The 12th day of Descending Fire, 764 in the Year of Our Empress.
Nathanial had the attention of every woman in the dance hall. He knew the questions his presence created. This foreigner in their midst moved like they did, with all the grace and confidence of the Dynastic Dragon Blooded...but no one knew who he was. Given this was a Dragon Blooded only celebration, and given the Realm ran on its bloodlines, his ambiguity caught the eye. Strangers shouldn't have his poise or his certainty and it made him irresistible.
He danced with a lovely Cynis girl through a seven-minute tune by the new Southern ensemble in the corner, imported from Paragon. Nathanial's moves were smoother, more polished than anyone else because he'd danced to this style down in Arjuf last year, when he'd been the black-haired Water-Aspected Ragara Orin. Right now, Nathanial was busy being the red-headed Earth-Aspected V'neef Isinir...not that anyone here knew him yet.
"You're an amazing dancer!" The Cynis woman spoke hotly in his ear as they fell into an embrace. The next tune was slightly slower and he took advantage of it to clasp her figure against him. Her eyes flared in a mix of surprise and pleasure.
"It's the company," Nathanial lied. Actually, she had only a passing skill in dancing. "Your beauty could make any man quick in some respects...and make them wish they were slow in others." The slight lingering of the Lord's Crossing accent he'd adopted for this role added flavor to the mystery of who Isinir was. The roguish grin took her in and held her entranced, finishing the job.
Too easy.
"My name's Alira," she said. Nathanial took the invitation and kissed her forcefully, until there was nothing left in her but passion. He did it purposefully. Passion was useful when reason faltered. Now, she was ready to strip herself bare for him...and when her fun was done, he would have another connection in his network.
To an Agent of Thorns, a network on the Blessed Isle was critical. Nathanial El'Karen had ample experience working in Lord's Crossing, Arjuf and Tuchara but the Imperial City was where the real information could be found. He'd been in and out of the capital dozens of times in the past five years but infiltrating the upper echelon took knowledge he hadn't had until now.
And Cynis Alira was the daughter of Cynis Ivara. Not only would she make introductions for him soon...she'd give him the perfect access to her mother. Senator Ivara merited a visit from the Mask of Pain soon and anything that made it easier could not be overlooked.
"I'm Isinir," Nathanial lied, and he made it count. Dragon-Blooded Charms could strip away the deceit...but their power faltered against a determined mind. The Agent had been well trained to deal with Dragonblooded and he had enough attention on him that it paid to be careful. It took a lot of effort to foil that Charm, though.
"This is our second song...think you might linger for a third?" she asked. "I want you to."
Nathanial swayed against her, hands on her hips, guiding her every step with his body. She followed him, a much better follower than dancer, and he took a risk on pushing to the center of the dancing. In seconds, he had enough room to lead her into the harder steps. Seconds after that, people stopped watching him and started watching them.
Perfect.
"You know what you want...I like that. I know what I want too." Nathanial stepped with her, then snapped her close. Her breath came quickly, and not just from the dancing. "Don't hold back with me, Alira. The closer you get...the better I can please you." The Cynis girl was fascinated now, drawn despite herself by his boldness. He could see it in her eyes. How many hundreds of other eyes looked just like that, over the years?
"There's more than one way to dance," she whispered into his ear, just before biting it. Nathanial took the expected pain and subtly drew his nails up the naked length of her back. It looked like a caress to onlookers but it had a decidedly different effect on her. "I think we're of the same mind, Isinir."
Her body rubbed against his. She was ready. Nathanial dipped her back and his lips found her throat. Alira groaned against his mouth.
And then she led him from the dance hall. Not needing to maintain appearance for the Cynis girl in front, Nathanial's eyes quickly snapped over the other dancers, the guards, the servants and the exits. Nothing unexpected. The staff were what they seemed to be, except for the two waiters in the north corner who were actually highly-trained assassins. He wondered who else would wind up dead tonight.
Their eyes met his, shifted, and slid away. Predators recognizing a fellow predator. Nathanial smirked slightly. He could have concealed it but it didn't matter with them.
Cynis Alira took him to a guest bedroom that, thankfully, had a balcony so he'd have more escape options than the door. She tore at his clothes and he tore at hers and he spent the next hour thoroughly distracting the Dragon Blooded. Finally, his job was made easier when she rolled onto her stomach and took her eyes off of him.
Nathanial didn't miss a move in his rhythm, but he tracked her moans with his ears as he carefully leaned over and picked up a candle. He spilled the hot wax across his fingers, quickly coating the tips in wax. While it stiffened enough to be useful, Nathanial slowly took the small tin canister of powdered Laros' Root from his discarded belt pouch. One pinch of it could destroy a human's perception of time and a dash could mean they never grasped time again. Alira was an Exalt, though. He dipped his wax-covered fingers into the canister and dragged them across her back.
