Happy Belated Birthday, Goblin ^__^
Mar. 31st, 2006 06:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrHope it was worth the wait ^^
In other news, if you see any mistakes my poor, abused betas missed -- point'em out tomorrow X_X I is dedz0r.
The problem with goblins was their teeth. At least they were in Geoffrey’s opinion.
Even when they smiled those pointy teeth looked nothing less than hazardous to his health. He saw goblins in the tavern from time to time, and the things they could do to a hunk of mutton was enough to put him off meat for life.
When they weren’t smiling? Like the one currently standing in his shop? Those teeth were a serious problem. And if he were honest, the short but no doubt razor-sharp claws were no laughing matter either. The weapons weren’t helping. Sword worn across his back, at least three daggers and no doubt there was a bow and arrows left wherever he was rooming– Goblins had better marksmanship than even elves.
As if all that wasn’t enough, there were the earrings – silver, gold, and two white gold. Various shapes and sizes, some threaded with metal beads, others with jewels. Marks of just how many kills this goblin had to his name. Geoffrey didn’t know the system, just that this goblin wasn’t one to piss off. Not that it was a good idea to piss off any goblin, but better to choose one that didn’t have that many earrings.
As if it was Geoffrey’s bloody fault the growing season had been a wretched one. “Look, if I had the ingredients to make the tonic I would gladly give it to you. Alas, I do not. The drought ruined my herbs same as it ruined all the crops. Even the forest had nothing to offer me.”
The goblin curled his lips in disgust. “The dry spell. Of course. But if a human walked in I bet you’d have it for him.”
“That’s enough!” Geoffrey slammed his hand down on his worktable. “I help whoever asks. Species doesn’t matter to me. If you’re going to take issue with me over what I can’t help, then take yourself off to the next healer.”
“You’re the fourth I’ve tried,” the goblin said bitterly. “The fourth to turn me away. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though I had been foolishly led to think better.”
The fourth? Geoffrey was the only healer in this village; the nearest town with another was five hours away, and that town too had only one healer. The next town, which had two healers, was at least three days away. Which meant this goblin had wasted at least four days trying to find a cure. Geoffrey felt sick. “I don’t have what you need,” he said heavily. “I wish I did. But the dry spell ruined all my herbs, and when the rain finally came it was too damn late. I’ll have some next season, but I don’t now.”
“Of course,” the goblin said, voice still full of contempt.
Geoffrey frowned, ire turning into helpless frustration. This wasn’t the first time he’d encountered a goblin with such an attitude. What really pissed him off was the idea of healers who would turn away someone in need just because that someone was a goblin.
Those pointy teeth were not his favorite thing in the world; he had no desire to ever be in the position of mutton. But he wouldn’t turn a goblin out just because he was a goblin.
As far as goblins went, this one was far from the scariest he’d seen. For one thing, beyond the teeth he wasn’t scary looking at all. His skin was dark, a strange sort of blackish-green which was fairly common amongst goblins. But it was smooth instead of rough, with none of the usual blemishes. His features were angular, well-defined, with ears that came to a sharp point. The gold and silver hoops in his ears ran the length of them; if money were his primary interest in this business, those earrings would have assured him that this goblin could pay and pay well. Another gold hoop punctured the left nostril of his nose, something Geoffrey didn’t think many people could pull off, but didn’t actually look bad on the goblin. His hair was longish, and pulled back in a neat tail. It looked thick and was the blue-black color of good ink.
Goblins were slender by nature, and this one was no exception. But Geoffrey knew enough about goblins not to be deceived by that slenderness – when suitably pissed or otherwise inspired, goblins had been known to crush bones and even tear the flesh from it. With their very pointy teeth.
Geoffrey wondered if he was about to learn what it felt like to be mutton.
What really drew him about this goblin were his eyes. Most goblins had dark eyes in shades of brown, green, or yellow. Earthy tones. This goblin’s eyes were dark, but they were dark blue. They were…Geoffrey hesitated to use the word ‘pretty’, and he’d certainly never say it aloud, but no other word seemed to quite fit.
“Look,” he said into the silence, “I have most of the components. I can show them to you, I can even bundle them all up for you and tell what to do to make the tonic, but I don’t have the brightleaf, I’m sorry. There isn’t much of it available in a good season, never mind a bad one like this.”
The goblin still regarded him distrustfully. “It can’t be found anywhere else? There’s nothing you can use as substitute?”
Geoffrey let out a long, frustrated sigh. “No, there’s nowhere else to find it. No, there is nothing else that will work. The rock wyrm venom requires a very specific antidote. I can help stave it off for a few extra days, even dull the pain, but I can’t cure it without brightleaf. Normally I pick it at the base of the mountain, but that entire field went dry this season. I’ll be lucky to get half my usual crop next year.” He scrubbed a hand through his short red hair, grimacing at how easily his fingers tangled in the tight curls.
“Stave it off?” The goblin asked. “Dull the pain? That’s possible?”
“Of course it’s possible. All you need to slow the poison is ogre grass tea; add a bit of faerie dust and black poppy and whoever drinks it will be lucky if they don’t sleep for a week straight.” Geoffrey stared. “You said you’d been to other healers…didn’t they give you that much?”
“No,” the goblin said, voice once more full of that awful bitterness. For the first time, Geoffrey realized just how much of it was actually fear and anguish. Which he should have realized immediately, but the teeth and anger had distracted him. Stupid stupid stupid.
Geoffrey immediately turned back to his work table and set aside the journal he’d been annotating, opened a box of dried herbs, rifled through a rack of bottles, and flipped open a book in which he’d made a list of various tea-based potions and medicines. He worked briskly, but carefully, everything around him fading. An entire pack of goblins could have entered with teeth bared, and he would not have noticed.
When the tea was finally ready – ogre grass was finicky stuff, especially when mixed with faerie dust, and black poppy was dangerous if it was so much as looked at wrong – he turned around and presented the sack of tea to…“What’s your name? If you’ll pardon my asking. I’m Geoffrey, though you probably already knew that if someone told you to come see me.”
“Thorley,” the goblin said warily, looking at the sack of tea, but not taking it.
“Brew a cup of this in the morning and another in the evening. Not more than that, unless you come see me first. Too much of the black poppy is dangerous.”
“He’s been bitten by a rock wyrm,” Thorley said. “What does a little too much black poppy matter?”
Unable to form a suitable reply to that, Geoffrey simply handed over the tea.
“How much?”
“No charge,” Geoffrey said.
“I don’t take charity,” the goblin snarled, blue eyes flashing.
“I don’t give it,” Geoffrey said, glaring back up at the man looming over him. “But it’s the least I can do since I and three other healers have failed. I’m truly sorry; I wish more than anything I had the brightleaf.”
Thorley backed off, looking ever so briefly contrite before resuming the stiff, prickly manner that Geoffrey figured was probably normal. He sketched an awkward bow, then turned to leave, but paused at the door. “Is there nowhere to find the brightleaf?”
Geoffrey started to shake his head, then hesitated. It was stupid, the chance so small it was foolish to even think about it. But…“Possibly at the top of the mountain, but the beasts would get me long before I reached it.”
“What does it look like?” Thorley asked, and Geoffrey knew desperation when he heard it.
“A red flower with bright gold leaves. But not all the leaves are suitable; it takes experience to tell which ones are of use.”
“Ah,” Thorley said, shoulders sagging.
Geoffrey spent ten seconds trying to talk himself out of doing something stupid. “Are you any good at fighting off beasts?”
Thorley bristled. “Of course.”
Of course. “Then, if you like, we can go. I can hike a long way, but I can’t so much as hold a bow. Keep us alive, and I’ll do what I can to save—who got bitten?” Funny that Thorley hadn’t said; he’d just demanded a cure for rock wyrm venom.
“My little brother,” Thorley said. He was watching Geoffrey warily, eyes flaring with hope though, it was obvious he was trying to dampen it. “It took us by surprise while we were setting up camp. We didn’t realize it had a nest nearby.”
Geoffrey winced.
“Would you…really be willing to help?”
“Yes, I would.” Geoffrey wondered why, but shrugged it off. He was a healer, he was supposed to help. And he knew all about helping a brother. “But I suggest that you fetch your brother and bring him here first. It will take us a few days to get up the mountain and down again, and it will be easier later if he’s here to administer the cure. Do it quickly, and we can leave tonight.” Time, after all, was short. Rock wyrm venom took days to kill, but four had already been lost.
“Bring him here?” Thorley seemed astonished. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. Now do it.” Course of action decided, Geoffrey had no time to waste on stupid questions. “Put him in the spare bed; I’ll boil water for his first cup of tea before I start packing.”
Thorley looked as though he wanted to stand and ask a great many more questions, but instead he nodded and dashed from the cabin, vanishing into the early evening.
“What in the six hells am I doing?” Geoffrey asked no one in particular as he swung his kettle over the fire to heat water. Then he began to move around his cabin, picking out everything he might possibly need for his unexpected journey up the mountain.
When the door banged open a half hour later, he had just finished putting together packets of medicine so that all any of them would need was ten minutes of blending or a few minutes of steeping. He twisted around on his stool – and then nearly fell off it.
“I thought you said your brother was ill,” Geoffrey said, but he moved to help get the sick, trembling human to the spare room. Thorley knelt by the bed once his brother was settled and spoke to him softly in goblin speech. The sick man chuckled briefly, then eyes the same shade of blue as Thorley’s flicked to Geoffrey. He smiled weakly as Geoffrey approached holding an earthen mug. “It doesn’t taste so great but drink it all. It will help.”
Thorley finally answered Geoffrey’s question when they were back in the main room. “He is my brother,” he said quietly. “Half, to be specific.” He turned to look out the window, folding his arms across his chest, and Geoffrey swore he could see the way the goblin vibrated with restless, unhappy energy.
It wasn’t hard to fit the pieces together – the unusually smooth skin, the blue eyes, a human half-brother. Thorley’s mother wasn’t the first woman to be brutalized by a goblin. “Up for traveling immediately? Or would you like to rest the night here and head out in the morning?”
“I can leave now,” Thorley said, something like gratitude mixing with confusion when Geoffrey did not press the issue of his parentage. “I…” he frowned, obviously wrestling with something. “You don’t have to do this,” he said finally.
Geoffrey merely smiled. He swung his pack up onto his back, shifting around until it rested comfortably. “Shall we?”
Thorley nodded and followed Geoffrey out into the night.
Outside the village the world got eerily quiet. On top of every other problem that was now forcibly presenting itself – he hadn’t left more than a note as to his whereabouts, what would happen if someone needed his help, what if they couldn’t find the brightleaf, hundreds of others – he realized that outside of medicine, he had no idea what to say to his…companion? Customer? Thorley, at any rate.
“I…” Thorley was hard to see in the moonlight, but the frustration in his voice was impossible to miss. “Everyone else turned me away.”
Geoffrey smiled briefly. “Then I apologize on behalf of my fellow healers. Their behavior is inexcusable.” It was his turn to hesitate. “I knew goblins had problems in some places, but I’ve never turned anyone away, and I see goblins all the time at the Blue Deer. I had no idea other healers could be so reprehensible.”
Thorley shifted in the dark; Geoffrey guessed he was shrugging. “One gets used to it, and I am a prime example of why everyone hates goblins.”
There wasn’t much anyone could say to that. “So why are you and your brother traveling?”
“I left home when I was about sixteen. Wound up spending time with some other goblins, but…” He shook his head. “My brother followed me once he was old enough – he’s five years younger than me – and refused to go home when I told him to. We just sort of wander.” A shrug. “I keep trying to persuade him to settle down, find a life. He will not listen. Perhaps after he is better…” Thorley fell silent, and Geoffrey knew he was struggling with the fear that his brother wouldn’t get better. “Perhaps after he is better, he will finally listen to me.”
“I doubt it,” Geoffrey said with a smile. “Little brothers never do what their big brothers say. Not if we can help it.”
“You have an older brother?”
Geoffrey nodded. “He went off to join the royal army and gave me strict orders to do something more with my life than play with plants.” He laughed. “He came through here about a year ago on his way to the east and laughed when he saw I had stuck with my plants.” He grinned. “But he knows I’m happy, more or less, and that makes it hard to find fault.”
“You’re young for a healer,” Thorley said.
“The fruit of a lifelong obsession. I was making antidotes when I was child; my apprenticeship progressed rapidly.” He shrugged. “There are some that question skill so quickly learned, but for the most part I am respected. I like what I do, and that’s all that matters.” And if sometimes he got lonely for things he couldn’t have, well, perhaps that was the price he paid for being such a skilled healer. He could live with that – would have to live with that.
Thorley stopped, and placed a hand on Geoffrey’s shoulder. His words were awkward and rough when he spoke, as if he had trouble saying them. “I…thank you. No one ever helps us.”
“My brother would do all this and more for me,” Geoffrey said, and reached up to grasp and briefly hold the hand on his shoulder. “Now, come. There’s a good spot to rest for the night at the base of the mountain.” He increased his pace and let his mind linger for a moment on how surprisingly warm that hand had felt, how strong it felt for all that it seemed he could feel every bone in it.
Only for a moment.
