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

by Keith Ahrens

  We finally gain a lot of distance on them, our horses and wagon thundering down the road. Jesse stays where he is for another minute or so, just to be sure, then swings back into his saddle proper.

  “Head back to last night’s campsite! I think I just got an idea!” I shout to the group. Haynes gives a 'thumbs up' gesture in acknowledgment and takes the lead.

  24

  “It’s my plan, so I'm gonna do it,” I say, trying to shut down any further arguments. “I'm not backing down. I know this plan sucks, but we all are mostly in agreement that it has the best chance of working. We have limited resources and ammo to go against such a well-fortified position. So, we have to use any and all available resources to succeed. In this particular case, 'available resources' includes some corpses.”

  The full moon has already risen by this time. It is again bright enough to illuminate the clearing.

  Now, I've touched on this before, but allow me to elaborate a bit on the various views of death, as it is kind of important right now. Every culture has its own deep-seated beliefs and customs about how their dead are to be treated. How the body is prepared for its journey to whatever afterlife, what is sent with it, etc. This could be tokens of affection, money to pay their way, a six-pack of beer, or just a few items of sentimental value. And almost always, elaborate ceremonies. These customs are based out of respect and religion. Respect for the dead and who they were in life.

  I have no respect for these elves; therefore, I don't care about their customs and beliefs. Our dead are always food for the ogres and goblins. Respect is a two-way street, no matter how you look at it. Their lack of respect ensures that I will be using their dead for our advantage.

  I realize this seems cold and callous, and I even agree with that… somewhat. But see it from my point of view. We've been torn from our lives and used for their gain and amusement. We’ve been deprived of our homes, our families, and our futures on their whims. They don't give a shit about us except as cannon fodder.

  In the course of my career, I have pronounced a lot of people dead. Some from gunshots in a filthy alley, some from suicides in lonely apartments, and others from heart attacks in front of their loving family. They all deserved some token of respect given the basic assumption that they've done something with their lives to earn the love and devotion of others. Even if they didn't realize it.

  Right now, at this time, I can't, and don't, believe the elves have earned that. Their own actions have ensured this. But, also, I can't begin to think that they have…because this would be much harder if I did.

  More importantly, this point of view is now producing some dissension among us, especially from Thorn.

  “Jesse can ride better than you, and Vince can shoot a bow better than you,” Haynes states a few facts. “As far as that goes, I shoot and ride better than you.”

  “Yep, but it’s my plan, my risk.” With unwavering stubbornness, I tighten the last slipknot on the back of the saddle and pitch my voice low as I continue to speak, “You're gonna need Jesse and Vince if the shit hits the fan again. They are both armed, and as you said, better shots than me. I'm the next best choice after you, and these guys need you in the front. You're our Leader. If they lose you, they lose all cohesion and order. That would be catastrophic and lessen everyone's chance of getting out of here.”

  Haynes checks the load lashed behind the saddle and thinks for a minute. “The horse is gonna be slowed by all the extra weight and drag,” he says, changing tack.

  “Yeah. We've been through this before. I only have to outrun them for about a quarter-mile, by your own estimate. Then I turn and run. Me and the horse, we’ll be much lighter on the way out. No sweat.”

  Haynes turns and puts his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “I don't like this, Caleb. It’s a bit gruesome, as well as dangerous. That trail was rough and overgrown, and it’s gonna be even worse in the dark.”

  “Uh-huh, and if we had any other choice, I'd be happy to hear it. But we're kind of short on options, so this is what we got. If I don't rendezvous with you guys at the lakeside within twenty minutes, assume I ain't gonna make it, and make a break for the gate.” I swing up into the saddle and lean down to the left where Des helps me to lash a shield to my arm.

  We've already added extra shields to the horse's flanks and chest, taking extra care not to restrict the horse's movements with the web of leather straps that we've constructed.

  “The timing is extremely tight. If we're off, we're all stuck here,” Vince says. “Wouldn't it be better if we just went through and tried to defend ourselves from the other side?”

