Ortai Legacy: Descent

6.3 - Oathbound (L)

"Good." Butcher looked down at its pile of crystage dust. "Need blood."

I winced. "You can use whatever blood you need. I'm not going to drink anything else right now."

With a slight nod, Butcher took one of the full skulls and drew a beat-up spoon from one of his belt pouches. The mimic started carefully transferring crystage powder into the blood.

"I have the needle." Mar'kost held up a metal shard that'd been filed to a thin point.

"What about tetanus?"

He looked a little confused. "Tetanus is a micro-animal."

"Microorganism, but sure."

"We've discussed this; micro-animals can't survive here."

"Right. I knew that." I was just too anxious for my own good.

He didn't look convinced, which was fair. "So long as False Weylan doesn't include any unreasonable terms, we'll both be fine."

"What do you mean 'we?' I thought you were the only one taking the oath."

"Oaths don't work unless there are at least two linked oath-takers—but don't worry, you'll only need a small charm mark; the terms of the oath will be written on me."

That wasn't comforting because I didn't actually want to make someone permanently write a magical contract on their skin. "You sure you're okay with this?"

"I'm certain." His smile faltered. "I've spent my entire life studying what little Ortology material I could acquire. Being able to study the depths of an Ortai temple and a replica of an Ortai's consciousness is an opportunity worth taking a thousand oaths—especially oaths as tame as refraining from harming someone I had no intention of harming in the first place."

"You'll be required to take a Secrecy Oath as well," Weylan interjected.

"Of course." He retrieved the finished paint from Butcher and sat in the chair across from me. "Name your terms, False Weylan. I'll likely accept them all, but I'd still rather hear them before we begin tattooing."

Weylan rattled off a long list of terms, some of which seemed unnecessary, but none of them seemed particularly unreasonable. The only one Weylan hadn't mentioned before forbade Mar'kost from removing any artifacts from the ship without my explicit permission. Mar'kost nodded along until the AI quieted.

"Is that all?"

Weylan paused. "Yes. Do you accept these terms?"

"I do. I'm afraid that my Bontair vocabulary is limited, so I won't be able to perform the oath myself." He placed the needle into my unwilling hand before turning his back to me. "Go ahead."

"Uh, can't Weylan just tell you the words?" I really didn't want to stab him a bunch of times.

"Enchantments can only be made by those who fully understand the words—and unfortunately for me, I've never been able to afford a spellbook."

Weylan scoffed. "Even if you had, you would have difficulty memorizing it; your connection to the Void is much weaker than an Ortai's."

Mar'kost's tail swatted his chair leg. "It's strong enough to memorize simple spells."

Sensing that their argument might continue for a while, I intervened. "I don't think I know Bontair."

"You have a Polyglot-"

Weylan interrupted Mar'kost. "Even True Polyglot Skills can't bind the language of magic into one's mind. She'll need to learn as we go."

"I see." He didn't sound any more pleased about this development than I did.