There was just enough moonlight to see by as they reached the clearing and set up a simple camp. They’d walked for about four hours. When he restocked his herbs Geoffrey walked more than twice that in a day, but he was exhausted all the same. Too tired to even bother with a fire, Geoffrey set out his bedroll and wrapped up in his cloak, falling asleep in seconds.
Thorley stared broodingly at the man asleep on the opposite side of the fire. Not that the healer had stayed awake long enough to notice he was building a fire, which made Thorley feel awful.
Not awful enough to stop – he would do this and more to save his little brother – but awful all the same. He’d been a perfect wretch to the healer – Geoffrey, was it okay to call him that? – and still the man had packed up and struck off with him in the middle of the night to go up a mountain where they might find the herb needed to save Von.
No one had ever done something like that for him. Not even remotely close. Thorley looked down at his hands, still amazed at how casually Geoffrey had touched him, held his hand for a moment. Von had once said Thorley’s hands reminded him of spider-legs – long and thin and elegant. Thorley had said he’d obviously had too much mead. Von had laughed and ordered a second round.
That had been one of the few taverns that didn’t refuse to serve goblins. Thorley glowered at the fire but he was too tired to work up any resentment. He couldn’t help what he was; he couldn’t help how people felt. He had his brother, which was far more than he deserved.
Without permission, his eyes flicked back to Geoffrey. Though blue as any human’s eyes, Thorley still had the vision of a goblin, and he could see with fair clarity in the dark. But he didn’t need to see in the dark to recall what Geoffrey looked like – hair the color of copper in sunlight, a mess of springy curls that looked as though a hand was constantly tangling them. Sharp brown eyes that turned a shade of dark gold when he was angry; Thorley had noticed that right away. Even in his simple home-spun clothes and an old apron, he’d been far too cute for Thorley’s comfort.
Because what chance did he have for anything like that? He was a goblin born under the worst possible circumstances. Humans hated him, especially the ones who figured out why his eyes were blue. Nor did he care much for goblins, though he’d spent a great deal of time with them.
Anyway, one bit of kindness wasn’t permission to look for what he’d never find. Geoffrey was being kind because it was what made him who he was, at least so Thorley surmised.
He was drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of movement to see Geoffrey moving restlessly in his sleep. Unsurprising, given he was sleeping on the ground and the air held more than a little bite. Standing, Thorley took off his own cloak and wrapped it around Geoffrey, then gently shifted man and bedroll a bit closer to the fire.
Adding a few more branches to make sure the flames didn’t die before morning, Thorley used his pack for a pillow and finally let himself go to sleep.
When he woke there was still entirely too much dark in the sky. He rubbed his eyes, and crawled over to the fire, slowly bringing it back to life. On the far side, Geoffrey still slept, and though Thorley wanted badly to be moving he couldn’t quite bring himself to wake the man up.
Instead he set about seeing what he had for breakfast, coming up with not much. Some jerky, a small sack of corn meal and the little tin of honey-candies Von had bought for his birthday a week ago. Twenty-eight. Most days he felt twice that.
He needed to stop obsessing. It wasn’t for everyone, and that included him. He had his brother and the freedom of a wandering life. And when Von stopped being an idiot and realized he was meant for settling, Thorley would wish his brother the very best, and then continue on his way.
Still, he wished the healer had been…anyone but Geoffrey. Which was stupid. He was the only healer out of four who had been willing to help. None of the others had even let him inside, as if his mere presence was enough to contaminate. He hadn’t even known there was something that could at least ease the pain. So he should be grateful that they’d found Geoffrey. He was grateful. But he still wished Geoffrey was old and ugly and grouchy.
Mood completely and thoroughly ruined, Thorley poked at the fire and would have continued to do so for some time if the sound of movement had not drawn his attention. He watched in silence as Geoffrey sat up and started when those eyes locked onto his, completely awake and aware. “You should have woken me,” Geoffrey said. “Best time to move is when the sun isn’t trying to kill you.”
Thorley almost grinned, but he remembered the way Geoffrey had kept eyeing his teeth the night before. He wasn’t the only one; almost everyone he met stared at his teeth. They weren’t half so dangerous as they looked – unless he wanted them to be, and who wanted to bite when he had swords and arrows? “I was about to,” he finally said. “Wanted to make breakfast first, but my supplies are more limited than I had recalled.” He’d put off replenishing everything just to make sure he could afford his brother’s medicine.
“I’ve got everything we should need,” Geoffrey said, and threw off the cloaks to fetch his own pack. Sitting back down, he noticed the extra cloak that had been wrapped around him. “Oh—“ He looked at Thorley. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.” He bundled the cloak up and held it out, eyes skittering away as Thorley stood up and took it. “I mostly brought stuff we could eat on the move, since time is of the essence.” He started pulling paper-wrapped packages out of his pack and handed one to Thorley. “It should take us a little over a day to reach the top, hopefully less to get back down. The tea he’s drinking should buy your brother a couple of extra days.” Geoffrey stood and stowed his cloak in his bag, then shouldered his pack and settled it.
Thorley nodded and followed him from the clearing, quickly eating the mix of nuts and dried fruit in the packet Geoffrey had given him before starting on the bits of jerky. He finished eating as they started to climb in earnest, the path rapidly turning steep and difficult.
Ahead of him, Geoffrey moved with relative ease. Thorley was surprised; he seldom encountered townsfolk who could walk farther than the nearest tavern without needing to stop and catch their breath. Geoffrey walked steadily, smoothly, never breaking stride except where an obstacle forced him to stop and find another way. He could see sweat on his Geoffrey’s brow, and that he was growing tired, but their pace never slowed.
Three hours after they started, the land leveled out, and Geoffrey called a rest. He dropped his pack beneath a tree and collapsed beside it. “This is harder than I was expecting.” He made a face. “On the bright side, at least we haven’t seen any beasts.”
Thorley smirked. Townsfolk. “So far we’ve passed one gremlin den, an entrance to a dwarf cave, and roughly three, maybe four wyrm nests. I also saw a faerie circle, but it looked like it hadn’t been used in awhile so they’re probably not here anymore.” He didn’t bother to mention that for every wyrm nest he spotted there were at least two that remained hidden.
“How in the bloody hell did you see all that? I barely saw the stupid squirrels that kept dropping nuts everywhere.” Geoffrey laughed suddenly. “It’s a good thing I never got around to trying this hike on my own.”
“A very good thing,” Thorley agreed. “I’m surprised you even go to that field alone given the water wyrm nest.”
Geoffrey dropped the packets he’d pulled from his pack. “Water wyrm nest?” he repeated. “I…never noticed it. Where?”
“Under that big tree on the eastern end of the field, the one close to the brook.” Thorley grinned before he remembered he shouldn’t. “Too busy looking at plants?” he guessed.
“Maybe,” Geoffrey muttered, cheeks turning a bright red that clashed horribly with his hair.
Thorley realized he was staring and turned his eyes elsewhere. The clearing was...clear. The only signs of beasts were of their passing through.
“Look!” Geoffrey suddenly exclaimed, and Thorley had his sword half-drawn before he realized the tone wasn’t one of fear. He looked up where Geoffrey was pointing to the tree above him.
“What am I supposed to be seeing?”
Geoffrey looked at him as if he were crazy. “Faerie moss! I didn’t know it grew up here; faerie dust is one of the few ingredients I can’t make myself; merchants are always trying to swindle me on the moss needed to make it.” He all but threw his lunch to the ground and, to Thorley’s amazement, began to climb the tree. “If I’d known faerie moss grew up on this mountain, I could have saved myself a small fortune buying it from the merchants that pass through here.”
“Are you mad?” Thorley stalked over to the tree and watched as Geoffrey climbed. If his eyes strayed a few times to where they shouldn’t be looking, well Geoffrey was too busy trying to get himself killed to notice. He finally dragged his eyes elsewhere and realized what the healer was after – the green and yellow moss growing all over one of the lower branches, though ‘low’ was still far higher than was safe.
Geoffrey paused as he reached the branch in question. “Maybe a little, but isn’t anyone with an obsession?”
“Huh?” Thorley said blankly.
“You asked me if I was crazy.”
Thorley glowered, furious with himself. This sort of flightiness was precisely why he hadn’t noticed the rock wyrm nest a few days ago. Was he losing his edge? “Right. Are you finished?”
“I will be in a minute,” Geoffrey said, pulling an old dagger from his boot and carefully cutting away some of the moss. “You have no idea how hard faerie moss is to come by – nearly as difficult as the brightleaf.” He said something else, but Thorley couldn’t make the words out.
“Are you always this reckless when it comes to your ingredients?”
Geoffrey laughed and tucked his dagger away. “Yes. My parents were always—“ the words were cut off by a panicked cry as Geoffrey twisted wrong and lost his balance, tumbling off the branch and straight into the pond below.
Muttering a curse, Thorley waded into the pond and struggled to help the flailing Geoffrey out of the relatively shallow but scum-thick water. He sat down on the bank when they were finally clear of it. Thorley opened his mouth intent on yelling – but started laughing instead.
“It’s not funny,” Geoffrey said, sounding like an offended child.
Thorley only laughed harder. Geoffrey looked like a half-drowned kitten, soggy and extremely put out, red curls covered in slimy pond scum and clothes completely soaked through.
“It’s not funny,” Geoffrey repeated. “And I lost the faerie moss.” He glared miserably at the pond, then made a face at Thorley and stood up. “If you don’t stop laughing,” he said, and a reluctant grin started to tug at his lips. “I’m going to throw you in the pond and then we’ll see who’s laughing.”
“I’m sorry,” Thorley said, gasping for breath. “You reminded me of a kitten we used to have, the one day he managed to fall off the roof and into the rain barrel. Are you all right?”
“A kitten?” Geoffrey’s cheeks, already red with embarrassment, flushed even darker. Muttering beneath his breath, he strode over to his pack and began to shuck his clothes, pulling out the spare set he’d brought.
Suddenly Thorley didn’t feel like laughing anymore. He locked his eyes on the pond, lips twitching briefly at the hole in the pond scum. But behind him was the sound of wet clothes falling to the ground and the rustle as new clothes were slid over a body he wouldn’t mind seeing bare.
Obviously he’d finally lost his mind. Thorley glared at the pond, blaming it for everything.
If he hadn’t been watching so intently, he would have missed it completely. As it was, he barely saw the telltale motion in time, dodging away just as the water wyrm lunged.
It struck like a whip, fangs bared and venom dripping. Its dark green scales were dull, damp, easy to mistake for something harmless when it lay still. Unfortunately, it wasn’t interested in holding still.
Wyrms were immature dragons. They had more in common with snakes, but were bigger, longer and a lot nastier. Hard scales, usually in dark colors, and large fangs dripping venom. They looked nothing like the enormous, almost mellow beasts they would eventually become.
Dragons liked deep, dark caves in remote places. They preferred to do as little as possible, age and size making them lethargic. They attacked only when they were really pissed off.
Wyrms lived wherever they could dig or build a nest, usually in water, large trees, even in rock. If anything other than food got too close to their home, they got pissed. It was even worse when wyrms laid eggs – the last thing they did before maturing into dragons.
In the case of rock wyrms, that death was usually slow and extremely painful. Tree and water wyrms were fast and nasty.
Thorley blocked the strikes with sword and dagger, steel ringing where fangs struck. All the while he kept backing away, hoping this was the type of water wyrm that would quit if continuing meant leaving the water.
No such luck. Thorley sprang forward, driving his dagger smoothly into the wyrm’s snout. Ordinary steel would never have penetrated the hard scales, but Thorley didn’t waste time buying useless weapons. Goblins weren’t good for much, but they knew how to fight. And they only fought with dragon steel – not as handsome as human steel, nor as elegant as elven steel. But it cut through almost everything; hence the term dragon-steel.
Of course, having steel buried in its snout only pissed the wyrm off more, but that was Thorley’s goal. The wyrm was getting careless. Thorley continued to dodge and parry, weave and block, driving the wyrm to mindless rage. At last he had his chance – the wyrm finally lost all patience and simply threw itself at Thorley, who held the mouth open with his sword and grabbed it around the throat with his free hand – a feat few could manage. But goblins were made for fighting, and made to be nasty. Thorley’s claws, short but razor sharp, slipped through the softer scales on the wyrm’s underside and tore its throat out.
He dropped the dying wyrm and backed away, well out of range of whatever a dying wyrm might try. Thorley grimaced at the smell of wyrm blood, soaked into his clothes and drying on his arms. It would take ages to get the smell out of his skin; he wouldn’t even try to save the clothes. “Yech.” Thorley bared his teeth at the wyrm and pond.
“I’m sorry,” Geoffrey said faintly from behind him.
Thorley spun around, then stilled, not certain what to say. Geoffrey looked horrified. People usually did. Six hells! If he’d just killed the rock wyrm this easily, this entire mess wouldn’t have happened. Twice now he’d been careless! Twice! What was wrong with him? With a rough sound, Thorley strode back toward the wyrm that finally lay still and swung his sword down hard, beheading it. Yanking his dagger free, he used it to pry out the wyrm’s eyes – proof that he’d killed one – and stored them away in a special pouch made for just such a purpose. Whenever he next found a goblin conclave, he would have enough wyrm kills to earn a new gold earring.
Cleaning his sword in the grass, he yanked off his shirt and went to rinse it in the pond. It wouldn’t get rid of the blood but it would wash away some of the smell.
