After receiving some vague instructions on how to find the captain from the man in robes, Rolo took to the air again to seek him out. A few more abrupt inquiries with some unsuspecting townsfolk, which left them satisfyingly slack-jawed, and he finally found the man. Captain Dennis Dikenbargobolla, as it turned out, was stationed further down the wall, six outposts away. A hop, skip, and a glide for Rolo.

The captain was inspecting a pair of black powder cannons against an embrasure when Rolo finally spotted him from the air. He’d been told to look for a big white hat, and there it was. Undeniable, even from high up. Rolo dove and slid to a halt on the cobbled stone pathway atop the wall mere paces away from the man. The intrusion caused alarm bells to ring out and guards to hustle to their captain's aid.

“You must be the captain,” said Rolo.

“I, uh … one of them, aye,” said the startled man, holding his composure admirably. The captain, a well built older man with a distinguished white mustache, coughed a few times as the dust settled.

“I’ll get that for you,” said Rolo, picking up the man’s enormous hat his gusty approach had blown off. He brushed it and handed it back.

The captain cleared his throat and let out an uneasy chuckle. “You archons sure know how to make an entrance, don’t you?”

Rolo shrugged. “Subtlety was never my strong suit.”

“Stand down!” shouted the captain, as guards approached from both sides of the wall, black powder rifles in hand. “Stand down, stand down.”

There was a pregnant moment after the alarm bells pittered out and the collective urgency melded into confused hesitation. Men slammed into the backs of others as they came to an abrupt halt.

“Who is this … what is this thing?” demanded a guard.

“I sent for him,” said captain Dennis. “You may return to your normal duties, lieutenant. All of you,” he shouted, waving them away.

“He’s one of them flying people,” said another guard. “I didn’t think they was actually real!”

Rolo studied the men as they questioned their commander, taking note of their mismatched uniforms. A very poor and eclectic lot with many different styles of garb. Fitting, he thought, for a small and unconnected island such as this. But something didn’t quite add up. He looked at the captain. “You know,” he said, tucking his left wing against his back and stretching his right, "for a small, agricultural focused island, you seem to have a lot of guardsmen and fire power.”

The captain’s eyes lit up. “Ah, yes. That would be because of the spiders.”

“Spiders?” said Rolo, raising an eyebrow.

“Aye, why do you think we have this grand wall?”

Rolo blinked. “You built a wall because of a pest problem? I just assumed you people were anal about your toll crossings.”

The captain laughed a hardy laugh and put his hand on Rolo’s shoulder. “Come, Archon, we’ve much to discuss.”

The captain led Rolo along the wall through the dispersing guards, who all eyed him wearily, to a spiral staircase that wound deep within the structure. To Rolo’s surprise, the wall was mostly hollow with many levels. They descended three before entering a tight, wooden pathway lit by small oil lamps mounted liberally on the walls. He had to tuck his wings in extra tight to not knock any off. They passed by dozens of square rooms used by guardsmen as living spaces and mess halls. The heavy smell of old wood, damp stone, and human bodies in the confined spaces was enough to make Rolo consider plucking his own feathers and stuffing them up his nose. His wool sleeves kept some of the stink at bay, but there was no escaping it. Thankfully, the captain led Rolo to a much larger, cleaner room with a small, south facing window. There was a desk on one side and a lit fireplace flanked by two wooden chairs on the other.

“Please, have a seat,” said the captain, motioning to the chairs.

Rolo examined the straight back of each, spun the nearest around, and sat with the back of the chair against his chest. “Finding ergonomically suitable furniture as an archon can be quite the pain in the arse,” said Rolo. “Literally and figuratively.”

The captain made a “hmm” noise in understanding as he took his own seat behind his desk. “I see. However, I’m sure the pros far outweigh the cons of possessing such … extremities.”

Rolo shrugged and stretched his wings. The tips of both pressed against the walls on either side of the room. An impressive sight. “What can I say? I asked the gods for a massive cock and they turned me into one instead.”

The captain let out a deep one-syllable bellow of a laugh. “I like you, archon. Rolo, was it?”

Rolo nodded. “You’ve been corresponding with my mentor via hawk pigeon.”

“He speaks highly of you. Says you can handle just about anything you’re tasked with.”

“Did he now? Are you sure we’re talking about the same man?”

The captain smiled again, his white mustache curling upwards as he did. “Are you hungry? I have a bushel of red apples here. Freshly plucked and ripe.” He tossed one and Rolo caught it with one hand.

“Much obliged,” said Rolo, biting into it.

The captain bit into his own apple. “Did Arbourne tell you we grew up together?”

Rolo took another bite, shook his head. It was delicious. “I knew you two were acquainted, but he neglected to provide any details of your relationship. My mentor has a habit of being vague and often cryptic, even with me.”

“We lived in the same village on an island called Rachelle-isle,” said Captain Dennis. “It was an agriculture spit of land, much like this but on a thread further north. We grew a lot of tomatoes and berries. Had a few crossing partners. And then one day, when we were in our late teens, he developed that lump on his back.”

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Rolo nodded. “The infamous lump.”

“Well, of course, nobody knew what it was, not even the local doctor. It being such a rare occurrence, as you know. Tried to drain it a few times, to no avail.” The captain paused to take a bite and Rolo cringed at the thought of someone draining liquid from his back. “But it kept coming back, larger still,” continued the captain. “Until one day, a traveler from one of those university islands crossed over and happened to notice Arbourne's rather large predicament. By then it was so big the boy couldn’t stand up straight. Well, this man knew exactly what it was. He’s an archon, he said. Helped his family connect with your Academy out there on that archipelago of yours way up north. And that was the last I ever saw of him.” The captain sipped from a cup already sitting on the desk. Rolo nodded, sunk his teeth into the apple, as he waited for the old man to continue.

