The Wildlands (working title)

Chapter 3 - Sigey

The sunset was beautiful in the Wildlands, but it always filled Sigey's heart with tension as the night usually brought all kinds of dangers. He watched the orange and pink colors conjure a picture prettier than any painting, and used this time to reflect on his current situation. And the village's situation. He breathed in the fresh air and tried to clear his mind of all the possibilities and minor details; focus only on the most important factors. It was not an easy task.

He spent at least half an hour trying to wrestle his thoughts into submission and usefulness, but then his struggle was cut short. There was a rider on the horizon. Sigey glanced back at the village of Gerehir. He saw barely any movement since most of the villagers were already in their houses. There were two youths in the practice yard sparring with axes - if one could call it sparring. It resembled the make-belief games of children, or playful teasing at best.

He looked back at the approaching rider and considered warning the villagers. He saw no other figures on the horizon and heard no more horses in the distance. As far as he could tell, the stranger was alone. And if there were more hiding out there, warning the people might only cause panic; fending off an ambush at night was not what they had signed up for. As he observed the rider getting closer and closer, running all kinds of scenarios in his head, he noticed a crucial detail. The rider's hat and sleeves formed a salchan silhouette.

Could this have been a trap? There was always a chance that it was a trap. One could never be too careful in the Wildlands. On the other hand, he did recall hearing about a villager who had gone on a journey to nearby settlements to get some supplies and learn the current gossip. So, Sigey relaxed a bit. He gave a long, soft sigh then slowly he made his way toward the rider's path.

The rider looked salchan indeed. He was younger than Sigey, with a thick, dark brown moustache and a small patch of a beard on his chin. He wore traditional salchan clothing, mostly black with some red embroidery.

"Good evening, my good sir," Sigey waved at him with a friendly smile on his face.

"Good evening to you as well, good sir," the young man replied with slight apprehension. His eyes searched Sigey, clearly trying to judge whether he could trust him or he was about to cause trouble.

"My name is Sigey, we haven't met yet," he explained. "I've been staying in Gerehir for only a few days."

"Ah, I see," the rider said as a subtle smile of relief appeared on his lips. "I am Urte."

"Right, that's what it was."

"And what brings you here, good traveler?," Urte asked while slowly riding alongside Sigey toward the village.

"I was on my way to Barigbal. But the villagers told me about your troubles and I decided to stay. Help you overcome it."

"Are you a mercenary?" The rider's face lit up with excitement.

"I'm a simple warrior."

"I figured that much out on my own right when I saw you, good sir."

"My large figure kind of gives it away, don't it?" Sigey quipped. His unusual height along with a truly strong man's shape could be a blessing or a curse depending on the situation. Never in his adult life was Sigey mistaken for someone who couldn't defend himself, which had helped him avoid conflict many times, but attracted even more just as often.

"May I ask, good sir, only out of curiosity," Urte spoke again, "for what reason were you headed to Barigbal?"

"I know some good people there. An old friend of mine, Erkel in particular."

"In the nearby villages they say folk there have trouble with the Imperials. They've even had some fights with them. According to gossip they've hired a mercenary to kill the Imperials."