“I…I really am sorry,” Geoffrey said more faintly. “I should have been more careful.”
Thorley looked over his shoulder, puzzled by the tone of voice, and saw Geoffrey was staring quite miserably at the ground. Realization slapped him. Geoffrey thought he was angry. “I should have paid closer attention,” he said gruffly. “This pond was ideal for a wyrm nest, but I didn’t think one would live so close to the tree wyrm a half mile back.” He stood up and squeezed as much water as he could from his shirt before slipping it back on, grimacing at the smell – a cross between rotted cabbage and spoiled meat.
“The next time we take a break, we need to find a different way to spend it,” Geoffrey said. “And I definitely need to find a better method of bathing.”
Thorley stared a moment at the serious expression on Geoffrey’s face, then started laughing as the other man broke into a wide grin. Still laughing, they left the small clearing and continued their trek up the mountain.
“No offense,” Geoffrey said, “and I apologize profusely because it’s entirely my fault, but you reek.” His lips twitched with laughter as the goblin grimaced. “I’d offer you my shirt once it’s finished drying,” he motioned to the shirt drying near the fire, “but I don’t think it would fit you, even if you do look to be nothing but skin and bones.” Which was ridiculous and perhaps one of the stranger things about goblins. Sharp and bony, a build easy to mistake for weak, but Geoffrey didn’t think he knew of another creature that could not only dodge a water wyrm – repeatedly – but also catch one and get past the scales to rip out the flesh beneath.
It had been brutal to watch, but intriguing. Goblins appeared in the local tavern only occasionally; most had a meal, a few drinks, and then went on their way. But every now and then there were troublemakers, and when goblins got into a bar fight – well, there were reasons most places didn’t welcome the species. If fighting could be considered an art, then Goblins were master artists.
Certainly Thorley was. Elegant wasn’t a word Geoffrey would have thought to put with fighting, but it certainly fit. He should have been terrified, to see what a goblin was capable of in a real fight. People in the village and for miles around avoided this mountain – it didn’t even have a name, it was simply ‘the mountain’ – because it was plagued with beasts. Just last summer a man had been killed by a tree wyrm, and a youth injured by an angry dwarf. Yet Thorley acted as though he were right at home. It was…comforting. If Geoffrey had tried this journey on his own, as he’d idly considered once or twice despite the danger, he would be dead.
All of this just for a little brightleaf. Geoffrey shook his head. He must be crazy, to go to such lengths for a near stranger. But he wasn’t sorry; he’d do the exact same thing if he had it to do over.
Except maybe the part where he’d gone after faerie moss. One day he’d stop turning stupid every time he saw a useful plant or herb…or so he kept telling himself anyway.
“I don’t suppose,” Thorley said, breaking into his thoughts, “that you know a trick for getting rid of the wyrm blood stench?”
Geoffrey shook his head, sending his still-damp curls bouncing. “I’m afraid not. The only known cure for that, alas, is to burn the offending article. As I’m sure you prefer not to tromp around the mountain half-naked, I’ll permit you to delay the burning until we return home.”
“Very gracious,” Thorley said dryly.
Snickering, Geoffrey leaned forward to check on the stew and pull it away from the fire. A wild hare and the provisions he bought made for a nice supper, and it was certainly one they’d earned. “I’m sorry about the wyrm. I’ll gladly pay for a new shirt and whatever else was ruined.”
Thorley shrugged and accepted the bowl Geoffrey held out. “The deal was I kill beasts. If you hadn’t fallen in the pond, I’m sure we would have simply pissed off a different wyrm. It’s not hard to do, trust me.”
“I still wish I hadn’t lost that faerie moss.” Geoffrey frowned down at his own bowl. “Faerie moss is so hard to come by…at an affordable price anyway.” It wasn’t terribly common and merchants knew it. They got away with what amounted to robbery charging for it.
“You know where it is now,” Thorley said. He paused to chew a large chunk of hare meat, white teeth flashing in the firelight. “Hire a bit of muscle from the village and trek up here to get it. So long as you avoid ponds, you should be all right.”
A bit of muscle. Geoffrey snorted. No farmer would drop what he was doing to take him up the mountain, and no one in the village was up to it. They all thought swords were for decorating walls.
It was a pity more goblins weren’t like Thorley. It was a greater pity he couldn’t hire Thorley.
Geoffrey squashed the thought before it could summon ideas even more idiotic. He ate his stew in silence, refusing to think or speak until he’d eaten and hopefully regained some sense.
Somewhere a creature snarled and another squealed before it was abruptly stopped. Geoffrey set his bowl aside to wash in the morning; they hadn’t stopped until dark had forced the issue. For him, anyway. From what he knew of goblins, dark wasn’t much of an obstacle for them. “So where were you headed before your brother was injured?”
“Nowhere in particular,” Thorley replied. “We just wander. I make enough money for us to get by,” a trace of bitterness slipped into his voice, and it didn’t take much of an effort to figure out why. ‘Enough money to get by’ should have really been quite a bit, to judge by Thorley’s earrings. To goblins those earrings meant a great deal, but for most they simply spelled out money. The wyrm Thorley had killed earlier would be worth a tidy sum, which was why he’d taken the eyes.
But that money probably didn’t go as far as it should. No doubt Thorley was charged double or triple the normal price for daring to be a goblin. That depleted money fast. Geoffrey watched Thorley, who was busy glaring at the fire. It was a wonder Thorley wasn’t angrier than he seemed. He’d always known goblins weren’t well-received…and how much grief did Von get, for daring to spend all his time with one?
He dropped his gaze before he did something stupid, like try to offer comfort. What did he possibly understand? His brother was alive and well, at least according to his last letter. His parents were doing fine in the town three days away. The worst he suffered was a bit of loneliness every now and then. What comfort could he possibly offer?
Which made him a fine healer, Geoffrey thought furiously. He could brew tea and mix tonics, make delicate tinctures and complicated potions but he couldn’t figure out how to soothe the frown from Thorley’s face or ease the pain that caused it. A fine healer indeed. Silently cursing himself, Geoffrey yanked his cloak roughly from his pack and curled up on his bedroll. “Goodnight, Thorley. If you wake before me, don’t let me sleep.” He thought he saw a nod, but that was all the reply Thorley made. Eventually he fell asleep.
He’d never been much for the slow wake-up. It had vastly amused their parents when the lazy, sleep-all-day son was the one who opted to leave home to join the army. Geoffrey had used the one edge he had on his older brother to contrive a thousand horrid ways to wake him up. Kenneth had always had his revenge, but it had usually been worth it.
Geoffrey smiled briefly at the memory as he packed up his things. Beside him, Thorley was quiet, almost sullen. “Judging by the rest of this vegetation,” he pointed to various bushes and flowers, “If there’s any brightleaf to be found, we’ll find it soon.” Settling his pack, Geoffrey didn’t wait for a reply, but simply made certain the fire was dead and began walking.
His eyes darted back and forth, looking for the tell-tale signs of brightleaf – he would see those signs well before he saw the flowers themselves. They often grew close to ogre grass, which was thick and tough – too tough for most animals to want anything to do with it.
Beyond ogre grass, brightleaf loved sunlight and water. Lots of water. But a combination of water, sunlight and ogre grass wasn’t a common one. In the field where he normally got it, he was lucky if he found so much as twenty flowers – luckier still if he got even a dozen leaves from them.
“There…” he breathed, spotting the ogre grass. It was much like its namesake – nearly to his waist, thick enough walking through it was a chore, and rough enough to slice open skin. Nothing grew where ogre grass did except for trees and the brightleaf flowers that used it for protection. Wading through it, careful to keep his hands where they wouldn’t’ get cut, Geoffrey felt his heart speed up as he heard the sound of running water. ‘Oh please oh please,’ he whispered, the words barely audible.
Thorley followed him, and Geoffrey didn’t think he’d have heard him if he hadn’t already known there was someone behind him. A distracting thought, but his focus was entirely for—“There!” He burst through the ogre grass and dropped down beside the small cluster of maybe ten or twelve flowers. Each was half the size of his hand, with bright vermillion petals and leaves the color of gold.
“No!” Geoffrey exclaimed as Thorley reached out to touch one, grabbing the bony hand to stop him. “Don’t touch them. They’re poisonous.”
“Poisonous?” Thorley repeated.
“Yes.” Geoffrey slipped his pack off and extracted a small knife and a handkerchief. He used the handkerchief to hold the very tip of one gold leaf and sliced it from the stem with the knife. He carefully bit off a small piece of leaf, let it sit in his mouth a minute, then spit the piece out and tried again with another leaf. Three tries later, he set one leaf aside.
Nearly an hour later, he wrapped three leaves up in a second handkerchief, and then wrapped that in a piece of leather, which then went into his pack.
“You…really don’t look so good,” Thorley said.
Geoffrey summoned a smile, reaching unthinkingly to grip Thorley’s shoulder in comfort. The movement cost him, and he swayed dizzily. When he was willing to risk moving again, he realized he’d fallen rather neatly into Thorley’s arms, and that his head rested against the goblin’s chest. “Sorry. Poison is taking effect rather quickly.”
“What’s going on?” Thorley asked, voice sharp and dangerously close to angry.
“Nothing,” Geoffrey said, and allowed himself to stay where he was for a few more seconds. It was…nice. More than nice and surprisingly so. Maybe that was the poison talking. He hoped so. It would be less painful that way, later. “I’ll be fine once I can make some tea.”
“Explain!” Thorley snapped and abruptly hauled them to their feet. The world swam dizzily before Geoffrey found his balance.
“It’s nothing, I promise.” But if it meant he could stay right where he was, pressed against that bony but oddly comfortable body, he was awfully tempted to make it something. “Just…” Geoffrey realized he wasn’t going to manage anything while he was so distracted. He pushed away and waited for the dizziness to fade, holding up a hand to ward off Thorley, who reached out to help him again. “Brightleaf is a poisonous plant. Very poisonous. That’s why it’s effective against rock wyrm venom – the two poisons sort of cancel each other out, and the other ingredients in the antidote counter the aftereffects of having two poisons your body. The entire flower is poison, but the only useful parts where medicine is concerned are the leaves. The problem is finding leaves that are poisonous enough. Many of them don’t reach the right level of potency – the useful ones are actually a fluke. They’re too poisonous. The only way to tell which ones are strong enough to counter rock wyrm venom – and simply combining weaker leaves isn’t good enough – is to try them. The right leaves have a very faint sweet aftertaste.”
“There’s no other way?”
Geoffrey shook his head. “No.”
“So it could have killed you?” Thorley looked as though he were ready to do the killing himself.
“I didn’t really swallow much of it. It makes me dizzy, and I’ll be sick for a day or so, but there’s a tea that keeps it from being worse than that – actually made from many of the same ingredients I’ll use to make the antidote for your brother.” He swayed on his feet, not resisting the arms that caught his shoulders and steadied him.
He was used to doing this sort of thing alone. Hiking for herbs, testing for brightleaf, all of it. Save for the few years of his apprenticeship – quite short compared to most – he’d always done his herb collecting alone. It had never really bothered him. It was simply a part of a job he dearly loved.
But it was a nice change to have more than a tree to break his fall when the brightleaf struck; nice enough he didn’t even mind the smell of wyrm blood still soaked into Thorley’s shirt. “I’ll be all right,” he reassured, torn between exasperation and…something dangerously close to affection. “If we can get back to camp, I’ve got a tea that’ll ease the worst of it until I can get home.”
“What sort of idiot poisons himself to find a cure?”
Geoffrey rolled his eyes. “What sort of idiot thinks the best way to make money is risking his life killing savage beasts?”
“That’s completely different.”
“No, it’s not.” Geoffrey removed the hands on his shoulders. “Now let’s get moving before I lose my breakfast all over your boots.” He turned around – very slowly – and began to lead the way back through the ogre grass.
He hadn’t taken three steps when a long, bony hand wrapped firmly around his upper arm. Geoffrey was grateful, because the ground wasn’t holding as still as he would like, but he didn’t’ acknowledge the gesture. Admitting he needed the steadying would just reaffirm Thorley’s belief that he was a complete and utter idiot.
They made their way back to their earlier camping spot in silence and without incident. Fumbling briefly, feeling worse by the second, Geoffrey finally found the packet of counter-bright tea he’d brought along. It wouldn’t exactly cure the poison – that was too complicated a remedy to make in a campsite – but it would ease the worst of the symptoms.
“So how often do you have to poison yourself to find remedies?” Thorley asked, glaring at the wood he was using to build a fire. He snapped an overlong branch with fervor, and Geoffrey wondered if he was pretending it was a certain healer’s bones. Funny that the grouchy goblin was so mad about this. “Given how well the faerie moss went for you, I’m surprised you’re still alive.”
Geoffrey flushed, humiliated. So he’d been a little clumsy. And made a water wyrm angry. “I said I was sorry,” he said. “I’m not usually that clumsy. As for poisons and remedies – you’d be surprised how often they’re the same thing. But brightleaf is the only one I have to taste.” Red Pixie honey and devil-root had to be rubbed on a bit of skin; tasting it as he did brightleaf would be fatal. He pulled the water from the fire before it could come to a full boil and threw in the tea blend, then set it aside to steep.
