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

by Keith Ahrens

  I gesture for the other two to stay where they are, and I step out onto the road. The middle of the wide path is hardpacked dirt, but the far edge is softer mud by the lakeshore. I go to the spot where I last left the elf and look around.

  There! I spot a few footprints leading off into the tall grass by the lake. I pull my mace and move over to that point, but before I get there, the elf steps out of the reeds, tying his robe shut.

  He's surprised but still manages to whip out a short dagger and raise it up between us. For a moment we both freeze, then he says, “Oh, it’s just you,” and rolls his eyes. Then he tosses the small dagger to the ground between us.

  “Go ahead and hit me with that bloody big mace already. My magic is all spent, and I'm too damned hungover to fight you again.” He closes his eyes tight and pinches the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb.

  Kicking the knife away, I lower my mace. “Heh, relax. If I wanted you dead, I would've killed you last night. Good news for you, you're just the man we're looking for.”

  He opens one eye and looks at me suspiciously. “We?”

  “Yup, we.” I aim a thumb over my shoulder, and right on cue, Olivia and Thirax step out into the light. Thirax does a pretty good job of looking menacing.

  “Hmm, I guess this makes me your prisoner then, eh?”

  “Nah. More like our host. Just one with handcuffs on.” Olivia steps forward and grabs the taller elf by one wrist and spins him around. She snatches his other flailing hand and deftly slaps a set of silver handcuffs on him. “Didn't think I'd find a use for these so soon.”

  I assume they must have been in the equipment Thorn returned to her. I bet Olivia was as happy to see them as I was to have my belt.

  Almost right away, a sizzling noise begins to rise from the elf's wrists, and he begins dancing around in pain.

  “These are iron, you bastards! It burns! Get them off!” He howls as he flails about.

  I step forward and sweep his legs out from under him with my foot. He hits the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him for a moment. While he’s stunned, I use his dagger to cut a few strips from the sleeves of his robes. He gets the idea and tries to hold his hands still while I wrap the cuffs with the silk material.

  I inspect his wrists by turning them all around as far as the cuffs will allow. “These are just minor burns, barely even first degree. You'll be fine.” I also get a chance to see the inside of his wrists. Just like us, he has one red tat and a blue one on the opposite side like those who use magic.

  He glares at me with hatred in his eyes. “Do not touch me again, filthy human.”

  “Fine with me, Elf. But you're no good to us if you're burning to death from a pair of bracelets,” I say as I stare him in the eye. “Are you a slave also?”

  He looks away at first before answering, “The tattoos? Those are more of a term of employment. Look, I'm no good to you for ransom, for I have no rich patrons. I cannot go back to Lord Dullahan's Fiefdom. They will treat me as a traitor or torture me as an incompetent leader. So, I fail to see my worth to you. You may as well just let me go.”

  “Nah, we may have a better use for you. It seems we are in need of a guide for the next month or so, and who better than a local?” I say.

  “And I suppose there will be some kind of monetary recompense for my services?”

  “Well, we can promise the Gnoll won't eat you… for now.”

  “No, you cannot,” Thirax says, smiling and showing off his wicked fangs.

  The pale elf goes even paler for a moment but soon recovers his composer. “Spare me the theatrics. You obviously need me; otherwise, you would not be here. And seeing as how I recently find myself short of employment and… housing, I accept your offer,” he finishes with a sense of wounded pride.

  “Great! The handcuffs stay on though,” Olivia says brightly. “So, what do we call you?”

  “You may refer to me as 'Master Magus,'” he says, raising his chin.

  “How about something less… pompous?” I ask with a grin.

  “My given name is Acri Grainleaf, Master Magus—”

  “Acri it is! That’s Thirax and Olivia, and I'm Caleb. But… you can refer to us as Sir, Ma'am, and Sir. You are our prisoner after all.”

  While I'm talking, Olivia is frisking him and tossing small items into a pile on the ground, including a second dagger.

  “Hey now, my own mother gave those to me!” the elf complains.

