Blythe

Draska - warrior - bard. Brave defender? Ruffian? Peasant?

Off to the side of the competition, I noticed a lanky young man with dirty hair falling around his face. He seemed to blend into the forest, and it was hard to keep an eye on him. His clothes were brown...or maybe dark green. It was hard to tell. There, he was closer. Brown leggings with a dark green tunic, possibly speckled with mud. The texture was like leaves, and he vanished into the foliage again.

Where had he gone?

I turned my attention back to the warriors competing for my step-sister's attention. All of this was for her benefit. I was part of the background.

Until suddenly, he was there at the foot of the viewing box where we sat. And he was staring at me.

He was close enough that I could smell him. It wasn't a bad smell, more like the pine of the forest. Without meaning to, I returned his gaze and was captivated by the deep brown of his eyes, the way they seemed to sparkle with sunlight.

“My lady, I need to speak to you,” he said.

I shuddered and waved the peasant away. “What could you possibly have to say to me?” Where were the guards? He'd gotten much too close.

"I've come to warn you, as one Draska to another, you are in danger here."

Draska! Here? "Get away from me! I've nothing to do with them."

I didn't meet his eyes again. His eyes were dangerous. Thankfully, the guards caught the tone of my voice and urged him to move along.

The last contestant to join the match was the peasant I'd seen earlier. He'd tidied his hair into a tight tail, but was still unmistakably a peasant.

He walked toward the stand where we sat, but a knight stopped him. He would not get so close again. The Knight spat on the ground. “You will not compete. You are unworthy of the Princess's gaze.”

“I fight neither for the king nor the princess, but for the favor of the Lady Aueryl.”

I gasped in surprise. No one had ever claimed my favor. If he won, he'd win a moment for us to talk uninterrupted. I looked at the competitors. He didn't stand a chance against the best the kingdom offered. No need to be surly, then.

King Cydril was looking at me. “Daughter? What do you say? I will allow this if you agree.”

His smile was indulgent, no doubt amused by the turn of events.

“He must first win. Let him compete.” I tried not to stare at the ruffian.

The man bowed to me with grace and entered the line of competitors.

Now that he'd stopped hiding, I could get a better look at him. I'd thought him lanky, but he was merely thin and made of a subtle muscular form. He'd surprise more than one opponent if they dared to underestimate him.

He stood easily, shifting his staff from one hand to the other, occasionally giving it a twirl to keep the others in the line at bay. They stood a little away from him, but many engaged him in talking.

He ignored their insults and the occasional blob of spittle landing at his feet. He seemed unconcerned with the opinions of those around him. Smiling and laughing, he said something to a man nearby, and before long he had a group listening to him as he appeared to be telling them a story. Whatever it was ended in raucus laughter and the group seemed to accept him as one of their own.

I turned my attention to the fight in progress, hoping he hadn't noticed me staring. The light twist to his lips said he had.

Peasant!

The knights fought ferociously, each eager to prove his worth to King and Princess.

His first match was against the winner of the wrestling competition from earlier. He'd been bandaged up and seemed eager to be done with the unworthy opponent.

The two faced each other and the peasant gave a flourish twirl to his staff and then tapped the ground twice urging the opponent to attack.

Rymenhild leaned toward me and whispered. “He's not bad looking if you like tall and tense. I think his hair is dark and not just dirty.” That was Rym, trying to be encouraging since she knew I'd often felt lonely while surrounded by her suitors.

He didn't seem threatening now, just intense. Still, he'd called me Draska, and that could not mean well.

With a sudden strike of his staff, he felled the larger opponent and pushed the end of his staff to the man's back, signaling victory.

Gasps echoed around the square as he returned to the line to await his next match.

A few of the knights turned to look at the newcomer with more attention. He would not be an easy win as they'd first thought.

Rym huffed. “It seems you may have a champion, sister.”

“You have the rest of them. I suppose I can have this one.”

"The money is low. We need food. Let's go to the Crossroads Jolly. Easy money there."

Rymenhild glared at those with us. "My father fought to put an end to thievery in this land. I won't be a part of this."

Blythe looked confused until his brigand companion laughed uproriously. "The princess thinks you plan on stealing the food!"

Blythe's confusion only deepened.

The brigand continued to laugh. "He's a story teller, girl. Folks at the Jolly pay good coin to listen to him. Blythe here walks into that place and coin rains down. Come on. You need food, and it wouldn't hurt you to listen to a few stories, either."