This is a character study I’ve
been working on. I wanted to see if I could grasp the male point of view. My
husband read it and did some editorial work on it, but said nothing about
whether this was a valid approach. We’ll see, I guess. I’m working on the same
situation from the female point of view. (Note: Blayze is her stage name, though he doesn't know that yet.)
Gerin
watched his wife fondly, enjoying her air of contentment and the bounce of her
curls as they traveled. He smiled to himself, grateful for her presence in his
life. Neither the road nor the horses required a great deal of attention that
afternoon, so at some point she started humming, then eventually singing under
her breath. He thought it likely she was not even aware she was doing it. Soon
she would give up all pretenses, and simply sing to the trees for the joy of it
because the day was pleasant and nothing more pressing needed her focus.
Listening
to her lovely alto reminded him of the first time they met. Gerin allowed
himself to relax into the memory, trusting to his finely-honed sense of danger,
and the horses to let him know if something changed.
The
sunset colored the sky in golds and pinks as the sun briefly dipped below the
day’s rain clouds when the young mage decided to find a decent tavern to spend
the night. Three weeks of aggravation, work, trading of favors, and a long,
tiring ride, to finally get his hands on the large, leather bound book in his
saddle bag left him irritated and not much in the mood for company. With any
luck, he could find a room to himself, a halfway decent meal, and a bit of
quiet. Only two more days travel until Palmorth, where he hoped to find at
least one scholar who could at least partially translate the ancient script. If
no one could help, he would ride on to Gallowcrest.
He started to
think a bit further ahead in the task but found himself getting annoyed at the
likely delays and difficulties, all prelude to the actual assignment, so he reined
in his thoughts. He knew finding, then deciphering the text was necessary for
completing the mission, but every day spent trading favors, chasing hints, and
paying for information put innocent people at risk. Putting that thought from
his mind as well, he stretched his neck and shoulders, trying to relax before his
horse became too restless. Food, a bed, and some peace should help his mental
state, he thought, so he tried to focus on that.
Because most travel
to Gallowcrest from the north came through the small town of Coddeson, visitors
supported several taverns and an inn, all on the main road that passed by the
town square. Gerin dismounted, letting his horse drink from a communal trough
as he considered his options. One tavern, The Three-Legged Man, was clean with
good service and decent food. Tonight, however, they seemed busier than usual.
Cheers and shouting spilled out of the door with the golden light of lamps and
the hearth fire. Usually his first choice when traveling through this area, in
his current mood, the crowd lessened its appeal.
Reconsidering his
options while his horse drank, he noticed when the tavern’s patrons quieted
enough to hear the guitar. The musician played a spritely version of an old
familiar tune with flourishes that made it fresh. The cheerful piece attracted
him in a way he did not expect. Perhaps he would listen for a moment, then find
a place to sleep.
Gerin grew up as a
fosterling in the court of His Majesty, King Jorin VII. As such, his education
included exposure to the arts, where he discovered a
deep love and appreciation of music. Something about the phrasing, pauses, and skill
of this particular musician, even while playing a traditional drinking song in
a wayside tavern, demonstrated gifts placed the guitarist among the best he had
heard.
Gerin was
entranced. Almost unknowingly, he left the horse tethered to the post near the
door and walked toward the music.
The crowd knew the
tune well. When the extended introduction completed, everyone started in on the
verse, more or less together, with a great deal of enthusiasm. Gerin realized the
bard had experience working an audience, likely bringing everyone in with a
gesture or something. He unexpectedly found himself smiling in recognition of
another’s expertise.
He or strode up to
the tavern and slipped in through the open door. He found an empty table against
the wall as far away as one could get from the small platform next to the
hearth where the musician played. He sat, trusting the innkeeper would notice
him, then looked over at the guitarist. Though he had no particular image in
mind, she was still not what he expected.
Barely contained
red curls flowing down her back formed the initial impression. She flashed him
a quick, welcoming smile, her blue eyes twinkling, without missing a single
note. Then she turned back to her audience. Something about this young woman,
more than just her music, captured his attention. Stretching out his long legs,
Gerin leaned back against the wall, folded his arms, and watched as he listened
and considered.
