The Hero's Gaze

High on a rooftop, two figures shrouded in shadow, kept watch. Above, the moonless night was a tapestry of stars, casting enough light onto the warehouse courtyard to tinge flat grey cobblestones with a ghostly hue. High stone walls kept the lone warehouse building isolated from the rest of the city. A wrought iron gate was the only access to Fish Street.

After hours of scouting the area around the warehouse, finding the best vantage point, and waiting for the dead of night while lying down on a pigeon-stained tiled roof, Alaric’s legs began to cramp, a sharp pain shooting through his muscles. He winced as he rolled on his side and stretched a leg. Elara shot him a look. Alaric frowned as he rolled back into position. It was the first time Alaric had a chance to mull over the day’s events. Being punched in the face by a Gorrum, attacked by a pack of crumb-snatching children, and teaming up with a beautiful lady to find his kidnapped friend was not what he expected when he agreed to take on this mission. Alaric rubbed his nose. The swelling was gone, and he found that he could breathe a lot easier through it.

He stopped watching one of the hubs of the Magenta Hand’s smuggling operation to cast a side glance at Elara and was captivated by her beauty. Her fiery red hair was neatly tucked behind her ear, revealing the delicate curve of her porcelain skin. Her deep green eyes, intense and unwavering, glared at him.

“Are you sure you don’t have a brain injury?” Elara turned back to the warehouse across the street.

“Yes,” Alaric scoffed, then gave her a wry smile.

“Then why are you watching me and not the hideout where your kidnapped friend is?”

Alaric’s eyes darted about. “Umm, that cloak.”

“What about it?” Elara said flatly.

“The material,” Alaric nodded. “It’s magical. How did you get it?”

“Just a tool of my trade,” Elara looked up and down the deserted street.

“Does Lady Isabella always require tradespeople with magical cloaks?” Alaric twisted to face Elara. She blinked in a slow drawn-out way and turned to Alaric.

“You never answered my question,” Elara said

“What question?” Alaric wracked his memory. Maybe he did get hit harder than he thought.

“Who are you working for?”

“Oh,” Alaric said. “Well, I shouldn’t say. But, unofficially, I’m under the employ of the Crown’s Treasury.”

“Why unofficially?”

“Probably the same reason you’ve been sent. The High Lords and Ladies don’t want to admit they have been swindled and want this cleared up without them looking stupid.”

“Is that it?” Elara asked.

“I need to find my friend and clear his name.” Alaric clenched his jaw and felt a fire burn deep within his chest.

“Good,” Elara pointed to the empty courtyard of the warehouse. “Because now is our chance.”

Elara pulled her cloak tighter around her, activating the magic woven into the fibres. The fabric shimmered, blending with the shadows and the night. A metallic tang filled Alaric's mouth. A flash of purple light raced down from the rooftop, across the street and up and over the wall, stopping against the wall of the warehouse. Elara's form emerged from the purple glimmer as she flicked off the hood and waved Alaric over.

“Impressive,” Alaric said to himself. “Welp, here goes nothing.”

Scrabbling to his feet, Alaric then shuffled backwards a few steps. He judged the distance while rocking on his heels a few times. With a burst of speed, Alaric ran to the edge of the rooftop and launched himself into the air. A tile slipped off the roof crashing to the ground, causing an alley cat to screech in panic. Alaric’s arms flailed about as the apex of his jump cleared the wall. His feet smashed into the cobbled ground a few yards from Elara, covering her in dust.

“Subtle,” Elara patted her cloak down.

“Thanks,” Alaric rubbed his knees the moved over to Elara in a crouched form. “It wouldn’t be long until I’m in top shape again.”

“Well,” she whispered. “In the meantime, do you think you squeeze through that window?”

Alaric cranked his neck back to look up at the window that was at least twelve feet off the ground. “Can you?”

Elara scowled and flipped the hood of her cloak over her head. In a flash, the purple steak dashed up the wall and through the window. Alaric let out a huff. He squatted low before he pushed off the ground. The tips of his fingers found purchase on the windowsill. Alaric kicked his dangling feet. The tips of his boots stuck into the masonry of the stone wall giving Alaric a base to push up and pull himself through the window. He landed on his head.

“Shh,” Elara whacked him in the gut.

