Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 9)

Here is serial 9 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

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When the old graybeard spoke, however, some of the Rogue's fears were allayed. He spoke in the language of the Tabuns.

"We will not harm you, ranger," the graybeard said. His pronunciation was slightly flawed. It was an odd accent, vaguely familiar to the the Rogue. Something about it suggested the aristocratic and the archaic. In spite of this, the graybeard was certainly understandable.

In the globe of light
stood two figures

"You speak Tabunian!" the Rogue said, rising to his knees. "Oh, I'm lucky indeed!"

The old graybeard chuckled to himself. "We shall see, ranger. We do not think with fondness of the Tabunians and their great city to the west, though we know of it. Long ago they sought us out for taxes and attempted to make us fight in a war we did not care about against an enemy we did not know. These we killed with spears and arrows, and, surely, their skeletons and grinning skulls are still being bleached out in the scrub beyond. And so, if you come with the idea of taxes or war in your mind, consider their fate a warning."

The Rogue appreciated the old man's commentary. He, too, resented the arrogance so oft displayed by the city-dwellers he had known, by the empire-builders to the west who seemed to believe that all evil was the result of free will, and who never knew a law they did not love. The old graybeard had endeared himself to the Rogue.

"Gods, no!" the Rogue laughed. "We flee that accursed city for those very same reasons. There is a man in Tabun Stoh who has put himself above all others, who would deign place the copper coronet of a king on his brow."

The old man smiled. In his ear his advisors whispered, and then his smile became a grim frown.

"You speak beautifully," he said. He massaged his brow. "It is a rare thing for my people to entertain guests, but, if you allow us--man who ranges from Tabun Stoh--we will give you to our healers to clean your wounds and to feed you, body and eternal soul. This is in accordance with our ancient law, and though it is a brief but rigid law, it binds us." He spoke in his language to his advisors. One stalked away, calling out orders, and was followed by some of the crowd. "We would have your name, if you give it freely," the graybeard said.

"I do not have one," the Rogue said.

 The old man's eyes grew wide. He looked to his advisers and whispered to them. After they heard what the old man said, their eyes grew wide as well. They all stared at the Rogue. He felt the heat of their gaze.

The end the horrendous silence and the anxiety caused by their gazes, the Rogue averted his eyes. He spoke these words: "I would be honored to accept your hospitality, but my mind is bothered by the thought of my comrades--there are thirteen of them. I would sleep in the safety of your village tonight, in any beds you offer; and yet--I beg you to bring the sight of my companions to my eyes."

The old man assented.