Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1)
Page 38
“We will gain you the time that you need. For the safety of our pack,” Thirax says with finality, ending the discussion.
32
I don't even remember falling asleep again when Olivia wakes me up with her hand over my mouth in the darkness to indicate silence. I nod in understanding, and she removes her hand.
Acri has already reopened the peephole, but only a dim light shines through. A minute or two later, that light winks out. We act according to the plan and wait another thirty minutes before Acri begins.
He takes his time, slowly melting the stone and dissipating the heat so the stone doesn't even glow and we don't roast to death. He keeps one hand on the wall and the other points his carved staff up the stairway that leads to the surface. I can feel the waves of heat radiating off the stout wood as the end begins to smolder. The liquefied stone makes no more noise than water would as it runs slowly down the wall.
Minutes pass, and the hole is now big enough for the rest of us to see into the room by the light bleeding from under the door. After another few minutes, the hole is wide enough for Thirax to slip into the room. The rest of us ready our weapons, except for Acri, who seems to need a few seconds to recover. I duck my head and step over the hot stone, a weapon in each hand.
Thirax raises his naked blade in a two-handed grip over the sleeping form on the bed. With no hesitation, he brings the blade down in a powerful, graceful arc directly at the neck of the sleeping elf.
It bounces off a fraction of an inch above the elf's neck with a loud 'clank' and a flash of a glowing red glyph. His eyes snap open in alarm, and he sits up quickly, arm outstretched toward Thirax. A bolt of dull gray light shoots from his hand and catches Thirax directly in the chest, launching him across the room to crash into and shattering a wooden chest of drawers.
“Did you think I would be unprepared for your treachery, Ogre-scum?” the elf shrieks in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.
Oops. It’s easy to forget that paranoia is a survival trait around here. It seems this guy didn't trust his troops any more than Acri did.
He notices me as I step into a swing that plants the mace right into his gut. Same thing happens, the glyph flares to life, and the flanged head bounces off his magical shield. The elf does, however, fold over at the waist, so some of the kinetic energy must have made its way through. Maybe his shield is weakening?
Olivia's ax also reflects off the back of his neck as she takes her shot. It drives the elf to his knees but does no other real damage.
“He's warded against physical weapons!” hisses Acri in a loud whisper.
Shit. This leaves us with very few options. We can keep trying to beat him up until his wards fail and hope he doesn't scream for help, or I can try Plan 'B.' We had, as a group decided that my Rod of Lightning (I came up with the name, and I will not apologize for being a D&D geek) was way too loud and noisy for this subtle infiltration. Personally, I don't see much choice right now.
The elf straightens up, and his eyes go wide as he realizes that we are not his ogre guards come to kill him in his sleep. He draws a deep breath and opens his mouth to scream. I don't give him the chance.
I thrust the copper rod right into his mouth. The crystal at its tip shatters his teeth and cuts a deep furrow in his tongue, static discharge already dancing along his gum line. I trigger a small amount of energy into the magical weapon and turn my head slightly to the side.
My brother, an electrician, once taught me how to do work on electrical panels. He joked about turning your head to the side when you flip a high-powered breaker switch and only doing it with your dominant hand. The reasons are if the panel blew up due to your faulty work, turning your head to the side stops you from inhaling the fire, and you lose your off hand, instead of your good one. I don't think he foresaw this situation, but the advice was sound.
The elf's hair combusts in flames, and his eyeballs explode from his head. Smoke billows from his nose and ears, then all the blood in his head super-heats in an instant. I cut the power just as his head explodes. Hot, wet chunks of bone and brain splash onto the side of my helmet, face, and chest. I sigh in disgust as chunks of elf-face drip off me.
Acri steps through the hole now, avoiding the spreading puddle and mutters something about 'bloody savage humans.' I can't disagree, but it still kind of pisses me off a little. He goes to the elf's collection of tools and artifacts and sweeps them all into his bag. Olivia is kneeling next to Thirax and checking him over. He's awake and rubbing his chest, suppressing a cough. It seems he just got the wind knocked out of him.
