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

by Keith Ahrens

  I click on my penlight, stoop down, and duck-walk in. This cave is a lot bigger than I would've guessed. It spreads back and under the tree; its roots have grown wide to shore up the walls. It’s about thirty feet round in a large, circular shape and already warmer than the outside. A small fire pit has indeed been stocked with enough wood nearby to last us the night, and a small bundle of torches lies near it. A pile of clean, thick blankets sits next to the stack of chopped logs. By the far wall is a small wooden table, four stools, and a set of copper pots and pans.

  I stick my head back out and say with gratitude, “This will do just fine Chief Grainleaf. Thank you. C'mon in guys, let’s get warm.”

  “Acri will stay with me for the time being. He may rejoin you at some point, but for now, we have some family business to attend to. Now, get comfortable, but please, don't go wandering too far until I return for you. For your safety and ours.” He deftly removes Acri's pack and hands it to me with a nod. Then he steers Acri away by the shoulder gently, but firmly. I can't help but notice he has not mentioned the handcuffs again.

  I lead the other two into our new digs, and Thirax begins to get a fire going. Then he lights a few torches and places them around the cavern walls. Olivia and I busy ourselves organizing the food stores and setting up our sleeping areas. A clever design in the roof vent allows the smoke to drift up and out to disperse it among the tree roots.

  We discover a small clear pool of fresh water fed by a spring in the back of the cave-like room. I strip off most of my armor and pile it next to my bedroll. I keep my mace on my belt, though. Filling the copper pot up with fresh water, I set it over the fire for a few minutes to heat it up. I drink my fill of fresh cool water while I wait for the water in the pot to heat. Olivia and Thirax seem to relax enough to also remove their armor, but I notice they also keep a weapon close to hand.

  The warm water feels nice as I tear a rag from my t-shirt and use it to scrub the dirt, sweat, and dried blood from my skin. The others follow suit, and the mood grows lighter the warmer and cleaner we get. I air dry my skin by the fire, and we all have a bite to eat from a few MREs.

  Finally, warm, dry, and with a full belly for the first time in ages, I crawl over to my makeshift bedroll and use an empty rucksack as a pillow. Checking my sheet, I see my inventory is still comfortably full, and I have full Hit Points for a change. My eyes grow heavy, and I begin to doze when I'm awoken by Olivia crawling under the blankets and settling in right in front of me. Snuggling like a little spoon her form against me. I put my arm tentatively over her shoulder. She takes my wrist and wraps my arm around her. I drift off to sleep, happy, cozy, and content for the first time in a long while.

  A few days pass uneventfully. We don't stray far from each other or our guest housing, just short hikes into the surrounding hills to gather wood. Sometimes, we catch glimpses of other elven villagers, but for now, they keep their distance. Of Acri, we see nothing at all. I hate to admit it, but I kind of miss having him around.

  I take this time to rest and recoup a bit in the relative safety of Acri's people. I spend time going through my equipment and affecting any repairs I can. Except the breastplate, that is. After all the fighting, falling down ravines, and general injury that I have taken over the past few days, the armor plate still looks brand new. Even the intricate etchings on the surface look crisp and well-defined. I consider asking Acri to look at it if we ever see him again.

  Thirax has gained permission to go hunting for himself in the surrounding hills. This worried me at first, but so far he always returns, albeit tired, but with a full belly. We could tell he's enjoying this little taste of freedom. Good for him.

  Olivia and I spend our time relaxing when we can, housekeeping, and sparring at half-speed with heavy sticks instead of real blades. In the evenings, we take the time altogether telling and teaching Thirax about our home world. He has trouble understanding most of it, but he seems intrigued by the idea of cars and motorcycles. The notion of television he has dismissed as colorful lies, both in its content and concept.

  Late at night, Olivia and I talk about other things. Anything and everything. What we are going to do when we get home, how and if we can get back to our old lives, and what we want in the future. A lot of it seems compatible, and I like the way it's going. We show each other our character sheets, which I take as a sign of our growing trust. Considering where we are, a lot of this seems more of a pipedream, but it’s always good to have hope for the future.

