Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1) Keith Ahrens (best e reader for epub txt) 📖

Ice attacks are kind of the same but the complete opposite of the fireball. Instead of flames, the usual attack is razor-thin shards of ice. So, the plan, in this case, is to also duck behind our shield wall. Now that I think of it, most of our 'magical defenses' revolve around using our shields as, well, shields. Brilliant, I know.

Gas attacks are an entirely different ballgame. In a nutshell, we have no defense for these. The best a person can do is hold their breath and hope it passes before they need to breathe. And of course, hope it’s not a cloud of acid or something similar.

Again, it’s the best plans we have thus far, considering we are using the limited info we've got. We're working with a lot of guesses and stories from other survivors, so everything we do is based on incomplete facts interpreted by people with very little experience with battle magics, or any kind of magic at all. We can only plan for the worst and hope for the best.

Three days before the main event, the goblins start passing us some kind of “mystery meat” along with our MREs. Des says he's eaten everything from snake and rabbit to possum and alligator, and he can’t identify what it is. I choose not to even try it. I'm a bit of a picky eater anyway.

“Wait a second, why have they been going through all the trouble of getting the MREs if they could just feed us this?” I ask as the thought hits me.

“Well, my grandad used to say in his stories that a man should never eat food in the Fey Realm. His belief was though the food would fill your belly, you'd still die of starvation. He used to say that nothing here was real, not the gold, not the food, not the things you could see. He called it 'glamours' or some such,” Des explains, lost in a memory.

While we are debating the pros and cons of trying the meat, Jesse wakes up. He blinks his sleep-crusted eyes and sniffs the air. Then, to my surprise, he grabs a hunk of meat, takes a bite, and chews thoughtfully. Bloody juices run down his chin and into his tangled beard. He notices us staring, and swallows the chunk with a matter-of-fact look. “Eh, never feasted on horse, have ye? Tastes a bit off, but it’ll fill your gut.” He chews self-consciously as everyone continues to stare at him.

The rest of us decline to try the outer-charred, yet mostly raw, 'horse meat.’ We finish our cold breakfast and make our way to the arming room. I'm nodding greetings to most of the people we encounter in the halls when a man with some bad facial scars falls into step with me. “Thank you,” he says in a raspy voice. “I owe you one.” I recognize the scars as burns and assume he must be one of the wounded survivors from the terrible sneak lightning attack.

I nod and say, “No need, we're all in this together.” He nods and slaps my shoulder, then fades into the crowd.

We've brought the rest of the horse meat with us, and Haynes presents it to the Gnolls. Nian and Thirax, with drool on their lips, rip into it with gusto. It’s been a long time since any of us have had any kind of fresh meat.

Yum. My stomach turns a little, and I'm glad I don't share a palate with the Gnolls. Of course, I'm pretty sure they'll eat any kind of meat, human included, but I try not to judge too much.

Still, I guess the Fey are trying to prepare us in their own way with better food. At least, what they think would be better. I follow this train of thought out loud, “I think this next battle is more meaningful than the past ones. It's sooner than expected, and they are giving us better food and some magic 'one-shot’ weapons.”

“Yeah, it's probably gonna be bad,” comments Haynes. “I just wish we knew what makes this time around different.”

“If I had to guess, I'd say there is more at stake. Maybe new players… or something greater to gain?” says Des.

“Maybe a third party is pulling some strings? Revving 'em up and setting them at each other like rabid dogs?” speculates Haynes.

“Hmm, that kind of feels right. But who and why?” Des asks.

“I don't think it really matters at this point, does it?” I say. “But now we need to get out there before the ogres begin to march.”

A general round of agreement is mumbled among us, and we all finish getting ready.

We make it out to the courtyard a little earlier than usual, taking turns as we inconspicuously add single blades of grass to our helmets. We pass a few other squads with subtle grass blades tied to their helms as well. Only eye contact is made, no nods of recognition, no secret handshakes, none of that shit. We know the guards are watching, so we keep our cool.

We are a bit surprised by some changes to the field as we look out and about the courtyard in the dull sunlight.

The first noticeable difference is the rocky field is now divided up into large grids, every space about 15 square yards in size. Each squad's banner has been placed in the center of each grid square.

Now, without a compass or any better landmark to go off of, we just consider the castle to be to the north. By that orientation, all the squads are set up at the west end of the yard, facing the eastern wall. The yard fills up fast, though with a bit of confusion, as everyone tries to find their place. We're a lot more compressed than usual, and it begins to feel a bit claustrophobic. They have everyone squashed together in less than half the width and about a