Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1)

by Keith Ahrens

  With this threat neutralized, we turn our attention to the Gnolls' fight. They've backed their foe up the hallway. Sparks fly as blades clash.

  With a flash of red light, Thirax's sword snaps in two pieces just above the hilt. The severed end of the blade spins off behind him and clatters to the stone floor. Nian steps in front to cover for his packmate and takes a nasty slash across his chestplate. Another flash of red light accompanies the sound of tearing metal. Nian howls in pain and backs away from the flashing red-tinged steel.

  I drop my mace and pull a spear from the harness on my back and launch it all in one motion. My aim is good, but this guy is too fast. Cat-like reflexes don't do him justice. Like a Dexterity of 20 or better. He rotates just enough that the spear passes right by him, punching a hole in his billowing cloak.

  He stops, motionless, and smiles at us, his glowing red blade held horizontal in a guard position before him. I crouch down to grab my mace as Jesse lunges forward with his sword. The cat-man brings his left hand out from under his mantle and shouts a word.

  Next thing I know, I'm flat on my back, ears ringing as I blink away spots from my tearing eyes. I hear Jesse next to me moaning about being blind or something. I’m not too sure since I can’t hear very well at the moment. I sit up and scoot backward until my shoulders hit the wall. I sweep my hand to my left until I feel the rough wood of our arming room door. I bang on it three times, hard.

  After a few minutes of confusion, we get the whole story explained to those inside the room. Both Cat-man and Linda were gone by the time the door opened. Hell, they could have been gone before I even banged on the door for all I know.

  My vision and hearing come back shortly thereafter. It felt like I'd been hit with a magical flash-bang grenade. That’s a new one for me. Could have done without it though. Adding this to that long list of injuries I'm not eager to repeat.

  Thorn shows up sometime during the aftermath and goes to work right away on Nian's injury. I have no doubt that if he hadn't been wearing his armor, he'd be dead right now. I've never seen a blade that could cut through steel with such ease. The others confirm what I'm thinking—the blade was magic. I guess the red glow should've been a dead giveaway.

  “I have unfortunate news to share,” Thorn says while sealing the gash on the Gnoll's chest. “The battle will go on as planned. My contacts cannot stop it, much as they've tried.”

  Stony silence or grunts of disappointment meet her statement. We were all hoping for better, but we expected this. Doesn't mean we have to like it.

  “There is a bigger design at work here, bigger than even I know of. This entire plan hinges on a surprise distraction during the battle. It should be big enough that it will allow all of you to escape,” she continues.

  “'All of you' just means all of us that survive up to that point,” interjects a woman I don't know.

  “Of course, that’s what she meant. Don't be obnoxious. We all know what the stakes are. Up until last week, we had no plan! Now, we have some hope. I'll take some chance over none any day,” Haynes steps in to defend Thorn.

  “Look, this is what we've been training for. We've developed new defenses against the magics, and many of you have already survived at least one of these fights. This is the best chance, no, the only chance we have. Let’s just listen to the Lady and hear the rest of the plan,” I can't help but add.

  Thorn continues, ignoring the interruptions, “At some point during the battle, an opening will appear in the east wall. The grids that imprison you will be temporarily disabled. Just south of the opening, there will be several wagons and horses. But there will also be guards and others of the like that will have to be dealt with once you get to them.”

  She pauses and scans the faces in the room. A few shrug, as if to say, 'of course, go on.'

  “After that, you will need to travel about two hours south along the road. The horses' shoes and the wagons are enchanted so they will travel much faster than normal, but only on the main road. If you get separated from the group and are forced to travel by foot, you will need to stay off the road. Patrols of ogres, goblins riding direwolves, and possibly redcaps will be out looking to capture or kill you. Traveling by foot will take you about a day-and-a-half to reach the next landmark.” She stops to take a sip of water from her canteen.