“Do you always get this sick?”
“Maybe,” Geoffrey muttered and rested his head in one hand, willing the tea to hurry up before his headache got worse. Gods above he hated this part. He would cheerfully kill to be able to fall into bed. Unfortunately that wouldn’t be possible for hours. They would have to hurry home, he had to make the antidote for Von and then his own. Then he was going to sleep for three days.
“You’re worse than my brother,” Thorley grumbled. “You definitely need a keeper.”
Geoffrey sipped his tea, testing it, and sipped more when it proved ready. He drained it quickly, wincing at the too-hot temperature, but not willing to wait for it to cool. “Are you offering?” he said with a laugh, teasing.
The dead silence that greeted his comment gave him pause, and he looked up to see that Thorley had turned away, an expression much like the one he’d been wearing when Geoffrey had said he couldn’t give him a cure for rock wyrm venom. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Thorley snarled. “Are you ready to go?”
It would have been better to wait for the tea to take full effect, but something told him ‘no’ wouldn’t be taken well. “Sure,” he said, gathering up his things and helping to kill the fire. “Let’s go. Best if we don’t stop, just go until we’re home again.”
Thorley nodded stiffly, then turned and led the way from the clearing. He didn’t speak the entire way back, ignoring every attempt Geoffrey made at conversation.
Geoffrey felt miserable, and not just because of the brightleaf. No, that was the least of his problems. Had he broken some goblin rule? Was it that repulsive an idea to be his keeper? That hurt a lot more than Geoffrey thought it should…except he’d really liked not being alone while he gathered brightleaf. And as humiliating as it had been to fall in the pond, he’d really liked the way Thorley had laughed. More, he’d felt safe. Not alone. For all that he’d meant it as a jest, the idea of having Thorley at his side, as his ‘keeper’ was appealing. Surprisingly so, but Geoffrey wasn’t going to deny the goblin fascinated him.
But apparently even goblins had their limits.
They walked all day, stopping only briefly for lunch, eating dinner as they walked. By the time they reached Geoffrey’s cabin at a gods-awful hour of the morning, Thorley wished his legs would go numb or just fall off. And if he was in agony, he could only imagine how much pain Geoffrey must be in. But as they entered the cabin, Geoffrey paused only to dig the brightleaf from his pack and light several lamps before moving to his work table.
Thorley watched him in silence, sitting in a corner so he could rest his legs and stay out of the way. Sleep sounded like a wonderful idea, but there was no way he could sleep while Geoffrey worked on the cure for his brother.
And, if he were honest, he didn’t want to stop watching Geoffrey. In a matter of days, or maybe even hours, he and Von would be gone, and the healer would be nothing but a rare good memory.
Well, mostly good. It had stung – more than he liked – that Geoffrey had laughed at the idea of Thorley’s being his keeper. As if it was a grand joke. He was all too aware of how impossible such a thing was; he hadn’t thought Geoffrey the type to mock him for it. Was it really that laughable?
Of course it was. Geoffrey was…he could have anyone he wanted. More importantly – he was human. Human and goblin didn’t mix except by way of violence. He knew that better than anyone.
He looked up as Geoffrey rose from his stool and approached, holding out a steaming mug. “You should get some sleep,” the healer said. “But I doubt you will, so drink this. Star tea, very revitalizing. And there should be something to eat in the pantry, if you’re hungry.” He turned away, frowning slightly, when Thorley didn’t reply.
Only his reflexes allowed him to catch the healer in time as Geoffrey swayed and lost his balance. “It looks to me like you’re the one in need of sleep.” He set his tea aside to get a better grip on the healer.
“Can’t,” Geoffrey said, hands going to Thorley’s shoulders as he fought for his balance. “The brightleaf has to soak for another hour in dragon ash, then I have to add the worm-rot and let it simmer for twenty minutes. After that I have to slowly blend in elf sugar and gremlin-bane, which usually takes another hour.”
Thorley glared and resisted the urge to give the idiot a hard shake. “You should have rested before you started.”
“We don’t have a lot of time to spare.” Geoffrey’s eyes flashed with anger and something Thorley didn’t recognize. “And you’re not my keeper, so stop trying to act like one.”
It felt like he’d been sucker punched by an ogre. Then he just felt cold. “No, I’m not. Sorry to presume.” Letting go of the grip he had on Geoffrey’s waist, Thorley turned and walked slowly from the cabin.
He curled up against the outside wall, beneath a window, and looked up at the stars. How many times had he done this growing up? Even before he knew why his mother was so unhappy, he knew he was the cause, and that if he wasn’t there she was better. So he’d spent more than a few nights just lounging about outside, always near the window so he could hear what went on inside.
Whatever. Goblins were fighters, not keepers. Who wanted to baby-sit a stupid healer anyway?
He watched the stars until they gave way to morning, barely moving until the front door creaked open to show a haggard-looking healer. “I gave him the antidote,” Geoffrey said wearily. “He’s asleep right now, but by the afternoon he should be awake. It should only take about two, maybe three days for him to recover completely.” He started to say something else, then shook his head. “Get some rest; you’ll probably wake when he does. There should be some blankets in the chest near the fireplace. Sleep well.” With that Geoffrey vanished; Thorley heard his bedroom door open and shut.
His brother would recover. Relief washed over Thorley, easing much of the tension from his body. He should be elated. He was elated. So why did he feel so damnably miserable? Whatever. Three days he’d be back on the road, where everything made sense.
Thorley closed the door behind him, then stretched out on the first bit of floor he found, asleep in seconds.
When he woke three hours later, it was to the smell of black tea – something he hadn’t had since leaving home. It was a home sort of smell, so he’d always avoided it. He opened his eyes to see Geoffrey making tea at his small dining table. “He’s awake,” Geoffrey said without looking up. “Would you like some tea?”
Somehow the civility hurt. For some reason he would have preferred that Geoffrey yelled at him or at least was rude. Something. Anything but polite. Anything but nice. It felt too much like Thorley had done something wrong, which he hadn’t, and he really couldn’t wait to just leave.
Standing, Thorley stretched his sore muscles and stalked to the room where his brother lay.
Geoffrey sat down hard at his table, frowning at the way the chair creaked. He really needed to get around to having new furniture made – but there were medicines and new equipment to buy…
Not that he particularly cared about the furniture but fretting over it took his mind off Thorley. Confounded goblin. No wonder nobody liked them, if they were always that stubborn and stupid and angry and and—
Standing up, suddenly not in the mood for tea, Geoffrey stalked to his worktable and began to tidy up everything, rearranging all his bottles and double checking the dried herbs were all properly stored. Given how tired he’d been there was no guarantee he’d cleaned up properly.
Except it seemed he had. He paced restlessly back to the table, picked up his mug, then set it down again and strode back to the worktable. “Confound it!” He couldn’t stay here. He needed something to do. Something difficult. Distracting. Anything to take his mind off the stupid goblin.
His worm-rot was running low. There was a field of it just before the forest. Picking it was long, hard, disgusting work. Just the thing. It would take him all day, and he’d still have to clean and prepare it when he got home. No time to deal with goblins.
Scribbling a note, he grabbed his jacket and an old sack used exclusively for worm-rot picking and all but ran down the path behind his cabin.
He’d nearly reached the field, a good half-hour’s walk away, when the sound of boots pounding on dirt had him spinning around. He glared. “What?”
“What are you doing?” Thorley demanded. “You look like you’re still recovering from the brightleaf.”
Geoffrey wished he could stop caring, but the more time that passed, the more hurt and angry he felt. He wasn’t that bad; what about him made the idea of being his keeper so repulsive? “I’m sorry, are you trying to be my keeper again? You really should stop; it’s starting to confuse me.” He tilted his head up to stare Thorley straight in the eyes, furious that even when he wanted nothing more than to wring the goblin’s neck, he noticed how pretty those blue eyes were. “I might accidentally start to think you want to be, and we certainly can’t have that!” Angry at everyone and everything, Geoffrey turned away and continued toward the worm-rot patch.
He made it about half a step. “You’re the one who laughed at the idea,” Thorley said, eyes bright with rage, bony hand tight around Geoffrey’s wrist.
“What!” Geoffrey gaped, then jerked his arm free. “All I did was tease you! You’re the one who got all offended by the idea. Don’t try to blame this one on me!”
“Tease? Is that what you call it?” Thorley snarled. “I’m a goblin—“
“Really? I hadn’t noticed!”
“I’m a goblin,” Thorley repeated nastily. “No human wants a goblin for a keeper.”
“When did I ever say I didn’t?” Geoffrey demanded. The worm-rot sack fell at his feet, arms flying out in rage. “All. I. Did. Was. Tease. You. I never said I didn’t like the idea – that was you!”
“I said no such thing,” Thorley snapped.
Silence. They continued to glare, hands balled into fists at their sides.
Then Geoffrey’s lips twitched, and he started laughing.
“So we’re back to finding the idea amusing?” Thorley snapped.
“No,” Geoffrey said patiently. “I find us amusing.” He moved closer and tilted his head back. “So you wouldn’t mind being my keeper?” He wondered why they’d latched on to that idiotic word.
Thorley didn’t answer, actually looked as though he’d prefer to turn and run.
Geoffrey shook his head, exasperated, but his smile didn’t fade. He didn’t think he’d stop smiling for some time – unless Thorley did something stupid. “Fresh worm-rot smells far worse than wyrm blood. You have five seconds to kiss me, goblin, or I’m going to shove you—“
He was actually surprised Thorley did it. But it didn’t keep him from immediately responding. He’d kissed a few men before, been with men before, fumblings in dark rooms that did nothing but drive him back to his lonely cabin. Kissing Thorley was completely different, not least of all because the goblin was gentle where Geoffrey expected him to be rough. Thorley kissed him like he mattered, like it meant something. He tasted like honey candy, with the faintest hint of lemon, with an edge to it that could only be Thorley.
And this close the teeth weren’t that bad at all.
In other news, if you see any mistakes my poor, abused betas missed -- point'em out tomorrow X_X I is dedz0r.
Brightleaf
The problem with goblins was their teeth. At least they were in Geoffrey’s opinion.
Even when they smiled those pointy teeth looked nothing less than hazardous to his health. He saw goblins in the tavern from time to time, and the things they could do to a hunk of mutton was enough to put him off meat for life.
When they weren’t smiling? Like the one currently standing in his shop? Those teeth were a serious problem. And if he were honest, the short but no doubt razor-sharp claws were no laughing matter either. The weapons weren’t helping. Sword worn across his back, at least three daggers and no doubt there was a bow and arrows left wherever he was rooming– Goblins had better marksmanship than even elves.
As if all that wasn’t enough, there were the earrings – silver, gold, and two white gold. Various shapes and sizes, some threaded with metal beads, others with jewels. Marks of just how many kills this goblin had to his name. Geoffrey didn’t know the system, just that this goblin wasn’t one to piss off. Not that it was a good idea to piss off any goblin, but better to choose one that didn’t have that many earrings.
As if it was Geoffrey’s bloody fault the growing season had been a wretched one. “Look, if I had the ingredients to make the tonic I would gladly give it to you. Alas, I do not. The drought ruined my herbs same as it ruined all the crops. Even the forest had nothing to offer me.”
The goblin curled his lips in disgust. “The dry spell. Of course. But if a human walked in I bet you’d have it for him.”
“That’s enough!” Geoffrey slammed his hand down on his worktable. “I help whoever asks. Species doesn’t matter to me. If you’re going to take issue with me over what I can’t help, then take yourself off to the next healer.”
“You’re the fourth I’ve tried,” the goblin said bitterly. “The fourth to turn me away. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though I had been foolishly led to think better.”
The fourth? Geoffrey was the only healer in this village; the nearest town with another was five hours away, and that town too had only one healer. The next town, which had two healers, was at least three days away. Which meant this goblin had wasted at least four days trying to find a cure. Geoffrey felt sick. “I don’t have what you need,” he said heavily. “I wish I did. But the dry spell ruined all my herbs, and when the rain finally came it was too damn late. I’ll have some next season, but I don’t now.”
“Of course,” the goblin said, voice still full of contempt.
Geoffrey frowned, ire turning into helpless frustration. This wasn’t the first time he’d encountered a goblin with such an attitude. What really pissed him off was the idea of healers who would turn away someone in need just because that someone was a goblin.
Those pointy teeth were not his favorite thing in the world; he had no desire to ever be in the position of mutton. But he wouldn’t turn a goblin out just because he was a goblin.
As far as goblins went, this one was far from the scariest he’d seen. For one thing, beyond the teeth he wasn’t scary looking at all. His skin was dark, a strange sort of blackish-green which was fairly common amongst goblins. But it was smooth instead of rough, with none of the usual blemishes. His features were angular, well-defined, with ears that came to a sharp point. The gold and silver hoops in his ears ran the length of them; if money were his primary interest in this business, those earrings would have assured him that this goblin could pay and pay well. Another gold hoop punctured the left nostril of his nose, something Geoffrey didn’t think many people could pull off, but didn’t actually look bad on the goblin. His hair was longish, and pulled back in a neat tail. It looked thick and was the blue-black color of good ink.
