The page fluttered out in slow motion, the air around it seemed to weave then float, and the writings on the paper seemed to glow. Everything else had fallen normally, but the paper hadn’t. It had a sort of influence on its existence.

  Elora frowned, then her eyes went wide as she watched the magical paper fall to the ground. Elora watched it silently, and the whole place was silent. Bo, the goblin’s eyes were fixed on the paper. The brothers were also frozen in place.

  Elora walked over and carefully picked it up. She held it carefully, unrolled it, and to her [enchanter's eye], a skill that allowed her to see if objects were magical, the symbols on the paper seemed to glow.

  “These symbols—this is rune magic. Not even the guilds give this out,” she said, absolutely mesmerised.

  Everyone wanted anything that could get them ahead and give them influence over the other District states. The guilds, noble houses, the magical academy, and even organisations like the rogue's gallery all fought over the right to possess magical items or knowledge such as this.

  That was the reason dungeon items were hoarded, even when they ended up being one-use items or equipment weapons that could be used in a single fight.

  So this paper is for the right person represented, taking a step closer to holding influence in New Calvessan, the City of Cities. But this was only known to the powerful.

  Damian stepped forward and snatched it from her hands.

  “Careful!” she cried, but Damian wasn’t listening. He was busy wiping the dirt from the paper.

  “No one knows we have this. Not even the guild.”

  Bo the goblin tried to step forward, but Darrow held him up by his hood. The goblin folded his arms and looked peeved as he was held up in the air with his green arms crossed.

  “Give it back,” she moved to grab it, but Damian lifted it out of her reach.

  She jumped a couple of times as she tried to grab the magical paper.

  “No,” he lifted it even higher.

  She glared up at him, her hair in her face. She pouted and clutched at her sleeves.

  Damian softened, then he sighed. He exchanged a look with his brother, and Darrow shrugged.

  The goblin tried to scratch his fingers off, and he shook the smaller goblin until he stopped.

  “Stop squirming,” Darrow said.

  “But it shines,” the goblin said, lifting his hands and grabbing for it.

  “If you don’t keep it down, I’ll put you in one of those barrels.”

  “Fine,” the goblin said, giving him a shroud look.

  Damian looked at Elora, and he remembered that the only reason she had been keeping it together was because she had been focusing on enchanting and teaching Darrow.

  When she worked on enchanting, Damian noticed that she was focused and didn’t ask about her father that much.

  Damian sighed.

  “Fine, but be careful with it,” he finally said.

  He handed her the page, at least for now.

  Darrow let go of Bo and set him down. The goblin stumbled back, and he huffed and brushed off his cloak. He was clearly disappointed.

  “You’re all stingy.”

  “Get lost,” Darrow said, waving his hand and chasing the goblin away.

  As she took the page, Darrow turned to her and asked,

  “Why do you want it so bad?”

  Elora looked up at him, and there was a glimmer in her eyes.

  “Because enchanters who can do exclusive runes make fortunes,” she said, and from beside Darrow, Bo’s ears perked up. They flopped, and he grumbled away after hearing and understanding there wouldn’t be a chance for immediate wealth.

  “So gold,” Darrow said.

  “No… progress,” she said, looking back down at the page more reverently.

  “Where did you find this?” she asked after a while.

  “You can read that?” Damian asked instead.

  “Not all of it, but enough. I need to test them out.”

  “Can you use it to make enchantments?” Damian asked.

  She looked up, and her brows knitted. She was clearly offended.

  “Huh, I just need time.”

  “What about—” Darrow began, but she quickly cut him off.

  “Yes, yes. No more questions.”

  She clutched the page tightly in her hands, pushed past them, and made her way into the tent.

  The brothers watched her go, and Darrow was left scratching the back of his head. They exchanged a look.

  “So you did magic.”

  “Don’t act all surprised. We suspected we could.”

  “Fair.”

  “Should we tell her when we get back home?”

  “Who, Cassandra?”

  “Yah.”

  “I would rather not,” Darrow said, his shoulders sagging from exhaustion, before he continued. “Last time she made us train until we puked.”

  “Well, I am telling her. You want magic, right?” Damian asked.

  “Point,” Darrow said.

  They sat there for a moment and listened to the camp noises. Damian took off his shoes and threw out a pebble, and Darrow sat there poking his nose and watching a pair of goblins arguing over stew. There was a man sitting next to one of the campfires and singing an old soldier’s melody.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Darrow couldn’t call himself opinionated, although he was, but the soldier’s voice had the voice of a siren choking on a boot.