  “No. We have no idea where we'll end up and no way to set up and dig in. Also, we're low on ammo. Better to jump through at the last minute and let the gate close behind us. That will definitely cut off any pursuit,” replies Haynes, a frown still etched on his dark face.

  “The moon sets early tonight, about three hours after midnight. I can't tell you exactly, but it will be around then,” Thorn says, still not looking at me. “We really can't time it too close, or we may miss it altogether.”

  “It’s a chance we have to take. We cannot afford another running battle. Let’s face it; we've gotten really lucky up until now. Now we have to play the cards we've been dealt and handle it the best we can,” Haynes says with finality.

  Des walks around to my right and repeats the process with another shield on my other arm. He then takes the knotted lead from the large bundle behind me and places it loosely in my right hand. My left hand rests on a stained scrap of blanket wrapped around a small package around two feet long and about eight inches around. It sits on the saddle in front of me, hooked over the saddle horn.

  I nod my thanks. Turning the horse about and onto the road, I look over my shoulder at the assembled group. Everyone has turned out to see me off. Solemn faces and nods of encouragement come from everyone except Thorn and Olivia.

  The former feels particularly disgusted by this plan. I can't say I blame her, but the lack of options limits my ability to give a crap about her feelings right now. She refuses to look at me, but that doesn't stop her from cursing me out in English and Elvish and spitting in my general direction. Yet, she stands with the group. Angrily, she buries her face in Haynes' broad chest.

  Olivia, on the other hand, had taken me aside earlier to have a chat about my plan. After a while, I knew I couldn't completely convince her that this was the best plan for all of us. The fact that she couldn’t come up with anything better just added to her frustration. I didn’t ask, but I like to think that she would be happier with this plan if someone else were carrying it out. I also can’t bring myself to say that I'm doing this not only for our entire group but for both of us, because I think that would have made it harder for both of us. But what choice do I really have? I couldn’t live with myself if someone else died because of my stupid plan.

  Turning on her heel, she marches to the back of the group, her blonde hair flashing in the moonlit night. She doesn’t say another word to me. I guess we’ve both made our choices.

  Colt pats the horse as we pass but doesn't say anything.

  Kicking my mount with my heel, we set back out on the road, just the two of us. Oh, and some baggage that is beginning to smell ripe.

  Now for the plan. But first, a little background. I know nothing about water dragons, but I do know a little bit about crocodiles and alligators. And what I know is that they like rotten meat.

  The behavior of the water dragons reminded me of how alligators hang out in shallow swamps near the shore and drag their prey underwater to drown them. Then, they store the body there for a few days until it has rotted and gone soft, making it easy to break apart. Their jaws are made for crushing and holding, not tearing, so this is the easiest way for them to eat large game.

  And just like most apex predators, these guys should be able to smell a little blood or meat a long way away, and that’s what I'm banking on.

  On the enchanted
road, the horse and I make it back to the fork by the lake in only a few minutes. I slow when we're still a good thirty yards away, and take in the scene. The mage storm still rages far away and doesn't look like it has moved at all. Gentle ripples in the water belie what I know lurks beneath the surface.

  Time to chum the waters a bit. I take the two-foot-long, cylindrical package from the saddle horn and unroll the sticky blanket scraps. This was the thing that had made Thorn snap and scream at me.

  The stump of the severed arm, freshly pruned from an elf corpse, flops in my hand. With a little trouble gripping the… bait… due to the shields strapped to both my arms, I manage to toss the bloody limb into the lake.

  Almost right away, I’m rewarded with frothing and churning water. I catch a brief glimpse of pallid white scales before the lake's edge erupts in a charging water dragon.

  “Let’s a get a move on, Horse!” I yell as I kick the horse with my heels again. He doesn’t need the encouragement as the horde of undead reptiles burst onto the shore, mere yards away from us. Still on the road, we pick up speed much faster than the dragons, but the difference is, this time I'm not trying to outrun them.

