“Are we going to her room?” I ask Vestra as we exit her quarters.

Vestra shakes her head. “Of course not. We know she’s not there. What would point in us going?”

I wince, feeling like a fool. “Right. Where are we going then?”

“I have an idea. Or a suspicion really. Call it what you will. It’s been gnawing at me for a while. Time to investigate.”

“And you’re sure we have time to investigate?”

I’m still not sure this is the best use of time right now.

“This is my best chance to prove my theory,” Vestra says. “Don’t worry. The orcs aren’t going anywhere.”

I guess that could be said of most sidequests.

We walk through the tunnels and I can’t help but notice we’re always going ‘up’. Each path we take has an incline that points us ever high toward the mountain’s peak. I start to feel cold too, even through the stone and the dirt I can sense the snow outside. Even the princess starts to shiver a bit.

The hottest blood can still run cold.

But she does not stop because of it. We continue upwards, alone now through narrow, wet tunnels that seem unable to protect us from the weather outside of us. Like leaks in a piper the dampness oozes through.

“It should be here somewhere,” the princess mutters.

“What are we looking for?” I ask.

“A door,” says the princess. “The last door.”

The door to what? Narnia? I don’t see any wardrobes around here.

“Are you cold?” I ask. “Do you want my shirt?”

The princess looks back at me and gives me a smile. She comes close to me. “Look at you, being such a gentleman goblin.”

Her energy is pulsating. I have to take a step back. It’s not bad, it’s just a lot. “I don’t know about being a goblin. I thought it was very human to offer a cold girl my shirt.”

Vestra shrugs. “Well, it’s very goblin too. And as a good goblin I will decline because it shows that I’m a strong female goblin worthy of marriage and able to bear strong goblin babies.”

I gawk. “Seriously? That’s why you’ll decline.”

“That’s why I’m supposed to,” says the princess. “You’ve probably been told that goblins are naturally hot blooded or something. That we resist the cold better than any other race.”

“Yeah, that’s what I heard. It’s not true?”

“It’s partly true,” says the princes. “We’re also conditioned from a young age to bear it. And I mean young. My mother would expose me - naked! - to the elements as a child. Not for long but she would put me out in the freezing cold. Less is expected from the commoners of course. But for us nobles we could never admit to buckling to the cold.”

“At least being a commoner has some advantages,” I say, trying to keep the conversation lighter.

“That’s what my father used to say,” replies the princess, her voice soft, and distant. “I remember once, when I was nine years old, he took off his crown one night and sat me on his knee. ‘Vestra’, he said, ‘Some days I think that crown weighs more than you do’. I miss those days.”

So much for keeping things light.

I bend my head now as the tunnels further constricts such that I can’t even stand upright. We walk in single file now and I have a wonderful view of Vestra’s radiant ass, but I try not to look at it. Not out of consideration for her, just to keep my own focus as I can’t let myself get distracted with thinking about sex.

Damn, how do the goblin men handle this. Day after day?

At last we come to the end. Not an actual door or a room, but a cave opening to the outside world. The snow gushes through the small entrance and two goblins stand on either side of it.

Lucky bastards don’t have to hunch.

The princess walks forward and surprisingly the goblins don’t bow; instead they raise their spears to bar her way.

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“No pass,” one grumbles. “Snow outside. Too dangerous.”

The princess gawks at being challenged and is stunned silent for a moment. Then her outrage begins to boil and not even her green skin can block the redness bubbling underneath her skin.

“I’m Princess Vestra,” she says darkly. “Get out of my way.”

She steps forward again. And again she is blocked.

“No pass.” A goblin says again. “By order of King.”

“What?” Vestra shrieks. “My father gave no such order. Who are you? What are your names and ranks?”

The goblins look at one another. They haven’t lowered their spears. They’re heavily armored, and they don’t appear to be giving way.

Something is wrong.

Their skin is lighter than normal. The green is soft, almost a light lime. And these goblins are short. They’re shorter than the princess even.

