The night passed, watch by watch. The stars prickled bright in the sky, the moon rose and dimmed them, Duvainor woke Canadion, Canadion woke Duvainor and was woken in turn again.

'Pre-dawn already, Lieutenant,' Duvainor said, for that was how you styled yourselves on a flet, Captain and Lieutenant, by seniority. 'A quiet enough night. Give me an hour, then wake me.'

'Yes, Captain,' Canadion said, smiling.

But when he came to wake Duvainor, he had news for him.

'The trees are anxious,' he said. 'Something has alarmed them, some way to the west… it is not near, but it is not something to ignore, either.'

'Well spotted, Canadion. I'll go up into the canopy, after breakfast. But you're right; the air is brittle with distress pheromones from the chestnuts we passed two days ago. Flighty things, worry about anything, but in this case…'

When Duvainor came down from the canopy, he shook his head.

'I thought you said west; I'm getting chemical distress signals from the north…'

'It can't be both…'

'It can, if it's not one thing, but two things. Well… it's not anything certain, the trees… we probably have time to catch up with the others, if we leave now, if we hurry… but if the danger is from the west, we'd be exposing ourselves to it when we cross the road… and if from the north, we risk leading the danger onto the company…'

'Could we signal the next flet? Or the last one?'

Duvainor thought for a moment, then shook his head.

'No, not without knowing what it is… we might alert any enemy to our whereabouts, or theirs. We'd best sit tight, I think, until we know which direction it is, north or west… and hope it isn't both.'

Morning passed and noon crested overhead. To all intents and purposes, all was well, outwardly, in the forest and to a casual eye nothing was amiss. But the bird song faded to rare alarm calls, the trees began to rustle out of time with the breeze and finally, mid-afternoon, Canadion shook his head.

'Captain…' he began.

'I know,' Duvainor said. 'The tension grows no less. I'll just slide over into the beech there, see what it has to say for itself…'

Duvainor was gone ages, it seemed. But by stretching out his thoughts, Canadion was sure he could touch his friend's presence. It made him smile, thinking the bond between them was so deep, and gave him reassurance that all was well.

Even so, he was glad when Duvainor finally returned.

'Well?' Canadion asked when his lover-and-Captain leapt onto the flet.

'Well, Lieutenant…' Duvainor stressed the title. 'I want you to lay your hands on this tree, and open yourself to it. See what you get.'

'I… but, I am not yet fluent in Tree…'

'I know. This is something you only learn by doing, Canadion, even if you have an aptitude for it. I just want to see what you get; don't worry, it's not a test, there are no right or wrong answers…'

Nervous, suddenly, perhaps because of Duvainor's words, Canadion laid his hand on the trunk of the tree, above where it branched for the canopy, trying to project his awareness through the thick bark. He opened his mind as he did so, trying to stretch his senses wide, to listen with parts of him that were without hearing…

…for a long moment, nothing. But then the ebb and flow of the life of the tree, the surge of sap, the great movement upwards… now connected, he tried to think a query, to form a question – was there danger? What brought it, wind or trail, canopy or…?

He gasped. A sudden vision flourished behind his eyes, a sharp, acrid scent, a tremulous, shaking fear…

'Ai, it is both…!' he cried out, trying to keep his voice soft. 'Hating-Thoughts from the trails west, spiders coming through the canopy to the north… many spiders, too many spiders… Ai! Duvainor, my Captain, what is too many spiders…?'

Canadion disengaged from the tree, thanking it with a stroke of his hand, while Duvainor laughed softly.

'With your bow skills, and mine, there is no such thing as too many spiders…! Yes, though, that's what I was told, too. I went beyond the beech, asked a sweet chestnut, too… Not many orcs, not as many as there are spiders… about an hour away, it looks as if they'll converge close to our position, perhaps too close… well, what to do…? Suggestions…?'

'I do not like how many spiders there are; we can shoot or evade a few, but if there are orcs on the trail beneath us, it is less easy to do that… and the spiders might draw the orcs after us… is there time, do you think, to cross the road and catch up with the next flet?'

Duvainor shook his head.

'Normally, I would say, yes. But we're not stationing at every flet, it's probably three hours to the next watch position… now, we could probably do it, if we run through the canopy… but the haste would alert the spiders, and we would have to cross the road where the canopy is thinnest; we would be exposed, visible to anything on the trail, even if just for a moment…'

He frowned, looking off northwards into the forest, then glancing to the west.

'I have a thought… we could get high in the canopy to meet the spiders, perhaps draw them towards the orcs… if we can set them on one another, then we should be able to avoid the worst of the fight. Meanwhile, calls won't carry far enough to the next watch post, we will have to send word through the trees; it is imprecise, I know, but it is the best message we can send, short of ourselves…'

'You do it, Captain, you are better at treespeak than I am.'