Alaric rolled over onto his hands and knees, then got up onto his haunches. In the soft light, he could see that they were behind a stack of wooden crates. Elara pointed to the right, Alaric nodded and slunk deeper into the shadows.

Winding through stacks of wood crates, the two emerged in an open area where a dozen men sat on small wooden boxes in front of a short stocky man with a grey handlebar moustache and poorly dyed hair. Past them was a wagon with a tarp covering its cargo.

“…they have been spotted around town asking questions, so be on the lookout for an ugly man and a beautiful woman. Oh, and whomever is doing it, stop getting sugar in the coffee jar,” the stocky man swiped a parchment attached to a board with an ink brush.

“Oi, Gus. How long has it been happening for?” one of the men asked.

“Two weeks,” replied the stocky man who Alaric guessed was Gus.

“How long have you been here, Ian?” the same man turned to ask his co-worker.

“Two weeks,” replied Ian.

“There you go,” the man said with a smug tone.

The group of men chuckled.

“Alright, that’s enough. Any questions before you get back to work?” Gus looked up from his parchment.

“Yeah, I got a question,” Alaric raised a hand. “Who do I have to beat up to get some answers around here?”

As one, all heads turned to Alaric. Gus blinked a few times before his face turned and pointed at Alaric. “That’s them!”

The tugs working for the Magenta Hand jumped to their feet. Alaric clenched his fist and grinned with a tight jaw. Elara flipped on her hood and crouched down.

“Are we putting money in a pool, Gus?” Ian asked.

“We’re not doing a bloody pool, get them!” Gus screamed.

Men rushed towards the two. The closest thug to Alaric swung his meaty fist in a wide arc. Alaric sidestepped with his demigod-given speed, grabbed the thick wrist and spun around all in one motion. Using the thug's momentum against him, Alaric launched him into the stack of wooden crates which exploded on impact.

A streak of purple light caught the corner of Alaric’s eye. He turned just in time to see one of the thugs get struck by it and go flying into the shadows. The henchmen grabbed whatever tools they could get their hands on and attacked. Metal poles and wooden blanks swung for Alaric’s head. He responded with fists and elbows.

In moments the fight was over. A purple streak dashed towards Alaric, the lights around it shimmered until Elara removed her hood. Alaric’s blood was thundering in his ears and sweat poured from his brow.

“No bad for someone out of shape,” Elara patted him on the back.

Alaric looked around the warehouse. Smashed crates and bruised bodies were scattered all around.

“Thanks,” Alaric sucked in a deep breath. “But we should’ve left one conscious.”

“We’ll just have to search this place,” Elara looked around and pointed at the wagon. “Starting with that.”

Alaric stepped over an unconscious thug and jogged over to the rear of the wagon. It was a horseless design that used magically infused stones to turn the wheels. Alaric had seen them getting around the Capital but didn’t have much use for them, so he didn’t bother to learn how to drive one. He flipped over the tarp to reveal two wooden barrels with a big red cross painted on them.

“Gunpowder,” Alaric sniffed the air.

“They're planning something big,” Elara whispered.

“Maybe that's why they need Kethryll,” Alaric said. “He’s not only a painter but an alchemist as well. Those pompous fools were right.”

The clanking of wood hitting the stone floor echoed from the other side of the warehouse. Alaric looked over to see Gus peeking over a crate. The Foreman’s eyes were as big as saucers as he got to his feet and ran.

“We can’t let him get away,” Alaric chased after him.

Elara ran next to him as they gave chase. Alaric jumped over a pile of toppled crates to see Gus running up a flight of stairs and into an office.

“Stop running, damn it!” Alaric gasped.

The door to the office slammed shut. Alaric shook his head and crouched at the bottom of the stairs. Launching himself up the stairs, Alaric smashed into the door, shattering it into a combination of wooden chucks and fine toothpicks. He stumbled a few steps before righting himself. Alaric turned to see Gus frozen in shock clearly in the process of retrieving a weapon from a trunk at the other end of the office. A shimmer of purple light told Alaric that Elara had fazed into the room.

Another blur of movement heading towards Gus caught Alaric’s attention. He hurtled forward and caught one of Elara’s throwing knives inches from impaling Gus.

“We need him alive,” Alaric scowled. He tossed the knife aside, grabbed Gus by the collar, lifted him off his feet and pressed him against the wall.