  On the fourth day, Acri returns to us. He enters without knocking and scans the room wordlessly, picking a spot far from the rest of us. He drops his meager bedroll and flops down on top of it. An expectant silence fills the small cave, but the three of us are content to wait him out.

  He lies on his back, staring at the ceiling for a while. Finally, he exhales a deep sigh. “I find myself in a peculiar situation. My… er, the clan is almost evenly split about what to do with me. Some want to accept me back into the fold, as long as I adhere to their ways and forgo any knowledge I may have learned in the past two decades I've been gone. Pretend I'm not who I am now. The rest want to shun and deny me. They would treat me as a lost traveler that they need only offer short term shelter to. I find myself loathe to accept either. I prefer to make my own choices. So, in light of these developments, I find myself needing a third option. Tell me of your world… please.”

  Olivia and I look at each other in surprise. I have no idea how to respond to this.

  I notice the handcuffs are still on his wrists, but the chain has been severed. Each silver bracelet is decorated with bands of leather to prevent them from touching his bare skin. The chains also have dangling silver charms and beads. His tattoos are still there, but it looks like they've been added to as well. Swirling nature designs with bright vivid colors surround both the blue and red circles.

  Acri sits up and looks at us. “Perhaps this will help loosen your tongues?” He produces two bottles of a deep red liquid. “Elvish wine,” he explains.

  Tonight, we have two willing pupils. And some very nice wine. Acri seems intrigued about a world without magic. “As a child, we're told stories of the original lands. How the humans developed their iron and technologies in opposition to our Magics. How they poisoned the rivers and fields, and the very air they breathed with their 'war industry.' It was enough to drive the pure Elves and most of the Fey to Under the Hill. We all dismissed these stories as fancy and fantasy as we grew older. We thought these stories were only cautionary tales to keep the young in line, to create a fear of the humans. Now you tell me this is all true… perhaps ‘The Lore’ truly do exist.”

  The way he says that, with the capitalized emphasis on the “L” in Lore, perks my ears up. “What’s that? The Lore?”

  “Oh, it's an old tale we tell our young. In the beginning, we Elves ruled the Green lands, what you call your Earth. Then you creatures evolved and learned to work metal and make weapons. In the process, you all managed to kill off the rivers and lakes with poisons from these workings and make the air itself all but unbreathable. A decision was made to find a new world before we were too weak to conquer one.

  "My ancestors came here a few hundred of your years ago and wrested ownership from the Fomorians. But, before they left, each Fiefdom compiled a written history of their culture and history. These became known collectively as Doctrina De Primigenes. Individually, they were named for each Fief. Dullahan’s would be known as Doctrina De Terram Caeruleum.”

  “So, it's just a history book? And what’s Terram Whatever-you-said?” Olivia asks.

  “Terram Caeruleum. The name of this Fiefdom. And it is history, that and so much more. They are said to contain magics and spells that don’t work on this side of the Hill, so they became lost to us.”

  In a flash of memory, I remember Jesse saying something about old scrolls that were used as a basis for an RPG game. I think I just found another link! I mention this to Acri, and he gets even more excited.


  “So, it must be true! Your people have found them! I need to see them. However, I am appalled to hear your kind uses them as a game.” A look of disgust crosses his face.

  I let it drop for now, seeing how offended he is over the game thing. His enthusiasm to learn quickly outweighs his annoyance at how his people’s history was treated, and he asks about half a million questions right away.

  This goes on deep into the night with Acri asking far more questions than Thirax. His agile mind analyzes and picks apart each new piece of information we give him. He seems very quick on the uptake and files each piece of information away. The more questions he asks, the less arrogant he seems. Almost like he's forgotten to put on airs. He's very excited about the prospect of traveling to our world, but he tries to hide it. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know much more about the Lore scrolls or what they have to do with us.

  We all get caught up in the enthusiasm of the conversation. After sharing some laughs and a few more stories about life in New York City, we finish the wine and call it a night.

