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    The Goblin Brothers Adventures Vol. 1
    The Goblin Brothers Adventures Vol. 1
    The Goblin Brothers Adventures Vol. 1
    Ebook120 pages1 hour

    The Goblin Brothers Adventures Vol. 1

    By Lindsay Buroker

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    About this ebook

    They're short, they're scrawny, and they're green, but they want to be heroes. The problem? Goblins are supposed to fish and forage, not hunt down and challenge villains.

    This doesn't daunt Malagach and Gortok. Armed with their wits, their stolen (er, borrowed) books, and their scavenged tools, they mean to rid their mountain home of evil. Or get in lots of trouble trying...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLindsay Buroker
    Release dateDec 8, 2010
    ISBN9781458173546
    The Goblin Brothers Adventures Vol. 1
    Author

    Lindsay Buroker

    Lindsay Buroker war Rettungsschwimmerin, Soldatin bei der U.S. Army und hat als IT-Administratorin gearbeitet. Sie hat eine Menge Geschichten zu erzählen. Seit 2011 tut sie das hauptberuflich und veröffentlicht ihre Steampunk-Fantasy-Romane im Self-Publishing. Die erfolgreiche Indie-Autorin und begeisterte Bloggerin lebt in Arizona und hat inzwischen zahlreiche Romanserien und Kurzgeschichten geschrieben. Der erste Band der Emperor’s-Edge-Serie „Die Klinge des Kaisers“ ist jetzt ins Deutsche übersetzt.

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      Book preview

      The Goblin Brothers Adventures Vol. 1 - Lindsay Buroker

      THE GOBLIN BROTHERS ADVENTURES

      vol. 1

      by

      Lindsay Buroker

      Cover art by Jason Dube

      * * * * *

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2010 by Lindsay Buroker

      Table of Contents

      The Goblin Brothers and the Swordmaster’s Apprentice

      The Goblin Brothers and the Slave Trader’s Offer

      The Goblin Brothers and the Tempting Treasure

      The Goblin Brothers and the Pepper Slime Punch

      The Goblin Brothers and the Pet Cat Dilemma

      The Goblin Brothers and the Five-Finned Finger Fish

      The Goblin Brothers and the River Lobster’s Riddle

      From the Author

      The Goblin Brothers and the Swordmaster’s Apprentice

      Help! Heeeeeelp!

      Malagach dropped his handful of salmonberries and perked his pointed green ears toward the shout. Tall brambles stretching across the gully blocked his view.

      It sounds like someone’s in trouble, his brother, Gortok, said around a mouthful of berries. Pink juice ran down his chin, splotched his buckskin shirt, and even stained clumps of his rambunctious white hair.

      Thanks for decoding that cryptic call, Malagach said.

      No problem. Gortok grinned.

      Malagach grabbed the fringes on his brother’s sleeve and dragged him toward a nearby stream. He hoped they could follow it up the gully toward the cries.

      Heeeeel— The shout ended with a muffled grunt.

      Soon they reached an open beach along the water. They crept upstream, sun-warmed pebbles pressing into their bare feet.

      Not far ahead, wood snapped. The wind shifted and brought the scent of smoke.

      Malagach almost stepped on a cracked clay pitcher half buried in the rocks. It seemed this was a popular camping area, for the beach was littered with broken pots and frying pans, rusted bear and beaver traps, empty tin food cans, torn and moldy sacks, and scraps of twine.

      Ahead, something shook the salmonberry canes. Malagach slipped behind a rotting log. His brother flattened to the ground, camouflaged by a patch of chickweed poking through the pebbles.

      Not twenty feet in front of them, a burly orc strode to the stream. It wore multiple daggers, a cutlass, and a flintlock pistol. Standing more than eight feet, the orc loomed twice the height of a goblin. Muscles bulged beneath the yellow skin of its bare arms. Finger bones dangled from the end of the orc’s long, greasy braids, and they clacked with each step. Goblin finger bones, Malagach suspected, though human and dwarf might be mixed in.

      After collecting an armload of driftwood, the orc headed back toward the fire—the smoke from it was now visible over the brambles.

      Looks like he’s making lunch, Gortok whispered.

      Probably out of whoever was yelling, Malagach muttered.

      Think that ‘whoever’ is still alive?

      We’ll find out.

      Malagach chose a path near the brambles, using the canes as overhead cover. The campsite came into view, a cleared area where the foliage had been slashed back. In the center, a fledgling fire burned. A massive wooden spit stood over it with a human boy tied to the center. A gag across his mouth kept him from crying out as he had before. The boy’s shoulders flexed as he struggled, but coils of rope secured him.

      Uh oh, Gortok whispered.

      The orc piled branches onto the fire, building up the flames. Malagach swallowed and backed away so he could talk to his brother.