'We both will, by turns, same message; Alert call: Hating-Thoughts to the setting sun, spiders on the homeward direction. You take the home tree, I'll send through the beech. Then we regroup, check our weapons.'

Canadion leaned against the tree again and sent out the alert, focussing all his emotions into it, pushing fear and alarm into the message, although he was not really afraid. Not properly.

Not yet.

Once he had done, Duvainor slid over into the beech tree where they had made love the evening before; Canadion's eyes lingered on his lover for a moment, but then he shook off his improper thoughts and focussed instead on his weapons; two knives in his belt, long and short, a double filled quiver… he checked the weapons cache and drew out the spare arrows from within; the thick of a spider fight would not be a good time to run out of ammunition.

'Well done, Lieutenant,' Duvainor said softly. 'I must confess, I don't like this… perhaps we should decamp after all…'

'Where to? All we can do is run before one enemy or the other, or both?'

'That's true; we can outpace the orcs easily enough, head west for a mile or two… but the reports said more orcs south of the road, and where exactly… we don't want to run from one troop straight towards another…'

Canadion gasped as the breeze brought fresh scents to them.

'The spiders are moving swiftly, suddenly; can you feel it now, in the trees?'

Duvainor nodded. A bitter, sharp tang to the air from the north carried on the breeze.

'It's too late, then, to run. I am sorry, Canadion, I should have ordered us to leave at the first sign of disturbance… But it could have been nothing, and I would not have had them think us foolish, afraid for each other...'

'It is not your fault; there should have been three of us. And that is my fault, for Angon…'

'We are better without his clever nastiness.' Duvainor turned swiftly, drew Canadion into his arms and kissed him fiercely. 'For luck, my bright one.'

'I can hear them! Orcs, on the trail below…'

Harsh voices, the chink and clank of metal. Orcs on the path, shouted orders. Duvainor brought his mouth close to Canadion's ear to speak low.

'Small troop, not more than a dozen, probably scouts. I'm going to leave you here… if spiders come, you attack them, not the first in the group, aim for one three or four bodies back, it causes more confusion. But make it a kill shot.'

'Aye, Captain, but...'

'I'm going to do the opposite to the orcs; going to shoot to wound, make them shriek and bleed. Not arrows; blow pipe and darts, harder for them to see… Draw the spiders to the scent of blood, right? Once the spiders turn off towards them, focus on the orcs. Clear them up, then pick of the spiders. Good plan?'

'Wonderful plan.'

'Good luck then, Lieutenant. If you get into difficulties, you know the bird call sequences.'

And Duvainor was gone, leaping across the branches towards the approaching mayhem of orcs.

At first it seemed to go well. Canadion climbed a little way into the canopy to listen for the approaching spiders, marking their direction and growing alarmed at how much disturbance they were causing; it looked as if an entire colony was migrating to judge from the alarm of the trees... but there came a satisfying chorus of shrieks and curses from the road, and the main thrust of the arachnids seemed to turn, head towards the sounds…

A warning call, and Duvainor was on the flet with him again, laughing and bright eyed with excitement.

'It's working, look!'

Canadion came back to the platform and crouched amongst the foliage, arrow nocked, looking where Duvainor indicated. Not a hundred yards away, the orc troop was under attack from the spiders, arachnids varying in shape from huge to gigantic dropping down on silk ropes to reach and snatch at the orcs. Three of the enemy were already wound in silk, struggling, and others fought with rough, broad blades and howled and yelled their rage.

Answering yells from the east and Duvainor grabbed Canadion's arm in horror.

'More orcs!' he gasped, and with dismay Canadion looked along the trail to where sounds of rapid approach suggested a second orc pack. 'How could we miss them?'

'And a bigger troop… Duvainor…! What are we supposed to do…?'

'Well, we're supposed to have another archer with us… Ai, Valar…! Target the orcs, I think. As soon as we start shooting arrows, the new orcs will know we're here and mark our position… at least the spiders are keeping half of the orcs busy…'

'But not all the spiders, Duvainor…'

Sure enough, while many of the giant arachnids had gone to investigate and were launching tentative attacks on the orcs, the remainder of the migration was now heading towards the flet…

'Very well. We deploy in alternating formation. You're shooting at spiders, away from the road… I'm taking orcs down with darts for as long as we can; that way, they might not spot us at straight away, especially not while the spiders are keeping them busy…

With the trunk of the tree between them and keeping their backs to it, Canadion and Duvainor took up their proper positions; Canadion down on one knee to look up into the canopy, Duvainor standing, his green and brown uniform merging him in against the foliage as he sighted his blowpipe down towards the trail.