“Who are you?” Gus snarled.

“A concerned citizen,” Alaric shook Gus. His chunky legs dangled like a cheap puppet.

“We're here for Kethryll,” Elara’s eye twitched forcing her to wipe it. Alaric thought it was a wink until he remembered all the dust and chips of wood that littered the air during the melee. His nose now twitched with paranoia.

“Kethryll?” Gus blubbered. “You mean the painter? He's not here.”

“Where is he?” Alaric demanded.

“That's none of your business,” Gus turned his head away from them.

“It is now,” Elara slid up next to Alaric.

“Tell us where Kethryll is,” Alaric gritted teeth.

Gus spat in his face.

“We don't have time for this,” Elara pressed a knife to Gus’s throat. “Tell us or die.”

Gus’s jowls shook as he looked to Alaric for salvation. Alaric’s frown deepened.

“We delivered him to where the gunpowder is going,” Gus’s words almost stumbled over each other. “We were paid to do a job, that’s it. Get the painter and deliver him.”

“To who?” Alaric asked.

“Whom,” Gus frowned.

Alaric punched him in the gut. Gus wheezed. Alaric released his grip and the foreman slumped to the ground, then doubled over. Alaric tightened his fist till his knuckles turned white.

“Don’t know,” Gus threw his palms up and winced, waiting for the blow that never came. One eye opened a crack. “We’re mushrooms. We just deliver what’s on the manifest to where it needs to go.”

“Where did you take him?" Elara reached down and grabbed Gus by the throat and squeezed. Alaric pulled Elara off the foreman. “Let me handle this.”

Gus jerked his head back and bit down on something in his mouth. A second later, he convulsed and went limp.

“He's dead,” Alaric’s shoulders slumped.

“He poisoned himself,” Elara said.

Alaric muttered a few curses under his breath as he ran his fingers through his hair. The best lead he had in rescuing his friend was gone. He looked down at Gus’s body as the gases escaped in a long, drawn-out flatulence.

“What do we do now?” Alaric rested his hands on his head.

“We take their place,” Elara paced to the desk. She grabbed some of the parchments and scanned them. “He said they delivered Kethryll to where the gunpowder is going. We pretend to be Magenta Hand members. We deliver the gunpowder and hope that Kethryll is there.”

“That's crazy,” Alaric started shifting through scrolls, uncertain what he was looking for.

“It's our only chance,” Elara said. “If we find delivery dockets for around the time Kethryll went missing, we’ll have a location.”

Alaric nodded as he scoured through ledgers that sat on the shelf behind the desk.

“Didn’t Gus say it was the same location as the current delivery?”

“What if he was lying?”

Alaric conceded the point. If Gus was the type of guy who would run a crew of thugs, it was safe to assume he wouldn’t stoop to lying to save his skin. Alaric had to give it to Gus though, the man kept impeccable records. After a few moments, Alaric found an entry in a manifest log that listed Kethryll, a barrel of gunpowder, jars of compounds that Alaric never heard of, and a barrel of salted cod. Alaric gagged.

With the ledger in hand they way to the wagon and found its manifest. Gus was telling the truth. They had their destination. Duke Galen Fairsheild’s estate in Kelra, capital of Kira region. A week’s worth of travel over the Eldermist mountain range.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Alaric handed Elara the manifest. “Why would a Duke be in league with the Magenta Hand?”

“Maybe they’ve kidnapped him too,” Elara ran her eyes over the manifest. “Used the Duke's name and connections to make all the land deals? Some for themselves, others to stir discontent.”

Alaric nodded as he mulled this revelation over. Maybe the leader of this small-time crew had greater ambitions. Alaric tossed the manifest back in the wagon and got back to work. They stripped the unconscious bodies of their uniforms. Alaric tied a magenta bandana on his head, and Elara fixed one around her neck as a scarf. There were waterskins and stocks of food for the journey in the back of the wagon with the barrels of gunpowder. Alaric removed the door bar and opened the warehouse doors. The first rays of sunshine washed over him.

Alaric climbed up on the driver's bench and took hold of the drive levers. Elara climbed up the other side and asked. “Ever driven one of these before?”

“Plenty of times,” Alaric pulled on the levers and reversed into a wall of crates, toppling them. An alley cat shrieked.