  “The road will lead to a lake; stay far away from the shores… it is well-defended by the creatures who live in it. The road will then diverge; take the left-most fork. It will lead away from the lake and to a small cave. The closest portal back to your realm will be in that cave. It is where all your human foods come from. We will assemble there at the mouth of the cave. Only ten or so people may travel through the portal at one time, so we must be fast, and ready to defend ourselves from those who are most likely guarding it. Any questions?”

  “Yeah, if we do get separated, how are we gonna get through the portal?” asks Colt.

  “If you make it that far, you should be able to just walk through. I, myself, or someone else will wait as long as we can on this side of the gate for any stragglers. The gate opens tonight at moonrise and will stay open until dawn of the third day hence.”

  “Bottom line, not all of us are gonna survive, but this is the best chance we got. We fight together, and then we run like hell and hope we don't get caught,” says Olivia.

  “We're hoping that there will be enough disarray and confusion here during the battle to stall any pursuit for a while,” replies Thorn. “The last bit of help we can provide are these healing stones. Some of you may be familiar with them.” She glances at me, patting her satchel. “For those of you who aren't, simply hold the stone over any wound and visualize it healing. It will exhaust the user, so only attempt this when you are safe. Good fighting tomorrow. I hope I will see you all at the cave entrance after the noontime hour on the morrow.” She dumps a pile of white and green stones out onto the bench. She pauses and stares at Haynes, lips poised on the edge of speaking, but then simply leaves without another word.

  “Well, folks, that’s about all we have for you. I suggest we get as much rest as we can. Gather whatever gear you want to take with you, and be sure to pack provisions. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day,” says Haynes with a note of dismissal in his voice.

  Everyone takes the hint and picks up a healing stone before they leave, filing out of the room to finish removing their own arms and armor. Our small group completes the remainder of our tasks in relative silence. There's not much more to say, but we have plenty to think about.

  It’s a cold, sleepless night for most of us. As usual, I try not to let my mind go back to the life I was forced to leave behind as I drift off into an exhausted sleep. It’s a little harder tonight, now that a glimmer of hope stands before me.

  13

  The pixie light flares brightly as the sound of the morning horn bellows through the hallway. It’s tough to tell without a clock, but it feels earlier than usual.

  The jailer begins his usual step, drag, step, drag cadence down the hall, unlocking cells as he goes. The rattling sound of the goblin's wagon is missing. Des sees me looking at the door.

  “They ain't gonna feed us before the fight. No reason to waste the food, I reckon,” says Des.

  Sighing deeply, I reach under my pallet. Having learned from my past mistakes, I've been able to save a little bit of food, remembering to rotate it every day or so with a fresher stash to prevent discovering any rotten crap again. Finding what I'm looking for, I quickly wolf down a few scraps from the remainder of my MREs. It tastes a bit stale, but I want to be sure to have some energy for the day. Everyone else digs into their own personal stashes as well, eating in silence, the coming fight heavy on all our minds.

  We unearth our 'home-world' equipment and secure it under our clothing before making our way to the arming room. The hallway smells very damp, and the dirt floor has turned to a thick mud due to the rainwater rolling down the hill. The fields outside should be a wonderful, sloppy mess to fight o
n.

  We arrive at our armory without incident and begin suiting up with quiet professionalism. The air seems extra tense as we take turns checking each other’s armor for loose straps or openings in the chainmail and plates. We take extra care to conceal and secure our personal weapons and possessions. It sure as hell wouldn't do to tip our hand too soon by having a guard notice our 'new toys.'

  Jesse is the first to really break the silence. “Well, best make use of the latrine, gentlemen. Wouldn't be seemly to piss yourself at the first hint of battle.” We acknowledge his practical advice and move to follow it.

  The muddy slope leading up to the courtyard proves to be tricky footing. The boggy ground is half-sticky and half-slippery, and it takes us all longer than usual to make it to the gate at ground level.

  The sun has yet not risen, but the rain continues unabated. The wind gusts are enough to stagger a man if he's not careful. The goblins on the walls have hunkered down in a clear effort to avoid falling off the edge.