  “Your mother gave you a set of lock picks?” Olivia asks with amused interest.

  “Why not? She had an extra set.”

  “Thirax, would you gather Acri's possessions and keep them secure?” Olivia asks, and Thirax complies, dumping them all into his belt pouch.

  “Well, Acri, you can't go back to your old friends, so where to now? I suggest somewhere far from here and safe for all of us,” I say, leaning on some choice words to make my point. “And just to be clear, anything bad happens to any one of us, the same will happen to you. Also, any hint of you trying to cast a spell will go not go well. Understand?”

  “The iron on his wrists should interfere with his spell casting. But to be sure, I could break his fingers,” says Thirax in a very casual way.

  Acri ignores the Gnoll and looks at me. “Your subtly needs a lot of work. I am not as dense as you seem to be, and I understand the situation far better than you. I do have some… distant family a few miles from here, living up in the hills. They are rather… unsophisticated, but I believe you all would get along just fine,” he states the last bit with a sneer.

  “Great. We have to make a quick stop for provisions before we go. Then you can take us to your kinfolk.”

  “Are they some of the Wild Fey that Thorn warned us about?” Olivia asks to no one specific.

  “Unrefined sure, but pretty boring if truth be told. I don’t know what you’ve been told or what standard you’d use to judge them against,” Acri says with a disdainful look at our dirty and disheveled gear.

  30

  Thanks to Thirax's nose and sense of direction, we make it to the MRE cache in under an hour. We spend about another hour just watching, looking for any sign of a trap or at least a guard or two.

  Nothing. I take another ten minutes or so and belly crawl my way to the rickety lean-to. A final glance back at where I left the others shows no alarm or anything. They're all hidden in the dense trees and grasses, so not seeing them is a good thing. Using all the stealth I can muster (not a lot), I duck around the corner and inside the ramshackle lean-to.

  It’s pretty dark inside, so I risk clicking on my penlight. I almost laugh out loud in surprised joy when I see a pile of US Army issue rucksacks, the big kind the troops use for extended forays. I guess this is how they transported most of the food stock. All the better for us. My original plan was to take a few now and come back for more later, but this changes things for the better.

  The goblins don't strike me as accurate stock boys, so I figure they won't even notice if a bunch of these go missing. I grab four of the olive-colored drab bags and move them next to the stacks of food packages. I notice a little more good luck when I move the bags. Underneath are a few small tarps and a roll of heavy twine. I stuff these into a bag and proceed to fill the rest to capacity with black plastic-wrapped MREs.

  Too late, I think to check the labels. It seems this whole pallet is 'chicken chunks.' I sigh in misery. Better than nothing, right? A quick estimate tells me we have enough food now for one, maybe two meals a day for the next few weeks. I figure we can always risk another food raid if needed.

  I strap one pack on my back and hoist the other three up, looped over my arms. I poke my head around the pallets and still don't see any sign of guards lurking about, so I head back to the group. I make a hell of a lot more noise on my return trip than I did on the way in, moving faster to compensate. Yup, not smart, but it works.

  As I approach the spot I left everyone, they rise up to greet me. Thirax has a paw over his eyes
and is looking at me sideways, like he's embarrassed for me, and Olivia is grinning and on the verge of laughing.

  “Too bad you didn't find a drum set or a pair of cymbals in there, you could've made a little more noise,” she says.

  “You move like a pregnant water buffalo, Human,” Acri sneers. I toss the heaviest pack right at his chest in answer. He stumbles back and fumbles to hold onto it before realizing what he is doing and drops the rucksack in disgust.

  I hand the other two bags to my squadmates, a little rougher than was strictly necessary, eliciting more grins at my expense. I pick up the pack I threw at the elf and walk over to him. He glares at me. “Am I to be your pack mule as well?”

  “Your words, not mine, but yeah.” He holds out his handcuffs and shrugs with a knowing smile. I answer with a smile of my own as I undo the shoulder straps on the bag and loop them over his shoulders. I re-attach the straps and take the opportunity to drop a few large rocks in the pockets of the ruck. Petty, I know, but hey, I'm only human.

