Gerin meets Blayze

 

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?