Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 19)

Here is serial 19 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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Paj lay groveling in the dirt clutching his hair and tear-streamed face. In spite of his efforts, the Rogue could get no more information out of him.

Shoving past him, he moved further into the camp, past the firepit and into the large, red pavilion that he knew to be Brol's, the leader of the merchants. When he threw back the flap and strode in, he saw Brol, sitting on a stool, holding a bloody rag to his face, which was wounded; a grisly gash ran the length of his cheek. One of his eyes had been removed and a cheek now hung in bloody tatters.

Brol was flanked by two of his lieutenant's, men of reason and stability who the Rogue respected. Their names were Rew and Tauos. They were only a few years younger than  the venerable Brol.

Outside the Rogue could hear the other merchants mustering. Word of his return had been announced by Paj's blubberings, and the other merchants were gathering around their leader's tent to see what was to be done about their dire circumstances.

"It's good to see that you live, young one!" Brol laughed, rising, throwing aside his bloody rag and approaching the Rogue, his horrible wound shiny in the light that shone into the tent. "We assumed those red-skinned beasts made a quick meal of you!" He embraced the Rogue like a father embracing a son. The Rogue recoiled ever so slightly, but relaxed after a bit. He waited until Brol relented and backed away.

"W-w-w-hat beasts?" he stammered, frustrated by his ignorance. "What happened? What happened to your face?"

One of the other merchants in the room, Tauos, rose up and unfurled his turban. He cursed and spat. "Isn't it obvious? After you left, a few hours into the night, we were attacked!" Tauos said. He took Brol by the arm and led him back to his wicker stool. "Sit down, you scoundrel!" he spat.

Brol began to protest, but Tauos shoved him down. Brol then grumbled inaudibly to himself while he put another rag to his wound.

The Rogue couldn't help but chuckle. Brol's stubbornness amused him. Although he assumed these merchants to be city bred softlings, he was surprised to see one--their leader, of course--acting like a fighting-man.  But the Rogue needed to know what happened.

"Who or what attacked you?" the Rogue asked again.

He assumed it was some aggressive or surly band of mountain men, or bandits who haunted the scrubs that lied outside of the power of Tabun Stoh and its armies. And so, he was surprised when all three of the merchant's faces grew somber and pale. A silence draped itself over them. For a while it lingered. Eventually, the third merchant, Rew, spoke:

"Demons," he said, spitting on the ground. "An entire roost of demons attacked us last night."