A loud banging knock at the door is accompanied by a shouted question in Ogre. We all freeze, unsure of what to do.
Acri clears his throat and shouts back in a voice several octaves higher than his normal voice. I don't know exactly what he said because I still don't speak Elvish or Ogre, but it sounded harsh and belittling. A simple grunt comes in reply, and the ogre stomps away.
“Okay, first part of the plan didn't work so well, but good improvisation!” She slaps me playfully on the shoulder. “Let’s wait a few minutes for the excitement to die down and then make our move.”
We all agree, and Thirax pads over to the door and presses his ear against it. Everyone stays quiet and still, listening for any more movement outside. I take a small towel from the sideboard and wash some of the organic matter off my face from the ewer and basin placed there.
Ten minutes pass without further incident. Acri produces the key from the dead elf's possessions and slides it into the lock. “Remember, go to the left about twenty yards. The hall makes a sharp turn, and you should see the gate on the other side of the chamber. There will be at least four guards, but be prepared for more.”
“Good luck everyone, see you on the other side. Let’s get in the wind,” Olivia says, optimism and excitement in her voice.
“I will go first to clear the way,” Thirax growls, his tone brooking no argument.
“First rounds on me, guys. Be careful, and let's all get out of here!” I close the visor on my helmet with a definitive click.
Acri turns the key and swings the door open. Thirax darts out into the light, glances right, and moves left. Olivia next, then myself. Acri brings up the rear as we fast walk down the corridor, hugging the wall.
We hit the corner, stacked up, but spread out as we speed up and round it. We previously decided the opportunity to surprise the guards was our best bet, so we hit the room fast and quiet.
The only problem is, they're waiting for us.
As we come around the corner, Thirax in the lead, we hear a word barked in Ogre. A split second later, the thrum of several bowstrings fills the air along with a half-dozen arrows.
The huge Gnoll throws his arms out wide and manages to knock Olivia backward, saving her from a bolt to the throat. Instead, it impales Thirax's forearm. It’s joined by two others that tear through his leather armor and bury up to the fletching in his broad chest. The force of the hits stops his forward momentum and drops him onto his back.
Acri uses his staff to throw out an arc of intense heat that burns the arrow heading for him out of the air.
I see this as I am hitting the ground myself and not by choice. The two remaining bolts are meant for me. The first one deflects off my chest armor, not even leaving a mark. The second one rips a gouge out of the left side of my helmet, but the arrow doesn't take a good turn. Near blinding pain from my temple all the way past my ear hits me as the metallic arrowhead lodges itself between my skull and the helmet. I already feel the blood gushing from the furrow in my scalp.
Landing without any style or grace, the force of the arrow twists me halfway around. The shaft blocks my peripheral vision in my left eye, but I sit up as quickly as I can. The weight and length of the arrow throws me off balance as I struggle to get back on my feet.
At a quick count, there are a dozen goblins and ogres arrayed in front of us. The ogres form a line behind the goblins, blocking the gate with their bulk
. The goblins struggle to reload their crossbows as fast as they are able to get off another volley.
I make sure they don't get the chance. Almost the entire group is standing clustered together on the irregular shaped vein of pure silver in the ground. Silver is an excellent conductor.
Not bothering to aim, I trigger the lightning and let it hose the ground in front of the Gobs with a crackling stream of volatile electricity. The room lights up with the brilliant flashing of the sustained lightning and the intense reflection off the pool of silver ore.
The smaller goblins lock up in rigor poses of pain before their smaller forms begin to char and turn to ash from the feet up. Bowstrings snap and arrows catch fire in the quivers. The smell of heated ozone is thick in the air.
Two of the ogres are close enough to soak up plenty of the electricity as well. They twitch and shake as their muscles spasm and tear. The other four ogres, shielded by their comrades, back away, unsure of what to do.