Goblins were slender by nature, and this one was no exception. But Geoffrey knew enough about goblins not to be deceived by that slenderness – when suitably pissed or otherwise inspired, goblins had been known to crush bones and even tear the flesh from it. With their very pointy teeth.
Geoffrey wondered if he was about to learn what it felt like to be mutton.
What really drew him about this goblin were his eyes. Most goblins had dark eyes in shades of brown, green, or yellow. Earthy tones. This goblin’s eyes were dark, but they were dark blue. They were…Geoffrey hesitated to use the word ‘pretty’, and he’d certainly never say it aloud, but no other word seemed to quite fit.
“Look,” he said into the silence, “I have most of the components. I can show them to you, I can even bundle them all up for you and tell what to do to make the tonic, but I don’t have the brightleaf, I’m sorry. There isn’t much of it available in a good season, never mind a bad one like this.”
The goblin still regarded him distrustfully. “It can’t be found anywhere else? There’s nothing you can use as substitute?”
Geoffrey let out a long, frustrated sigh. “No, there’s nowhere else to find it. No, there is nothing else that will work. The rock wyrm venom requires a very specific antidote. I can help stave it off for a few extra days, even dull the pain, but I can’t cure it without brightleaf. Normally I pick it at the base of the mountain, but that entire field went dry this season. I’ll be lucky to get half my usual crop next year.” He scrubbed a hand through his short red hair, grimacing at how easily his fingers tangled in the tight curls.
“Stave it off?” The goblin asked. “Dull the pain? That’s possible?”
“Of course it’s possible. All you need to slow the poison is ogre grass tea; add a bit of faerie dust and black poppy and whoever drinks it will be lucky if they don’t sleep for a week straight.” Geoffrey stared. “You said you’d been to other healers…didn’t they give you that much?”
“No,” the goblin said, voice once more full of that awful bitterness. For the first time, Geoffrey realized just how much of it was actually fear and anguish. Which he should have realized immediately, but the teeth and anger had distracted him. Stupid stupid stupid.
Geoffrey immediately turned back to his work table and set aside the journal he’d been annotating, opened a box of dried herbs, rifled through a rack of bottles, and flipped open a book in which he’d made a list of various tea-based potions and medicines. He worked briskly, but carefully, everything around him fading. An entire pack of goblins could have entered with teeth bared, and he would not have noticed.
When the tea was finally ready – ogre grass was finicky stuff, especially when mixed with faerie dust, and black poppy was dangerous if it was so much as looked at wrong – he turned around and presented the sack of tea to…“What’s your name? If you’ll pardon my asking. I’m Geoffrey, though you probably already knew that if someone told you to come see me.”
“Thorley,” the goblin said warily, looking at the sack of tea, but not taking it.
“Brew a cup of this in the morning and another in the evening. Not more than that, unless you come see me first. Too much of the black poppy is dangerous.”
“He’s been bitten by a rock wyrm,” Thorley said. “What does a little too much black poppy matter?”
Unable to form a suitable reply to that, Geoffrey simply handed over the tea.
“How much?”
“No charge,” Geoffrey said.
“I don’t take charity,” the goblin snarled, blue eyes flashing.
“I don’t give it,” Geoffrey said, glaring back up at the man looming over him. “But it’s the least I can do since I and three other healers have failed. I’m truly sorry; I wish more than anything I had the brightleaf.”
Thorley backed off, looking ever so briefly contrite before resuming the stiff, prickly manner that Geoffrey figured was probably normal. He sketched an awkward bow, then turned to leave, but paused at the door. “Is there nowhere to find the brightleaf?”
Geoffrey started to shake his head, then hesitated. It was stupid, the chance so small it was foolish to even think about it. But…“Possibly at the top of the mountain, but the beasts would get me long before I reached it.”
“What does it look like?” Thorley asked, and Geoffrey knew desperation when he heard it.
“A red flower with bright gold leaves. But not all the leaves are suitable; it takes experience to tell which ones are of use.”
“Ah,” Thorley said, shoulders sagging.
Geoffrey spent ten seconds trying to talk himself out of doing something stupid. “Are you any good at fighting off beasts?”
Thorley bristled. “Of course.”
Of course. “Then, if you like, we can go. I can hike a long way, but I can’t so much as hold a bow. Keep us alive, and I’ll do what I can to save—who got bitten?” Funny that Thorley hadn’t said; he’d just demanded a cure for rock wyrm venom.
“My little brother,” Thorley said. He was watching Geoffrey warily, eyes flaring with hope though, it was obvious he was trying to dampen it. “It took us by surprise while we were setting up camp. We didn’t realize it had a nest nearby.”
Geoffrey winced.
“Would you…really be willing to help?”
“Yes, I would.” Geoffrey wondered why, but shrugged it off. He was a healer, he was supposed to help. And he knew all about helping a brother. “But I suggest that you fetch your brother and bring him here first. It will take us a few days to get up the mountain and down again, and it will be easier later if he’s here to administer the cure. Do it quickly, and we can leave tonight.” Time, after all, was short. Rock wyrm venom took days to kill, but four had already been lost.
“Bring him here?” Thorley seemed astonished. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. Now do it.” Course of action decided, Geoffrey had no time to waste on stupid questions. “Put him in the spare bed; I’ll boil water for his first cup of tea before I start packing.”
Thorley looked as though he wanted to stand and ask a great many more questions, but instead he nodded and dashed from the cabin, vanishing into the early evening.
“What in the six hells am I doing?” Geoffrey asked no one in particular as he swung his kettle over the fire to heat water. Then he began to move around his cabin, picking out everything he might possibly need for his unexpected journey up the mountain.
When the door banged open a half hour later, he had just finished putting together packets of medicine so that all any of them would need was ten minutes of blending or a few minutes of steeping. He twisted around on his stool – and then nearly fell off it.
“I thought you said your brother was ill,” Geoffrey said, but he moved to help get the sick, trembling human to the spare room. Thorley knelt by the bed once his brother was settled and spoke to him softly in goblin speech. The sick man chuckled briefly, then eyes the same shade of blue as Thorley’s flicked to Geoffrey. He smiled weakly as Geoffrey approached holding an earthen mug. “It doesn’t taste so great but drink it all. It will help.”
Thorley finally answered Geoffrey’s question when they were back in the main room. “He is my brother,” he said quietly. “Half, to be specific.” He turned to look out the window, folding his arms across his chest, and Geoffrey swore he could see the way the goblin vibrated with restless, unhappy energy.
It wasn’t hard to fit the pieces together – the unusually smooth skin, the blue eyes, a human half-brother. Thorley’s mother wasn’t the first woman to be brutalized by a goblin. “Up for traveling immediately? Or would you like to rest the night here and head out in the morning?”
“I can leave now,” Thorley said, something like gratitude mixing with confusion when Geoffrey did not press the issue of his parentage. “I…” he frowned, obviously wrestling with something. “You don’t have to do this,” he said finally.
Geoffrey merely smiled. He swung his pack up onto his back, shifting around until it rested comfortably. “Shall we?”
Thorley nodded and followed Geoffrey out into the night.
Outside the village the world got eerily quiet. On top of every other problem that was now forcibly presenting itself – he hadn’t left more than a note as to his whereabouts, what would happen if someone needed his help, what if they couldn’t find the brightleaf, hundreds of others – he realized that outside of medicine, he had no idea what to say to his…companion? Customer? Thorley, at any rate.
“I…” Thorley was hard to see in the moonlight, but the frustration in his voice was impossible to miss. “Everyone else turned me away.”
Geoffrey smiled briefly. “Then I apologize on behalf of my fellow healers. Their behavior is inexcusable.” It was his turn to hesitate. “I knew goblins had problems in some places, but I’ve never turned anyone away, and I see goblins all the time at the Blue Deer. I had no idea other healers could be so reprehensible.”
Thorley shifted in the dark; Geoffrey guessed he was shrugging. “One gets used to it, and I am a prime example of why everyone hates goblins.”
There wasn’t much anyone could say to that. “So why are you and your brother traveling?”
“I left home when I was about sixteen. Wound up spending time with some other goblins, but…” He shook his head. “My brother followed me once he was old enough – he’s five years younger than me – and refused to go home when I told him to. We just sort of wander.” A shrug. “I keep trying to persuade him to settle down, find a life. He will not listen. Perhaps after he is better…” Thorley fell silent, and Geoffrey knew he was struggling with the fear that his brother wouldn’t get better. “Perhaps after he is better, he will finally listen to me.”
“I doubt it,” Geoffrey said with a smile. “Little brothers never do what their big brothers say. Not if we can help it.”
“You have an older brother?”
Geoffrey nodded. “He went off to join the royal army and gave me strict orders to do something more with my life than play with plants.” He laughed. “He came through here about a year ago on his way to the east and laughed when he saw I had stuck with my plants.” He grinned. “But he knows I’m happy, more or less, and that makes it hard to find fault.”
“You’re young for a healer,” Thorley said.
“The fruit of a lifelong obsession. I was making antidotes when I was child; my apprenticeship progressed rapidly.” He shrugged. “There are some that question skill so quickly learned, but for the most part I am respected. I like what I do, and that’s all that matters.” And if sometimes he got lonely for things he couldn’t have, well, perhaps that was the price he paid for being such a skilled healer. He could live with that – would have to live with that.
Thorley stopped, and placed a hand on Geoffrey’s shoulder. His words were awkward and rough when he spoke, as if he had trouble saying them. “I…thank you. No one ever helps us.”
“My brother would do all this and more for me,” Geoffrey said, and reached up to grasp and briefly hold the hand on his shoulder. “Now, come. There’s a good spot to rest for the night at the base of the mountain.” He increased his pace and let his mind linger for a moment on how surprisingly warm that hand had felt, how strong it felt for all that it seemed he could feel every bone in it.
Only for a moment.
There was just enough moonlight to see by as they reached the clearing and set up a simple camp. They’d walked for about four hours. When he restocked his herbs Geoffrey walked more than twice that in a day, but he was exhausted all the same. Too tired to even bother with a fire, Geoffrey set out his bedroll and wrapped up in his cloak, falling asleep in seconds.
*~*~*~*
Thorley stared broodingly at the man asleep on the opposite side of the fire. Not that the healer had stayed awake long enough to notice he was building a fire, which made Thorley feel awful.
Not awful enough to stop – he would do this and more to save his little brother – but awful all the same. He’d been a perfect wretch to the healer – Geoffrey, was it okay to call him that? – and still the man had packed up and struck off with him in the middle of the night to go up a mountain where they might find the herb needed to save Von.
No one had ever done something like that for him. Not even remotely close. Thorley looked down at his hands, still amazed at how casually Geoffrey had touched him, held his hand for a moment. Von had once said Thorley’s hands reminded him of spider-legs – long and thin and elegant. Thorley had said he’d obviously had too much mead. Von had laughed and ordered a second round.
That had been one of the few taverns that didn’t refuse to serve goblins. Thorley glowered at the fire but he was too tired to work up any resentment. He couldn’t help what he was; he couldn’t help how people felt. He had his brother, which was far more than he deserved.
Without permission, his eyes flicked back to Geoffrey. Though blue as any human’s eyes, Thorley still had the vision of a goblin, and he could see with fair clarity in the dark. But he didn’t need to see in the dark to recall what Geoffrey looked like – hair the color of copper in sunlight, a mess of springy curls that looked as though a hand was constantly tangling them. Sharp brown eyes that turned a shade of dark gold when he was angry; Thorley had noticed that right away. Even in his simple home-spun clothes and an old apron, he’d been far too cute for Thorley’s comfort.
Because what chance did he have for anything like that? He was a goblin born under the worst possible circumstances. Humans hated him, especially the ones who figured out why his eyes were blue. Nor did he care much for goblins, though he’d spent a great deal of time with them.
Anyway, one bit of kindness wasn’t permission to look for what he’d never find. Geoffrey was being kind because it was what made him who he was, at least so Thorley surmised.
He was drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of movement to see Geoffrey moving restlessly in his sleep. Unsurprising, given he was sleeping on the ground and the air held more than a little bite. Standing, Thorley took off his own cloak and wrapped it around Geoffrey, then gently shifted man and bedroll a bit closer to the fire.
Adding a few more branches to make sure the flames didn’t die before morning, Thorley used his pack for a pillow and finally let himself go to sleep.
When he woke there was still entirely too much dark in the sky. He rubbed his eyes, and crawled over to the fire, slowly bringing it back to life. On the far side, Geoffrey still slept, and though Thorley wanted badly to be moving he couldn’t quite bring himself to wake the man up.
Instead he set about seeing what he had for breakfast, coming up with not much. Some jerky, a small sack of corn meal and the little tin of honey-candies Von had bought for his birthday a week ago. Twenty-eight. Most days he felt twice that.
He needed to stop obsessing. It wasn’t for everyone, and that included him. He had his brother and the freedom of a wandering life. And when Von stopped being an idiot and realized he was meant for settling, Thorley would wish his brother the very best, and then continue on his way.
Still, he wished the healer had been…anyone but Geoffrey. Which was stupid. He was the only healer out of four who had been willing to help. None of the others had even let him inside, as if his mere presence was enough to contaminate. He hadn’t even known there was something that could at least ease the pain. So he should be grateful that they’d found Geoffrey. He was grateful. But he still wished Geoffrey was old and ugly and grouchy.
