“SAVING... SAVED.”

The message disappeared. So did the dwarf.

Rematerialized in the church of two holes, he found himself smothered suddenly by a surprised but cheerful flock. What happened? Even Funguayou, jaw silently hung, offered no motion. The dwarf recalled facing no prompt other than one to ‘SAVE’ and another to confirm. But there was no doubting it: like in the emerald chamber, the dwarf had been one place and was suddenly at another. But a rift of differences opened: for one, the aforementioned chamber was, evidently, a dwarfen construct. The churches, the dwarf did not know, but it was not difficult to guess a likelier species. Within the two steeples discovered, both featured immobile books of endless empty pages. Below one a ruin lay, interestingly, but the dwarf considered the contradiction in Doctor Mallow’s ancient words--what was the value in their coming here? The church must have arrived some time long after, surmised the dwarf. And between two he’d instantaneously traveled.

His hands to his pets, the dwarf embraced every fungus topped creature within his grasp. In the company of arachnids so long and focused, he couldn’t help but enjoy the return to form, even if only momentarily, even if Waspig and company too bolstered arrays of eyes. But the dwarf faced a strange dilemma: Paris waited back on the plains. He wanted, or needed, to return to the chapel from whence he came, and the dwarf, ignoring Funguayou and directing himself to the bible, flipped the pages and watched a familiar prompt appear. It was his denial that gave birth to a brand new words:

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO RELOCATE?”...

On a countless rehearsal of the eve of Doetrieve’s scheled death, the dwarf returned to the mountain which required the elven hand signal and whisper. Executing both well, he entered past empty cells to the very end of winding tunnels, finding himself again in the chamber of The Ponderous One. And on approach, Captain Locust stepped from cover.

“It was wise of me to wait for you.”

Despite the dwarf’s insistence four more times, this encounter with the leader of the elf settlement ended the same way: death by Locust’s blade.

The final time the dwarf would repeat the night--much more practice a necessary prelude--he and his eight legged flock traveled the plains back to the wilds before the elfs, and beneath and above tall trees and fungi the convoy skittered and hopped. Night spent sniping sharp eared soldiers from the ramparts and binding them immobile, familiar heavy fog heralded early morning. Mounting the wall as a unit, the dwarf’s creatures awaited their new master’s command. And the events as they unfolded next did so just as recorded, with the noosed Doetrieve atop fresh web, two corporals affixed to a hasty carving, Sowsmith in the bushes, Captain Locust enraged, and the dwarf holding high above his beard black, gold, and purple.

“By what means does he have that package!” demanded Lord Moth.

Locust shrank and said nothing. Though the elfs who had come to see the soldiers hanged nearly fully dispersed, much of their numbers returned, and all eyes soaked up the silence between elf, dwarf, and arachnid. Sun having since vanquished mist, it glowed on Lord Moth’s attire, gilding its corresponding colors to that which the dwarf held. His and Locusts’ yukatas whipped in the wind, as did the clothes of other elfs’ who chose to dress at all. The former, frail but foreboding, rose his voice at the latter:

“The pack-age, Locust. Answer!”

Locust cleared his throat.

“This criminal is charged with its theft.”

“What! How could he possibly get near such paper? Are your men guarding the vault or the spiders?” spat Moth, adding, “Though clearly it cannot be the latter, can it? Just what are your soldiers doing, Perry Locust?”

All this the captain took with downward glance. The dwarf met his sharp elfen eyes and wondered how badly Locust regret the use of royal materials. But why, he asked himself, ever? The deal so duplicitous between elf and funguay, no trace of the captain should have been allowed alive. Perhaps, then, this is why Locust returned to the cottage days later--perhaps he came to the same realization, and, added the dwarf, had no ‘SAVE’ to ‘LOAD’. Locust’s gaze fixed and unchanged, the dwarf began to shrink and rest a hand atop the hind leg of Paris.

“The dwarf is a sneaking sort.”

“Dwarf? Dwarf you say? Where? Him? He is no dwarf. I remember dwarfs, boy, far before hair ever grew on your head. And sneaky? You can’t mean such a thing, Perry. What good at stealth would a clumsy dwarf be? Their arms were made for the mines, not swiping elf treasure.” And, shifting his sight to the interloper in question:: “I am addressing the ‘dwarf’. What is in the package?”

The addressed came forward to the crenellation and dropped the royal colors fast into the bushes atop sprawled Sowsmith. The nearest guard carefully removed the fallen object and delivered it to the elder lord.

“I appreciate your cooperation, and... what is this? Jewels and baubles and coin? This is easily... thousands.” Lord Moth eyed a woman in similar attire--she with mole on cheek--and lay at her hands the black, gold, and purple. Despite his weak gait, he closed in on Locust like a viper, spitting, “Thousands, Perry. How could the ‘dwarf’ collect all this under your nose? How is such an act possible? No, Perry, tell me this: how did this package come to be?”

The captain sweat.

“It is an embarrassment to be his victim.”

“Answer, Perry Locust. How did the dwarf find this royal parcel? And why did it exist for his hands to supposedly take!”

“He wrapped it himself,” mumbled the captain.

“He wrapped it himself!” repeated Moth, red in the face. “Why, he stole traditional elf folding lessons as well, did he? Perry!”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“I apologize, your lordship. I misspeak. You must forgive me--”

“I must not.” his lordship interjected.

“You may choose not to forgive me, sir,” continued Locust, “but what the dwarf holds was intended for the mayor of Nasteze.”

