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

by Keith Ahrens

  “I got bad news for ya', Des.”

  “Shit, it's broke now, ain't it?”

  “Don't know yet," I say as I break into a grin, "but your foot fuckin' reeks. When was the last time you washed?”

  We both laugh a bit at the lame joke. I always found it helps to put your patient at ease before you have to do anything. I poke and prod and shift the foot around in a small circle as Des hisses in pain. I can't feel anything out of place, but there are a lot of small bones in the ankle as well as the real chance of a fracture that hasn't displaced. Lucky for him, we're currently out of healing stones.

  “Well, I'm not sure if it's broken, but we have to assume it is. I can splint it for now, but you're not gonna be running on it anytime soon.” Then a thought occurs to me. “Hey, how’s the magic study coming along?”

  Des glances at his right wrist and contemplates this for a minute. “Probably not good enough to fix this. And truth be told, I ain't much good at healing. I can sure give it a shot, though.”

  “Cool, let me splint it first so you have a chance of it healing right.” I get to work, using an old blanket I find under the broken boards. Using a small dagger, I cut it into wide strips and bind the ankle, then I brace it with some of the wood to fashion a splint.

  “I can give you something for the pain, but it’ll knock you out for a while.”

  “Nah, as fun as that sounds, I think we all need our wits about us. I can handle it.”

  “Okay, in that case, there's not much more I can do here; keep that leg elevated on the bench there. I'm gonna return topside to keep watch. Let me know if you need anything.” I get up and reach for the edge of the broken roof.

  “Well, Hoss, there is one thing… you can buy me a beer when we get home.”

  I let out a genuine laugh. “Brother, I'll buy you a whole case when we get back.”

  I climb back out and resume my post. “Did I miss anything?” I ask Jesse.

  “Just more rain and mud, nothing to trouble yourself about.”

  The wagons in front of us begin to slow and then stop. We look at each other as Jesse slows our wagon to follow suit. Then he transfers the reins to his left hand and pulls his revolver. I pick up the bow and nock an arrow.

  The other carts are spread out across and on the side of the road, three abreast. Jesse deftly steers our wagon off the path and next to the others, bumping through the rocky mud. We clatter to a stop and see Haynes and Thorn already exchanging greetings with the others.

  In total, we have four wagons and four people riding horseback: Haynes, Thorn, Grayson, and another lady I don't know, but I think her name is Cindy or Sylvia.

  Haynes clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. “So, we've made it this far, but we have a bit more to go. I don't think we're safe yet, and we all need to act like that. Pursuit is inevitable, and they can make a pretty damn easy guess as to where we're headed. So, speed is essential from here on out. We have an hour, maybe more, of easy travel on the road until we take a smaller, rougher trail. We think the wagons can make it, but just in case, let's get a headcount and a list of the wounded.”

  The door to the wagon next to us opens with a squeal of rusty hinges, and the two Gnolls pile out and walk around to the front.

  “Leader, 'tis good to see you and hear your voice!” Thirax says with obvious happiness.

  Nian nudges him and points to Jesse and me. “Pack!” he says simply, a small canine grin on his face.

  I smile back, happy to see them as well until I see the impressive amount of blood caking Nian's stomach and thigh. It drips like molasses, and he leans a bit on the wagon.

  I hop down from the driver's bench and get a shoulder under Nian's arm to support him. “We only have Des in the back with a possible broken ankle. I think we can count Nian as a noncombatant for now as well,” I call over to Haynes.

  Olivia goes next, “I got four more, not including the Gnolls. Everyone is in fighting condition expect Vince. He took a shot to the head and has been acting off ever since.”

  “I got the two Berserkers, one of 'em badly wounded,” Colt gives his report.

  The driver of the fourth wagon speaks last. She's a stocky brunette with her hair cropped short. “I got a mixed bag, five total with three wounded. Don't know how bad.”

  “Okay, anyone got any healing stones or fireballs left?” Haynes asks, still in 'take charge' mode.

  “What’s it to ya'? I ain't giving 'em up even if I do have 'em,” says the unknown woman, her rough voice clearly aggressive as she challenges Haynes.