Mood completely and thoroughly ruined, Thorley poked at the fire and would have continued to do so for some time if the sound of movement had not drawn his attention. He watched in silence as Geoffrey sat up and started when those eyes locked onto his, completely awake and aware. “You should have woken me,” Geoffrey said. “Best time to move is when the sun isn’t trying to kill you.”
Thorley almost grinned, but he remembered the way Geoffrey had kept eyeing his teeth the night before. He wasn’t the only one; almost everyone he met stared at his teeth. They weren’t half so dangerous as they looked – unless he wanted them to be, and who wanted to bite when he had swords and arrows? “I was about to,” he finally said. “Wanted to make breakfast first, but my supplies are more limited than I had recalled.” He’d put off replenishing everything just to make sure he could afford his brother’s medicine.
“I’ve got everything we should need,” Geoffrey said, and threw off the cloaks to fetch his own pack. Sitting back down, he noticed the extra cloak that had been wrapped around him. “Oh—“ He looked at Thorley. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.” He bundled the cloak up and held it out, eyes skittering away as Thorley stood up and took it. “I mostly brought stuff we could eat on the move, since time is of the essence.” He started pulling paper-wrapped packages out of his pack and handed one to Thorley. “It should take us a little over a day to reach the top, hopefully less to get back down. The tea he’s drinking should buy your brother a couple of extra days.” Geoffrey stood and stowed his cloak in his bag, then shouldered his pack and settled it.
Thorley nodded and followed him from the clearing, quickly eating the mix of nuts and dried fruit in the packet Geoffrey had given him before starting on the bits of jerky. He finished eating as they started to climb in earnest, the path rapidly turning steep and difficult.
Ahead of him, Geoffrey moved with relative ease. Thorley was surprised; he seldom encountered townsfolk who could walk farther than the nearest tavern without needing to stop and catch their breath. Geoffrey walked steadily, smoothly, never breaking stride except where an obstacle forced him to stop and find another way. He could see sweat on his Geoffrey’s brow, and that he was growing tired, but their pace never slowed.
Three hours after they started, the land leveled out, and Geoffrey called a rest. He dropped his pack beneath a tree and collapsed beside it. “This is harder than I was expecting.” He made a face. “On the bright side, at least we haven’t seen any beasts.”
Thorley smirked. Townsfolk. “So far we’ve passed one gremlin den, an entrance to a dwarf cave, and roughly three, maybe four wyrm nests. I also saw a faerie circle, but it looked like it hadn’t been used in awhile so they’re probably not here anymore.” He didn’t bother to mention that for every wyrm nest he spotted there were at least two that remained hidden.
“How in the bloody hell did you see all that? I barely saw the stupid squirrels that kept dropping nuts everywhere.” Geoffrey laughed suddenly. “It’s a good thing I never got around to trying this hike on my own.”
“A very good thing,” Thorley agreed. “I’m surprised you even go to that field alone given the water wyrm nest.”
Geoffrey dropped the packets he’d pulled from his pack. “Water wyrm nest?” he repeated. “I…never noticed it. Where?”
“Under that big tree on the eastern end of the field, the one close to the brook.” Thorley grinned before he remembered he shouldn’t. “Too busy looking at plants?” he guessed.
“Maybe,” Geoffrey muttered, cheeks turning a bright red that clashed horribly with his hair.
Thorley realized he was staring and turned his eyes elsewhere. The clearing was...clear. The only signs of beasts were of their passing through.
“Look!” Geoffrey suddenly exclaimed, and Thorley had his sword half-drawn before he realized the tone wasn’t one of fear. He looked up where Geoffrey was pointing to the tree above him.
“What am I supposed to be seeing?”
Geoffrey looked at him as if he were crazy. “Faerie moss! I didn’t know it grew up here; faerie dust is one of the few ingredients I can’t make myself; merchants are always trying to swindle me on the moss needed to make it.” He all but threw his lunch to the ground and, to Thorley’s amazement, began to climb the tree. “If I’d known faerie moss grew up on this mountain, I could have saved myself a small fortune buying it from the merchants that pass through here.”
“Are you mad?” Thorley stalked over to the tree and watched as Geoffrey climbed. If his eyes strayed a few times to where they shouldn’t be looking, well Geoffrey was too busy trying to get himself killed to notice. He finally dragged his eyes elsewhere and realized what the healer was after – the green and yellow moss growing all over one of the lower branches, though ‘low’ was still far higher than was safe.
Geoffrey paused as he reached the branch in question. “Maybe a little, but isn’t anyone with an obsession?”
“Huh?” Thorley said blankly.
“You asked me if I was crazy.”
Thorley glowered, furious with himself. This sort of flightiness was precisely why he hadn’t noticed the rock wyrm nest a few days ago. Was he losing his edge? “Right. Are you finished?”
“I will be in a minute,” Geoffrey said, pulling an old dagger from his boot and carefully cutting away some of the moss. “You have no idea how hard faerie moss is to come by – nearly as difficult as the brightleaf.” He said something else, but Thorley couldn’t make the words out.
“Are you always this reckless when it comes to your ingredients?”
Geoffrey laughed and tucked his dagger away. “Yes. My parents were always—“ the words were cut off by a panicked cry as Geoffrey twisted wrong and lost his balance, tumbling off the branch and straight into the pond below.
Muttering a curse, Thorley waded into the pond and struggled to help the flailing Geoffrey out of the relatively shallow but scum-thick water. He sat down on the bank when they were finally clear of it. Thorley opened his mouth intent on yelling – but started laughing instead.
“It’s not funny,” Geoffrey said, sounding like an offended child.
Thorley only laughed harder. Geoffrey looked like a half-drowned kitten, soggy and extremely put out, red curls covered in slimy pond scum and clothes completely soaked through.
“It’s not funny,” Geoffrey repeated. “And I lost the faerie moss.” He glared miserably at the pond, then made a face at Thorley and stood up. “If you don’t stop laughing,” he said, and a reluctant grin started to tug at his lips. “I’m going to throw you in the pond and then we’ll see who’s laughing.”
“I’m sorry,” Thorley said, gasping for breath. “You reminded me of a kitten we used to have, the one day he managed to fall off the roof and into the rain barrel. Are you all right?”
“A kitten?” Geoffrey’s cheeks, already red with embarrassment, flushed even darker. Muttering beneath his breath, he strode over to his pack and began to shuck his clothes, pulling out the spare set he’d brought.
Suddenly Thorley didn’t feel like laughing anymore. He locked his eyes on the pond, lips twitching briefly at the hole in the pond scum. But behind him was the sound of wet clothes falling to the ground and the rustle as new clothes were slid over a body he wouldn’t mind seeing bare.
Obviously he’d finally lost his mind. Thorley glared at the pond, blaming it for everything.
If he hadn’t been watching so intently, he would have missed it completely. As it was, he barely saw the telltale motion in time, dodging away just as the water wyrm lunged.
It struck like a whip, fangs bared and venom dripping. Its dark green scales were dull, damp, easy to mistake for something harmless when it lay still. Unfortunately, it wasn’t interested in holding still.
Wyrms were immature dragons. They had more in common with snakes, but were bigger, longer and a lot nastier. Hard scales, usually in dark colors, and large fangs dripping venom. They looked nothing like the enormous, almost mellow beasts they would eventually become.
Dragons liked deep, dark caves in remote places. They preferred to do as little as possible, age and size making them lethargic. They attacked only when they were really pissed off.
Wyrms lived wherever they could dig or build a nest, usually in water, large trees, even in rock. If anything other than food got too close to their home, they got pissed. It was even worse when wyrms laid eggs – the last thing they did before maturing into dragons.
In the case of rock wyrms, that death was usually slow and extremely painful. Tree and water wyrms were fast and nasty.
Thorley blocked the strikes with sword and dagger, steel ringing where fangs struck. All the while he kept backing away, hoping this was the type of water wyrm that would quit if continuing meant leaving the water.
No such luck. Thorley sprang forward, driving his dagger smoothly into the wyrm’s snout. Ordinary steel would never have penetrated the hard scales, but Thorley didn’t waste time buying useless weapons. Goblins weren’t good for much, but they knew how to fight. And they only fought with dragon steel – not as handsome as human steel, nor as elegant as elven steel. But it cut through almost everything; hence the term dragon-steel.
Of course, having steel buried in its snout only pissed the wyrm off more, but that was Thorley’s goal. The wyrm was getting careless. Thorley continued to dodge and parry, weave and block, driving the wyrm to mindless rage. At last he had his chance – the wyrm finally lost all patience and simply threw itself at Thorley, who held the mouth open with his sword and grabbed it around the throat with his free hand – a feat few could manage. But goblins were made for fighting, and made to be nasty. Thorley’s claws, short but razor sharp, slipped through the softer scales on the wyrm’s underside and tore its throat out.
He dropped the dying wyrm and backed away, well out of range of whatever a dying wyrm might try. Thorley grimaced at the smell of wyrm blood, soaked into his clothes and drying on his arms. It would take ages to get the smell out of his skin; he wouldn’t even try to save the clothes. “Yech.” Thorley bared his teeth at the wyrm and pond.
“I’m sorry,” Geoffrey said faintly from behind him.
Thorley spun around, then stilled, not certain what to say. Geoffrey looked horrified. People usually did. Six hells! If he’d just killed the rock wyrm this easily, this entire mess wouldn’t have happened. Twice now he’d been careless! Twice! What was wrong with him? With a rough sound, Thorley strode back toward the wyrm that finally lay still and swung his sword down hard, beheading it. Yanking his dagger free, he used it to pry out the wyrm’s eyes – proof that he’d killed one – and stored them away in a special pouch made for just such a purpose. Whenever he next found a goblin conclave, he would have enough wyrm kills to earn a new gold earring.
Cleaning his sword in the grass, he yanked off his shirt and went to rinse it in the pond. It wouldn’t get rid of the blood but it would wash away some of the smell.
“I…I really am sorry,” Geoffrey said more faintly. “I should have been more careful.”
Thorley looked over his shoulder, puzzled by the tone of voice, and saw Geoffrey was staring quite miserably at the ground. Realization slapped him. Geoffrey thought he was angry. “I should have paid closer attention,” he said gruffly. “This pond was ideal for a wyrm nest, but I didn’t think one would live so close to the tree wyrm a half mile back.” He stood up and squeezed as much water as he could from his shirt before slipping it back on, grimacing at the smell – a cross between rotted cabbage and spoiled meat.
“The next time we take a break, we need to find a different way to spend it,” Geoffrey said. “And I definitely need to find a better method of bathing.”
Thorley stared a moment at the serious expression on Geoffrey’s face, then started laughing as the other man broke into a wide grin. Still laughing, they left the small clearing and continued their trek up the mountain.
*~*~*~*
“No offense,” Geoffrey said, “and I apologize profusely because it’s entirely my fault, but you reek.” His lips twitched with laughter as the goblin grimaced. “I’d offer you my shirt once it’s finished drying,” he motioned to the shirt drying near the fire, “but I don’t think it would fit you, even if you do look to be nothing but skin and bones.” Which was ridiculous and perhaps one of the stranger things about goblins. Sharp and bony, a build easy to mistake for weak, but Geoffrey didn’t think he knew of another creature that could not only dodge a water wyrm – repeatedly – but also catch one and get past the scales to rip out the flesh beneath.
It had been brutal to watch, but intriguing. Goblins appeared in the local tavern only occasionally; most had a meal, a few drinks, and then went on their way. But every now and then there were troublemakers, and when goblins got into a bar fight – well, there were reasons most places didn’t welcome the species. If fighting could be considered an art, then Goblins were master artists.
Certainly Thorley was. Elegant wasn’t a word Geoffrey would have thought to put with fighting, but it certainly fit. He should have been terrified, to see what a goblin was capable of in a real fight. People in the village and for miles around avoided this mountain – it didn’t even have a name, it was simply ‘the mountain’ – because it was plagued with beasts. Just last summer a man had been killed by a tree wyrm, and a youth injured by an angry dwarf. Yet Thorley acted as though he were right at home. It was…comforting. If Geoffrey had tried this journey on his own, as he’d idly considered once or twice despite the danger, he would be dead.
All of this just for a little brightleaf. Geoffrey shook his head. He must be crazy, to go to such lengths for a near stranger. But he wasn’t sorry; he’d do the exact same thing if he had it to do over.
Except maybe the part where he’d gone after faerie moss. One day he’d stop turning stupid every time he saw a useful plant or herb…or so he kept telling himself anyway.
“I don’t suppose,” Thorley said, breaking into his thoughts, “that you know a trick for getting rid of the wyrm blood stench?”
Geoffrey shook his head, sending his still-damp curls bouncing. “I’m afraid not. The only known cure for that, alas, is to burn the offending article. As I’m sure you prefer not to tromp around the mountain half-naked, I’ll permit you to delay the burning until we return home.”
“Very gracious,” Thorley said dryly.
Snickering, Geoffrey leaned forward to check on the stew and pull it away from the fire. A wild hare and the provisions he bought made for a nice supper, and it was certainly one they’d earned. “I’m sorry about the wyrm. I’ll gladly pay for a new shirt and whatever else was ruined.”