  I yank on the leather strap that binds the package tied to the back of the saddle as I pull back on the reins to slow the horse. The body hits the ground behind us with a dull thud, splashing the mud around us. Of course, my mount is smarter than I am and resists, especially since we just dropped about a hundred and eighty pounds off his back. He bucks once, but I hold my seat, his eyes rolling back at me and his expression asking, “are you effing kidding me?”

  Scowling at the horse, I take a firmer grip on the leads and refuse to argue with him. In retrospect, I really should have named him before this. It would make this easier, I think. Now it just doesn't seem like the right time.

  I jolt forward in the saddle when the slack is taken up, and the horse stumbles before the body pulls free of the soft, swampy ground. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms we have our quarries' attention, and they are closing in fast. I duck down lower in the saddle and let the horse set his own pace for the moment. Of course, his preferred pace is a terrified gallop.

  Up on the left, I see a crude wooden post stuck in the dirt. Perched on top of it are human skulls. Not dried and bleached ones like you would see in an anatomy class, these are just the rotted remains of multiple heads stuck on a pole and left to decay in the elements. It may not be the most subtle of trail-markers, but it works. The dense foliage splits just next to the signpost and opens into a darkened trail made cave-like by the intertwining branches above it.

  I have just enough time to snap my visor down into its locked position before I have to haul hard on the left rein to steer the still-panicking steed. We crash through the underbrush and almost sideswipe the signpost, but we come out onto the trail as fast as the horse can run. The road enchantment must not extend to this side trail, so we slow down significantly the moment we leave the main road.

  Low branches slap and scrape across my visor, and I squint and flinch. I hear thundering crashes right behind us, so I don't have to turn to look to see if we still have our tail. The garbled roars and angry hisses are even louder than the thunder of my horse's hooves. The ground is much drier here, and we gain a little distance, despite the weight of the heavy load dragging behind us.

  The trail twists and detours around natural contours of the land, making it tough to steer my ride in the gloom. Once or twice, my mount slips and stumbles on the uneven ground, and I try hard not to imagine what it would be like to be thrown from the saddle. If I were lucky, I'd break my neck upon impact. If not, I'd still be alive when the undead reptiles caught up to me. Either way—water dragon chow. Cold sweat runs down my back as I duck under another low branch and steer right around a lichen-covered boulder in the path.

  We veer around a small ramshackle wooden structure off on the right. It is more of a lean-to, but the important thing is, I glimpse about two and a half pallets of MREs stacked inside. I snort out a quick laugh, happy that I'll never have to eat one of those again.

  The elf corpse, still an anchor tearing through the underbrush behind us, tangles at the base of the wood structure. The saddle almost rips from the horse's back, and me with it. I think I scream as I try to hold on; the horse definitely screams as we abruptly come to a stop. I dig my heels in and snap the reins viciously, yelling, “GO, GO, GO!” as if the horse wasn't really trying and it needed me to urge it to run.

  The body breaks free as loose stones spray up from all around it, the horse gaining traction once more and making it a few strides before the first dragon has almost caught up to us. The body bounces along our back-trail like a ragdoll on a string.

  And at that moment, I catch a glimpse of our closest pursuer.

  This creature is roughly the size of a small Chevy. Launching itself into the air, it lands with its full weight right onto the elf's body, like a cat pouncing on a red laser dot. Again, the horse jams to a halt and neighs in frustrated fear. There is nothing I can do but hold on and sympathize with him.

  The body pulls free after a few feet, and the dragon clamps its massive jaws on the remaining arm. It whips its head back and forth, like a terrier worrying a rat. With a wet crack, the arm breaks free from the torso. Horse's hooves tear great clods of dirt up as we make a break for it. I watch as another four or five of these giant undead things trample one another, trying to steal a piece of the broken flesh for their own.

  Their selfish greed buys us a minute or so to gain some ground. But that’s still not the end of this plan. I rein the horse in again. It would be pointless to get this far, just to lose them now. This time, I try to steer wider around the next obstacles so we don't snag on anything again. That was way too close.