  We backtrack about halfway to where we started before we call for a quick break and dig into the prepackaged rations. They are cold, but at least they’ll fill our bellies. I already feel steadier and a little stronger. The effect is the same for the others, except for the elf, who refuses to eat 'human waste-food.' Good. Our rations will last longer if he doesn't eat.

  After that, it’s a long, arduous, and boring trek up into the foothills of the distant mountains. I'm not gonna waste the time it would take to document in great detail the three days it took us to follow meandering goat trails, mostly uphill, as the weather grew colder. But the evenings and nights proved to be a bit more interesting.

  The first two nights, we rigged a small tent with the tarps and the twine and some fallen branches. It would've been very cozy, except Acri refused to sleep that close to us 'inferior races.' So, us 'inferiors' huddled together for warmth and safety and had a good laugh at the 'Noble Elf' suffering in the cold for his own prejudices, where we left him handcuffed around a small tree.

  Without any discussion on the first night, Olivia settled in front of me and pulled my arm over her chest, scooting real close, chest to back. Like… real close.

  I will always wonder if something more would've happened those initial two nights if it weren't for the six-foot, dog-faced, Gnoll chaperone filling up most of the tent. I'm pretty sure his fur could've kept him warm enough outside, but it was cold enough for us not to complain. Incidentally, he also growls in his sleep.

  As everyone slept that first night, I lay awake wondering about how much things had changed. I spend a lot of time thinking about the pretty blonde nestled up against me and, alternately, wondering if Thirax ever has nightmares to go along with his growls. We all awake the next morning, warm, stiff, and un-mauled by a sleepwalking Gnoll.

  The next night was much the same, except a little more relaxing. It felt good to be surrounded by friends I trust, even if we all slept with weapons close at hand.

  The third night was a little different. A heavy snowfall was covering our small camp and rendering our minuscule fire mostly useless. Without a word, Acri relented and crawled inside the small tent before we had a chance to chain him to a tree.

  Well, that just gave us more body heat, and with the temperature dropping outside, nobody complained. Though, Olivia and I shared a quiet giggle the first time Thirax growled and the elf whimpered.

  The next day, we trudge through knee-high snow as we climb up the steep trails for about another half a day. It is exhausting, but at least the padding of our armor keeps us somewhat warm. We could be swimming in a frozen lake right now, and it would still be better than what we came from. The further we get from the cells, the more relaxed I feel.

  Sometime in the early afternoon, the elf clears his throat to get our attention. I, for one, am glad for a reason to stop. He brushes some snow from the top of a large flat rock and plops himself down on it. He looks up at each one of us and says, “It’s only another hour or so from here. My people's village, I mean. There are, of course, some things I have not mentioned to you. When I left, it was not exactly an amicable parting, if you can believe that.”

  I find it not so difficult, but I keep my mouth shut.

  “I refused and rejected their ways, always knowing that I was smarter and better than they were. The last few years at that accursed stockade post, I had plenty of time to ponder on my follies. I agreed to help you out of a lack of choices. I decided to take you here for my own reasons. Reasons that don't seem very good anymore the closer we get.”

  “What are you expecting will happen? Is this gonna be a 'return of the prodigal son' kind of situation, or 'let’s run fast before they catch us' kind of a situation?” Olivia asks, concerned.

  If we came this far just to get thrown out, I’m going to be pretty pissed off. It’s also gonna make the next few weeks for Acri a hell of a lot tougher.

  “I truly don't know. The tribal clans up here have strict rules on how to treat visitors. They can be very gracious and generous to strangers. Family is treated differently. I suggest we continue as we have been. Present me as your prisoner and request sanctuary. I think that is your best chance.”

  “Well, no other options have suddenly popped up, so I guess we're going to have to continue to trust you. But I promise you this, Elf, if they attack us, I'll make sure you die first,” Olivia says.

