Chapter 12
The boy was more than he could possibly hope for, Nekros thought to himself. He was pleased with the previous day's performance, gladdened to see the boy had finally come to his senses. Three weeks was a very long time for him to have stayed among peasants, but the assassin wanted to test him on his loyalties.
The night he found Feryl in the school asleep on the bed, he looked almost…content. Clearly, he wanted to stay, but his master's voice was final. Nekros was delighted with how easily the boy did as he was ordered, as he always did in the past.
After the memorable tryst, the Imperial couldn't have been more thrilled with the way things turned out. The Shadowbane had done exactly what he wanted. Serves the pup right stealing from me! Part of him desperately wanted the boy next to him as he slept, but the timing wasn't right yet. He was still quite young, and perhaps effecting by the girl's untimely death. Given time, Feryl would come to realize he'd done her a great service. Better his enchanting technique, than mine.
Warmed by the memory of Feryl's show of killing the girl, the assassin nearly tingled. How creative! How so beguilingly romantic! It was that tender kiss that enflamed him the night before. Such a soft mouth that boy has!
Nekros touched his own, smiling as he caught the scent of the boy on his skin. He was surprised at the development Feryl had in three short weeks. Filling out nicely, I must say! He appreciated the new muscle and strength in the elfling. The haircut was a nice touch as well, though he seemed to be reverting to his untamed ways.
No matter. There held a certain appeal as well.
After Kendari is dead, I will gather up some of the clothes there. There is no reason the boy needs to dress in rags anymore. He didn't particularly like when the boy wore tattered clothing, but Feryl was stubborn at times, and clothes were often ripped during punishment.
He didn't struggle last night. Nekros smiled again, keeping that memory livid in his mind to warm him. The body even seemed eager at times. Who would've thought such passion in such a young lad?
A wicked chuckle bubbled up his throat. He looked towards the locked closet, wondering if the boy listened. Well it was time he was up just the same. Nekros wanted to celebrate their reunion, and there was the killing of Master Kendari to be done. Feryl would need to watch, just in case the boy had developed feelings for the man. All ties to that place must be severed if there was any hope of redeeming him back into the art.
Unlocking the closet door, he found Feryl asleep on his makeshift pallet. Perhaps he'll get a bed now that he is a man. Nekros paused, feeling the vision before him was still a young boy too young.
Naked and bruised, the elfling curled with arms over his head. Legs were draw up to his chest, and chin to knees. The fetal position must be giving that illusion of innocence, the assassin considered thoughtfully.
Kneeling beside the lithe body, Nekros brushed aside the mass of hair that hid the face beneath. The boy was still unconscious, almost serene in repose. The usual scowl and darkness faded in sleep apparently, and the Imperial wondered if the same could be said of him; he doubted it.
"Feryl…" He said, nudging the boy. At first the boy didn't respond, and only a brief moment worry sparked in the assassin. Did I give him too much last night? There was always that threat of poisoning the boy too much. He'd come close a few times before. Shadowbane was fun to play with, more fun when he had a playmate, but the substance was tricky with how much to give.
Another nudge, and the lashes flickered open. Red eyes focused on the man above him, and widened in surprise. Nekros wasn't sure what to make of the fear he saw there. He had always seen fear in the boy, had cultivated it in fact. But this time, Feryl recoiled away from his touch. He thought the previous night he'd been rather gentle.
"Get up." He ordered him, feeling oddly rebuked by the boy.
What did you expect, a thank you? He pushed aside the stupid thought and motioned the boy to get dressed. Clothes remained on the floor and Feryl moved on shaky legs to do as he was told. The bruises on his back and arms made Nekros curious if perhaps he had been a bit too harsh with him after all.
Well there was always next time.
"I think a celebration is in order." Nekros proclaimed, pulling out goblets and the bottle of fine port he kept for this very occasion. "A man's first blooding is something special. And I'm certain one you'll never forget." He set the cups on the table, and noticed Feryl remained where he was, looking nervously at the bottle. "Don't worry, you're not to be tested for poison this night." He opened the bottle with flourish, pouring to almost brimming. The boy never lost the tight expression.
How tiresome. Nekros sighed inwardly, blaming himself for the reaction. He supposed the boy now had something to compare his life to, with staying with that fool swordmaster. All gentleness and kisses, no doubt. He shouldn't have let him stay so long. Ah well, no matter. The boy would adapt as he always had.
"This is a rare vintage from Elsweyr." He explained, lifting the bottle to sniff. "Ah yes, a lovely red from the valleys of Orcrest." He pushed a goblet to the boy. "You won't be able to truly appreciate this vintage I'm afraid. You don't have the experience, but trust me, the wine is one of the best."