  Incidentally, if you've never been on a horse before, the chafing and the bruising are legit. Trust me on this one, it's gonna make it onto my ever-growing list of things to avoid in the future.

  Soon enough, I hear the stomping, clawed feet of the dragons gaining on us once more. I give the horse his head and again concentrate on steering and not falling off.

  Up ahead, the sky seems to lighten. I glimpse the yellow glow of a bonfire, and I know we're almost to our destination. The horse pours on the speed again, and I let him. Foam is starting to gather at the corner of the horse's mouth, and his chest is heaving to draw adequate breath. I know he can't keep this up for much longer, and I hope he won't have to.

  We burst into a clearing at a full gallop, trampling a lone goblin on guard. The little creature never had a chance to raise his crossbow; we came upon him so fast. He’s crushed under the horse's hooves; the great beast doesn't even slow or seem to notice.

  The noise we've made crashing along the trail rendered any sense of surprise moot. It was just bad luck on the goblin's part that he was in our path. About forty yards ahead of us stands a rough-hewn stockade wall about fifteen feet tall by about fifty feet long. The wall starts and ends where it meets the rough stone of the mountain base on each side. Each log is lashed to the next and sharpened to a thick spike at the top. Two blazing bonfires bracket the sturdy gate, and a trio of ogres stands at the ready, blocking the entrance.

  Shouts of alarm in the voices of goblins and ogres split the quiet night, their guttural languages blending together as they reach my ears. The lead ogre takes a defensive stance in the middle of the clearing. He is about ten yards in front of the gate, double-bladed ax in a two-handed grip. The two behind him set their massive boar spears in the dirt to brace them against the advancing horse.

  Archers on the wall take note of our charge and send a 'warm welcome' in the form of arrows. Lots of arrows. I lean forward, raising both shields in front of the horse's chest while I duck my head behind its armored neck. I feel the impact of several bolts deflecting off the steel but none penetrate. I lean back while the archers are reloading because it’s almost time for the last part of this stupid plan.

  I aim the horse at the lead
ogre and shout encouragement to it, “Steady boy, steady!” We close the gap at full speed. The ogre in the lead sneers with a broken tusked smile and begins to wind up his ax.

  I smile back at him as I pull the dagger from my belt. I twist around to my right and wait a few heartbeats. With less than fifteen yards to fighting distance, I shift my weight backward and drag the left rein back as hard as I can. The horse snorts in surprise, and its hooves dig into the ground as it tries to make a hard left at full speed.

  I pray the horse doesn't break a leg or flip over, but I have no chance to worry further. Timing is indeed critical as momentum lets the corpse attached behind us to continue to fly forward. Just before it hits the end of its tether, I slash with the dagger. The sharp blade parts the thick leather strap like paper, and the body flies free along its trajectory.

  One hundred and eighty pounds of dead elf (minus the arms, of course) slams full force into the chest of the lead ogre. Its ax flies from his hands, and he staggers backward, right onto the point of the boar spear behind him. The thick blade punches through his back and continues through its chest, a look of complete shock on its porcine face.

  Just then, my steed staggers. Whether from exhaustion or just bad footing, I don't know, but the effect is the same. I'm off balance and have no grip on the reins. I fly free of the saddle before I can grab anything.

  Time seems to slow as I feel myself lift and rise into the air. I get a good view of the water dragons crashing into the clearing, climbing over each other in their haste and eagerness for fresh prey. I begin to realize I'm facing the wrong direction and then…

  I hit the ground ass first, and time resumes its normal pace. I extend my arms, trying to spread out the momentum, and I feel both shields slam against the ground. I do my best to roll over backward to bleed off the speed, and it should have worked too. A real shame that there happened to be a stout tree right in my way. I hit it square with my back, the armor absorbing a lot of the force but not all of it. All the air rushes from my lungs, and a split second of panic sets in before I can draw another breath. My helmet is still ringing from the impact, and my vision goes momentarily dim. I think I'm just gonna sit here for a minute…