Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 7)

Here is serial 7 of my pulp novel, The Rogue and the Merchants. And here is a link to the full transcription, thus far, if you want to know more about the project, the source of the manuscript, or the story of the novel's genesis: Pulp Novel Project: The Rogue and the Merchants

Update: I've transcribed the second page of this 30-page manuscript. That's 28 more pages to go. Word count thus far: 2119. We're probably looking more at 32,000 words for the complete story. 

At first the two men were startled. They chittered back and forth and brandished their bronze-tipped spears menacingly. But when they saw the blood, when they beheld the powerful subtleties of the Rogue's body expressions--his posture, his manner of walking, his facial expression, his empty hands--their spears lowered. A lesser actor would probably have been skewered on the spot.

Of the two figures, the one wearing the wolf-cloak was notably reluctant, however. He leaned on his spear and stayed back as his companion moved forward, timidly, cautiously, but without obvious hostility. This one seemed to curious to see who or what had interrupted his drinking party.

Although he was sure he could not speak their tongue, the Rogue implored of them, "Please! I mean no harm! I range through this wildland with folk of the city of Tabun Stoh! We pass through this land and are in need of rest and hospitality! We have gold and other ways of paying! Trinkets! Baubles of civilization! Blankets! Steel!"

In response to these words, the figure wearing the bone-bead necklaces--the curious one, that is--revealed his surprise when his eyes grew wide. The word "steel" seemed to stir him.

He jumped back, leveled his spear at the Rogue, and shouted to his wolf-cloaked companion, "Balah! Ugot Ba-lah!"

"Ba-lah!" returned wolf-cloak, in a hissing sort of speech. He obviously did not like what the one wearing the bone-bead necklaces had suggested.

Bone-bead stamped his bare foot. He then ran off into the darkness, letting his spear clatter to the ground.

The wolf-cloaked one lingered. He approached the Rogue with his spear leveled, motioned for him to do something. An astute observer, the keen intellect of the Rogue quickly realized what the wolf-cloak wanted him to do: to sit, with his hands in clear sight. This was a routine and nearly universal protocol as far as the military was concerned; wolf-cloak was within his rights to make such a request. Feeling confident in his fighting abilities and eager to befriend wolf-cloak and his people on the merchants's behalf, the Rogue complied. He knelt down, his hands held before him. He took comfort in knowing his hilt-less dagger was stowed safely away in his belt, beneath his tunic.

Afterward, wolf-cloak knelt down next to the Rogue and whispered something to him the Rogue did not understand. When the Rogue did not relply, wolf-cloak grimaced, spit on the ground with obvious disgust, and backed away.

Was wolf-cloak threatening him? The look in his eyes was all the Rogue needed for confirmation.