The dark elf looked at the contents, sniffing as his master had done. Nekros waited, curious when the boy still seemed reluctant. "I didn't poison it." He told him stiffly. "Drink."
Feryl took a sip, rolled the first taste across his tongue. Nekros remembered the purpose of his doing this was testing for poison out of habit, not that he was a connoisseur of wine. One who didn't know the boy's habits wouldn't know that however. The idea struck Nekros as ironic.
The assassin fought the growing frustration with the boy, but felt he at least deserved his little idiosyncrasies. Feryl knew nothing else but what I've given him. Sipping his own drink, Nekros let the delicate sweetness coat his tongue, drawing in air through his nose in order to appreciate the wine. Perfect. Memories of his past life living among nobles bore to mind, but he snuffed the quaint picture as quickly as it had come. No point in wasting thought on that, was there?
"What's your thoughts on Master Kendari?" Nekros said abruptly. He rather enjoyed catching the boy off guard. It served to improve his stoicism, but more importantly, kept him on his toes.
The deep red eyes looked up, taking only a moment to compose a reply. "If you're asking me when I think you should kill, then my answer is in his sleep."
That was a curious answer. "I thought you liked Kendari."
Feryl blinked slowly. He was very good at hiding feelings, that is, if he ever had any. Nekros did what he could to control the boy's sentiments. He'd spent year making sure to crush the uselessness of emotion, but sometimes what went on beneath those thick lashes remained a mystery. "He served his purpose."
Right answer! Nekros almost laughed. "And why do you suggest I kill him in his sleep?"
"Because he's that good."
The assassin took another drink of his wine. The smile faded. "You think he's better than I." The words were stated in a flat, warning tone. The boy, however, remained steadfast, almost as if he were unafraid.
"Why take the risk?"
Oh, he's good, the Imperial thought. "Killing a man in his sleep requires stealth, which you're proven yourself." His smile widened, "Why don't you do it, then? Tonight, kill Kendari and whatever you want from the school is yours."
The boy's eyes widened, and there was no need to read the sudden surprise Nekros found there.
"I told you things would be different, didn't I?" Nekros told him, toasting his glass. "You're a man now. A man has needs."
The boy gave an odd look, watching him drink some more. His own glass was barely touched. Nekros took note. "You do not care for the wine?"
Then again, Feryl never had in the past. He had complained the taste sour or bitter. But that never stopped him from drinking before. Now the boy took another sip, grimacing at the taste.
"Best port you ever had, and you don't like it?" Nekros laughed. His own glass was nearly half full, which he finished in a gulp. "There's a Breton saying, "Best pour wine to the ground than waste on an inexperienced tongue."
This only served to pinch those delicate brows together in a frown. He frowns so prettily, the assassin mused. He couldn't help but admire how handsome the boy was. So ignorant of the world, so innocent in some ways, yet so deliciously tainted in others. His smile turned wicked,
"I've forgiven you, Feryl." He said with a drawl. "Made you a man…surely you can think of something on how to thank me?"
The boy was very still. "I…have nothing to give you."
Nekros considered if he should offer him Shadowbane, but too much too soon could make him very sick. Drat! Weighing the options of forcing the boy or using a bit of coercing, Nekros was suddenly distracted by a sharp pain in his gut. It made him wince. He didn't think anything of it, until it happened again.
Frowning now, he drew in a breath to assess his body. A slight burning made itself known in his gut, and he realized sweat began to bead on his brow. He had thought the reaction from his sudden interest in Feryl, but now…
He looked at the boy who stared pensive. Then again, he always seemed pensive. This time something was wrong, something in the way he stood, or the sudden working of his throat when he swallowed. Holding his glass of sipped wine, the hand shook slightly.
"What is it?" Nekros asked, as another pain stabbed him in the gut. The sudden agony caused him to bent over, knocking over his empty glass. Startled by the abruptness of the painful attack, he looked up at the boy, and didn't like what he saw.
Feryl was as stone, wearing the same tight expression that indicated he needed to hide what was going on behind those smoldering red eyes. Nekros usually pushed aside concern, feeling that the boy couldn't possibly considering anything of importance. Now, however, he knew Feryl had something to do with this.
Slowly the young elf stepped forward to replace his cup on the table. Stopping, he looked up at his master before upturning the cup and its contents on the table, spilling the wine like blood over the surface. The contents splattered to the floor.
Nekros stared dumbly at the strange behavior, until he remember why Feryl did it. Wine tasters upturned their cups when poisoned. But hadn't he explained…? He frowned, looking at the bottle and remembering he only just opened the wine today. Surely that wasn't poisoned. Poison…?
"But I didn't…." Slow realization of the meaning settled on him like a shroud. He stared in shock to the young boy before him. "Feryl…what have you done?"
The boy took a step back, guilt spread over his face.
