Ortai Legacy: Descent

6.2 - Oathbound (L)

Mar'kost tossed the Void crystage to Butcher. "Can you grind this into a powder?"

"Yes." Butcher looked at me as if waiting for permission.

"Please do that." I avoided Mar'kost's expectant gaze as Butcher started scraping the crystal against a rough chair leg. "Not that I'm saying you would do this, but hypothetically, if you killed me, wouldn't that end the oath?"

He shook his head. "An Oath of No Harm returns the harm done tenfold—and as much as I'd love to try out your weapon, it isn't worth dying."

"Uh huh." I couldn't argue with that. He wasn't being unreasonable; I didn't see why he shouldn't be allowed to use my polearm if it was impossible for him to hurt me with it. "Again, I'm not saying I think you'd do this, but if you try to hurt innocent people with it, I'd stop you."

"I have no intention of taking it off the ship, much less to a populated area." His tone harbored growing excitement.

"If he attempts to leave with it, you can trigger its recall enchantment with 'osalka,'" Weylan offered.

That was yet another reason why he shouldn't overreact about Mar'kost's interest in my weapon, but I wasn't entirely sold on the whole oath thing. "What if you want to get rid of the oath in the future?"

Mar'kost raised an eyebrow. "What possible reason could I have for ending an oath that prevents me from harming you?"

"I dunno, just, who wants to be stuck with-" I stopped myself; he was already stuck with an oath that—despite what he'd said—he couldn't possibly be fond of. I scrambled to come up with a different reason for my hesitation. "What if I needed surgery and you were the only person around to do it? Sewing me up would count as harming, wouldn't it?"

His brows rose even higher. "I appreciate the confidence in my strength, but I doubt I'm capable of sewing crystage."

"Right, I'm-" I glanced at my gray-and-white-marbled hand. "-not sewable anymore."

Weylan tutted. "You needn't say it as if it were a bad thing; if part of you breaks, you can simply reattach or regrow it."

"Yeah, but aren't I super brittle?"

His eyes narrowed. "That isn't a topic to discuss in front of others, but if you must know—yes, you are currently brittle due to recently exiting stasis. After a few weeks, you won't be brittle any longer."

Mar'kost gave me a questioning look. "Did he answer?"

Weylan answered before I could. "An Ortai's health is none of your concern."

"I must disagree. Until the moment she severs our bond, her health is very much my concern."

I couldn't argue with that. "I'll be brittle-" He winced, and I stopped. "Are you alright?"

He rubbed his temples. "False Weylan created a loud noise to prevent me from hearing you."

Glaring, I clutched my polearm and shook Weylan a bit—which did absolutely nothing to lessen the smugness in his expression. "You can't be messing with people's heads like that."

"My primary objective is to restore this ship, a task which cannot be completed by your corpse. I will not let you disclose secrets to someone who could cause you harm. If you insist on telling him after he takes the oath, so be it."

I wanted to argue, but the terrifying fact that he could completely manipulate our senses gave me pause. "Fine." At Mar'kost's questioning look, I explained, "He won't let me tell you anything until after you take the oath."

"Understandable. I'll help with the preparations." He rocked to his feet and wandered over to a pile of broken furniture.

I started standing so I could join him, but lightheadedness had me sitting on the fountain basin's rim instead. "Hey, how's my arkegy looking?"