The rod grows intensely hot in my hand, searing my flesh through the thick leather gauntlet. I try to raise the stream of lightning up to catch the others, but the crystal at the end cracks with a loud 'snap,' and the lightning winks out as if I flipped a switch. As I watch, the crystal blackens and crumbles away. I drop the useless copper tube while the bodies of the goblins and ogres hit the floor, smoking like so much burnt meat.
I struggle to my feet as Olivia leaps past me, an ax in each hand. Acri sends a tight beam of fire between both of us and hits an ogre square in the chest, burning through its armor and roasting its heart and lungs.
The blonde SWAT officer ducks under a wild swing of a brass-studded cudgel and swings her right-hand ax into its shin. It bites deep with a wooden “thunk” sound and gets stuck there. The backhand sweep of the club catches her across the shoulders, smashing into her armor and knocking her to the ground.
I charge forward as the ogre raises his club for a finishing shot on Olivia. I hit him with a tackle that would have made my high school football coach proud, driving him off his feet and away from Olivia.
The arrow sticking out of my helmet gets jammed in deeper, causing even more pain and bleeding across the side of my head. Adrenaline blunts the pain, but that’s gonna leave a mark.
The good news is as I hit him, we both slam to the ground, and the shaft of the arrow snaps off, giving me a full field of vision again. Well enough for me to see another ogre coming over and grabbing me by the scruff of the neck like one would do to a bad puppy.
Without much effort on his part, he rips me off his companion and tosses me across the room, a good ten to fifteen feet. I land right elbow first, then the rest of me. The armor absorbs some of the impact, but the bone takes the rest and snaps in half with a burst of excruciating agony. It eclipses the rest of the pain I feel from tumbling across the rough stone floor.
Oily smoke and the smell of burnt hair fills the chamber as Acri burns down another ogre with a spray of white-hot flame from the palm of his hand.
The bastard that threw me is now stalking after me, an evil grin on his porcine face. His weapon of choice is a war hammer held high in his fist. I try to get up, but a jolt of pain from my broken arm drops me back down. I shift my weight, ready to roll out of the way, when I see Olivia.
She takes a few running steps and then leaps high into the air, her one remaining ax held up in both hands. As she arcs downward, she buries the ax through the crown of the ogre's head, splitting it neatly in two. The body falls forward, tearing the ax from her hands.
I roll out of the way as its body comes crashing down right where I was just sprawled.
The final ogre blows a horn, the sound deafening as it echoes off the stone walls. He gets to his feet, or rather, foot, and a poorly carved wooden peg. Olivia's ax is still stuck deep in the hardwood of the crude prosthetic.
I get a good look, and I recognize the damn jailer standing in front of me. He stares down at me and grunts out a challenge. I hold up one finger and lock eyes with him. “Just wait, big fella, I'll get to you in a minute.”
He grunts and snorts something in Ogre and laughs. For the moment, he seems content to allow me to get to my feet. Probably likes the idea of a challenge.
Now, I am not condoning revenge just for the sake of revenge, but I truly believe that every once in a while, a man comes across another being that the world would be better off without. This is one of those times.
My anger and pent up frustration insulate me from the pain of my broken arm.
My voice is calm as I begin to issue some orders, “Acri, begin your spell. Olivia, check on Thirax, then go and be a lookout for us; tell us when their reinforcements are close. I'll handle this… thing.”
The pain bleeds through for a moment and brings a bit of clarity with it. I clamp my hand around the break and concentrate for a minor second. I get a brief flicker of power, as if I were holding a healing stone. I mentally seize that feeling and let myself fall into it. My arm heats up with an intense searing as I feel the bone shift.
A wave of fatigue washes over me as the bone knits itself back together. I open my blurred eyes and see the jailer, not ten feet from me. His various atrocities and casual abuse flood through my mind. My anger refuels me, and the fatigue burns away like a morning mist. I move and flex my right arm; it hurts, but it’ll do for now. It's functional, and that’s all I need.
I pick up my mace and crane my neck upward to look the jailer in the eye.