Another wave of agony hit him harder this time, doubling the assassin until he was almost on the floor. "Feryl…" He growled, letting anger fuel his need to remain on his feet. "What …have….you…done?"
Before he took another step, the poison gripped him hard. He dropped face first to the floor, heaving from pain and sickness. The man had barely time to grip his knife, but even that fell from his fingers as wracking pain doubled him over.
"No…" He snarled through gritted teeth. Not Feryl! How could he? I'm his master…I'm his world!
Lunging, Nekros moved to grab the boy, but he was quick. A nimble Dark Elf could easily sidestep. Nekros hoped to take him with him, to wring that delicate little neck of his, but now he was out of reach. Pain engulfed him, and a wave of nausea brought up spittle, bile and blood.
"You… ungrateful wretch!" The master growled, torn between the disbelief he could so have been wrong about the boy and the fact he was actually poisoned. But he drank too! How could the boy known which cups he'd choose? The thought froze his thoughts, until he remember the Shadowbane. The large dose he'd taken the previous night would protect him. He growled in frustration. Most likely all the cups had been poisoned.
Poisoned! A master assassin? And poisoned by this whip of a boy?
"Kill you-!"
Feryl simply had to stay out of reach, moving back every time the man crawled towards him. All the man could do is glare white hate at the boy who watched in silence to his death throes.
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Feryl was terrified. But so good he was at hiding it, that all Nekros would see is the indifferent and dispassionate look of his killer staring back at him. Feryl crouched in a corner to stay out of reach, and watch with growing dismay as Nekros writhed against the toxins slowly working through his system.
Not enough…Feryl realized too late. I haven't given him enough!
The amount of poison was enough to kill almost anyone. Even the small amount the boy had consumed made itself known in his cramping stomach. But Nekros was a big man and had also taken Shadowbane for many years now. The time it was taking to actually kill him lengthened into agonizingly long minutes. Blood continued to flow from the man's mouth, foaming pink. His eyes were wide, white-rimmed in smoldering anger, and betrayal. It was the betrayal that bothered Feryl the most.
Evil as Nekros was, here was a man who had taught him everything he knew. From the brutal lessons to the vast knowledge of expertise, Nekros was meticulous in teaching of the all manner to kill a man, but also the art of stealth and shadow. Nekros was both father and tormenter. As much as Feryl hated to admit it, all his training did not prepare him for any of this; to watch the man die a slow and painful death.
What he thought he'd feel as triumphant transformed into revulsion. Feryl could almost feel the pain and suffering from the body in front of him.
Moving forward, he had to dodge the assassin's attempt at grappling him. He snatched up the fallen dagger, fingers brushing against a hand trying feebly to grab him. The assassin was so weakened now, he could barely move. Arms floundered in the vain attempt at taking his apprentice down with him.
Feryl moved closer, flooding himself with memories of all what the man had done to him not hours before. Self-loathing reared up along with the sudden rush of anger directed at the fallen assassin. He let himself feel the ache of his body, the revulsion for himself and for his master. Gripping the dagger, he found movements were like pushing through waves of mud.
He has to die….
Forcing his body to move, Feryl pounced, straddling the assassin across his back. Pinning him was easier now the man was weakened and already dying. But how much longer before he actually died? The young elf grabbed a fistful of lank hair to draw the head back. The body beneath tried to squirm free, then oddly gave up.
"Feryl…" Nekros' voice was thick with suffering, "Don't,…not….to late."
He wants me to save him! Vision blurred with sudden tears, and his body shook with emotion. "Mercy is more than you deserve." He whispered. And with a swift fluid draw of the blade, opened his throat to end his suffering.
Now trembling violently, Feryl felt the air release from the man's lungs and the body grew still. No sound came from him, and that single shattering moment was forever etched into memory.
His first true blooding…---------
At the hours before dawn, no one took notice of a small form dragging a heavy burden to the river. Feryl had been careful, once again, to avoid the streets that might raise an alarm. The weight was almost too much for him, but desperate and without thought, the young elf instinctively did as Nekros had always wanted to do with the bodies.
The thought never once occurred to him to leave him dead in the abandoned building. No one would find him for weeks, and would anyone care if they did? Feryl didn't even consider that many would barely take the time to look to find the murderer of Nekros.
When he rolled the corpse into the dark water, the blanket covering his face drifted away. Caught in the glassy stare of his master glaring up at him, Feryl could only stare back. The face was frozen in rage and pain, lips coated in blood. As the form disappearing into the depths, the boy could still see the soulless eyes, and knew he always would.
Where he thought he'd feel repletion, he felt dead. Feryl fell to knees, folding arms over his stomach that still hurt from the poison he'd taken. He wouldn't die, and he deserved the pain. As dawn approached, he remained, tears falling silently down his cheeks.