  As we clear the gate, we see a large grandstand has been constructed over and surrounding the gate, forming an archway. A matching one is on the opposite side of the courtyard. A large platform spans over the gates covered by heavy canvas tarps. These tarps are brightly colored and provide shelter for several ornately carved, high backed chairs.

  We are half-ushered, half-herded out onto the field by the ogres. They are not gentle about it. By the way, wet ogre smells a lot worse than wet dog.

  We slog through the thick muck to our banner. The simple dirty white sheet with a red 'X” stenciled on it hangs sodden and heavy in the deluge. I look at the eastern wall but see no sign of a doorway, a miraculous way out, or attack helicopters ready to swoop in and rescue us.

  I glance back over the gate we entered from and notice something new. Behind the row of carved thrones sits a giant crystal in the shape of an iridescent oval. It's about the size of a small car and is set inside intricately weaved branches. Picture a bird's nest with an oversized egg sitting upright in the middle of it. Now imagine that a tree grew up from underneath and grasps the egg within its intertwining branches.

  The crystal itself glows with an inner light while slowly and constantly changing colors, making it impossible to name any one hue. I watch it for a while, but nothing more interesting happens.

  The ranks begin to fill in around us with scared and miserable people and humanoids. The rain continues to soak everyone to the bone, and the sun seems to refuse to rise. We huddle close to each other in a vain attempt to stay warm. I try to hold my shield up like an umbrella, but the weight quickly becomes tiring.

  A loud commotion erupts near the rearmost ranks. What starts off as angry shouts, turns to something akin to incredulous laughter and a few good-natured cheers. The mood on the field has suddenly lifted by the boisterous entrance of the Berserkers. They come out cheering and shouting and waving to a non-existent crowd. And, I kid you not, singing a few verses of “Born to be Wild.” Some pretty good showmanship coupled with some undoubtedly bad singing.

  Conversations pop up here and there despite the pouring rain. Different groups call out greetings and exchange small talk and fighting tips. The tension lessens a little as the mood lifts a bit more.

  A blaring fanfare of trumpets shatters our recently lightened mood. The eastern gate swings ponderously open, and a line of armored and mounted elven knights trots onto the field. They’re followed closely by a double line of battle-ready ogres. For a change, the ogres have cleaned their armor and scraped a few layers of filth from their green-gray hides. With our little group in the second row, we have a great view of the show unfolding around us.

  The lead knight speeds up to a canter as the knights following him veer to the side of our grid. The single knight, Captain Darcasson, recognizable by his armor, rides to one end of the slave formation and reaches into his saddlebags. From there, he casually makes his way down the lines, tossing red and green stones to the first two rows of us. One of each color per squad. These must be the fireball and healing spells they promised us. Lot of good that fireball will do in this driving rain. The green ones must be the healing stones. They're not exactly like the ones Thorn taught us to use, but I'll take 'em.

  The rest of the mounted knights continue past us until they fill in the last rows of the grid behind the slave fighters. My guess is that they are the reserve cavalry charge. It doesn't really inspire confidence having those lances pointed at our backs. I also know enough about tactics to know that a cavalry charge generally crushes anything in front of it. I wonder how that works with the grid in place across the field.

  The ogres jog through the mud, heedless of the muck and water they are splashing on each other, and fill in the front ranks of the grid. Most are snorting and breathing hard by the time they come to order. I'm glad these giant bastards are forming a nice wall in front of us. Hopefully, they'll take the brunt of the opening moves. Just have to wait and see how this whole thing unfolds.

  The trumpets end, and a new flourish of deeper notes and more bass begins. The song heralds the slow march of a different troupe of mounted knights as they enter the field. The only visible difference between the newcomers and our 'hosts' are the colors of their tabards. The new guys are wearing earth brown garments trimmed with green over their armor, whereas our guys are in blue with silver trim.