“I grew close to his family,” said the captain, after a soft belch. “They taught me how to use those hawk pigeons if I ever wanted to write to him, but I never did,” he said with a shrug. “Life just took us separate ways. It wasn't until I discovered the boy here a few cycles ago that I sought your master out. Felt it was the right thing to do. And it was a good excuse to connect with an old friend.”

Rolo examined the thin apple core in his fingers. Had he truly devoured it that quickly? “How is the boy, by the way?”

The captain tossed Rolo another apple. “From what I can tell he’s about to pop, but he’s in good health.”

Rolo nodded “Is he far from here?”

“He lives with his aunt who owns a tavern near the lake. She’s also the town’s dedicated nurse, so he’s in good hands.”

“Will you take me to him?”

“Of course, of course.”

“Today?”

The captain paused for a moment, then nodded. “Let me see to my duties this morning and I’ll personally escort you inland this afternoon.”

Rolo nodded. “Does he know what he is?”

The captain hesitated again. “That’s … well, as I’m sure you know, your kind are … oh, how to say it?”

“Misunderstood,” offered Rolo.

“Your brazen approach on the wall didn’t help your reputation much either. A dozen men nearly crap themselves, you know.”

“As I said before, subtly has never been my forte. I’ve just never had enough patience for the art. One of Arbourne’s many, many critiques of my character.”

“Clearly.” The captain leaned forward, a serious look darkening his face. “You know, Rolo, the people on this island bear a very unique and heavy burden,” he said, in almost a whisper. “They have to contend with a very real and terrifying threat. A threat unlike anywhere else. They don’t take well to surprises.” He paused for effect, then, in an even softer whisper, said: “Monstrous spiders the size of hogs—some even as big as horses. The entire culture and half the economy revolves around those terrible creatures.”

Rolo squinted, wrapped his arms around the back of the chair, and stretched his wings closer to the hearth to warm them near the flames. “You’re talking about the island of Karakiss, aren’t you?” said Rolo.

“You know your islands,” said the captain, leaning back in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk.

“I know a few. There are thousands, you know.”

“Aye,” said the captain, “but only one that’s infested with deadly, man-eating arachnids. And only one that ever crosses paths with it,” he said, pointing to the floor. “This one.”

Rolo scrunched up his face, pulled out his little book of crossings. He flipped through a few pages, holding it closer to the fire for better light. He tapped a page and shook his head. “My notes are lacking,” he said. “I’ve written here that Bendel-helm has two crossings per cycle. One is a trade partner called Delamar and the other is inhabitable for an unknown reason.” He snapped the little book shut. “And now it makes sense. How often do you cross paths with Karakiss?”

“Once a cycle.”

Rolo whistled, nodded.

“Aye, and imagine if we were ever overrun.”

Rolo nodded slowly in understanding. “The spiders could infect Delamar, and whatever islands it crosses with as well. Could be a devastating chain reaction.”

“There is a silver lining, however.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?” said Rolo.

“Spider meat is absolutely delicious,” he said, biting into his apple. “Not to mention their venom and bones sell for a very high price at Delamar. Often enough to pay soldier’s salaries with some left over to invest in the townships. Our greatest threat to our survival is also our greatest economic export—larger still than the commodities we grow.” The captain smiled. “I feel as if there’s a good joke to be made about that tid-bit of irony, but I’ve yet to think of one. Would you like to try some spider jerky? It never rots once you dry it out.”

“That sounds utterly repulsive.”

The captain pointed at him. “Just you wait, archon. I’ve a mind to change yours about that very soon come this next crossing.”

Rolo sighed. “Which brings us to this mysterious ‘favor’ Arbourne mentioned you’d ask of me.”

“Ah, he mentioned that to you, did he?”

“I believe his words were something along the lines of, ‘you’ll be asked to aid them in a standing conflict with one of their crossings.’ I take it that means you want me to help you slay spiders?”

“Just a small favor, in exchange for introducing you to the boy. You understand. Would you like some ale?”

“No, thank you. I’m still a bit hungover from last night, to be honest. I can’t remember the last time I flew away from High Dawn sober.”

The captain shrugged, pulled out a bottle and glass, and poured himself some. “Arbourne writes that you are an adept fighter, especially with those blades you wear on your forearms.”

Rolo made a movement with his wrist and a blade sprang from a spring loaded mechanism around his forearm. He made another gesture and the blade folded back into place. “I can hold my own,” said Rolo. “Not sure how one little archon can make that much of a difference against a horde of giant spiders, but sure. Let’s do this. Why not?”

“Every man counts,” said the captain. “Even the ones that are only half.”

Rolo smiled, then watched the captain take a long sip.

He set the glass down and eyed Rolo wearily. “I must confess, I’m quite worried about this particular crossing, Rolo.”

“Why is that?”

“You see, usually this wall, and the defenses we’ve set in place are enough to protect our little island. In a normal cycle. We’ve many men, most of them well paid mercenaries from other islands. That alone usually suffices. But every decade or so, there is a massive increase in the number of spiders we face. Something to do with their breeding cycles, I’m not quite sure. But what I am sure of is this coming crossing we can expect somewhere close to ten times the amount we usually contend with.”

“About how many?”

“Thousands,” said Dennis.

“Gemma’s rusty clam,” swore Rolo. “When do you cross with the place?”

“In about two and a half days.”

“Huh. And how long does your crossing last?”

“There’s only a small peninsula on the southern edge of Karakis that can reach Bendel-helm, and it slides against our northern edge for a little more than two hours.”

“That’s not that long.”

“Aye, but when you’re in the thick of it, Rolo, and giant arachnids are pouring over onto your land, it feels like two-hundred hours.” He shook his head. “I’m not looking forward to this crossing at all,” he said. “Not one bit.”