In the afternoon, the three of them were already in the forest. Darmakaya was happy to be out, though he didn't show it. Maynar was scared and stayed behind everyone, carrying his lute for comfort on his back. He wore leather armor that did not suit him at all; it was given to him when a cousin of his had died at sea, along with other things from his home. Maynar was not built for trouble, but he was curious about what was going on in the place. Although he was objectively a coward, he liked Barhed and felt sorry for his son. Barhed was advancing with a haste that even he could not sustain. His body couldn't keep up the pace, but it was hard to tell him anything. When evening fell, Darmakaya suggested that they camp and rest, and so even Barhed was able to rest for a while without much remorse.
"This forest is huge," complained Maynar. "I didn't realize how big Ayaton was until now." Barhed had lit a fire, and in it was boiling a soup of herbs and vegetables. They didn't have time to hunt for something better, nor did they have the necessary equipment.
"Where is this temple?" Darma asked Barhed .
"North. Tomorrow we'll be there, early I hope," Barhed said.
Maynar tensed. "I shudder at the very idea. That building is eerie and ugly. It doesn't even have a window."
Darmakaya looked at him in wonder. "What exactly are you?"
"I beg your pardon?"
He looked at Barhed , but the old man had his eyes lowered. "I mean, what is your value?"
Maynar felt uncomfortable. "My worth? I have several values, if you must know."
"Such as?"
"Some people say I'm an excellent poet. Others say that my contribution to recording history has made the world a better place. Others simply enjoy my art of storytelling."
Darmakaya saw the lute on the ground. "Oh, no," he said sincerely.
"What's wrong?"
"You're a bard. I hate bards."
Maynar was offended. "I hate pirates too, but you don't see me complaining."
Darmakaya spread his wings, dust rose, and Maynar stiffened with fear.
"We'll be up early in the morning, before dawn," said Barhed , lying down under a makeshift blanket.
Maynar began to play his lute, and Darmakaya sat by the fire.
"They say you were in some great battle before you fell to the bottom," he said between tunes.
"I don't want to talk about it, poet."
"It's related to the one who appeared on the Rain Coast, isn't it? Arsik."
Darma looked at him, his mouth a straight line. "I don't know him, I don't remember," he said falsely, not wanting to pick at his memories.
"The temple we're going to is ancient," Maynar said, changing the subject.
"So they say."
"So it is. It was built by servants of Nedel who ran away from the Cell. No matter how many years pass, it will never stop being scary."
"You are easily frightened, poet."
"Yes, that's true. You'd have to be mad not to be afraid. I know you're afraid too, even if you won't admit it."
Darma turned and looked at him, his huge neck lined with veins.
"Only crazy people aren't afraid," said Maynar. "Twenty years ago, Nedel attacked Goualekir himself. Do you know that?"
"Even the seagulls know that. There isn't a man in Vitallia who hasn't heard of a battle of such magnitude."
"Were you there? Did you fight?"
The question left a bad taste in his mouth. "No," Darma replied. "I was busy."
Maynar detected shame in the Gargoyle's gaze. "Fortunately, it all worked out well in the end, if you ignore the fact that thousands died, especially the elves. Have you ever been to Exotia?"
Darmakaya thought about the elf woman for a moment. "Yes. Now hush, poet, I'm tired of listening to you."
"Very well then. I am not sleepy, however. I think I'll keep the first watch." He looked at Barhed, who already seemed to be asleep.
"No need."
"Maybe you wouldn't have to at sea, Darma, but this is a forest and..."
"I said no need. I can turn to stone and watch at the same time. Now shut the fuck up already, and no more questions."
Maynar got the message and slowly lay down on the ground, listening to the soft raindrops falling on the leaves.
"Poet."
"Hmm?"
"Darmakaya , for you, not Darma."
Silence fell heavily in the forest. Darmakaya turned to stone, his aches diminished, but he could keep watch in case any immediate danger arose. Maynar heard the transformation but was afraid to face the result. Any danger around him didn't concern him; he was already scared enough of his own company. He tried to steal some sleep and hoped for a better dawn.
In the morning, they were awakened by the heavy storm. By the time they got ready, they were already wet to the bone. Maynar made a strong effort to protect his lute, but it was nearly impossible. It was clear that everyone was on edge. The forest was dark, the light lost between the leaves. A dull morning preceded an ominous day, tightening everyone's stomachs.
"Tell us about what you saw again," Darmakaya said to Barhed. Barhed recounted everything again in as much detail as he could.
"Let's keep an eye out for that skeleton."
"Wight," said Maynar.
"What?"
"According to the descriptions, it's not just a skeleton. If it was this able in battle, it was probably a Wight."
"What's the difference?"
"Skeletons don't have that much power. They usually follow orders or guard a place, in service to a mage. Wights have a will of their own."
"Will?" Barhed said, suddenly seeming interested.
"Yes. They are not in bondage to anyone unless they have a vested interest. They understand what's going on around them."
Barhed stopped walking. "What could a Wight want?" Behind his question was his anxiety about Ian; it was clear. Maynar was walking a fine line.
"I don't know, Barhed, really. Maybe I'm wrong. Unfortunately, we'll have to see it in person. Wights have more power and magic."
"How do you know that?"
"I've read about them," he said simply, feeling a twinge of pride. He felt good about himself for having something to offer the team.
"Perfect," Darmakaya added wryly, and they continued on their way.