  “Feels almost peaceful,” Damian said as Darrow turned and frowned at him.

  “Trying to jinx us?” And just as he said that, it happened.

  Suddenly, there was the sound of wind blowing through the tunnels, then a crack, followed by the boom of thunder.

  There were screams, and Damian and Darrow were quick to their feet as they suddenly became alert.

  “It’s a raid,” a goblin guard screamed.

  The camp was suddenly not so quiet and slow. The figures ran out of their tents. Those sleeping or resting next to the fires moved like startled sun-deer. There was panic.

  “It’s a raid! Everyone to the tunnels!” a goblin yelled.

  There was another bolt of blue magical lightning, then a loud thunder that sent their ears ringing.

  “It’s the City watch!!"

  “It’s the watch!! Run!” another person screamed.

  Shady traders, goblins, and the local criminals buying illegal items grabbed whatever they could and scattered towards the many tunnels.

  “How the hell did they find this camp?” Damian asked. He reached for his sword, but he had left it in the tent. He looked up and saw magic bolts sizzling overhead.

  The last thing Darrow wanted was to be associated with the watch. Any association with the city watch would most definitely harm his chances of getting in with the Rogue's Gallery. This would definitely injure his reputation as a rogue. He screamed internally. Just how had they found this place?

  “Elora. We left her in the tent.” He looked behind him, and Darrow cursed next to him.

  They turned. They had to get back to the tent and get Elora out of here.

  "Well, let's hurry up and get her," Darrow said, and he was the first to move.

  While everyone else ran away from the camp, a guard watched Damian and Darrow rushing towards a tent.

  He raised his wand, and Darrow ducked.

  The watch guard was dressed like all the others attacking the camp. He had a blue coat, metallic gloves, a wand, and a stiletto tied at his waist.

  “Halt!” the guard said. He lifted his wand again, and a bolt scorched the ground right in front of the twins.

  “Get on your—” the man didn’t get to finish the order as he stepped in front of them.

  The brothers just charged the much shorter man.

  “Not today,” Darrow said as he punched the watchman square in the jaw.

  The man didn’t expect that much force behind the blow, so it came as a surprise when he stumbled back, crumpling to his knees.

  A wagon exploded nearby, and the smell of oil and dust filled the air.

  “Keep moving,” Damian said.

  They pushed their way through crates and debris, but when they reached their camping area, it was too late.

  They saw a female guard dragging Elora out of the tent.

  “Unhand me,” Elora said, struggling, but the woman had a firm grip on both her hands and their things in the other hand.

  Damian and Darrow came to a stop—they hesitated. Darrow would have punched the watchwoman, but she at least wore her knight's helmet on her head.

  They froze as she looked at them through the visor. They shouldn’t have, because the next thing they knew, more guards were pouring in and circling.

  “Surrender,” the watchman they had knocked down said from behind them, while the men and women in the watch levelled their spears and wands at them.

  “Drop your weapons,” a guard said.

  Darrow clenched his fists.

  “You first,” he said and stepped forward.

  It was Damian who got through to him.

  “Don't,” he muttered and raised his hands.

  Darrow looked at him, frowned, but followed his action, and slowly he raised his hands as well.

  “Resisting arrest is punishable by—”

  “Yeah, yeah, don’t talk us to death,” Darrow bit back.

  He dropped the two daggers and lifted his hands.

  A moment later, they were escorted to the centre of the camp. One of the guards shoved them, and soon they were in a line with others who hadn’t managed to get away.

  They were all shoved against a wall. There were goblins, humans, dwarves, and even a gleaming man whose body was made of metal, joints and all.

  “A warforged,” Damian noted.

  There was the sound of a few more magical bolts going off and distant fighting in the tunnels before they heard a strong, deep voice address the men and women of the watch.

  The dwarf had a finely grown moustache that was rolled up at the ends. He had a beard with a single war bead. He had a knight's helmet under one arm, and his blue coat was clean except for his shoulder pads. Those were worn and old. In fact, the only thing as old as them was the gleaming gold badge on his chest that marked him as a senior guard of the watch.

  “Well, well, busy night if I say so myself,” he said as he came to a stop. He looked up at them and sneered.

  “Captain Bormac, we found this,” a human guard woman said and handed him a small bottle with blue-purple powder.

