The Hero's Gaze

With each step, Elara's agile form led the way through the town’s bustling streets. Alaric struggled to keep pace, his weariness was evident in the heaviness of his strides. Yet, their shared determination propelled them forward, threading through the labyrinthine network of alleys and shortcuts that formed the veins of the town.

“Elara, wait up!” Alaric huffed as his hands clamped down on his knees.

“I thought you were in a hurry,” Elara jogged back to Alaric.

“I am,” Alaric stood up straight and sucked in the dank air of the alleyway. “But I just need a minute.”

“Aren’t you a demigod?” Elara asked with a tone that Alaric didn’t know how to take.

“I am,” Alaric nodded. “But I’ve been on a bit of a sabbatical for the last month.”

Elara’s eyes fell on Alaric’s stomach. “Just a month?”

Alaric rubbed the pot belly that he hadn’t noticed growing in the past few weeks, a flush of embarrassment coloured his cheeks.

“Alright, take your minute,” Elara pursed her lips. “But we can’t afford to slow down too much.”

Alaric nodded as he started to shuffle forward. Alaric couldn’t remember the last time he was in this town, but he was fairly certain he was heading in the right direction. Well, in the general direction at least. The town could almost be classed as a city now. If he could just get to the town square he could get his bearings, and not look totally incompetent.

“It’s not too far ahead,” he said between ragged breaths. “So, tell me about yourself. How long have you been in the employ of Lady Isabella?”

Elara matched Alaric’s slow pace as they moved to the alley’s exit where the noise from the town’s centre rumbled towards them.

“Twelve years,” Elara said. “She took me in when I was sixteen and taught me everything I know.”

“You must be quite capable if she’s entrusted you with this mission.”

“Quite,” Elara nodded.

“Good to know,” Alaric mused. “A woman of mystery then.”

“Well, I’m not going to give you the backstory of my whole life after only just meeting you.”

“Fair enough,” Alaric wiped the sweat from his brow.

They stopped in the last shadows of the alley before it opened into the town’s centre. Stalls and markets formed a ring around the square. Merchants hawked their wares, customers yelled back to haggle and children ran around screaming.

“Damn howl-at-the-moon kids,” Alaric muttered.

He could read an undercurrent of frustration on the faces in the crowd. Suspicion filled the eyes of stall owners as money was exchanged, and sneers from the customers remained fixed as the coins were tested. After scanning the crowd, Alaric nodded in the direction they needed to take. Alaric slipped into the crowd with Elara in tow.

The scent of cooked meat pulled Alaric off course, he blinked and found himself in front of a food stall. He licked his lips as he scanned the hot plate filled with strips of meat pierced with wooden skewers crackling in their fat. Alaric began to open his pouch only to have his arm almost pulled from its socket as Elara dragged him along. Alaric’s stomach cried out in protest.

“Come on,” Elara’s hand clasped his, and a strange fluttering sensation filled his chest. She weaved against the tide of the crowd. They emerged from the maelstrom of people onto a wide avenue that led down towards the lake.

“Just down there and to the left,” Alaric pointed with his free hand.

“Can I have my hand back now?” Elara pursed her lips. Alaric looked down at her hand and then back to her eyes.

“Oh,” Alaric released her soft, silky hand. Elara frowned.

“No time for rest,” Alaric started walking down the avenue.

They walked down two more blocks before turning into the street where Kethryll had his studio. The rows of tenements, identical in construction, were only differentiated by how weathered the paint was. In front of a brightly painted tenement, a group of children ran around with sticks having mock sword fights.

“There,” Alaric pointed with his chin. “The white one.”

As they approached the Kethryll's studio, Elara pointed to the overgrown garden and wilted flowers and a sense of unease gnawed at Alaric’s core. He winced at the children’s high-pitched squeals. He looked up and down the street. Not a parent in sight. Alaric grimaced and then walked up the short path.

The sight that greeted them shattered any lingering hope they held. The door, once a sturdy barrier protecting the artistic sanctuary within, now hung precariously from one of its hinges. Shattered glass lay strewn across the threshold, glinting under the pale sunlight, while the acrid scent of burnt remnants lingered in the air. Once vibrant and alive with creative energy, the studio now stood as a testament to devastation and ruin.

Alaric gave the door a gentle push. The hinge cracked under the weight of the door, causing it to crash to the ground.

“So much for the element of surprise,” Elara whispered.

“Stay behind me,” Alaric pulled his mace from his pouch.

“I’ll be fine,” A pair of throwing knives flashed from Elara’s sleeves and into her hands. “And how are you going to swing that thing indoors?”