  The Sergeant stares at her for a moment. “And who the hell are you?”

  I look over and notice that she isn't sporting a visible blade of grass anywhere. She's probably not up to speed with our plans, and she's acting like it.

  “I was gonna ask you the same damn thing. Who the hell put you in charge?”

  “We all did. He's the one who set up this whole breakout, so you should be thanking him, not giving him a hard time!” Colt erupts. “How 'bout you just shut up and answer his damn question?”

  She turns a cold glare in Colt's direction. “Nah, I don't think I will. A few weeks ago, we were all at each other's throats, now we're all supposed to just get along? Ha!”

  “All right, fine, but if you do anything to stop us or slow us down, we're gonna respond accordingly, you understand me?” Haynes stares, dead-eyed, at the woman for a long moment. She breaks eye contact first, turning and spitting on the ground.

  “Let’s get all the wounded into one wagon so I can set to work,” Thorn breaks in, shattering the tension. “Stupid One, if you will assist me?”

  Jesse and Haynes both snort with suppressed laughter, and I feel my cheeks go a bit red. “Our wagon is a bit wrecked, and we're down a horse. I'd advise using a different one,” I say, ignoring her jibe.

  “Use mine, I already have the one wounded, and these horses seem strong,” Colt offers.

  “Me and my people are staying right where they are, thank ya' very much. We can take care of our own,” the brunette states, petulant.

  “Fine, if that’s how you want it. Just remember what I said,” Haynes says, leaning a bit hard on the last part before he turns his back to ignore her.

  “Thorn, Nian has a broken arrow in his gut; I think he needs to go first. And one of the Berserkers got his arm amputated; he should be next.” I pass Nian off to Thirax. “Let me check on Des.”

  I walk around to the back of our wagon and pull the door open. A few bits of broken wood fall out and land in the mud. The hole in the roof is letting in plenty of light, and I see Des, lying on his back, his breathing shallow. I climb in quickly as I call his name. No response.

  I kneel next to him and give him a quick, firm shake. His eyes snap open, and he sits up, very startled and shouts, “Aarrggh!”

  A sense of magic, almost like a thick ozone, fills the wagon, and the splint on his leg bursts into flames.

  “Shit!” I grab what’s left of the blanket and smother the flames.

  “Son of a bitch!” exclaims Des. “What in the hell did you go and do that for?”

  “I thought you were unconscious! Sorry!” I toss the singed and smoldering blanket out the door into the rain and mud.

  “Nah, man. I was meditating, trying to speed up the healing,” he says with a self-deprecating grin, “and I wasn't expecting it to burn up like that.”

  I brush off the remains of the charred wood and blanket. Underneath, I see healthy skin with little swelling. “Wow, Des, I think it was working!” I exclaim. I look at his head and see the scalp wound has closed into an ugly, thick scar.

  “Yeah, well, next time lemme finish!” he says with a grin. “Hey, I'm not exhausted like when we use the stones. Maybe the slow meditation is less of a strain?”

  “You might be onto something there. We'll worry about that later; for now, we're moving to a nicer wagon. This one smells like burnt feet.”

  Thorn and I spend a few minutes discussing
Nian's condition. We are both guessing at Gnoll anatomy here, but we both agree he's in a critical state. I think he's been shot through the liver, and there's no way to get the arrow out without causing a lot more damage. We've inspected one of the arrows from my quiver; if it's the same type, it’s got nasty barbs on it designed to keep it from being removed.

  The best plan we can come up with is that I do the cutting while she tries to heal the damage I inflict, as well as whatever else is caused by the arrow itself. Not a great plan, and one we can't do in a bouncing wagon. Brushing the fur away from his wrist, I see a lot of black and very little red on his tattoo. We leave him to lay on the bench with strict instructions to not move under any circumstances. I don't have high hopes he's gonna listen for long.

  Telling Haynes is our next order of business. Thorn stays behind to check on Jimmy's stump of an arm and Vince's head wound. Vince was asleep when we were all in the wagon but woke up when I poked him. He seemed groggy, but mostly with it. I like Vince. I haven't forgotten that he was the first one from another group to step up and help me with Colt.