'At will, then, Lieutenant. Once the orcs become aware of us… good luck.'

Canadion found the spot between the leaves where a moving, rounded shape suggested a spider's abdomen; he sighted ahead of it, working out where its head would be, released his shot, nodded satisfaction as a crash suggested a kill shot. Below, on the trail, was a yell as Duvainor's dart hit home. Yells of rage and the orcs were shouting about elves, somewhere…

'That's it, then,' Duvainor said, a tremor in his deliberately calm voice. 'Alternate your targets now, canopy and trail.'

'Aye, Captain.'

Knowing Duvainor already had the original troop in his sights, Canadion looked to the newcomers, still hastening along the track. The smell reached him first; dank, dark, as if they'd already died and had been rotting for a week. He wrinkled his nose, took aim, and shot through the leaf cover to take out a tall orc some three ranks back… three ranks! This was a big company…

But the orc had dropped, clutching his throat, and Duvainor chuckled softly.

'Three and one,' he said.

'One and one…' Canadion nocked another arrow, shot again; the orcs had flowed around the body of their fallen comrade and were spreading into the forest, trying to see where the elves had shot from. '…two and one…' A surge of acid from the tree, and he swung around to see the arachnids almost on them. He shot once, twice, swiftly, and was delighted when one spider fell immediately, a second screeching before it, too tumbled.

'Ai, if only it had fallen on the orcs…!'

'Nice shot…'

Suddenly they got busy, too busy for banter. Periodic yells, the hiss of arrows in the air told Canadion Duvainor was firing with success into the orcs. Spiders suddenly rushing towards the flet kept him occupied with a flurry of shots; at one point, the ugly maw of an arachnid pushed through the leaves, far too close, and Canadion stabbed it in the face with the arrow he'd been about to nock, causing it to recoil while he reached for his knife to plunge it through the central eye and into the forebrain. It wailed and twitched, falling.

'They have spotted us,' Duvainor called out as an orc arrow whistled up past the flet. 'Keep your nerve, Canadion…'

'Aye, Captain…'

The spiders had withdrawn, at least for the moment, he nocked his arrow again and sighted for an orc-head; the trees were helping, crowding together to herd the orcs onto the trail, signalling fear pheromones that helped Canadion find his target. A hail of stones with one or two arrows amongst them showered the flet, and he had to duck and slide around the trunk of the tree to avoid being hit. Perhaps fortuitously; in the next tree over, three spiders were resting in the fearful stillness they adopted before a spring… three arrows, left, right, centre, as fast as he could, two kill shots and the third enough to make the creature shriek and curl up defensively.

An alarm from the foot of the tree; glancing down the trunk, Canadion saw an orc looking up, trying to find a handhold to climb up, a black-bladed knife between its fangs. Canadion's arrow hit between its eyes and it crumpled, the sound of its fall overlying a dull thud from behind that Canadion dismissed as unimportant.

'I'm down to my last few arrows, Captain…'

Duvainor didn't answer. Canadion thought nothing of it at first, shooting down at the orcs who seemed, at last, to be retreating, hurling stones and firing arrows from their ungainly bows as they went.

'Captain? They're fleeing! We have them on the run, or the spiders, have…!'

He glanced over his shoulder, looked again. Duvainor was lying towards the edge of the flet, head hanging over, and Canadion felt a hit of panic; the noise he had heard, could it have been his friend falling...? But before he could go to help, a chittering and hissing of rage from above and suddenly a half dozen spiders pushed down towards him…

He yelled, pulling out his knives, stabbing and slashing, standing defensively over his captain… it must have been one of those stones, the slingshot… another face hissed at him, mouthparts spreading obscenely wide, fangs dripping venom and his yell was more of a shriek as he slashed at it, pushing it away with a shoulder as he spun to knife another in the eye, whirling back to stab another…

(Duvainor was all right, wasn't he…? Just stunned. Had to be… he'd know if… he'd know…)

Legs, reaching for him. He shrieked, panic building, and he shuddered as he lashed out, severing the claw and lower forearm. Off balance, the spider lurched towards him, clacking, and he stabbed with the knives, stabbed and stabbed… had to protect Duvainor, unconscious from a hit by an orc slingshot… had to be that, couldn't have been an arrow, couldn't be more than him just being knocked out…

A spider leapt, loomed over him, limbs ready to cage him. Jabbing upwards with the long knife, he hit the central nerve mode, and its shrieks echoed his as he shoved at it, heaved it off the flet…

…the bond between them, so strong, he'd know if it was more than just an injury, he'd sense it, but no, Duvainor was fine, would be fine, fine…

More spiders, and more, too many, so many… he lost count, just kept on stabbing and slashing and jabbing and sticking and always the screams, the shrieks and yells and screams, the noise, the terrible, fearful noise, the blind fear bubbling away at him, turning his knees to jelly… only his need to protect Duvainor kept him going, spider after spider after…

Voices, he didn't know, not orcs, saying something, but the screams and the spiders, still in front of him, shadowy shapes, and…

Sudden pain in his jaw, and everything went dark.