By the time he recapped the tin container and, very cautiously, got the wax off his fingers, Alira was insensible. She didn't notice him withdraw but lay moaning on the bed without any further effort on his part. Good. He hadn't been quite certain of the dosage.
Nathanial took up his discarded clothing and belt pouch. It was larger than a money-purse and, for once, he was grateful for Realm customs. Exalts didn't carry cash, that's what servants were for, so the only size pouch he could find for local custom had leaned on the larger size. It meant he'd been able to pack everything.
First, his makeup kit. Nathanial washed his face thoroughly in the sink. Running water was a luxury in the Second Age and having it here made this much easier. The Earth Aspect-Markings came off, since he'd favored the alcohol-resistant kind this time. He scrubbed his scalp and the deep red of his hair faded into a muddled black, his current base-dye. Last, he popped out the green-tinted slivers of glass from his eyes.
Nathanial studied his reflection, a canvas in transition. The Mask of Pain had work to do tonight so he needed his black lenses. Next came the oil to slick back his dyed black hair into the assassin's characteristic hairstyle. Last, he lightened his skin with a bit of foundation. The Mask of Pain was supposedly a Dynast and he needed the complexion to match.
Last, Nathanial took up the Mask of Pain and put it on. The Soulsteel and Starmetal artifact welded to his face...and then the agony began. Its insidious magic cut across his skin, sinking into his skull until the pain became its usual constant reminder. He needed his boost and then the magic would work for him...but the pain remained for as long as he wore it. The Mask of Pain, mask and assassin, were called so because of the artifact's torment of its wielder. His victims still got the wrong idea though.
Nathanial his possessions back into the belt-pouch and stowed it in the closet, tucked into a guest robe. Then, the Mask of Pain stood in his signature black and gray with his silvery-iron visage, long knives strapped across his waist. He moved to the balcony and fingered the syringe in his hand.
The gold and pewter object contained the Thorn In The Garden, a potent mixture of Bright Morning and heroin. Nathanial took the shot in the arm and hurled the syringe far out into the night, trusting the city streets would turn it up days later as a simple curiosity. The combination would help him use the Mask and the heroin would help keep him awake, since he'd been running for 40 hours so far in one role or another.
The Mask of Pain took to the rooftop.
He moved like a ghost along stone walkways overlooking the Imperial City. A few Dragon-Blooded from the party had come up for a bit of fresh air but they didn't see the assassin slip by. The Agent of Thorns darted soundlessly over the tilework, thanks to his boot liners and half a dozen years of intensive military training. He killed no one on his way to the other balcony for he wasn't clumsy enough to get caught.
Then the Mask of Pain dropped from the rock overhang to redirect off the stone railing. Rolling, the assassin came up with a knife in either hand. No sound, no movement, no indication that his quarry was even awake.
Nathanial went to the balcony door and found it sealed. He pulled out his lockpick kit and took a minute to work the complicated parts inside the mechanism. Luckily for him, this Cynis party house used the same style of locks that most of the city used. Unluckily for them, Nathanial had been Beleem Jiro four years ago and the apprentice locksmith had learned everything about modern Imperial locks before dying tragically in a fire.
The door opened with a slight popping sound. Nathanial threw it open and rolled inside. As he thought, the sound alerted the slumbering Cathak Rena and invisible chakram cut into the wall above his head. The Agent of Thorns came up in a crouch, sighted the naked Dynast with her lesbian lover through the Mask and let its star magic direct his arms. He hurled four knives flew in seamless motion and pinned both women to the wall through their shoulders.
He pitilessly ignored the mewling cries of the mortal lesbian and concentrated on the Dragon Blood. Cathak Rena grimaced in pain, got control and started to talk. Nathanial kicked her in the face, stopping the Wind-Carried Words Charm before she had a chance to warn someone. He drew a fifth knife as she glared defiantly at him.
"Do you know who I am?"
"The Mask of Pain," the Dynast said through clenched teeth. "So what are you waiting for?"
"I'm not here to kill you but to warn you." Nathanial tapped his fifth blade against the bottom of the mask thoughtfully, the way someone would tap their chin. He'd modulated his voice half an octave lower than his usual speaking voice...not that he'd spoken naturally in years. He used the Mask of Pain's High Realm accent tonight, at odds with V'neef Isinir's Lord's Crossing twang. She would never connect the two. "I don't think you're going to listen though."
"Talk," Rena snarled.
"Your efficiency has brought you great renown, even in the Thousand Scales. You've noticed a connection between certain monetary balances in the accounts of certain Senators and the legal operations of Elated Fury. Don't deny you know the name, I'm not here to play games. I'm here to warn you. Drop the matter, cooperate with Elated Fury, and you'll find the blocks to your next promotion removed."