Before the song
finished, the innkeeper came over. While not a regular customer, Gerin stopped
at the tavern often enough to be recognized when he came to town. He paid
without complaint, treated everyone well and fairly, and never left a mess. Gentle
spoken in spite of his travel-stained clothes; he was cleaner in his personal
habits than most who spent their lives on the road. Also, though he hid his position
and rank, Lord Gerin, called the Spellsword, as a member of the King’s Mages, enforced
the law, with more than mundane methods when necessary. Those who had seen him
at his work never forgot it. The tavern felt somewhat safer when he was there,
at least to the portly man who owned the place and suspected his secret.
“Room for you,
sir? And possibly something to drink?” The tavern owner leaned in as he spoke,
so he would not disturb the performance.
Reluctantly
looking away from the entertainer, Gerin glanced at tavern owner with raised
eyebrows. “You have a room available? The crowd would suggest otherwise.” He
gestured briefly with one hand.
“This lot, sir?”
The innkeeper smiled. “Mostly locals. Blayze always brings in a full house when
she plays, sir. They’ll go home when she finishes for the night.”
“Her name is
Blayze?” the young mage asked.
“That’s how she’s
known around here. If her parents named her anything different, I’ve never
heard it,” the innkeeper responded.
Gerin’s gaze
returned to the young woman. “Then, yes, I’ll take a room, and a meal. My horse
is outside, and if you could please see to my baggage?” he said pleasantly
enough, though his attention was elsewhere.
“Of course, sir.”
The innkeeper smiled again, to himself this time, as he turned to see to the
young man’s requests.
Gerin spent the
next several hours absently eating, sipping ale, but mostly watching the
musician, feeling the tension and irritation of the last few weeks slowly drain
away as he listened to the music. Her choice of gown, cut low enough in the
front to attract attention but not to the point of indecency, was a deep blue
that made it nearly impossible not to notice her sapphire colored eyes. The
bounce of her auburn curls glinted gold in the firelight. Her lithe hands
played skillfully and moved expressively when she spoke, telling stories,
joking, or conversing with her audience. She had that indefinable attribute setting
her apart from other performers that seasoned her musical abilities and
storytelling. The young mage found himself entranced.
As Gerin listened,
wondering at the ease of her playing and the warmth of her voice, he became curious
about the range of her skills. A combination of her choice of chords, additional
flourishes and trills, and the way she focused on the people around her instead
of her instrument suggested she either knew her repertoire well, or the choice of
music suited her audience but was not much of a challenge for her. As the night
went on, someone would call out for a favorite song, and, almost without fail,
she knew it and improved upon the traditional accompaniment. Being a scholar as
well as a mage, he decided to test his theory as soon as the opportunity
presented itself. Until then, he slowly relaxed and enjoyed the performance.
Blayze entertained
until several hours after sunset, well after the time that most people went to
bed. Her energy and enthusiasm seemed boundless, but much to the dismay of her
audience, she called for a few last songs, then she would send them off to
their beds. A few men called for an old ballad about leaving a loved one for a
war, so she agreed to play that first. As she strummed the first few bars,
Gerin dug into the pouch on his belt and found a small silver coin by touch. He
wanted to pay for a song to test his theory, but also to thank her for giving
him the respite he so desperately needed before continuing his mission. Not
that she would know that, of course. She would only see him as an interested,
if scruffy, patron of the arts.
When the final
notes of the ballad rang through the room, Gerin spoke up.
“Mistress Blayze,
if you would be so kind…”
He
had the training to make his voice heard both across a battle ground or barely
whispered in an underground aqueduct, as the situation demanded. The ability to
cut across the noise of the room without shouting held no difficulty. When he
had her attention, he carefully tossed the coin to her. She caught it, rather
gracefully, he thought.
“Do you know Zon
u Stormon? Assuming I have the name correct,” Gerin asked politely,
ignoring all other eyes in the room but hers.
“It’s an instrumental piece.”
“Indeed, sir, I
do, though it has been some time since I have played it. One moment, please.”
Her smile looked as cheerful and lovely as it had all evening, but her eyes
brightened at the challenge. Then she closed them for a moment as she withdrew
into her memory. Her fingers twitched as she thought her way through some fingerings.