Alaric grumbled as he returned his mace.

With cautious steps, they ventured inside.

Dust, illuminated by streaks of daylight, floated on the breeze from the doorway. Wooden stairs cling to the righthand wall, Alaric knew upstairs was the actual studio, where Kethryll created his masterworks. Ahead was a hallway that gave access to a few rooms.

Alaric motioned for Elara to wait while he cleared the downstairs. Despite being trashed, they we clear of any possible threats. Alaric returned to the front door to find Elara halfway up the staircase. He cursed under his breath and followed her up to the second floor.

Paintings were torn and burned, easels were broken and splintered, and brushes were scattered and stained. There was no sign of Kethryll or anyone else. Their eyes scanned the wreckage, seeking any trace that could shed light on the perpetrators or their motives. Elara's keen gaze caught sight of a crumpled parchment, stained with ink, and smudged with soot. She carefully unfolded it, revealing a hastily scrawled message, its meaning cryptic yet ominous.

Alaric read the words, his mind racing to grasp the implications. The message was a single word, Hand, hastily written in red ink.

“The Crimson Hand?” Alaric flipped the note over to look for more clues.

“The Magenta Hand,” Elara snatched the note back. “Legally distinct.”

“Who are they?” Alaric snatched the note.

“A gang of thieves, and smugglers. Why would they start kidnapping, let alone counterfeiting?”

“Let’s go ask them.” Alaric crushed the note in his fist.

Alaric stormed out of the tenement. After seeing the state of his friend's studio, he was itching for a fight. He looked up and down the street with a snarl. Children ran around him screaming while whacking each other with sticks.

“Do you know where you're going?” Elara emerged from the tenement.

“If they're smugglers,” Alaric said. “They’d have to have a warehouse, or a lair or something.”

“And how are we going to find it?” Elara stood in front of him with hands on hips. The mob of children ran between them, and Alaric grimaced as he copped a stray stick to the knee.

“They’ll be a low-life at the docks that would know something,” Alaric eyes widened as the tide of screaming urchins headed back towards them.

“That’s your plan?”

“If these damn kids would shut up, I will think of a better one.”

The storm of limbs and sticks enveloped them again. Alaric reached down and picked up a little girl by the back of her dress. The other kids screamed and started whacking Alaric in the legs. The little girl in his hand started hitting him on the head while letting out an ear-piercing scream. Elara took a step back and started giggling.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Alaric said. “Knock it off!”

The whacking intensified.

“Who likes money?” Elara asked the tiny mob.

In unison, they all turned to Elara jumping up and down with their hand in the air to prove who liked money the most. The girl in Alaric’s hand stopped her assault.

“Now, let’s play a quick game” Elara squatted down to eye level. “I have one silver coin to give to the luckiest one who can answer all of my questions. If you answer correctly you stay in this spot, if you don’t you stand in this spot. Now you see my friend here. See how his eyes look like cauliflowers, that means his eyes can tell if you’re lying. Does everyone understand?”

The mob nodded as one.

“Okay,” Elara started. “Who lives in that house?” Elara pointed to the studio.

A chorus of high-pitched voices screamed Kethryll’s name. Alaric’s eardrums begged for respite.

“Good,” Elara said. “Now for this question, raise your hand first. If you don’t know stand on this spot. Then answer the question. Ready? What happened to Kethryll?”

Half of the children raised their hands and jumped on the spot, the others looked like their world collapsed and they slunk over to the spot Elara had pointed at. The words were a garbled mess, but they all mentioned the Magenta Hand.

“Very good,” Elara smiled. “Now, this is a hard one. Does anybody know where they took Kethyrll?”

All the smiles turned to frowns as the children dragged their feet to the others who didn’t have answers. Elara’s shoulders slumped.

“Me! Me! Me!” The little girl in Alaric’s hand waved her hand in the air.

Alaric set her down.

“Hi there,” Elara smiled. “What’s your name?

“Lucia.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Elara looked up. “Don’t you think, Alaric”

Alaric huffed.

“Tell me,” Elana continued. “Where is Kethyrll?”

“He’s in the warehouse down on Fish Lane,” Lucia stuck her hand out. “Money, please.”

“Alaric,” Elara stood. Alaric frowned.

“How do you know so much about it, kid?” Alaric rummaged through his magical pouch and found a coin. He handed it over slowly.

“My Da works for the Magenta Hand,” Lucia bit the coin.

“Figures,” Alaric raised an eyebrow.

Satisfied, Lucia jammed the coin in a pocket, raised her stick in victory and led the charge of screaming children down the street.