"You call that a warning?" she said. The human next to her sobbed and the Dragon Blooded spared her a concerned look. Seeing the two of them together turned Nathanial's stomach but ignoring the Realm's disgusting perversions were just one more thing he did habitually.
"I am the Mask of Pain," Nathanial said in flawless High Realm, knowing she'd understand it. "I've killed a dozen Dragon Blooded and hundreds of mortals without fail. And I...am Elated Fury's warning. Cooperate and prosper. Ignore his offering and he'll send worse than me." He chuckled at the thought of the stocky Crime Lord following through on that. Elated Fury was a formidable man, probably his better, but the man had no stomach for wetwork. "Go back to work tomorrow. He'll know within the week if you intend to honor his offer or not. If I were you...I'd make the right choice. Even I shudder at what he'll send after you if you refuse him."
Nathanial pulled the knives out of both women and left them bleeding while he made his escape. He knew he'd have minutes to make it back but the Mask of Pain with its continuous throbbing agony in his head would get him to the right balcony safely. As long as he wore it, as long as the injection held him, it would make him more than human.
Sprinting across the rooftop took no time at all, thanks to lighter traffic, and he dropped without notice to his guest room. Cynis Alira lay on the bed, still moaning surreally with the pleasure of the Laros' Root. It gave him time to change clothes, reapply his makeup and get back to pleasing the woman before the Cynis House guards barged in.
"Mistress, someone's tried to murder one of the guests!" Alira blinked slowly, then focused. Her constitution would overcome the drug in minutes anyway and she would seem perfectly lucid to the House servants. "We're conducting a room by room search."
"Well, I'm right here," she said, growling with frustration. "My 'guest' and I have been busy all evening and no one came in or out."
"Yes, Mistress!"
"I have to go for a minute, Isinir...will you be here when I get back?" Alira's smile was most inviting but then he remembered how Cathak Rena and her lover smiled at each other and it just killed the mood. It was a good thing he could act.
"I'm not done with you yet...Mistress," Nathanial said coyly, his Lord's Crossing accent just slight enough for someone to notice. She inhaled sharply and kissed him hard before rising to claim a robe and see to the matters of her House's party. He watched her go, chuckling in amusement. Dynastic women were too used to a matriarchal society here and it made playing them so easy. All he had to do was mix a bit of his natural boldness with the trappings of male humility and the women found him irresistible. She'd be back.
Nathanial lay back on the bed, closed his eyes...and almost feel asleep. The relaxing of his guard jerked him awake though and it took him a few seconds to be sure no threat entered the room. This was not a safe place to sleep. He pulled his belt pouch out and unsealed a pocket to get at his cocaine.
The Agent of Thorns took a hit twice as big as most humans should. He didn't do it because he was an Exalt though. If that'd been the case, he wouldn't need cocaine. But lacking divine power, Nathanial needed an edge and the drug kept him awake with a rested mind for days. He could sleep in ten hours. It would have to be enough.
Lately, the drug didn't seem to be working as well and he'd needed bigger doses to keep alert. Maybe he was getting immune. Or maybe he was getting old. How long ago had the Battle of Mishaka been anyway? Ten years now? Had it really been so long?
Nathanial rose from the bed and went back to studying his reflection. 32 years old. He'd been 22 and a Sergeant back in the Thorns regular army when his country lost. He was a patriot from a family of patriots and so General I'yanna recruited him for Agent training after the war was over. The Realm had led his nation to disaster and some elements in the military wanted a closer eye kept on their long-time ally. The ascension of a Realm-backed Autocrat had demonstrated the necessity of that policy.
Five years training, five years in the field. Nathanial rubbed at his tired face, careful not to flake his makeup, and sighed. He didn't even recognize himself anymore. Too many disguises to keep a Dynastically youthful appearance, too many dyes and lenses and identities...was Nathanial El'Karen still under there somewhere? He didn't even remember his natural hair color.
He was just tired. This happened lately, when he'd been awake too long and on too many stimulants to keep himself going. Nathanial had sworn his life to the service of his great city Thorns and he'd made it to the Blessed Isle as a spy because of how hard he could push himself. He'd even taken up the Mask of Pain assassin identity as a way of making criminal connections. Thorns valued his service, he knew that. He just hoped that, someday, he'd get a chance to see Her again.
The door opened and Cynis Alira walked in looking far more subdued than when she'd left. Nathanial's heart spasmed for a moment as he thought she'd found him out. Belt pouch in hand, a knife was inches away and the Dragons would see him burn before he sold his life cheaply. But she didn't even look at him. Instead, the Dynast settled heavily into a chair.
