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

As we clear the gate, we see a large grandstand has been constructed over and surrounding the gate, forming an archway. A matching one is on the opposite side of the courtyard. A large platform spans over the gates covered by heavy canvas tarps. These tarps are brightly colored and provide shelter for several ornately carved, high backed chairs.

We are half-ushered, half-herded out onto the field by the ogres. They are not gentle about it. By the way, wet ogre smells a lot worse than wet dog.

We slog through the thick muck to our banner. The simple dirty white sheet with a red 'X” stenciled on it hangs sodden and heavy in the deluge. I look at the eastern wall but see no sign of a doorway, a miraculous way out, or attack helicopters ready to swoop in and rescue us.

I glance back over the gate we entered from and notice something new. Behind the row of carved thrones sits a giant crystal in the shape of an iridescent oval. It's about the size of a small car and is set inside intricately weaved branches. Picture a bird's nest with an oversized egg sitting upright in the middle of it. Now imagine that a tree grew up from underneath and grasps the egg within its intertwining branches.

The crystal itself glows with an inner light while slowly and constantly changing colors, making it impossible to name any one hue. I watch it for a while, but nothing more interesting happens.

The ranks begin to fill in around us with scared and miserable people and humanoids. The rain continues to soak everyone to the bone, and the sun seems to refuse to rise. We huddle close to each other in a vain attempt to stay warm. I try to hold my shield up like an umbrella, but the weight quickly becomes tiring.

A loud commotion erupts near the rearmost ranks. What starts off as angry shouts, turns to something akin to incredulous laughter and a few good-natured cheers. The mood on the field has suddenly lifted by the boisterous entrance of the Berserkers. They come out cheering and shouting and waving to a non-existent crowd. And, I kid you not, singing a few verses of “Born to be Wild.” Some pretty good showmanship coupled with some undoubtedly bad singing.

Conversations pop up here and there despite the pouring rain. Different groups call out greetings and exchange small talk and fighting tips. The tension lessens a little as the mood lifts a bit more.

A blaring fanfare of trumpets shatters our recently lightened mood. The eastern gate swings ponderously open, and a line of armored and mounted elven knights trots onto the field. They’re followed closely by a double line of battle-ready ogres. For a change, the ogres have cleaned their armor and scraped a few layers of filth from their green-gray hides. With our little group in the second row, we have a great view of the show unfolding around us.

The lead knight speeds up to a canter as the knights following him veer to the side of our grid. The single knight, Captain Darcasson, recognizable by his armor, rides to one end of the slave formation and reaches into his saddlebags. From there, he casually makes his way down the lines, tossing red and green stones to the first two rows of us. One of each color per squad. These must be the fireball and healing spells they promised us. Lot of good that fireball will do in this driving rain. The green ones must be the healing stones. They're not exactly like the ones Thorn taught us to use, but I'll take 'em.

The rest of the mounted knights continue past us until they fill in the last rows of the grid behind the slave fighters. My guess is that they are the reserve cavalry charge. It doesn't really inspire confidence having those lances pointed at our backs. I also know enough about tactics to know that a cavalry charge generally crushes anything in front of it. I wonder how that works with the grid in place across the field.

The ogres jog through the mud, heedless of the muck and water they are splashing on each other, and fill in the front ranks of the grid. Most are snorting and breathing hard by the time they come to order. I'm glad these giant bastards are forming a nice wall in front of us. Hopefully, they'll take the brunt of the opening moves. Just have to wait and see how this whole thing unfolds.

The trumpets end, and a new flourish of deeper notes and more bass begins. The song heralds the slow march of a different troupe of mounted knights as they enter the field. The only visible difference between the newcomers and our 'hosts' are the colors of their tabards. The new guys are wearing earth brown garments trimmed with green over their armor, whereas our guys are in blue with silver trim.

Following them is another giant crystal, also swirling with multiple colors. This crystal is about the same size as the one on our side, but it is encased in what looks like stone and metal that have flowed organically around it. It’s held aloft and carried by twelve ogres all in battle dress. This crystal orb doesn't seem as bright as the one on our side. Not sure what that means, but it could prove important.

A low clamor arises as a large mob, an interesting mix of humans and Fey creatures, comes slogging through the mud. Run of the mill ogres, some trolls that look a lot more feral than any I’ve seen before, and oh, shit… a trio of minotaurs. Damn things have to be eight feet tall, not counting the horns. I let out a sigh of relief when they take a spot far away from us.

As for the rest, slave soldiers much like us, they move slowly, as if in a daze. A few stumble in the thick