      We have to rescue him, he said. Or that orc is going to roast him alive. And— Malagach brightened, —this is our chance to be heroes, not just lowly goblin whelps foraging for food and doing chores for Ma. Real heroes, like Jamseth the Bold.

      And Doroth the Wicked, Gortok said.

      Malagach frowned. Doroth is the villain.

      Yeah, but he’s a scientist and an engineer, and he builds really neat things. In their last story, he made black powder out of charcoal and sulfur and his own urine and blasted his way out of the cave Jamseth trapped him in. How brilliant is that?

      That explosion blew up several innocent miners. Really, Gor, you concern me at times.

      Jamseth just stabs bad guys with swords, Gortok said. "That’s boring."

      All right, let’s save the boy before we get into this debate again. You go make a distraction, and I’ll run in and untie him.

      The kind of distraction where the orc ends up chasing me all over the forest, throwing knives and shooting at me with his pistol, and you don’t get so much as a scrape?

      Yes, that’ll work, Malagach said.

      Gortok snorted. Give me a couple minutes, and I’ll make a distraction that goes off by itself.

      Oh, very well.

      Gortok picked up trash along the beach. The cracked pitcher, tin cans, a rusted-out beaver trap, and the frying pan all went into his arms.

      With no idea what his brother meant to do, Malagach could only wait. He checked the bone knife he carried. Meant only for day-to-day utility use, it was no weapon, but it was sharp enough to cut rope without trouble. As long as he had a few minutes. There was a lot of rope binding that boy.

      Gortok placed a rotten board across a log and waved for Malagach to come over.

      Fill the pitcher, Gortok said.

      He was piling the debris he had gathered on one end of the board.

      It’s cracked, Malagach said. It’ll leak.

      I know.

      Shrugging, Malagach toted the large pitcher to the stream and filled it to the brim. Before he returned to the log, water was already dribbling from the base.

      Gortok placed it on the opposite end of the board. He adjusted the weight on the side piled with trash until he had created a balanced teeter totter.

      Ah. Now Malagach understood.

      When enough water leaked out of the pitcher, the weight would become heavier on the loaded side, and the pan and tins would topple to the ground. The racket ought to be enough to encourage the orc to investigate.

      Ready, Gortok whispered.

      He and Malagach took a roundabout way back to the camp, sneaking in on the side opposite the stream. They crouched behind the brambles to wait, the fire partially visible through the leaves and berries.

      The orc had piled more wood and brambles onto the fire, and the flames were licking higher now. Plumes of smoke rose from green canes. The boy wasn’t moving, and Malagach’s stomach sank. What if he was already...

      The boy coughed. It was a weak sound, muffled by the gag, but at least he was alive.

      When will your distraction topple? Malagach whispered.

      A crash came from the beach.

      About now, Gortok said.

      The orc’s head jerked up. It grabbed its pistol and ran toward the stream.

      Malagach and Gortok sprinted into the camp. Malagach sawed at the ropes, while Gortok kicked the logs to disrupt the fire, and soon they were dragging the boy away. Smoke-teared eyes blinked blearily as the human focused on his saviors. Fortunately, he had his wits enough to get his feet beneath him and run.

      They darted through the brambles, eventually coming out upstream. Malagach led the others into the water to hide their tracks. A distant roar, echoing through the gully, promised the orc had discovered his empty dinner spit. Malagach did not slow until they climbed a rocky hill that took them out of the gully and gave them a view to the rear. They left the water and gathered under a pine tree, all three leaning over and panting.

      I’m Malagach, he introduced himself, And this is Gortok.

      The boy scowled and kicked a pinecone. Then he whirled and rammed his shoulder into the tree.

      Our names don’t usually inspire such vehemence, Malagach said.

      Though sometimes our actions do, Gortok said. What’s your name Tall and Furious?

      At an inch or two above five feet, the boy probably wouldn’t be considered tall by human standards, but even slouching and surly, he stood more than a foot over Malagach and Gortok.

      Robhart, he muttered. And I failed.

      You failed to get eaten, Malagach said, a little disgruntled that the boy had not thanked them. The folks Jamseth the Bold rescued always gushed gratitude all over him. Of course, he was tall, muscular, dashing, and human. Maybe it was hard to gush over someone short and green? You’re welcome, he said anyway.

      Thanks, Robhart muttered, apparently guilted into the word. Then he blurted, I lost my sword, I didn’t defeat the orc, and now I’m not going to be trained as a blademaster. Another pinecone succumbed to the boy’s angry foot.

      Malagach was debating on walking away and leaving the human to sulk, but Robhart wasn’t done talking.

      "There’s four of us, see, all competing to become Errath Dragondancer’s apprentice. In

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