"Alira...," Nathanial said cautiously. Then, he straightened his shoulders, lifted his head and strode to her. The Wood-Aspect looked...sad. With practiced assurance, he took a chair opposite her and stared at her until she looked at him. "Alira, you don't have to face it alone." A lie.
"Oh, it's nothing." She took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Just some bad news."
"I'm sorry," he lied again.
"It's not personal news," she said. Alira tried for another smile and did a better job of it this time. "Thorns...was conquered, Isinir. An army of the dead just swept in out of nowhere...and they killed everyone. I just found out my second cousin died defending the city. But...I suppose we tried. We're thousands of miles away, how could we protect a place that far from... Isinir?"
Nathanial's body quaked from the raw tension bunching his muscles. "Thorns fell?"
"Yes. A...monster, a deadlord called the Mask of Winters apparently conquered it with some mountain-sized giant and an army. Word is that he's killed everyone inside. I heard there's a Shadowland now where Thorns used to be. ...I don't...I don't think anyone survived, Isinir."
Her face held some expression but Nathanial's mind wouldn't process it. Her features were flat, meaningless, just like her words. This table was meaningless, as was this room, this House...this whole stinking continent.
"My home..."
In one second, Nathanial had lost everything. His family? Dead. His country? Destroyed. His purpose? Pointless. What use was there in gathering information now or in manipulating the Dragon Blooded? There was no one left to report to!
Nathanial's fingers pressed so hard into the wooden table that the nails began bleeding but he felt no pain. Pain was a laugh, a lie just like he was. All those people he'd killed, all the crimes he committed...and he'd done it all for King and Country. His soul was damned, he knew it, but it had been a worthy damnation. Now...there was nothing.
If only there was a way to avenge his people. If only there was a way of destroying this Mask of Winters, throwing down this deadlord and reclaiming Thorns! But he was one man, a mortal despite all his disguises and skills. How could one man make a difference? If only he was more...if only he had a soul left to sell. Right now, he'd trade anything for the power to right the greatest wrong he'd ever seen.
At first, Nathanial thought he was hallucinating. He'd been strangled before and the lightening of the room looked a lot like deprivation of air. But blackness should be following and it was only growing lighter. And then there was Cynis Alira's face...
She was horrified. Terrified out of her mind, actually. Nathanial had seen people that scared before. He'd made them that scared, but never without the Mask of Pain. She did recognize him! And then she said the word that changed his life. "Anathema!"
Nathanial looked across the room at the mirror and saw the damning symbol burning on his forehead. The hellish sunlight branded him, condemning him even as it stood as a witness to the pact he'd just made. The assassin wasn't stupid. He knew what he'd been thinking when it happened. 'He'd trade anything for the power to right the greatest wrong he'd ever seen.'
Apparently, he'd had a soul left to sell.
Cynis Alira almost screamed. Nathanial heard the beginnings of it and, faster than he'd ever moved under the Mask of Pain, he had a knife in his hand. With a single wicked stroke, he slashed at her throat. Puffs of vine and flame flickered around her legs like ghosts as she propelled herself backward to avoid it.
Nathanial didn't hesitate. Golden sunlight raged around his hand and then his knife sped faster than firedust to strike her in the heart. She managed to choke something, maybe his name, before she crumpled to the floor.
The assassin stopped to get his knife, then promptly stripped the room of all signs of his presence. Nathanial had a healthy respect for the Magistrates and their Charms. He didn't care if they followed him, at this point. He just wanted them slowed up enough for him to get his cache of funds and buy a ticket for Lookshy. At least Alira wouldn't be a complication anymore.
As Nathanial cleaned, the beginnings of a plan formed in his mind. Lookshy would be the perfect place to start. If this deadlord, this Mask of Winters had an army...then he'd need one too. The Agent of Thorns had never held an official rank above Sergeant but it didn't concern him. Other people could run the troops. So long as Thorns was liberated, its killer slain, what did he care who they were?
Just before going out the window, he stopped in front of the mirror and rubbed at his forehead. The Mark of the Deceiver shone with an unholy light. "Why a Deceiver?" Nathanial looked out the window at the night sky and its sleeping Sun. "You could have made me a Forsaken or, better, one of the Wretched. Look at me! I'm an assassin and a spy! I'm not some...story-teller or trickster."
Nathanial brandished his finger at the sky as he put his foot on the stone railing. "Fine, You get my soul if I get to free Thorns...but no screwing around. If this demon power of Yours only makes me good at talking people to death, deal's off. You want my soul, You're going to have to give me what I want."
So he was a damned man. He'd been damned anyway. The only thing that mattered now was avenging his country...and making certain their killer burned in Yozi Hell with him.