  The very next morning, the village gets attacked.

  Hungover, we are pulled from our slumber by shouts and screams. The familiar clash of steel on steel cuts through my morning haze. Olivia and I scramble out of the pile of blankets and hastily grab our weapons.

  I freeze as I hear a peculiar creaking of wood coming from near the ceiling. My first thought is that the roof is about to collapse, so I scoop up my helmet and plop it on my head. My second thought, as I look up, is that the ceiling is leaking.

  I watch as a thick, exposed root sags lower than usual, and a large drop of gray liquid hangs from its tip. As I stand there, clad only in my boxer-briefs and steel helmet, the drop grows larger and hangs closer to the floor.

  When I say it grew larger, I may be underselling it a bit. It grows to nearly my size before it 'pops' and disgorges a hulking gray-skinned monster. The beast lands on its feet, facing away from me and looking at Thirax. Its crimson red hood blocks my view of its face, but I get a good glance at the large, rusty cleaver it holds in its fist.

  Thirax rears up to his full height and roars a defiant challenge. The dark gray, hulking figure looks down at the Gnoll and roars back. Not bothering to roar, I jump forward and smash my mace down on top of the thing's head as hard as I can. Skull gives way under the sharpened flanges of the spiked club. I leap backward to avoid being gutted by the swinging cleaver as the redcap spins and retaliates out of pure reflex.

  The monster continues to spin around with the blade, unsteady as it loses its balance. Blood is already streaming down its face, staining its white beard. One of its red eyes hangs by the optic nerve, having been popped out by the force of my blow when I shattered the back of the skull.

  Thirax grabs it by the head with both hands and holds it steady. Olivia then buries her ax right through its forehead. She tears the blade free as the body falls over, lifeless.

  We rush to throw on our armor and grab our gear. Our bags have stayed packed, just in case we needed to leave fast. Until this morning, I was starting to think we were paranoid, now I'm calling it a good plan.

  “Thirax, give Acri his staff and gear back. I think we're gonna need his magic,” I order as I pull the breastplate over my shoulders and tighten the straps.

  “I heard rumor the redcaps could travel through plant roots, but I thought it was just a story they spread,” Acri says as he grabs his equipment from the Gnoll.

  Olivia goes to the doorway and peers out around the hanging tarp. “Cool story, Elf. Save it for the people who weren't there. Okay, here's the plan. Thirax, grab that table and use it as a shield; you're our point man. We all stack up behind 'Rax and break left when we clear the door; head for the ridgeline, away from the forest. Only engage when you have to; try not to get bogged down in a slugfest. The key here is speed. Questions?—Good, we ain't got time for them; let's go.” Her green eyes shine intensely cold. I can easily see how she led an ESU team.

  I stuff the last blanket into my rucksack on top of the MREs and sling the sack on my back. “Acri, stick with Olivia, and don't be shy with the fire magics.” I pull out the mace and get a good grip on it.

  The Gnoll takes off at a sprint, despite holding a four-foot oak table in one hand. He tears through the heavy tarp covering the opening and encounters the next redcap. Or rather, he hits the damn thing with the edge of the table like a battering ram and knocks the seven-foot-tall monster clean off its feet. His comrade buries a cleaver into the table, getting it stuck for a second.

  Olivia swings her ax in a short arc, cleaving the 'Caps calf muscle in half. Smart move, no time to finish it, but she made sure it can't give chase very well. The steel of her ax leaves a smoking, burning wound.

  Acri stops short in front of me. I swerve to avoid running him down and turn to see what froze him up. The scene in the village proper is a gory mess. The legion of redcaps has turned his small village into a slaughterhouse, complete with bodies hanging from trees and lying in snowbanks.

  The villagers were caught completely unaware. We lucked out being housed so far from the village itself. But the elves have already organized quickly, with pockets of resistance popping up. Arrows rain down from trees, and the redcaps try to cleave them at the base or set them on fire.

  “There they are!” comes a guttural shout from a 'Cap, and all the others not actively fighting turn toward us. A collective roar rolls over the hills, and the rumble of their charge begins to shake the ground.