  The man held it in his hand between two fingers. He peered at it.

  “Hexroot powder,” he said, lifting it up for all of them to see.

  Hexroot powder was a sort of drug, an alchemical compound that gave people a temporary level or effect. Maybe a skill.

  Of course, it didn't exist twenty years ago. In fact, the only reason the hexroot powder was a thing was that the alchemist of Allm-Alor went into a dungeon rift and discovered it.

  A year after that, the dragons sent their drake envoys, and they had outlawed anything to do with hexroot powder.

  “This is a crime. Owning this is a crime,” he said.

  The brothers and the others arrested all just grumbled.

  “So who does it belong to?” the dwarf asked.

  They all averted their eyes, but a rough-looking dwarf spoke up.

  “Why would we tell you if it belonged to any of us?” he said and nearly spat on Bormac's boot.

  The warforged beside him spoke.

  “Auh, it’s not mine,” he said, and the guards all flinched back a step.

  Bormac looked over at the man—no, the living construct. He was all wood and metal, yet if you spoke to him, he sounded like any other person.

  The senior watchman let a sneer grow on his face. He pointed at two of the guards and pointed at the man made of metal.

  “Put the sentient golem in a carriage or on the express. Take him back to the Ironforge district.”

  “Does this mean I can go?” the metal man asked, but the guards said nothing.

  “You are being deported,” Bormac said.

  He hoped the man of iron understood that he just didn’t want to deal with his kind. There was a lot of bureaucracy that came with the men of iron. Mostly, no self-respecting dwarf wanted to deal with them or their Iron King.

  Elora was standing next to them. She was clearly shaken, and her face was pale.

  “Send the rest of them to Ashlock jail.”

  “What about the hexroot powder?” a female guard asked.

  Damian and Darrow watched the dwarf put the bottle of blue-purple powder under his coat.

  “Use a truth stone on them. Find out whoever it belonged to,” the dwarf said.

  If the other guards had seen him pocket the illegal substance, they said nothing.

  “You can’t do this,” Elora started, but Bormac raised his hand.

  “We just did.”

  “It’s okay,” Damian muttered to her.

  “No, it’s not. They didn’t help me before. Now they are arresting me,” she whispered harshly.

  They were marched out through the tunnels and up, then out of the tunnels. The last time Damian looked behind, the last thing he saw was the camp burning behind them.

  There was a goblin child crying as they passed through one of the tunnels, and the guards ignored them. When Damian paused to look at the child, he was shoved by one of the guards.

  “Keep moving,” the watchman said.

  They emerged into an alley warded off by guards. There was the smell of oil and mana crystal dust that filled the air.

  They had come out of a different location of the Ashlock sub-district in a lower ward of Principal City.

  “Forward,” the guard yelled again, and this time he pushed Darrow. He was attempting to annoy Damian, but he had mistaken the twins.

  They walked through puddles and towards the very stone building. Ashlock Jail, the sign read, and Elora swallowed deep. She felt sick, which was very much the opposite of the two brothers, who looked unconcerned. She wasn't a criminal, and she knew the type of people they locked up. She was not like them. She was a good person.

  Unlike the other buildings in this ward, the square building of Ashlock Jail had no glowing street paint and chalk paintings of reprehensible imagery. Who would dare?

  Inside the old and stone-iron building, rows of cells lined the hallway to their left and right. Elora was put in a cell with another female prisoner, and the guards unlocked another cell down the hall and tossed them in.

  “Lovely place you have here,” Darrow said after he was shoved in roughly by the guard.

  “Get comfortable then, its gonna be a while.” the guard locked the cell with a sneer.

  “Or we will,” he said and used a thumb to point back at Damian, who found one of the benches and sat down.

  The guard glared.

  “Don’t make it worse,” Damian said.

  He massaged his face as he wondered how they would be getting out of here. Darrow raised his hands from the bars, and the guard relaxed.

  “Use any skills, and the punishment will be doubled.” He looked at both of them.

  “You can’t keep us here,” Darrow said.

  “They can,” his brother responded.

  “I meant permanently,” he whispered back.

  The guard just huffed. He shook the door roughly, made sure the cell was locked, and left. He whistled as he walked away and played with the key on his finger.

  A few minutes passed, and Darrow just kept pacing around. When it was about an hour, he went back to the bars of the cell.

  “So how is the food in here?” he asked the figure in the opposite cell.