It surprised Gerin that he had not noticed when the silver piece left her hand,
or where she put it.
The question fled
his mind when she plucked the first notes on her guitar. He had heard the first
half of Stormon only once, some years before. The way the music affected
him then was unforgettable. It started slowly, with the crisp, hopeful beauty
of an early summer morning. The upper strings of the guitar brought to life
birdsong as the lower strings sang about the sun warming the grass and trees. Using
only the notes of the instrument, the composer brought to memory everything about
a perfect day. Once in a great while, Gerin heard it again in his dreams.
Blayze, her auburn
curls nearly still as she concentrated, her long fingers graceful on the frets,
gave herself to the music, pouring her whole being into every note. Gerin watched
her for a long moment then closed his eyes and lost himself as well, listening
with his whole heart, not noticing when he waved his hand or tapped his foot.
The music spoke of
the field workers walking to their chores, flirting as they went. The sound of
bees and the whisper of the leaves as the sun moved towards noon. The heat of
the day as it beat down upon the backs of the men, and their relief as a breeze
came through the fields. He heard it differently now as a man than he had when
he was a teenager, but it affected him just as deeply. The music paused at this
point, and Gerin waited for the last ring of the note to applaud, but just
before that moment, the guitar started up again. His eyes flew open. The
previous musician had spoken of the second movement but had not possessed the skill
to play it.
The fingers of her
left hand flew across the frets, and all the fingers of her right hand plucked
the strings as the guitar sang of the breeze that became the wind that brought
a storm. Gerin stared in amazement and delight, leaning forward onto the table
in front of him as he watched her. Blayze, caught up in her performance, was
oblivious to the astounded audience. The music told of the violence of lightening,
thunder, and pouring rain. Eventually the storm gentled, slowed, then stopped. The
rays of a setting sun peeked out from under the clouds, as the guitar sang the
gentle songs of the returning birds until the silence of night fell. Everyone
in the room held their breath, moved beyond words, until Blayze released them
by relaxing her shoulders. Only when the applause started did she look up, and
then only to meet his eyes. Gerin joined the crowd enthusiastically.
He took a deep
breath and wiped his eyes with a thumb. He needed to show his depth of
appreciation and gratitude for the gift of her magnificent music this night.
Standing, he held her gaze, bowing to her with all the formality of a courtier.
She nodded her head very formally in return, brushing her hand along her gown
in an approximation of a curtsy, as she sat on the stool. She did not look away
from him for what felt like a very long time, until someone, then several
people called for another song.
“One last song,
and then we should all go to our beds. The sun rises early tomorrow, and the
cows won’t wait!” She cheerfully repeated the old saying. “Perhaps a lullaby to
help us all sleep.”
As she started to
sing, the young mage motioned over one of the tavern’s staff. “Please add any
needs Mistress Blayze has for the evening to my bill.”
“Very kind, sir,
but that is part of her fee for playing here. The landlord is very generous whenever
she is here. We always do well, as you can see.” As the music ended, the people
in the room shifted into happy, chatting groups. Some, conversing with the
staff, settled their accounts before heading homeward, while others waited
their turn. “Is there anything else you require at the moment, sir?”
“No,” Gerin replied, “thank you.”. He watched
Blayze, still smiling, graciously accepting the thanks of admirers as she put
her instrument away. He found he rather liked it when she looked his way. “You
take care of your other guests” he said, turning back to the bar maid. “I’ll
wait here until someone can show me to my room.”
Gerin meant to
leave at first light as he usually did when on a mission, but he spent far too
long the night before sitting in the bath remembering the music and the
graceful hands of the musician. He recalled with amusement absently heating the
water twice with a quick spell before he realized how much time passed.
He
chose the same table from the night before for his breakfast because of the
amount of light streaming in from the window. Though a bit of an inconvenience
for the tavernkeeper, Gerin moved the table and benches over slightly to take best
advantage of that light. The ancient book from his saddlebag open in front of
him, he ate with his right hand as he followed the brightly illuminated text with
his left forefinger, being very careful not to actually touch the ancient
vellum page. A second book, a well-thumbed dictionary of Old Lenghyri, helped
him attempt to translate the text. A scrap of paper at his left elbow held notes
from his work. He thought if he could decipher anything, it would help him locate
the right scholar. Something was missing, however. He could only work out a word
here and there. The markings above some words puzzled him, but he found no
explanation for them. It didn’t help
that the basic, black lettering was written over the same text written in red
and in purple and which seemed to shift their relative positions without any
obvious rationale. In fact, the crazed calligraphy
was starting to give him a headache.
