Turns out the goblin commander isn’t important enough to take me to the king either. And neither is the colonel. But when we reach the general he says he’ll take me, and gladly.

He’s honored to meet me. Everyone is. Honored and happy and glad. Awestruck even. It’s such a different reaction from the elves, where I had to prove myself constantly. Here no one asks me to do anything. It’s all about what they can do for me. Is my horse comfortable? What does the donkey like? Do I want drink or food? What about clothes?

I pass on the clothes. As I climb the military ladder the goblin attire remains unrelentingly practical. The general wears a uniform that is devoid or ribbons, or metals, or tassels. It’s all black with only the scantest amount of gold to indicate rank. If not for that he could have easily passed as mere infantry. And he certainly didn’t look pretty either: scars across the face, two teeth missing. This man had seen battle – or a very mad dentist.

“Not much for fashion, are they?” Myran whispers as we follow the general and his aids. We’ve collected a whole entourage now. I’m flanked by guards on either side and we walk through tunnels far wider and taller than those we first entered by. I have plenty of space around me. But as big as the tunnels are the people don’t look ostentatious or opulent.

In fact, the upper classes here wear less than the goblins below them. Especially the women. I have to force myself not to gawk at the green bodies who could pass as prostitutes on many parts of Earth.

“It thought you said the goblins are religious,” I say to Cyrus.

“In general they are devout, yes.”

“Then why are the women here dressed like sluts?”

Cyrus raises an eyebrow. “What’s a slut? Is it like a slug?”

Oh good grief

“They’re wearing very few clothes,” I say.

“Yes, my temple mentor told me about this practice. The goblins believe in growth through challenge. Whether that is physical growth or mental growth or spiritual growth. It’s all the same to them.”

“Ugh. Ok, but how does that explain the skimpy clothes?”

“They are challenging and honoring the males. Just as with humans the male goblins are focused on appearance so the ‘sluts’ – as you say – are tempting them, but not so that the males might fall, but so that they have the opportunity to rise, to conquer their temptation and grow in holiness.”

I scratch my head. “So how is that honor?”

“Because they believe the males can bear it. Below us, in the lower classes, female goblins dress more like humans as they do not expect as much from their counterparts. Here, among the nobles, standards are higher, and the dress reflects that.”

“And what happens when one of the ‘exalted’ nobles does ‘fall’ and grabs some goblin ass?”

The cleric shrugs. “I believe that justice here can be swift if it needs to be. Especially for repeat offenders. You can also loose status and be sent to a lower cave if you cannot control yourself. Loss of status is far worse than prison around here.”

I like how prison and status are considered separate. Are there really lots of wholesome criminals rotting away in a dungeon?

“What about the females?” I ask. “I suppose they’re challenged to ‘grow’ as well? Wouldn’t be fair if it only went one way.”

“Of course,” Cyrus confirms. “For example, married women are often propositioned by men of higher status to test their fidelity.”

My jaw unhinges. “I’m sorry did you say they’re propositioned?”

“Yes,” Cyrus says casually. “For affairs. See if they’re interested in enhancing their relatively stable lives with more excitement and danger. Keep the boring, stable husband, and add the sexy one on the side.”

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“And what if someone accepts the proposition?”

Cyrus shrugs. “Loss of status. Husband can divorce if he wants. The usual.”

The usual indeed.

“This place is completely insane,” I say.

A goblin tilts his head and I realize I may have spoken too loudly.

Smooth move dude.

I stop talking and content myself with just watching the world zoom by. Soon we arrive at the most important area, or the heart of the mountain as the goblins call it. Here, at the metaphorical center of the goblin’s world, is a giant door. Not simple wood like the others I’ve seen, this is metallic and – dare I say it – artistic with runes I cannot read carved upon it and a giant crank next to it that indicates it’s….

Mechanical?

“Drawven built, I’d guess,” Myran says softly. “Though how they got it I’ve no idea. Dwarves don’t usually trade their technology.”

“They used to,” Cyrus adds. “Before the war.”

Then it must be an old door.

Four goblins stand before it. And these guards have some ornament about them. They have to be the king’s personal guards. They have buttons festooned on their chests and a fluffy lace graces their shoulders. They aren’t armed though. It’s like they’re just mobile decorations.

The general exchanges a few words with the guard and then salutes me before leaving, his entourage following in his wake.

I had no idea I warranted a salute. Maybe this will turn into Starship Troopers. The only good orc is a dead orc.

“Sir Ethan,” the guard says with a grand bow. “We are honored at your presence. The Maker blesses us beyond measure.”

“Why aren’t you wearing a sword?” I ask, probably inappropriately.

Cyrus gives me a look but the guard doesn’t miss a beat. “My apologies, Sir Ethan. But I am not a soldier. Not am I fit for combat. I am here to serve at his Excellency’s pleasure.”

I assume ‘Excellency’ is the goblin king in this context. And I have to admit that, upon closer inspection, this goblin doesn’t appear to be in combat shape. He’s slender than even the archers we encountered, and small – one of the smallest goblins I’ve seen. Then it hits me.

These are the runts. The goblin runts.

“If you’ll just give us a few minutes,” the guard continues. “General Zargog sent a messenger ahead of him, informing us of your arrival, but the royal family is still preparing for you. We are also dousing the fire pit in the throne room.”

I take a step back. “The fire pit?”

“Yes, the guard says. “Normally, we make any visitor to the king walk over the fire pit to prove their seriousness, but we won’t insult you by asking you to commit such an act.”

Thanks, I think.

“If you’ll excuse me, Sir Ethan,” the goblin bows again and runs off to who knows where. Maybe to get some more buckets for fire dousing. Who the hell knows.

“They walk across a fire pit?” I ask Cyrus.

Cyrus strokes his chin. “So they say. I admit this is the first I’ve heard of such a thing. But it doesn’t surprise me.”

“Another challenge?” I say sarcastically.

“No doubt,” says Myran. “I’m sure they also walk ass backwards and speak without using the letter ‘K’.”

I grin at the elf. “Well, at least we won’t have to walk over fire ourselves.”

Myran rubs his shoulders. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind the heat right now. Do the goblins not believe hearths or fireplaces? This mountain stone is cold.”

“The goblins have ‘hot blood’,” says Cyrus. “They are more comfortable in cooler climates. Have been for hundreds of years. It’s the dessert they despise.”

“Yes, well, I’m not much of a fan of either,,” Myran says. “Why can’t everyone just live in a forest?”

I’m about to respond to the disgruntled elf when the guard leader returns. “Sorry about that, Sir Ethan. I have received word from the royal family. They are ready to receive you.”

The guard motions to one of his subordinates and the other goblin starts turning the crank. It’s slow at first but then I hear the cranking and know for sure that the giant metal doors are opening.

Hopefully that crank never breaks.

Beyond the door I finally see what I expected to find all along: Moria.

I mean it’s not actually Moria of course but the splendor is there. High ceilings, tall columns, blazing torches, statues, and banners. Finally one senses the full beauty of the goblin kingdom. And for some reason I find it comforting. Like Tolkein’s pages have come alive for me and I can walk among them.

As long as there’s not balrog. I’m not really out for that.

In the center of the room is a pool of fire, or was anyway. It’s just smoke now: doused embers wafting up toward the narrow bridge which is the only means of crossing the pool. Across the bridge, atop a podium of no less than ten feet above the ground is three thrones.

In the middle of the podium, elevated above all else, sits the King of the Goblins.