Thorley shrugged and accepted the bowl Geoffrey held out. “The deal was I kill beasts. If you hadn’t fallen in the pond, I’m sure we would have simply pissed off a different wyrm. It’s not hard to do, trust me.”
“I still wish I hadn’t lost that faerie moss.” Geoffrey frowned down at his own bowl. “Faerie moss is so hard to come by…at an affordable price anyway.” It wasn’t terribly common and merchants knew it. They got away with what amounted to robbery charging for it.
“You know where it is now,” Thorley said. He paused to chew a large chunk of hare meat, white teeth flashing in the firelight. “Hire a bit of muscle from the village and trek up here to get it. So long as you avoid ponds, you should be all right.”
A bit of muscle. Geoffrey snorted. No farmer would drop what he was doing to take him up the mountain, and no one in the village was up to it. They all thought swords were for decorating walls.
It was a pity more goblins weren’t like Thorley. It was a greater pity he couldn’t hire Thorley.
Geoffrey squashed the thought before it could summon ideas even more idiotic. He ate his stew in silence, refusing to think or speak until he’d eaten and hopefully regained some sense.
Somewhere a creature snarled and another squealed before it was abruptly stopped. Geoffrey set his bowl aside to wash in the morning; they hadn’t stopped until dark had forced the issue. For him, anyway. From what he knew of goblins, dark wasn’t much of an obstacle for them. “So where were you headed before your brother was injured?”
“Nowhere in particular,” Thorley replied. “We just wander. I make enough money for us to get by,” a trace of bitterness slipped into his voice, and it didn’t take much of an effort to figure out why. ‘Enough money to get by’ should have really been quite a bit, to judge by Thorley’s earrings. To goblins those earrings meant a great deal, but for most they simply spelled out money. The wyrm Thorley had killed earlier would be worth a tidy sum, which was why he’d taken the eyes.
But that money probably didn’t go as far as it should. No doubt Thorley was charged double or triple the normal price for daring to be a goblin. That depleted money fast. Geoffrey watched Thorley, who was busy glaring at the fire. It was a wonder Thorley wasn’t angrier than he seemed. He’d always known goblins weren’t well-received…and how much grief did Von get, for daring to spend all his time with one?
He dropped his gaze before he did something stupid, like try to offer comfort. What did he possibly understand? His brother was alive and well, at least according to his last letter. His parents were doing fine in the town three days away. The worst he suffered was a bit of loneliness every now and then. What comfort could he possibly offer?
Which made him a fine healer, Geoffrey thought furiously. He could brew tea and mix tonics, make delicate tinctures and complicated potions but he couldn’t figure out how to soothe the frown from Thorley’s face or ease the pain that caused it. A fine healer indeed. Silently cursing himself, Geoffrey yanked his cloak roughly from his pack and curled up on his bedroll. “Goodnight, Thorley. If you wake before me, don’t let me sleep.” He thought he saw a nod, but that was all the reply Thorley made. Eventually he fell asleep.
He’d never been much for the slow wake-up. It had vastly amused their parents when the lazy, sleep-all-day son was the one who opted to leave home to join the army. Geoffrey had used the one edge he had on his older brother to contrive a thousand horrid ways to wake him up. Kenneth had always had his revenge, but it had usually been worth it.
Geoffrey smiled briefly at the memory as he packed up his things. Beside him, Thorley was quiet, almost sullen. “Judging by the rest of this vegetation,” he pointed to various bushes and flowers, “If there’s any brightleaf to be found, we’ll find it soon.” Settling his pack, Geoffrey didn’t wait for a reply, but simply made certain the fire was dead and began walking.
His eyes darted back and forth, looking for the tell-tale signs of brightleaf – he would see those signs well before he saw the flowers themselves. They often grew close to ogre grass, which was thick and tough – too tough for most animals to want anything to do with it.
Beyond ogre grass, brightleaf loved sunlight and water. Lots of water. But a combination of water, sunlight and ogre grass wasn’t a common one. In the field where he normally got it, he was lucky if he found so much as twenty flowers – luckier still if he got even a dozen leaves from them.
“There…” he breathed, spotting the ogre grass. It was much like its namesake – nearly to his waist, thick enough walking through it was a chore, and rough enough to slice open skin. Nothing grew where ogre grass did except for trees and the brightleaf flowers that used it for protection. Wading through it, careful to keep his hands where they wouldn’t’ get cut, Geoffrey felt his heart speed up as he heard the sound of running water. ‘Oh please oh please,’ he whispered, the words barely audible.
Thorley followed him, and Geoffrey didn’t think he’d have heard him if he hadn’t already known there was someone behind him. A distracting thought, but his focus was entirely for—“There!” He burst through the ogre grass and dropped down beside the small cluster of maybe ten or twelve flowers. Each was half the size of his hand, with bright vermillion petals and leaves the color of gold.
“No!” Geoffrey exclaimed as Thorley reached out to touch one, grabbing the bony hand to stop him. “Don’t touch them. They’re poisonous.”
“Poisonous?” Thorley repeated.
“Yes.” Geoffrey slipped his pack off and extracted a small knife and a handkerchief. He used the handkerchief to hold the very tip of one gold leaf and sliced it from the stem with the knife. He carefully bit off a small piece of leaf, let it sit in his mouth a minute, then spit the piece out and tried again with another leaf. Three tries later, he set one leaf aside.
Nearly an hour later, he wrapped three leaves up in a second handkerchief, and then wrapped that in a piece of leather, which then went into his pack.
“You…really don’t look so good,” Thorley said.
Geoffrey summoned a smile, reaching unthinkingly to grip Thorley’s shoulder in comfort. The movement cost him, and he swayed dizzily. When he was willing to risk moving again, he realized he’d fallen rather neatly into Thorley’s arms, and that his head rested against the goblin’s chest. “Sorry. Poison is taking effect rather quickly.”
“What’s going on?” Thorley asked, voice sharp and dangerously close to angry.
“Nothing,” Geoffrey said, and allowed himself to stay where he was for a few more seconds. It was…nice. More than nice and surprisingly so. Maybe that was the poison talking. He hoped so. It would be less painful that way, later. “I’ll be fine once I can make some tea.”
“Explain!” Thorley snapped and abruptly hauled them to their feet. The world swam dizzily before Geoffrey found his balance.
“It’s nothing, I promise.” But if it meant he could stay right where he was, pressed against that bony but oddly comfortable body, he was awfully tempted to make it something. “Just…” Geoffrey realized he wasn’t going to manage anything while he was so distracted. He pushed away and waited for the dizziness to fade, holding up a hand to ward off Thorley, who reached out to help him again. “Brightleaf is a poisonous plant. Very poisonous. That’s why it’s effective against rock wyrm venom – the two poisons sort of cancel each other out, and the other ingredients in the antidote counter the aftereffects of having two poisons your body. The entire flower is poison, but the only useful parts where medicine is concerned are the leaves. The problem is finding leaves that are poisonous enough. Many of them don’t reach the right level of potency – the useful ones are actually a fluke. They’re too poisonous. The only way to tell which ones are strong enough to counter rock wyrm venom – and simply combining weaker leaves isn’t good enough – is to try them. The right leaves have a very faint sweet aftertaste.”
“There’s no other way?”
Geoffrey shook his head. “No.”
“So it could have killed you?” Thorley looked as though he were ready to do the killing himself.
“I didn’t really swallow much of it. It makes me dizzy, and I’ll be sick for a day or so, but there’s a tea that keeps it from being worse than that – actually made from many of the same ingredients I’ll use to make the antidote for your brother.” He swayed on his feet, not resisting the arms that caught his shoulders and steadied him.
He was used to doing this sort of thing alone. Hiking for herbs, testing for brightleaf, all of it. Save for the few years of his apprenticeship – quite short compared to most – he’d always done his herb collecting alone. It had never really bothered him. It was simply a part of a job he dearly loved.
But it was a nice change to have more than a tree to break his fall when the brightleaf struck; nice enough he didn’t even mind the smell of wyrm blood still soaked into Thorley’s shirt. “I’ll be all right,” he reassured, torn between exasperation and…something dangerously close to affection. “If we can get back to camp, I’ve got a tea that’ll ease the worst of it until I can get home.”
“What sort of idiot poisons himself to find a cure?”
Geoffrey rolled his eyes. “What sort of idiot thinks the best way to make money is risking his life killing savage beasts?”
“That’s completely different.”
“No, it’s not.” Geoffrey removed the hands on his shoulders. “Now let’s get moving before I lose my breakfast all over your boots.” He turned around – very slowly – and began to lead the way back through the ogre grass.
He hadn’t taken three steps when a long, bony hand wrapped firmly around his upper arm. Geoffrey was grateful, because the ground wasn’t holding as still as he would like, but he didn’t’ acknowledge the gesture. Admitting he needed the steadying would just reaffirm Thorley’s belief that he was a complete and utter idiot.
They made their way back to their earlier camping spot in silence and without incident. Fumbling briefly, feeling worse by the second, Geoffrey finally found the packet of counter-bright tea he’d brought along. It wouldn’t exactly cure the poison – that was too complicated a remedy to make in a campsite – but it would ease the worst of the symptoms.
“So how often do you have to poison yourself to find remedies?” Thorley asked, glaring at the wood he was using to build a fire. He snapped an overlong branch with fervor, and Geoffrey wondered if he was pretending it was a certain healer’s bones. Funny that the grouchy goblin was so mad about this. “Given how well the faerie moss went for you, I’m surprised you’re still alive.”
Geoffrey flushed, humiliated. So he’d been a little clumsy. And made a water wyrm angry. “I said I was sorry,” he said. “I’m not usually that clumsy. As for poisons and remedies – you’d be surprised how often they’re the same thing. But brightleaf is the only one I have to taste.” Red Pixie honey and devil-root had to be rubbed on a bit of skin; tasting it as he did brightleaf would be fatal. He pulled the water from the fire before it could come to a full boil and threw in the tea blend, then set it aside to steep.
“Do you always get this sick?”
“Maybe,” Geoffrey muttered and rested his head in one hand, willing the tea to hurry up before his headache got worse. Gods above he hated this part. He would cheerfully kill to be able to fall into bed. Unfortunately that wouldn’t be possible for hours. They would have to hurry home, he had to make the antidote for Von and then his own. Then he was going to sleep for three days.
“You’re worse than my brother,” Thorley grumbled. “You definitely need a keeper.”
Geoffrey sipped his tea, testing it, and sipped more when it proved ready. He drained it quickly, wincing at the too-hot temperature, but not willing to wait for it to cool. “Are you offering?” he said with a laugh, teasing.
The dead silence that greeted his comment gave him pause, and he looked up to see that Thorley had turned away, an expression much like the one he’d been wearing when Geoffrey had said he couldn’t give him a cure for rock wyrm venom. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Thorley snarled. “Are you ready to go?”
It would have been better to wait for the tea to take full effect, but something told him ‘no’ wouldn’t be taken well. “Sure,” he said, gathering up his things and helping to kill the fire. “Let’s go. Best if we don’t stop, just go until we’re home again.”
Thorley nodded stiffly, then turned and led the way from the clearing. He didn’t speak the entire way back, ignoring every attempt Geoffrey made at conversation.
Geoffrey felt miserable, and not just because of the brightleaf. No, that was the least of his problems. Had he broken some goblin rule? Was it that repulsive an idea to be his keeper? That hurt a lot more than Geoffrey thought it should…except he’d really liked not being alone while he gathered brightleaf. And as humiliating as it had been to fall in the pond, he’d really liked the way Thorley had laughed. More, he’d felt safe. Not alone. For all that he’d meant it as a jest, the idea of having Thorley at his side, as his ‘keeper’ was appealing. Surprisingly so, but Geoffrey wasn’t going to deny the goblin fascinated him.
But apparently even goblins had their limits.
They walked all day, stopping only briefly for lunch, eating dinner as they walked. By the time they reached Geoffrey’s cabin at a gods-awful hour of the morning, Thorley wished his legs would go numb or just fall off. And if he was in agony, he could only imagine how much pain Geoffrey must be in. But as they entered the cabin, Geoffrey paused only to dig the brightleaf from his pack and light several lamps before moving to his work table.
Thorley watched him in silence, sitting in a corner so he could rest his legs and stay out of the way. Sleep sounded like a wonderful idea, but there was no way he could sleep while Geoffrey worked on the cure for his brother.
And, if he were honest, he didn’t want to stop watching Geoffrey. In a matter of days, or maybe even hours, he and Von would be gone, and the healer would be nothing but a rare good memory.
Well, mostly good. It had stung – more than he liked – that Geoffrey had laughed at the idea of Thorley’s being his keeper. As if it was a grand joke. He was all too aware of how impossible such a thing was; he hadn’t thought Geoffrey the type to mock him for it. Was it really that laughable?
Of course it was. Geoffrey was…he could have anyone he wanted. More importantly – he was human. Human and goblin didn’t mix except by way of violence. He knew that better than anyone.
He looked up as Geoffrey rose from his stool and approached, holding out a steaming mug. “You should get some sleep,” the healer said. “But I doubt you will, so drink this. Star tea, very revitalizing. And there should be something to eat in the pantry, if you’re hungry.” He turned away, frowning slightly, when Thorley didn’t reply.