“Good
morning!” Her warm, rich voice interrupted his concentration. Quickly
swallowing a half-chewed bite of apple, he stood as courtesy demanded.
“Good
morning, Mistress Blayze.” She wore a travel dress of light brown with a darker
brown laced bodice. Gerin thought it set off her red hair quite nicely.
Now
that she stood within a few feet him, it surprised him slightly to find she
barely reached up to the bottom of his chin. During her performance the night
before, her vivacious personality took up the entire room, making her seem
larger in his imagination.
He stood there,
not quite sure what to say next. All those etiquette lessons at court, and he
could not recall what to do in this particular situation. Being addressed by an
attractive woman outside the formal occasions he could not avoid was unusual. Then it struck him, she knew nothing about
him. He now wore clean clothes instead of travel stained leathers (thank
goodness) unlike last night, which hopefully left a better impression. The tunic
and trousers he currently wore were intentionally nondescript, unlikely to tell
her much, even if she were trained to read court dress. They had not exchanged
more than a dozen words, so his language likely told her little about his
education. Perhaps she asked the innkeeper about him, though he did not observe
her doing so. Maybe she felt as unsure as he suddenly did.
“I hope I didn’t
interrupt something important, sir,” she said, appearing entirely composed.
Gerin blinked at
her without responding. She was interrupting, but he did not mind. In
fact, he welcomed it. It helped, sometimes, to rest from a problem. He also wanted
to talk to her about her music, tell her how much he appreciated it, how much
it helped. Perhaps they could discuss Sturmon…
She waited a
moment, then said. “You have my name, sir, but I’m afraid I don’t have yours.”
“My apologies, m’lady.
Gerin Spellsword, at your service.”
“Master Spellsword,”
she acknowledged, her blue eyes smiling. “I’m glad I saw you this morning.
Thank you so much for your appreciation last night, and for your request. It
was nice to be able to stretch myself.”
“You are very
welcome, lady. It was a delight to hear such a gifted musician.” Mentally he
kicked himself. The words felt trite, rehearsed, because he’d learned them as
appropriate etiquette, but he meant them sincerely. He hoped she could hear it in his voice.
Finally, it
occurred to him what to say. “Have you eaten, lady? Perhaps you would like to
join me?” Gerin felt slightly nervous as he gestured to the seat across from
him.
“Thank
you, I will,” she said, bobbing in a curtsey before sitting gracefully down on
the bench. “And, please, just Blayze. I’m not a lady.”
Gerin
decided he disagreed with her statement. She held herself so well, with such
composure, that few would think otherwise. He waved over the morning staff, a
younger daughter of the innkeeper, to order more food for the guest at his
breakfast table. Then he started to move his books to make room for her when
she placed her hand gently on his wrist.
“What
are you working on?” she asked. “If you don’t mind my asking. It looks
interesting.”
He
glanced up at her, startled. Was she really interested, or just making
conversation? She leaned toward him, examining the books, moving her hands
carefully to her lap. When she met his eyes, she seemed earnest enough. When
she smiled, he found himself answering without considering his words first.
“I’m
attempting to translate a page from this old book. I need to know what it says
to access an ancient tomb of some sort of ancient prince or noble that is the
source of difficulty nearby. I’m not exactly fluent in Old Langhyri, so
I have this dictionary …but it isn’t going as well as I’d like…” He realized he
was babbling, but she seemed not to notice.
“Will
you show me?” Her request seemed genuine. He knew it sometimes helped to talk
through problems out loud, so he started to explain the ancient text. To his surprise,
she slid around the table to sit next to him as she became engaged in his
project.
He
was initially astonished at how close she sat next to him though her kindness
soon had him at ease. However, he found her tendency to brush against him oddly
distracting. Her questions helped the conversation along, giving him new ways
of thinking about the problem. He rather liked it when she placed her hand on
his arm to make a point or get his attention. Eventually, she got so involved
with the translation that she started eating from his plate without noticing,
to his quiet delight. He recognized a kindred spirit, at least where learning
and books were concerned.