  The thick mud squishes under my boots as I walk to the front of the wagons again. I stop next to Haynes' horse and run my hand down its neck. The horse nickers in appreciation. I look up at Haynes and pull my helmet off. I'd almost forgotten I was wearing it. I run a gloved hand through my hair as the rain begins to cool my scalp.

  “Sarge, we got a serious problem. Nian's hurt real bad. We don't know if we can get the arrow out and keep him alive at the same time. But one thing is certain—we sure as hell can't try to do anything to help him in a moving wagon.”

  “How long do you need?” he asks, still scanning the road behind us.

  “Dunno, but I'd guess at least an hour to be careful, and there's no guarantee this is gonna work.”

  “We don't have an hour to sit out here in the open. I think we're lucky no one has caught up with us yet. Even pulling off the road leaves us too vulnerable. Thorn says there aren't any other roads to detour on until we get to the lake, so there's no place to hide.” He stops to think a moment before saying in a tone that leaves no argument, “We can't stay here. Can you keep him alive until we get to the gate?”

  “Maybe… probably… ahh, shit. I don't know. We just don't know enough about how Gnolls are built. All I can say is we'll try.”

  “All right, mount up. The sooner we get there, the better off we're all gonna be.”

  “10-4, Sarge.” I put my helmet back on and tighten the strap.

  I give the horse a final stroke and a pat before turning to leave. I catch a quick movement out of the corner of my eye and see Thirax standing on top of a wagon and pointing.

  “Riders! Down the road and gaining fast!” he calls out.

  “Shit, everybody, mount up and move out! Silvia, scout ahead! Grayson, stay with the wounded wagon!” the Sarge calls out orders and wheels his horse about.

  Sylvia kicks her horse into a gallop and speeds off down the road. The other wagon, carrying those we don't know, has already begun rolling and has a good head-start on us. Thorn's horse is tied to Jesse's wagon, and it trots behind as they pass me.

  Colt gets our horses moving again, straining to pull the wagon. I speed up also to grab the doorframe and pull myself up. Olivia's wagon is right behind us and keeping pace. Thirax balances on top of it with a sword and shield at the ready.

  Beyond them, I squint into the rain and see a group of mounts in the distance. I grab onto the wood of the doorframe to keep my balance and just watch for a full minute. I estimate we have four or five minutes until they catch us.

  Jimmy's brother, the Berserker whose name is Miles, has his hands full keeping his brother from falling off the bench while helping Thorn to keep Nian down. In his spare time, he shoves Vince back onto the bench with his brother whenever he starts to bounce off.

  I grab Thorn by the shoulder and lean in to speak close to her. “Look, we can't stop now, and we can't try to remove the arrow while we're moving, so I want to attempt something else. This works in my world with humans, but it was tested on dogs before that—”

  She interrupts me with a horrified look, “You barbarians! Testing on dogs? What is wrong with your people?”

  “A lot, but we don't have time for that now,” I say with a bit of frustration, “Listen, I need you to put Nian in a deep sleep and then lower his body temperature. It’ll slow the bleeding and maybe get him to last a few more hours.”

  She frowns in thought for a second. “Exactly, how cold does he have to be?”

  “Cold enough to slow everything down extremely slow—breathing, heartbeat, just everything. Do you know anything about cellular metabolism?”

  “Do you know anything of Werniker's Polar Manifestation or The Principals of Innate Life Essence Reserves?”

  “Okay, I get your point. You think you can do this?”

  “It's risky, and I'll have to stay devoted to only him for the duration…. You'll have to heal the other two as best you can,” she replies with a skeptical look. She digs into her pouch and produces two small healing stones. “I have very few left, so use them wisely, yet sparingly.”

  “Thank you, and good luck.”

  “I need none of your luck, I have skill,” she says, full of deliberate condescension, but with a small smile to take the sting out of it.

  She turns and kneels next to Nian and speaks quietly with him. As she does this, she dips her index finger into the pooling blood at his abdomen. She then uses the blood to draw sigils on his forehead, chest, and stomach. I leave her to her craft and get to work on my own patients.