“The mayor,” said Moth, “of Nasteze.”

Locust said nothing.

“What does Nasteze require our coffers for?”

“They contest the land.”

“They contest the land. Then they may come and try and take it. We built you a wall, Perry. You would never be authorized to make such a payment without informing the council first.”

“I... did.”

“You did?”

With some hesitation, “I did,” said the captain.

Lord Moth exchanged smiles with his female companion. She shook her head. Moth’s eyes returned to Locust’s faltering face.

“She is certain you’ve not.”

“Things slip through cracks.”

“Your request was never made, Perry. We have a good relationship with Nasteze. I have met the mayor myself... you are a poor liar.”

The dwarf’s vision snapped to the elf atop the log.

“Reckon I can tell you ‘oo that package was for,” offered Doetrieve, vine still tight on his neck.

Lord Moth once more turned to she with mole who produced a scabbard of which Moth drew out a fine blade--the very same the dwarf had before gouged himself on. The frail elf ascended up the log’s steps, raised and lowered his arm in quick succession, and descended back down to the woman. Behind him, the vine snapped and the former Lieutenant dropped to his knees. Lord Moth looked on expectantly.

“Speak.”

“Yessir,” said with cracking neck, “He bought poison.”

“Poison!” gasped Moth.

“Yessir.”

“From Nasteze?”

“No sir. Funguay. Squat in them village ruins south some days past. ‘Dwarf’ here recovered it and brought ‘er back to me,” answered with a gesture towards his ally above.

“Back to you! Why?”

“Well, ‘e was squattin’ with the fungus on coincidence. An’ ‘e ‘appened to be there when Locust made the delivery.”

“Does the captain have an alibi for the night this supposedly took place?”

“I have it on my own account and those on front gate duty at the time ‘e does not.”

The old elf glared at he in monochrome yukata.

“No alibi, Perry.”

Perry stood silent.

“What of the fungus?”

“Cappan ‘ad it and the ‘dwarf’ scheduled for execution.”

“What...” and Lord Moth dug at his brow gravely, asking, “And the funguay now?”

“Didn’t make it.”

Lord Moth stood silent.

“So,” he began, “it sounds as if this little bearded man performed a nice turn for the settlement. Is that accurate, lieutenant?”

“Yessir, but I’m lieutenant no more, sir.”

“Perhaps we must reassess that. Come here and have your hands unbound. Perry!” Lord Moth at once commanded. “Stay right where you are.” In glittering black, gold, and purple, having freed Doetrieve, he stepped towards his companion. The lord whispered in her tipped ear, and she gestured towards royal infantry to move towards the captain. Noticing, Locust yelped.

“The lieutenant does not reveal all! Recall why he was to be hung!”

“I recall,” began Moth, “Obstruction of justice, dereliction of duty.”

“The traitorous caplover intervened in the dwarf and funguay’s execution! It was he! That is why the dwarf lives!”

“Restrain yourself, Perry. You’re in hysterics. Why wouldn’t he?” Moth added. “He knew the ‘dwarf’ undeserving of the vine, and it was a shameful thing to have him hung next to a legitimate traitor to our people. But how has this much eluded me? When was the funguay’s trial, Perry?”

The captain’s hung mouth suggested a flow that failed to materialize.

“Captain Perry Locust,” asked his fast approaching lord, “When was the fungus’ trial?”

“Other species are not entitled to a trial,” answered a faltering Locust.

“The poisoning of The Ponderous, Perry!”

“... Mason Doetrieve is behind the poisoning,” countered Locust.

“What?” came an incredulous Moth.

“He and the scampering little freak are in on it, the scheme, everything. That is why he interrupted justice as was to be brought down. I did not know him as the kingpin until his act of treachery, I shamefully admit, my lord.”

“You are a poor liar, Perry.”

“What?” came an incredulous Locust.

“You mean to suggest the lieutenant would have gotten away it otherwise?

“Yes... well.”

“Well indeed,” concluded Lord Moth. He brushed past the captain converged on after by royal colored elfs off their lady’s word. Locust, posture unfailing otherwise, bent his head. The dwarf swore on crystal glimmers off the tips of the captain’s eyes--but he was captain no more, Lord Moth having exposed and humiliated Locust to his own people. Stripped of dignity and duty, he was marched to his quarters. Doetrieve, having exchanged a nod with the frail lord, ran up the nearest tower and out near the parapet where awaited Paris and the dwarf. Eyes fast full of mist, the elf approached his pet with quivering gait. At once he threw his hands around the spider, and it shoved its head against his nuzzling all the while. The dwarf imagined he watched an ‘ANIMAL HUSBANDRY’ alert between them.

“Some show, weren’t it?” remarked Doetrieve. The dwarf laughed. “But how...? I can’t begin to comprehend what you’ve accomplished. How...?” but the elf continued to stumble over his words, eyes studying the array of arachnid variety along the wall. “I recognize many of these fellas from the pitiable sight they made ‘hind glass. Much better for ‘em to have sunlight, ain’t it?” The dwarf agreed. “I dunno what’s to happen next but... if I get a say, we’ll see about that. Now, let’s get ‘em to stay still fer a moment--Lord Moth requested you come, too.”

Fresh from his aborted sentence, the elf gave a sharp and unique whistle which put Paris into a sitting position. The rest followed suit. And nearly as soon as the dwarf questioned the lord’s intentions, he found himself, along with Doetrieve and Moth, leading the settlement’s population through the winding tunnels of the mountain to the chamber of The Ponderous.