  “Oh, shit!” I yell. Acri is chanting fast and holding his staff in two hands, almost like a person would hold a rifle when shooting from the hip. A series of small pops and individual sparks shoot from the end of the staff. They streak across the clearing like little stars, leaving trails that look like comets.

  The first one hits a 'Cap in the chest and detonates, blowing a hole clean through its armor and its chest. What’s left burns with an unnatural fire. A total of five hits, much like the first, with only a few misses—redcaps explode, and body parts go flying. The rest of the marauders dive for cover wherever they can. It stalls the charge and gives us a minute to move.

  A few short spears are launched at us, but none land close enough to worry our flight. I duck my shoulder low and hoist Acri up on my shoulder, trying not to jostle him too bad and interrupt his next spell. He's pretty light despite his near six-foot height, and I take off in a fast jog after the other two.

  Thirax loses the table when it smashes to splinters caving in another monster's head. Acri continues to chant while I run. Olivia has located the trailhead between two large boulders; I follow her, knowing the trail is steep, but it's also very narrow. They can only come at us one at a time until we hit the plateau at the top. From up there is a great view of the mountains, as well as a sheer drop into a raging whitewater river about thirty or forty feet below. In other words, a dead end.

  Acri fires off another series of tiny fireballs, but the redcaps are ready for them this time. A few manage to dive out of the way, and a few more get hit, but the rest keep charging, undeterred.

  We pass the boulders, and my feet begin to slip on the incline covered with loose scree, pebbles, and snow.

  “Set me down!” He doesn't have to tell me twice; I'm kind of tired of carrying his ass anyway. I drop him on his feet while he begins chanting again.

  One of the redcaps, smaller but faster than the others, is almost upon us. The mace gives me a much better reach than his cleaver, but in his frenzy, he charges straight at me. He swings from high over his right shoulder, so I move at a right angle to him. With a short chopping motion, I smash the mace head, two-handed onto his right fist and blade. Sparks fly as the mace shatters the cleaver and the bones surrounding it. The hand itself folds backward along the forearm, and the ends of the broken bones tear through in a bloody spray. I step back and shatter his knee with a side kick, bending the joint in a way it was never designed to go.

  The redcap hits the ground and roars at me, glari
ng with murder in his eyes.

  “Get behind me, fool!” Acri shouts. I turn and duck under his outstretched arms just as he throws two globes of orange and blue flame, one to the left, the other to the right. Glancing over my shoulder, I see him sweep his staff from the left to the right and shout a word I cannot understand.

  A wave of heat blankets us as the raging flames from both globes spreads with the speed of an arrow until it forms a blistering hot wall of flames in front of us. The wounded redcap gets incinerated almost instantly. The snow and ice vaporize into a thick steam.

  I grab Acri by his tattered red robes and push him up the trail ahead of me.

  “That should hold him for a few minutes, but it will burn out fast,” he gasps, out of breath. I get his arm over my shoulder, and I half-drag, half-carry him up to the top. Twenty yards away is the edge of the mountain sitting over the frothing river, but no Olivia or Thirax.

  Shit, did they jump? Nah, not without us. I run to the edge after dropping Acri onto a small boulder.

  Now, another little fun-fact about me. I hate heights. Really, truly fucking hate heights. I don't function well at the edge of cliffs, bridges, fire escapes, you get the drift. It occasionally has made my career choice a very poor decision, but I can get by if I really have to. This is one of those times.

  I get down on my belly and low crawl to the edge and look down. The churning waters, some hundred feet or more below us, do not look inviting, and the presence of all that frothy whitewater indicates a lot of submerged rocks. The sides of the ravine have been carved away from hundreds of years of erosion. Exposed rock juts out between thick ice and hearty scrub brush.

  I lean a little further out and notice that the ground I'm on is more of an overhang. Some dirt and snow scatter over the edge as I move forward, and suddenly, Thirax pops his head and shoulder into view, long sword ready to swing.