Gerin
sat quietly, considering a line of the text when he noticed an unusual eddy in
the surrounding magical field. Reaching out his senses, he discovered to his
amazement that Blayze, sitting with her eyes closed, caused the change. He also
realized in that moment that she emitted a gentle aura suggesting a magical
sensitive.
She responded
differently to him than any other sensitive had in a very long time, he noted
with surprise. He used his strong, sometimes violent, magic to protect and
defend. Still, his aura caused people to unconsciously keep themselves at a
respectful distance. It used to bother him, but he seldom paid attention to it
anymore. She, on the other hand, willingly drew near enough that even now her
arm brushed his. More than that, she sat next to him without her aura disturbing
his or upsetting his magical equilibrium. He stared at her with blank faced
amazement.
Blayze
took a deep breath, opened her eyes, then took a bite of a slice of cheese. She
poured over the text for a long moment before feeling his gaze on her.
“What?”
she asked, turning to look at him.
“What
did you just do?” he demanded in wonder.
“I
was just trying to fix something in my memory,” she said, dismissively. “Let me
make sure I understand the basic sentence structure through here.”
He listened as she
explained what she understood, correcting her on a few minor points as well as
he could with his limited knowledge of the language. She discussed syntax and
meaning. They often consulted the dictionary as they worked through the
morning.
Gerin
prided himself on his ability to concentrate to the exclusion of everything
else. The mental discipline required of his profession demanded it. Occasionally
the ability meant the difference between success and failure, or even saved lives.
Today, with this woman, he found his mind straying, noticing the touch of her
hand as it brushed his, the light as it played in gold and copper glints in her
curls, the warmth of her voice as she spoke. He met women he found attractive
before, but this felt… different.
His analytical side
attempted to figure out why, but he knew ultimately it did not matter. The life
of a King’s Mage was one of travel and danger. He had long ago decided he could
not ask any woman to go through the anguish of waiting for him, hoping he would
come home, and grieving if he did not. The thought of casual encounters left
him feeling…hollow. He wanted a true connection, something more than just momentary
pleasure. In moments of quiet reflection, he admitted he wanted to be loved for
himself. But he had a duty to the king and to the kingdom.
Blayze made an
excited little squeak, distracting him from his dark thoughts. Before he could
ask, she held up her hand. Flipping pages back and forth, obviously looking for
something, she hummed under her breath. Soon satisfied with whatever she
discovered, she turned to him.
“I think I figured
it out! Look…” Pointing to the odd markings over some words and the bizarre
calligraphy, she quickly sketched out musical notation and her theory that the
same concept seemed to apply to written Old Lenghyri. She showed Gerin several
passages on different pages that seemed to support her idea, then taking a deep
breath, she did something he had never heard about or even considered before.
She quietly sang a line from the ancient text.
Suddenly, a phrase
they spent several hours working out with no results had a crystal-clear
meaning. No one, as far as he knew, had considered Old Lenghyri as a tonal
language. Perhaps that only applied to ceremonies or incantations performed in
the ancient tongue, but that did not curb his excitement. This breakthrough caused
a moment of elation, then relief as Gerin realized he no longer needed to ride
all the way to Palmorth or Gallowcrest to find scholars to help him translate. Whatever
dangers the ancient crypt held; he could keep the people living nearby safe
sooner. Or at least allay their fears, should there be no actual threat.
A big grin split
his face as he met her eyes, seeing the same delight at solving a puzzle in
their blue depths. “Do you know what this means?” he exclaimed. “We can decipher
the tomb!”
“Yes, we can!” she
returned, excited. Then she paused, confused. “What tomb?”
Then it occurred
to him what he just inadvertently asked her to do. She must think he wanted her
to join him on his mission. He was honest enough to admit he needed her help
for the translations, if nothing else. Looking at her lovely face, with the
dusting of freckle and frame of red curls, he knew he would enjoy the company.
But…
The dangers that
his job often led him into sometimes left him injured. If he could not protect
her… His mind shied away from such thoughts.
How could he take
her with him?