  Following them is another giant crystal, also swirling with multiple colors. This crystal is about the same size as the one on our side, but it is encased in what looks like stone and metal that have flowed organically around it. It’s held aloft and carried by twelve ogres all in battle dress. This crystal orb doesn't seem as bright as the one on our side. Not sure what that means, but it could prove important.

  A low clamor arises as a large mob, an interesting mix of humans and Fey creatures, comes slogging through the mud. Run of the mill ogres, some trolls that look a lot more feral than any I’ve seen before, and oh, shit… a trio of minotaurs. Damn things have to be eight feet tall, not counting the horns. I let out a sigh of relief when they take a spot far away from us.

  As for the rest, slave soldiers much like us, they move slowly, as if in a daze. A few stumble in the thick sludge. It takes a few minutes, but they eventually fill in the remaining squares of the grid on the opposite side of the field from us.

  Next, a large wooden coach, plated in thick brass armor, is pulled through the thick bog by eight massive horses. The brown and green knights split up and form an honor guard surrounding the crystal and the coach. The entire entourage continues to the empty grandstand on the far end of the arena. The elves stay mounted as the ogres labor to carry the metal- and stone-encased crystal to the top of the structure and set it behind the ornate chairs. The carriage and its inhabitants seem content to just wait at the bottom of the steps.

  While this is happening, we have a chance to size up our opponents. We’re matched almost evenly in numbers, give or take a few, yet these humans seem a bit sickly and gaunt. Sure, they're all armed to the teeth and armored at least as well as we are, but they look malnourished. They mill about listlessly, neither eager nor visibly afraid. Just kind of zoned out.

  I squint into the rain, trying to get a better view. I catch some occasional spastic movements from our foes, though most remain still with a glassy-eyed stare. Each one also sports a tattoo similar to ours, except it's on the right side of their necks. It's tough to tell at this distance, but it looks like the red of the tattoo is muted by a swirling grey.

  “Hey, Sarge, I'm pretty sure those guys are drugged to the gills,” I say as I walk up next to Haynes.

  “You sure? Why would they do that?” he asks skeptically.

  “Lots of armies experimented with drugging soldiers in our own world. Anything from psychedelics to amphetamines and hypnotics. Could make them meaner, not feel pain, easier to control, or maybe a combo of all that. I don't know for sure, but I'm pretty sure I'm right.” In my line of work, I've gotten pretty used to seeing people wh
o are under the influence of some mind-altering substance or another.

  “Could also be an enchantment." Haynes looks around. "All right, let’s spread the word.”

  We split up and begin telling anyone within earshot what we suspect. The story quickly passes through all the ranks, grass blade or not. It never hurts to have more information, and it just might help some people live through this.

  As this is happening, yet another trumpet fanfare begins. Damn, but these pompous bastards like their grand entrances.

  With banners flying in the wind, a silver and blue carriage comes rolling through the muck, led by six pure white unicorns. Not a speck of mud is on either the horses or the carriage. It all seems like an extravagant waste of magic to me, but what do I know?

  The carriage glides to a stop in front of the entrance to our cells, just below the grandstand. A gaggle of goblins rush out and begin unrolling a silver carpet to the midpoint of the field. They hastily set out a small table and two chairs, struggling against the wind for a few minutes while they try to put a canopy over the little setup.

  The fanfare ends with a closing flourish, and the carriage doors open simultaneously. Pairs of servants step out, holding oiled canvas sheets on poles to shelter those who exit after them.

  One servant calls out in a loud carrying voice, “His High Lord Seneschal Arias Dullahan of Terram Caeruleum has taken the field!”

  The eastern gates slam shut with a sense of finality; a flash of white light courses down its seam, indicating a magical seal. Well, that's that. I briefly steal a glance to the east, hoping Thorn's friend will follow through on their end. If they don’t, this is gonna be a long day. And an even longer year after that, provided we all live through the next few hours.

  Lord Dullahan steps out wearing an intricately engraved breastplate of pure silver. Upon his head is a finely wrought silver crown festooned with clear gems. At his waist is a thin-bladed sword with an engraved and bejeweled basket hilt.