And the helmets.

The helmets completely cover their heads. There are no slits for the elongated ears. There’s no sign of the ears at all actually.

“Take off your helmets,” I say.

Vestra looks to me. “What’s that?”

“Tell them to take off their helmets. Let’s see their ears.”

“Of course,” she murmurs. “You heard him. Take off your helmets.”

The goblins pause and say something to each other and then rush at us.

“Behind me,” I yell and jump forward.

I still feel scrunched and I don’t want to fight close quarters. Swinging my sword in this space would be awkward and those soldiers look very comfortable with those spears. I dig inside me and find the light within.

Help me protect the princess.

The light is so strong even I’m surprised. It blasts from both hands, over, around, and even through the guards. It’s like a little sunrise in a tiny cave. The guards stumble back; one falls over completely, like he was shoved by an invisible force. I charge and smash into the other. He tumbles back and they are both lying sprawled upon the ground.

Now I draw my sword. “Yield.”

“Stop!” The new voice is shrill and urgent. “Please stop.”

A woman rushes into the cave from the outside with a long cloak and thick boots. She pulls back her hood and I see a lovely goblin face staring back at me.

“Bhess!” the princess exclaims. “How could you? Are you consorting with slavers?”

“Not slavers,” the handmaiden retorts. “These are savers, highness. They are half-breeds come to save the neglected and scorned. Those who would dare procreate with those outside our blessed mountains.”

I look from one woman to the other. Then I look at the fallen soldiers who are starting to stir.

Bhess looks at me. “You want to see their heads. Be my guest.”

Awkwardly I reach down and remove a helmet. Sure enough, the ears are small. And then I look at the bodies again. They are so small for goblins.

“They’re half-breeds?” I ask. “With dwarves?”

“They sure are,” the handmaiden continues. “Scorned by both sides they are just wastrels in the desert now. But they still try to rescue others. They still come here, risking their lives to smuggle out an unwanted child.”

I didn’t notice the kid until now. Hiding on the edge of the cave behind a rock. And behind the kid approach four more hooded figures. They enter the cave and the little space feels very packed all of a sudden.

“It’s not your place,” says the princess. “To be smuggling out goblins from our mountain.”

“Unwanted goblins,” the handmaiden replies. “Shunned by society. Even by their own mother as this one was. She was so embarrassed, so stricken with shame. Where was our compassion for this gentle soul? Where was the temple and the clerics? Where was your blessed Maker?”

“It is not your place,” the princess says again, though her voice is quivering a bit.

The handmaiden narrows her eyes. “Is it your place to plot behind your father? To collaborate with foreigners.”

Vestra’s temperature rises again. “How dare you accuse me of conspiracy. I could have you sent below for this.”

The four hooded figures step forward and I feel the tension rising again.

“Enough,” I say quietly.

It’s not a loud statement, or a dramatic one. But it is sufficient to get everyone’s attention. To temporarily pause the argument. Now the question is what to say. How do I resolve this without drawing my sword? Then I remember Angel.

The Maker sent me to the goblins.

“Bhess, you say the Maker doesn't care. That he’s abandoned these goblin half-breeds. Well, I am the Maker’s chosen and he has sent me here, to your Kingdom. I am here to protect all goblins whether half-breeds or not.”

I turn to the princess. “Is Bhess telling the truth? Are half-breeds abandoned here?”

Vestra licks her lips, looking back and forth between me and her handmaiden. “It wasn’t her place to do this, Sir Ethan. She should have come to me. She betrayed my trust.”

“I agree,” I say. “And that is why she’s not the one making this decision. I am. Is she telling the truth.”

Vestra sighs. “I can’t say in this specific case, but in general, half-breeds are often….abandoned.”

“Ok,” I say. “Then let the child go.”

The princess stiffens. “Is that an order? In my own home?”

“It’s a suggestion. From a friend.”

The cave is quiet. The princess thinks. I wait.

Finally the princess smiles at me. “Well I’ve always wanted another friend.”