  “That probably won't be necessary, Human,” a new voice cuts in. We all turn to look; the voice had come from the trees behind Acri. A thin figure of medium height stands up from a snowdrift. He’s swathed in white furs and carries a carved staff in his left hand. Small stones and feathers dangle from the top of his staff by thin leather thongs.

  He pulls his hood back, revealing silver hair and gracefully pointed ears. His hair is half bound by braids and threaded through with dark-colored ribbons and semi-precious stones. He smiles warmly at us.

  “I believe you four have seen enough bloodshed and violence for now.”

  Without turning to face the newcomer, Acri lets out a miserable sigh. “Hello, Uncle.”

  “Greetings to you, Acri. We have patiently awaited your return.” He then addresses the rest of us, “I am Karhut Grainleaf, and you are all welcome here. It is no matter that young Acri is your prisoner; I have little doubt that he may deserve it, though we may have to have a discussion about it later. For now, we are happy the fates have returned him to us.” He gestures at the handcuffs with a small frown. “Perhaps you can unchain my nephew? I assure you, there will be no more violence visited upon you if you offer none yourselves. My hunters and I have been trailing you for nigh an hour. We've had ample opportunity to kill you if we had wished to,” the elf says with a small smile.

  “Uh, I'd love to, but the cuffs didn't come with a key” Olivia replies with an embarrassed grin.

  “We accept your hospitality, good Elf, and thank you,” I say with a small bow. “My friend here is a blacksmith, perhaps he can remove the chains with some proper equipment,” I say as I gesture to Thirax.

  “Then let’s be off to a warm fire and some shelter. I am sure we can find a forge still burning at our village.” He casually turns his back on us and takes the lead, walking lightly atop the deep snow.

  We follow Acri's uncle for a few more miles, but never catch a glimpse of his 'hunters.' I have no doubt they are out there, though. Karhut Grainleaf seems well at ease with a group of armed strangers at his back, so either he has decided we aren’t much of a threat or his men have us covered. Probably both.

  He keeps up a steady stream of chatter in his slow, quiet manner. He's the chief of the Grainleaf clan, named for the type of plant they grow in the mountains in the spring. His elves are also excellent hunters and trackers, according to him.

  “I thought elves were vegetarians?” Thinking about the time I insulted Thorn.

  “Ha, ha, no, no, no, only the 'civilized' ones are. The rest of us 'savages' still make do as hunters living with
the land,” Karhut replies with amusement. “Though, it remains to be seen if young Acri here can still tolerate a hearty meal.”

  Acri stays silent and walks with his head down. He hasn't said anything since he greeted his uncle.

  “How soon until we reach your village?” Olivia inquires politely.

  “Oh, about five minutes ago. Like I told you, we live with the land.” He stops and gestures around with an open hand and his staff.

  I look closely at the area around us. The human brain is hardwired to notice patterns, but I see none here. Just irregularly shaped hills and thick-boled redwood trees growing close together. Then slowly, I start to notice light tracks in the packed snow. I follow them around one of the small hills, and to my surprise, I stumble across a doorway set into the hillside. Thick roots curve up and over to form the arch of the door. Thick furs cover the opening. All the colors blend together and camouflage the home. I don't think I would've seen it if I hadn't been specifically looking.

  Oliva comes to stand beside me. “Look up,” she says quietly and points. About twenty feet above us, I see another hole in the trunk of a massive redwood is also covered in a brown fur hide, well-hidden in the shadows.

  “Where are all your people?” I ask Karhut.

  “They are content to just watch you for now. They may introduce themselves in time... after they've made their own judgments of you.”

  He leads us on for a few more minutes until we reach another hill at the base of a redwood. “This is our guest quarters. It is somewhat removed from the rest of our village but close enough that you will be safe. There will be some firewood already stocked inside, but it is up to you to gather more and situate the home as you need it. Up here in the mountains, everyone must work for themselves. There are no handouts. We will eventually expect you to pitch in and help out around the village as well. But not today, nor the morrow. Go and rest. We will speak more later.” He gestures to a root structured doorway in the side of the hill.