🏆 OPEN NOVELLA CONTEST 2022 LONGLISTER 🏆
Mersem Wess, a town boy in the wintery kingdom of Solon, is content with his life collecting timber and admiring Leara Madris, the darling Lady Knight, from afar. His sister, Silke, a girl with a short fuse...
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Zarasel was as bustling as ever when Mersem got back to the city. Everything was exactly the same, even the criss-crossing lines of upturned snow made by the wheels of merchant caravans passing through the main road leading to the entrance of the Imperial City. If not for Mersem's stolen ride, the absence of his sister and his friends, and the growing dread in his gut, he would have believed his first time in Zarasel was nothing but a prophetic dream.
Mersem's memory of the day he found out his sister was on the noticeboard was hazy but he remembered where he got the stolen calf so that's where he steered his hairy steed first. When he got there, the owner—a stout man clad from head to toe with dark brown fur which smelled of a used sock that hasn't quite dried well—gave him a withering glare. Mersem apologized and said he had somewhere urgent to be. The owner just cursed him out of the ranch.
He was fine with it, actually. The ranch stank of expired cheese anyway.
Now, horrida-less and with knowledge about Zarasel's bounty hunting system non-existent in his brain, Mersem wandered through the streets, sidestepping passing merchants and avoiding making eye-contact on any of the people exuding a high social status along with a big ego. He craned his neck at the bright blue sky complimenting the blanket of fresh snow slowly accumulating on the road as the rest of the day went by.
By lunch time, Mersem wandered into a tavern boys his age shouldn't be and settled on an unoccupied table. Judging from the stench of vomit and stale beer wafting from the rotting boards, this table hasn't seen better days. He eyed the people milling in and out of the tavern, taking note of their clothes, the way they walked, and the way they chattered or drank alone by the wooden counter at the center of the room.
Dark curtains guarded the windows and candles stuck inside glass lamps provided makeshift illumination inside. That's an inefficient way of using wax, really. They could have just used the natural light outside and gotten way less frowny faces because, hey, nothing could beat the real thing in all circumstances!
Mersem tucked his hands under his arms, craning his neck to hear some of the interesting conversations happening around him. If he's to figure out how to become a bounty hunter without having to train alone in a mountain for fifteen years, now's the perfect time. He kept his eyes open and focused all his energy into sifting through the usual clatter of wooden cups against tables, the rustle of footsteps against the floorboards, and the drunken lisping some burly men in the nearby tables have been doing since Mersem got here.
"Aye, that notice sure ain't holding back," a burly man from two tables west of Mersem's place bellowed after belching like a coastal whale. He scratched the ocher beard covering most of his lips and chin. "Hunders for a brat? It's a deal of the century!"
"Or the millenia, for that matter," a lanky guy beside the hairy man said. "So, shall we discuss this with the Crossar or are we going to take this on our own? Imagine how much we'll get each without having to split it for the rest of the party."