When it began to lift, his head ached, there was a huge pain in his face and there was that awful screaming again, and he almost choked as water filled his mouth; he swallowed, out of instinct, and for a heartbeat, the yells stopped. Started again, and something that might have been swearing. More pain and…

Dark.

Healer Nestoril sat behind her desk, listening. Captain Bregon had stopped talking some time ago, Himon, the duty captain who'd led the patrol, more recently. But that didn't stop her from waiting, listening to the silences around the two warriors.

Bregon she knew of old; he had a good heart, compassionate, wanted to do the best for the warriors in his care, and she read his silence to hold muted fury; the duty captain had been at fault, for whatever reason he had been happy to let two warriors hold a three-elf flet close to an area of danger and Nestoril knew that wouldn't sit well with Bregon… she also knew he recognised his as the ultimately responsible position and so guilt and shame were mingling with his rage…

Somewhere distant from Nestoril's office, someone began screaming. Muted by distance, but not muted enough, it fractured the tense silence. Bregon looked down at his hands. The duty captain winced. Nestoril rose from her desk her chair scraping against the stone floor.

'Captain Bregon, I have no time now to go into more discussion with your captain as to the appropriateness or otherwise of his judgement. I insist, however, on protesting at the highest level an inappropriate use of force on the warrior whose screams are now interrupting our meeting.'

This was the point at which Bregon should have interrupted with explanations and a spirited defence of the warrior who had used said inappropriate force. Instead, he inclined his head.

'I agree, Healer. Everyone concerned will be put on the relevant charges and I will submit myself to Over-captain Rawon for his judgement.'

'But what were we supposed to do?' Himon, the duty captain blurted out. 'Carry him home screaming? It was four days…'

Nestoril ignored him, going to hold the door, gesturing them out. It was plain she considered the meeting at an end, and brushed past them to head towards the room from which the screams were issuing.

Bregon glared at the duty captain and waved him away, himself turning to follow the healer. She opened a door and hurried in, noticed him, and left it open after her as she crossed to the bed where a young ellon, half his face swathed in heal-silk and his eyes stark open, locked in reverie, was ripping the air with the sounds of his distress. A healer at the bedside, wearing the mid-blue robes of the novice, had one of his hands in her own, and she was crooning softly too him, a soft Silvan incantation, her gentle voice soothing, reassuring.

Nestoril took his other hand, laid careful fingers on his forehead.

'Hush now, Canadion, it is over, indeed. Listen to me, hear me, hear Maereth… you are safe, in the Healers' Hall, we have you…'

Slowly the injured ellon's screams subsided, became whimpers. Maereth ceased her song.

'That was but the second episode today,' she said in her soft voice. 'He is recovering, at last.'

Nestoril nodded, turned to Bregon.

'Two days he has been here, and his jaw was shattered in three places. His face was all over bruises, his throat raw from the screams… Healing has begun, but he is in great pain, despite the dressings for, of course, when he… vocalises, he disturbs the healing bone and flesh. It is my understanding that warrior companies are sent out with supplies of sedatives and analgesics… there was no need for this… this abuse.'

Her voice was sad, disappointed, and Bregon swallowed.

'Those responsible will face the full weight of discipline, Healer. I could understand the first time, perhaps… they tell me he was on the flet, standing over the captain's body, yelling, stabbing blindly and dead spiders all around, on the floor of the forest… he'd been hours there, they said, before they could get through the orcs and reach him, and they couldn't reason with him… but after that, once they had him safe…'

'I do not know if he will ever feel safe again,' Maereth said sadly. 'His mind is in such fear and grief. He does not know about his captain, he keeps asking, was the captain badly hurt by the stone from the slingshot, he doesn not realise it was an arrow… it is not a thing for now, of course.'

'No, Maereth, it is not.' Nestoril turned to Bregon. 'The captain's body remains with us, in repose, for Canadion will need to see him before he has a chance of healing from this. The family may protest; Captain, I look to you to argue powerfully on our behalf; it is the least you can do.'

'Yes, Healer,' he said, humbled, for he knew it really, really was.