“I think you know you have this coming, don't you?”
He answers me with a curse, and charges. He draws his club back for a powerful sweep, so I step inside his arc and jab the mace head up under his jaw. His mouth slams shut, teeth shattering as the tip of his severed tongue falls out with a spray of blood. The jab was more meant to stop his charge and get him off balance. The extra damage was just a bonus. If this is only a game, I just rolled a crit.
He staggers backward, clutching his jaw and giving me a chance to stomp-kick the ax Olivia was nice enough to leave behind. The sharpened steel splits the wooden leg in half with a loud crack.
The jailer stumbles to the side, arms spinning around like a windmill, as he tries his best to stay up on one foot. Changing the plan for him, I help him to the ground by bashing in the side of his knee with the mace. He howls in pain as he lands on his ass.
I take some time to line up my next shot, a two-handed swing aimed for his forehead.
The jailer manages to get his club up in a meager, desperate defense, but it barely slows my weapon down. I bury the flanged head of the mace right between his eyes. Natural 20. His face collapses in on itself, and his eyes disappear into the shattered wreck. It takes longer for the echo of the hit to fade then it does for his body to hit the floor. I wipe the gore off on the front of his leather armor and turn to survey the room.
I get my first real look at the gate now. It looks like a free-standing arch of liquid silver that had risen from the vein on the floor and been frozen in place. It's about seven feet tall and five feet wide at the inside, but the arch itself is about two feet thick. The center of it, the place we will pass through, is a shadowy blackness that looks a lot less inviting. The arc itself is giving off a glow that fills the room with light, making the torches on the walls a bit redundant.
Acri is on his hands and knees, crawling slowly backward to the gate, chanting the whole time and drawing on the exposed silver. Olivia is helping Thirax to his feet while favoring her dislocated shoulder. Thirax looks terrible. Blood flows from the arrow wounds, and a large puddle has formed where he was lying.
A loud clatter of many booted feet begins to echo down the hall.
“Time's up! We gotta go! Now!” Olivia cries out while trying to drag the semi-conscious Gnoll with her.
I run over to help her and get my shoulder under Thirax's arm to support him.
“Acri! You almost done?” I yell.
“Yes, I just have to activate it. Preferably from the other side of the gate!”
We drag Thirax closer to the gate when he suddenly regains his feet and stands tall, all on his own. “I hear many more coming; you must hurry!”
Without warning, he shoves us both forward, hard. We both stumble and fall to the silvered floor, just as a fresh volley of arrows fills the air above us. The rest of the troops have arrived, and they've brought more bows. Many twangs and thrums echo in the cavern once again, and bolts fly like deadly, angry hornets.
“Sing my song to the Pack and remember my glory,” Thirax says in a pained voice. I watch helplessly as he turns to face the oncoming horde. Four more arrows stick out from his back, bleeding profusely. He roars at the oncoming foes and gathers the last of his energy. With a heroic effort, he throws himself at the front line of the evil Fey creatures.
I grab the handle of my mace, still slick with ogre's blood and try to get back to my feet. Three hands change my plan as Olivia and Acri both grab me a drag me backward to the gate.
“My spell will fail soon if I don't activate it! Don't let his sacrifice be in vain!” Acri shouts in my ear.
“He's gonna die if we don't do something! We gotta fuckin' help him!!” I shout back, still struggling to my feet.
“Caleb, he's already dead… you saw the arrows and the blood. He knows it too. Let him save us one last time,” Olivia whispers in my other ear, her voice cracking with unshed tears. “Don't let his death be wasted.”
I stop fighting them as they drag me through the gate. The boundary line between the two worlds feels like a thin wall of room temperature water as I pass through it. After all this, I think I was expecting something more.
Acri reaches back through and places his hand flat on the silver vein and speaks a few words that I can't hear well enough to repeat. A moment later, I watch through the flickering veil of the portal, the bodies of the ogres and goblins sink into the molten silver pool, bursting into flames so hot they burn themselves out in seconds.