Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 25)

Here is serial 25 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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No one spoke for a span after the attack until Tauos commanded that Brol's wound be tended to. Then they began a somber search for their comrades, who they assumed were dead. Eerily, the fog seemed to lift directly after the monsters flew away, and all they found to indicate the fate of their comrades was a steaming pile of entrails. They did not sleep that night and were too frightened to go in search for the Rogue. Some assumed he had died, killed by the monsters. And yet, in spite of their fears, they organized a steady watch and prepared to leave in the morning. Indeed, they praised their god when the light of morning crept in.

By the time they finished telling their story to the Rogue, it was sunset.

Brol sighed as he sat forward: "And what of your scouting venture, slave? Tell me, please, that the settlement in the canyon is rife with fresh-baked bread, soft beds, hot baths, and that the folk who live therein speak the language of my fathers," he said. He shivered. His eyes were darkening. He was perspiring profusely. The Rogue wondered whether it was wise not to have held off on the telling of their long story and to have taken Brol, straightaway, to the settlement for his wounds to be tended.

Brol indeed looked pale. The attack had taken a toll on him. When the Rogue placed his hand on his master's brow, he was not not surprised to feel it burning hot with fever. "I am fine," chattered Brol, pushing aside the Rogue's hand.

The Rogue sighed, for her he knew his report of the canyon settlement would come short of Brol's desire, that all he could say of the settlement was that the folk who lived there were strangers but seemed to be good hosts. He forced himself to tell the whole truth and not to play into the merchant's hopes. He summarized his scouting thus: he wasn't completely sure if the people of the village were to be trusted. He had certain reservations. They were reluctant to discuss their god. Furthermore, he asserted that the merchant's they may seem "primitive," who, being from a city that was at the height of its decadent era, were used to comparatively luxurious amenities. Some of the merchants were offended by this assumption on the Rogue's part. "We're city dwelling folk," Tauos said, "but we've no right to expect a tavern and copper bathtubs this far out in the wild. I'm sure, if these folks will have us, whatever they offer will be appreciated. As to their trustworthiness: I cannot say."

In deliberate unornamented truth the Rogue spoke about their lack of a common language, about their alien culture, and about the strangeness of their customs. Not all of what he had to say was horrible to report, however; he told of the beautiful women, of their healing arts--crude though they were. He also told of the foreboding beauty of the ruins in whose shadow they had built their village. Of these ruins, he clearly articulated suspicions: "There are many folk who have been and who will be. There were many empires that rose and fell before your city of Tabun Stoh was built. For all I know, these folks have once lived in those ruins. For all I know, these folk are the descendants of those who had once dwelt there. That, I cannot say."