Demorus.  He skipped the last two  steps and made his way through the various halls that lead to the main  courtyard.  Once He relayed to the  King's entourage that Demorus was on his way he quickly disappeared, happy with  the knowledge that the castle would be empty of Demorus for at least a handful
of days.
            
Demorus collected his thoughts and the items he needed for the journey to  Cantlow and the site of the Tournament. 
The King's coach came into view as Demorus made his way into the  courtyard.  The sight of the  elegant carriage reminded him of the last outing he had with Mylor. 

Three days of riding with the King had to be worse than the punishment he  dealt to the ill-mannered Page, he thought. Although the length of today's trip to  Cantlow would not be as long, he still dreaded the journey. 
Mumbling to himself about not having a coach of his own, Demorus  reluctantly stepped up and into his seat beside the  King.
             
"I am here Mylor.  We may  depart,” said Demorus.
             
"Still as insolent as always I see?" replied a female  voice.
             
Stunned, Demorus slipped from the step and fell to the feet of his  traveling companion.  His gaze  traveled up from the floor until his eyes met the face of the King's niece.  A face he had not seen in just over a  decade.
             
"That is much better, Demorus.   Respect becomes even my uncle's  counselor."
             
"Ah, Kea’na," Demorus tried to recover some of his dignity.  "This  is quite unexpected.  How has the  time escaped us so?  Mylor did not  mention this surprise.  Where is  your uncle by the way?"
           
"He grew anxious to get underway but would not leave without you. I convinced him to go.   It would not do for the king to attend his own tournament  tardy.”
             
My tournament.  Demorus  thought.  *** explain better  ***
           
"What evil do you conspire today?" asked  Kea’na.

Demorus climbed the castle stairs towards his room, known  to the castle's servants as the Counselor's  Chambers.
             
There was always a cold dampness to the castle walls.   The dreary gray stone seemed to attract more moisture than the King's  gold attracted thieves.
             
King Mylor never recovered from his hollow fall into depression at the  time of the death of his wife and child. 
With the passing of every year, the King relied on Demorus, his Court  Counselor, to be the eyes, ears, and most often, the mind of the throne. Most of Mylor's trust came from his  Counselor's knowledge of the dark side of alchemy during his attempts to touch the side of life his small family had  gone years ago.  But over time the  King's desire to reach them burned in on itself and he eventually began to  crumble like the kingdom around him.   Demorus knew the strength of his position only grew as the King's  diminished. He took full advantage  of his post by manipulating any information he acquired before passing it on to  the unsuspecting Mylor.

           
More often than not, Demorus also used what he knew to persuade the King  to make decisions to benefit him. 
In the past it had always been his goal to weaken the King's confidence,  as with the slaying of the queen, until he was ready to overthrow the current  rule.  The conspiracy he plotted  today would be no different.

             
"Foolish old man," he thought.   "Mylor has no idea what I have done.  Within the year I will have my own
following among the Army.  All  picked by my hand and ordered by my word.   This year the Tournament will be my first selection of "armed thieves"  and with each passing year, I will have even more men under my thumb, and
someday I will have Mylor as well.”

Avoiding any sudden movement, he took his time to turn and face his new acquaintance.  As he pivoted, the hand released his shoulder and a familiar laugh filled the air.  With a breath of relief, Gonath smiled at the sight of Starik.
             
Starik was only two years older than Gonath, yet his size matched that of a large draft horse.  It was Starik's build that enabled him to leave the village at sixteen and join the King's Army to defend the northern border of the kingdom's territory as it was routinely raided.  Gonath had not seen Starik since the day he left and continually wondered what had become of him.
             
"You double-headed mule.  Three years pass and today you decide to return. What brings you back now?  I don't doubt the Tournament has anything to do with it?" asked Gonath.
             
"The fighting in the North is dwindling and our numbers aren't needed there.  Besides, Mylor's hound Demorus has us gathering the unsavory men of this bunch for him."   He eyed Alasdair.  "I  figured most would be spending their time in this fine establishment.  But forget that for now.  We have some time to catch up on between us."

Starik led Gonath to a darkened corner of the Inn and  convinced Alasdair that another round of drink was in order, especially with  Starik’s return.  Reluctantly,  Alasdair served them.  One drink  led to two, two led to even more and soon Gonath lost the sense of urgency to  prepare for and to compete in the tournament all together. 
The more the ale went from barrel to cup, the louder Gonath and Starik  became.  They were becoming so
disturbing that Alasdair regretted to inform them that he could not serve them  anymore and that, in their best interest, should leave the inn before anything  should happen.  Gonath and Starik,  with the Thol’s encouragement, agreed they shouldn't waste the day behind the  walls of the inn's dreary tavern and that the festival outside would best suit  their present condition.  The two  led one another to the door and ventured outside to find a more likely place to  accommodate their reunion.  They  scoured the village and reminisced of the past. They recalled the mischief they stirred  as young children, bragged of the bloodied fights, usually held between  themselves, and discussed the events that had led them to this day.   Starik spoke of the battles he fought in lands far north.   He recalled the endless numbers of men on both sides of the fighting that  gave their lives in the name of the crown they served.   The more Starik "boasted" of a soldier's life, the more Gonath thought  himself a coward.  Each of Starik's  stories landed them in a different alehouse and another dripping cup.  They were on their way to another  establishment when Starik's laughter stopped and his entire frame went  rigid.  Gonath couldn't understand  what could instill such fear in an armed fighter like Starik, that is, until he  noticed the cold stare of the military  officer.
            
"A fine example of his majesty’s defense are you not?" hissed the  Major.
             
Starik, whether from fear or a lack of self-control, lost his composure  and began to sway while trying to stand at attention.   The more Starik rocked, the angrier the Major became.  Starik staggered and diminished the distance between them.   Now, with only inches between the two, Starik began to sweat and became  instantly pale. As the major began  ordering the drunken soldier back to the encampment, Starik, without warning,  retched what was left of the roasted mutton and ale onto the major's chest.  At the sight of it all, Gonath could  not contain himself. His laughter infuriated the Major more than the insult of what was covering his uniform.  With uncontrollable anger, Starik's  commander turned and marched off and ordered Starik to report to  camp.
             
With a quick handshake and a drunken smile, Starik stumbled his way back  toward the military encampment and left Gonath still laughing.  It was not until the drunken effects began to wear off that he noticed  the hunched woman following him from a few yards behind.   He heard the phlegm filled voice for the first time as she walked up to  him.

"Prepare yourself for an untimely death, foolish  boy!"