  I gently ask Miles to move aside, and I pull out a small penlight from my trauma pack. In the glow of the dim light, I inspect Jimmy's arm. The tourniquet seems to be holding, and he's dozing fitfully on the bench while leaning against the front wall. His pulse is still strong in his one remaining wrist, so I turn to Miles. “He's doing okay right now. Nian is worse off so we gotta fix him before we can work on Jimmy, but we can't do anything while we're in motion. Can you keep an eye on him?”

  “Sure. I'll yell if anything changes. I'm weaponless right now, but let me know what I can do to help,” he offers.

  Vince is stretched out on the bench, asleep on his back. I nudge him and call his name, but he doesn't move. He's got a strong pulse at his neck, but his breathing is shallow and uneven. I pull his eyelids open one at a time and see the right pupil is dilated. I pick up his helmet and find a large dent to the right temple area. I pull off my gauntlets and run my hands over his head. I immediately find a small lump and dark bruising on the right side of his head. Dammit.

  Grabbing his wrist, I see his tat is a dark grey and fading toward black even as I watch. Pressing a thumb to his wrist, his sheet pops up. I hear Miles gasp behind me, but I ignore him. His page shows me he’s unconscious and low on Hit Points with the words ‘Crippled' and ‘Near Death' next to it. That’s not good, but it confirms what I'm seeing.

  As far as I can tell without a CT scan, he's bleeding in his brain, either where he was hit or where the brain rebounded off the opposite side of his skull.

  Luckily, with healing magic at my hands, I don't need to know these details, just that there's an injury in his head. Magic will do the rest. Just like, well, er… magic.

  I glance out the open back door and see we still have a small amount of time. Kneeling, I reach over and place one of the stones against the hematoma (the lump) on Vince's head. I remember what Des said about going slow and it not being as taxing, so I relax my breathing and begin to concentrate.

  I try to let the healing energy out in a slower, more controlled manner. It seems to want to fight me, like it all just wants to rush out and get the job done—do what it was created to do.

  I impose a little more willpower and feel the magic draw toward his right temple area. The closer I get, the more pressure I begin to feel in my own head. I let a little more magic slip free, and the pressure lessens. I try to hold it steady
like this for a few more minutes until I feel no pain and no pressure. I let a little more magic loose, and it flows out undirected, like there is nothing left for it to do. I clamp down on the flow of magic to stop it and open my eyes. I realize I'm out of breath and almost panting, sweat dripping down my face.

  Okay, it’s still a rough ending, but not as bad as before. I check Vince's head and feel the lump is gone. His pupils both react normally, and his breathing seems much more regular. He wakes with a start and tries to sit up, but I stop him with a hand to his chest.

  “What the hell happened? Where are we?” he sputters.

  “You’re okay. Relax. You took a nasty wound to the head and were out of it for a bit. We're in a wagon, making our escape, and there's a group chasing us. Just rest for now; I'll keep watch.” He nods with a bit of reluctance and lies back down. He soon drifts into a more natural sleep. I spy his wrist and see his tat has gone back to a full, bright red.

  Glancing at the healing stone in my hand, I note that its colors have dulled and darkened, but it remains intact. Even better, I can still feel a good bit of energy within it.

  Next item on the agenda is to check on Thorn and Nian.

  The light is dim in the back of the wagon, even with the door tied open. But amid the subdued light, I can still see Nian's color looks terrible. His skin is a sickly blue-gray, and I don't see his chest rising at all. Hoarfrost coats his dark fur, and ice crystals have formed in the clotted blood. Thorn is kneeling next to him and swaying with the rocking of the wagon. I really hope she is up for this because Nian does not look good. I need to trust her and her magic, mainly because I have no choice. Then again, her track record for magical healing is very impressive, so there's that.

  I gather up my bow and set an arrow to the string as I step back to the door. Going to a knee once more, I get a good look at our pursuers.

  Five armored elven knights on their huge armored steeds do not break stride. The silver visors of their helmets mask their expressions, but I'm pretty sure they intend for us to meet a violent end.