Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 17)

Here is serial 17 of my pulp novel, The Rogue and the Merchants. As usual, 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. Also, all of the illustrations I've been composing are there as well: Pulp Novel Project: The Rogue and the Merchants

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The Rogue folded his hands, bowed his head, and touched his forehead. "Never! Not at all! To pay your hospitality back with such an unkindness would be not be human."

"There are some spell-binders from your city who would kill and betray to delve into the ruins of our ancestors," the graybeard returned. "I trust you are honest merchants and fighting men fleeing a tyrant, as you say you are, and not spell binders masquerading in the cloaks of humility. If you are, that would be unfortunate."

"Indeed," the Rogue said, his shame stirred in spite of his innocence. "Indeed, we flee the very kind of person you describe. It is said the tyrant of Tabun-Stoh is a sorcerer."

The old graybeard gazed at him for a moment and the intensity of his gaze disturbed the Rogue. And then the graybeard smiled, patted the Rogue on his back with force, and walked with him to the mustered warriors with the aid of his staff. "Wonderful!" the graybeard said. "If you are who you say you are--honest folk fleeing the tyranny of dark magic--then we count ourselves your friends. We rarely get visitors here, and experience your arrival as a source of excitement; but, you must understand, you make us anxious as well. When meeting strangers they are rarely anything but friends or enemies."

The Rogue recognized the words the old graybeard had just spoke; they were an aphorism that appeared in a philosophical dialogue of Trayat of Cohrus, an ancient poet-philosopher who had lived long ago and far, far away. This old graybeard was indeed well learned.

"You know the philosophies of Trayat!" exclaimed the Rogue, his love of the ancient literature overtaking his social composure.

"I know him well," said the graybeard gravely. He said nothing further.

They waited a bit longer while more soldiers mustered around them. Eventually a group of spears were gathered. The old man shouted an order to five of the warriors, who hailed him with the wave of their spears. Turning to the Rogue, the old graybeard said, "Spend this day looking for your comrades. And if you are lucky, bring them to us tonight. We will have a celebration in their honor. Together we'll share stories, enjoy food, and drink, and exchange secrets--if you have any to share. And, perhaps, after the celebrations, over a pipe of something, we might discuss Trayat together."

The Rogue could not help but smile. The old graybeard patted him on the back once more. "You have met who I consider my daughter. Now. Meet my son!" He then spoke to the warrior who wore the wolf-cloak, and he came over to them. "He doesn't speak your tongue. He isn't as fast a learner as my daughter. He is, however, our most celebrated warrior and tracker, and if you entourage are withing a day, then he will no doubt bring you to them."