Only his reflexes allowed him to catch the healer in time as Geoffrey swayed and lost his balance. “It looks to me like you’re the one in need of sleep.” He set his tea aside to get a better grip on the healer.
“Can’t,” Geoffrey said, hands going to Thorley’s shoulders as he fought for his balance. “The brightleaf has to soak for another hour in dragon ash, then I have to add the worm-rot and let it simmer for twenty minutes. After that I have to slowly blend in elf sugar and gremlin-bane, which usually takes another hour.”
Thorley glared and resisted the urge to give the idiot a hard shake. “You should have rested before you started.”
“We don’t have a lot of time to spare.” Geoffrey’s eyes flashed with anger and something Thorley didn’t recognize. “And you’re not my keeper, so stop trying to act like one.”
It felt like he’d been sucker punched by an ogre. Then he just felt cold. “No, I’m not. Sorry to presume.” Letting go of the grip he had on Geoffrey’s waist, Thorley turned and walked slowly from the cabin.
He curled up against the outside wall, beneath a window, and looked up at the stars. How many times had he done this growing up? Even before he knew why his mother was so unhappy, he knew he was the cause, and that if he wasn’t there she was better. So he’d spent more than a few nights just lounging about outside, always near the window so he could hear what went on inside.
Whatever. Goblins were fighters, not keepers. Who wanted to baby-sit a stupid healer anyway?
He watched the stars until they gave way to morning, barely moving until the front door creaked open to show a haggard-looking healer. “I gave him the antidote,” Geoffrey said wearily. “He’s asleep right now, but by the afternoon he should be awake. It should only take about two, maybe three days for him to recover completely.” He started to say something else, then shook his head. “Get some rest; you’ll probably wake when he does. There should be some blankets in the chest near the fireplace. Sleep well.” With that Geoffrey vanished; Thorley heard his bedroom door open and shut.
His brother would recover. Relief washed over Thorley, easing much of the tension from his body. He should be elated. He was elated. So why did he feel so damnably miserable? Whatever. Three days he’d be back on the road, where everything made sense.
Thorley closed the door behind him, then stretched out on the first bit of floor he found, asleep in seconds.
When he woke three hours later, it was to the smell of black tea – something he hadn’t had since leaving home. It was a home sort of smell, so he’d always avoided it. He opened his eyes to see Geoffrey making tea at his small dining table. “He’s awake,” Geoffrey said without looking up. “Would you like some tea?”
Somehow the civility hurt. For some reason he would have preferred that Geoffrey yelled at him or at least was rude. Something. Anything but polite. Anything but nice. It felt too much like Thorley had done something wrong, which he hadn’t, and he really couldn’t wait to just leave.
Standing, Thorley stretched his sore muscles and stalked to the room where his brother lay.
Geoffrey sat down hard at his table, frowning at the way the chair creaked. He really needed to get around to having new furniture made – but there were medicines and new equipment to buy…
Not that he particularly cared about the furniture but fretting over it took his mind off Thorley. Confounded goblin. No wonder nobody liked them, if they were always that stubborn and stupid and angry and and—
Standing up, suddenly not in the mood for tea, Geoffrey stalked to his worktable and began to tidy up everything, rearranging all his bottles and double checking the dried herbs were all properly stored. Given how tired he’d been there was no guarantee he’d cleaned up properly.
Except it seemed he had. He paced restlessly back to the table, picked up his mug, then set it down again and strode back to the worktable. “Confound it!” He couldn’t stay here. He needed something to do. Something difficult. Distracting. Anything to take his mind off the stupid goblin.
His worm-rot was running low. There was a field of it just before the forest. Picking it was long, hard, disgusting work. Just the thing. It would take him all day, and he’d still have to clean and prepare it when he got home. No time to deal with goblins.
Scribbling a note, he grabbed his jacket and an old sack used exclusively for worm-rot picking and all but ran down the path behind his cabin.
He’d nearly reached the field, a good half-hour’s walk away, when the sound of boots pounding on dirt had him spinning around. He glared. “What?”
“What are you doing?” Thorley demanded. “You look like you’re still recovering from the brightleaf.”
Geoffrey wished he could stop caring, but the more time that passed, the more hurt and angry he felt. He wasn’t that bad; what about him made the idea of being his keeper so repulsive? “I’m sorry, are you trying to be my keeper again? You really should stop; it’s starting to confuse me.” He tilted his head up to stare Thorley straight in the eyes, furious that even when he wanted nothing more than to wring the goblin’s neck, he noticed how pretty those blue eyes were. “I might accidentally start to think you want to be, and we certainly can’t have that!” Angry at everyone and everything, Geoffrey turned away and continued toward the worm-rot patch.
He made it about half a step. “You’re the one who laughed at the idea,” Thorley said, eyes bright with rage, bony hand tight around Geoffrey’s wrist.
“What!” Geoffrey gaped, then jerked his arm free. “All I did was tease you! You’re the one who got all offended by the idea. Don’t try to blame this one on me!”
“Tease? Is that what you call it?” Thorley snarled. “I’m a goblin—“
“Really? I hadn’t noticed!”
“I’m a goblin,” Thorley repeated nastily. “No human wants a goblin for a keeper.”
“When did I ever say I didn’t?” Geoffrey demanded. The worm-rot sack fell at his feet, arms flying out in rage. “All. I. Did. Was. Tease. You. I never said I didn’t like the idea – that was you!”
“I said no such thing,” Thorley snapped.
Silence. They continued to glare, hands balled into fists at their sides.
Then Geoffrey’s lips twitched, and he started laughing.
“So we’re back to finding the idea amusing?” Thorley snapped.
“No,” Geoffrey said patiently. “I find us amusing.” He moved closer and tilted his head back. “So you wouldn’t mind being my keeper?” He wondered why they’d latched on to that idiotic word.
Thorley didn’t answer, actually looked as though he’d prefer to turn and run.
Geoffrey shook his head, exasperated, but his smile didn’t fade. He didn’t think he’d stop smiling for some time – unless Thorley did something stupid. “Fresh worm-rot smells far worse than wyrm blood. You have five seconds to kiss me, goblin, or I’m going to shove you—“
He was actually surprised Thorley did it. But it didn’t keep him from immediately responding. He’d kissed a few men before, been with men before, fumblings in dark rooms that did nothing but drive him back to his lonely cabin. Kissing Thorley was completely different, not least of all because the goblin was gentle where Geoffrey expected him to be rough. Thorley kissed him like he mattered, like it meant something. He tasted like honey candy, with the faintest hint of lemon, with an edge to it that could only be Thorley.
And this close the teeth weren’t that bad at all.
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Date: 2006-03-31 11:34 pm (UTC)I am honest enough with myself to realize that in about five seconds the shock will wear off and I will become a complete and total shrieking buffoon, giddily bouncing around and uttering interminable "yee"s and "haw"s. And generally freaking out.
So I'm going to back away from the computer and write up a lovely response to this later. After I've regained a semblance of coherency.
EEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!
Oh no, it's starting!
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Date: 2006-04-04 08:31 pm (UTC)I still cannot get over how AWESOME this is. AWESOME in the original sense of the word, not, "Awesome haircut! Awesome shoes!" No, no. More like the awesome of a billion fiery suns that are now burning in my bosom. THAT kind of awesome.
The fight scene with the water wyrm. Askaksjfldfg. Oh my sweet baby jane. I almost did something involuntary when I read that bit. (As in, I almost involuntarily licked the screen.) He is fierce! And grouchy! How much do I love that? Answer: A WHOLE LOT. The gritty, gross, grimy goblin grappling (gee, I can't stop!) made me cackle in pleased, somewhat scary-lady-vibe appreciation. Something in my tiny warrior heart hearkens back to the rugged, earthy societies of old. With roving bands of VIKINGS. Only in my heart I replace vikings with GOBLINS. MANY AND MUCH GOBLINS.
Geoffrey and Thorley are so adorable! And snippy! And they have an adorable relationship that is both warm and prickly and you have conveyed it so well that I not only 21-gun-salute you, I 574-gun-salute you. You saucy minx, you.
And the multitude of different creatures! Oh, how my fleshy chest-lump beat in feverish joy! The hints of goblin society and their vicious reputation--well, seventeen thumbs up. And a bravo, to boot! I can't believe how incredibly detailed and worked out everything was. You didn't do the cop out that a lot of authors pull when they sort of "generalize" the spell/remedy/cure/etc. There were instructions and explanations of the reasons behind the cures and oh! Oh, how I quivered with appreciation. You are so very thorough!
I am loving on this liek whoa. LIEK WHOA. *showers you with praise*
And on a different note, in furthering what seems to be everyone's general quest of turning all your characters gay ("M just introduced a new unattached male character! WE MUST PAIR HIM OFF WITH ANOTHER PENIS.") I can't help but wonder what would happen if Von met up with Geoffrey's brother. A hur hur. Keep it in the family, and all that. ;p
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Date: 2008-06-12 10:51 pm (UTC)Also, Wobbly's review needs a review. Really Wobbly, "fleshy chest-lump"? I laughed through Brightleaf and I laughed even more through that review!
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Date: 2006-04-01 01:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-01 01:03 am (UTC)One question though--when are we gonna get Von's story? *innocence*
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Date: 2006-04-01 01:27 am (UTC)Hee hee ^_^
When you right it *innocence*
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Date: 2006-04-01 01:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2006-04-01 01:07 am (UTC)Oh, honey, I just love your tales.
*fangirls madly for you*
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Date: 2006-04-01 01:28 am (UTC)And you'll be happy to know I didn't see any mistakes. Not that there aren't any, just that I was too wrapped up in the story to see them if there were. ^^
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Date: 2006-04-01 01:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-01 02:24 am (UTC)q>He could see sweat on his Geoffrey’s brow, and that he was growing tired, but their pace never slowed.
Because while there's nothing sexual about that at all, I was giddy over the slip of mental tongue that Thorley made. *HIS* Geoffrey. Makes me squee in happiness. Of course, the ending was just as spectacular. Personally, I wanted Thorley to get thrown into the Worm-rot, but that's just my evil side. What's the next one going to be? You've done ghosts, werewolves, vampires, demons, goblins, humans, dragon gods (Speaking of which, I growl over the fact that you seemingly haven't done a thing on the sequel for), magic users (of different variety) that include a frog, different types of aliens (and speaking of this, you need to get Kidnapped fixed on your site. it's not fair, as that was byfar my favorite...) and who knows what else. You mentioned elves in here, and I'd ask if that's going to be another one but I think that'd be a bit too cliche.
slight amendment.
Date: 2006-04-01 02:25 am (UTC)Re: slight amendment.
From:Re: slight amendment.
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Date: 2006-04-01 02:38 am (UTC)I make all my friends read your stories^_^
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Date: 2006-04-01 02:44 am (UTC)<3 I'm glad you like my stories so much ^_^ Heh, the humans area winning out, eh? I confess I'm partial to them ^_~
Friend away! You don't need to ask. You'll learn fast I'm not in charge around here - I am pwned completely.
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Date: 2006-04-01 02:40 am (UTC)*loves you muchlies*
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Date: 2006-04-01 02:42 am (UTC)You and Sammie...I should give him the most obnoxious chick on the face of the planet just to spite you both.
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Date: 2006-04-01 04:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-01 06:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-01 08:52 am (UTC)Oh, and my birthday is in two months and five days :D In case you were wondering.
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Date: 2006-04-01 07:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-01 09:39 pm (UTC)^_^
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Date: 2006-04-01 10:47 pm (UTC)The first line:
The problem with goblins was their teeth. At least they were in Geoffrey’s opinion.
It sounds a little awkward. It makes sense if you think about it, but just reading it is confusing.
Also, it seems almost, unfinished somehow. The beginning was interesting and detailed and thorough, but nearing the end, things started to move too fast and the ending seemed kind of like a cop out.
It was still good, though, and very enjoyable.
*purrs and flying tackle glomps you*
Date: 2006-04-01 11:58 pm (UTC)Seriously? I love you. I love this. :D *hearts*
Thorely is just so. damned. adorable! ^_____^!! Eieeee!!! I love bitter and standoffish characters! *bounces happily* Plus, he totally kicks ass as a goblin. I love how bent out of shape he got about the keeper comment (and that he totally took what Geoffrey said wrong...*huggles Geoffrey and snuggles Thorley for being so over sensitive--even if he has good reason*). I love the way too, that they ended up using keeper as a euphanism for a deeper/romantic relationship. It was just a refreshingly original way to go about it. *glomps*
The goblin fighting? That totally kicked ass. I loved reading that part too and how you had him defeat the wyrm. *hearts* I usually don't pay any attention to that sort of thing, but that was just a kick ass scene. ^_^
*hearts you* I adore your writing. I really do. ^____________^ *tackle glomps*
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Date: 2006-04-05 03:28 am (UTC)I really liked the story and I enjoyed the detail about the plants. Like how ogre grass protects the brightleaf.
I noticed you took out Geoffery's assistant; and I'm wondering why he is putting together the medicine, cuz i thought at first it was so his assistant could fill in his place while he was gone.
If Thorley and Von were raised by humans then why do both (well, especially Von) use goblin speech? Did Von spend a lot of time with goblins too? Maybe the threesome being proposed could include a goblin too ^^
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Date: 2006-04-10 10:12 am (UTC)