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

“All right, you bastards, enough standing around! Load these wagons and move out, NOW!” Olivia shouts with clear authority as she picks herself up from the mucky ground. She pushes her mud-matted hair back out of her eyes and reaches down to help someone stand up. No one questions her, and most begin moving with a purpose.

I jump in surprise when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn, fist raised, and see Jesse grinning.

“Aye, lad, let me take a turn at the reins; I believe I have the proper know-how,” he says with a grin. I do believe he's really enjoying himself right now. Yup, he's insane, I have no doubt about it.

Shifting over, I hand him the leather reins. “Here you go. How’s Des?”

He still grins and replies, “Taking a bit of a rest, the malingering cur! Ha ha!” I stare at him for a moment, then shake my head. It’s probably the right kind of crazy for now.

Two wagons begin to move out from the mud toward the road. A third is still being loaded, but I don't see anyone else milling around. What I do see are the broken bodies of men and women of several different species lying bloody in the mud. Each one seems unnatural and still as the driving rain falls and begins to cleanse their lifeless forms. Never have I seen a more sad or disturbing tableau.

“Let’s get moving before they mount a real pursuit,” I shout to Jesse.

I smile a little as we reach the road, spotting Haynes and Grayson riding on horses while they direct three other wagons. “Follow them!” I say, pointing after Olivia's wagon. I see her blonde hair as she bounces in one of the drivers' seats. Jesse snaps the reins, and we are rolling and bringing up the rear.

Haynes pulls his horse up next to us and slows it to a trot. “Grayson and Colt are staying back to disable the other wagons and scatter the horses. They're gonna catch up, so get moving and don't stop till you hit the fork in the road. I'll go scout ahead and look for any surprises.”

“Aye, Sergeant, God's speed to ye!” replies Jesse, full of cheer.

I nod to him. “Good luck.” He kicks the horse, leans forward, and takes off at a gallop.

As we begin to pass where the elven archers had positioned their ambush, I say to Jesse, “Stop for a second, I gotta grab something.”

He slows the wagon to a stop, and I jump off and head to the first archer's body I see. I roll it over and pick up his bow. It’s about three-and-a-half feet tall and made of at least two types of wood and brass. It's beautifully carved on the wings, and the handle is covered in a smooth leather wrap. The quiver easily slides from his shoulder, and I grab another handful of arrows from the next archer's corpse. Sprinting back to the wagon, I hop up, this time much more gracefully than my last attempt.

Peering through the shattered roof, I spy Des sitting up and holding his head. A good deal of blood is running down the side of his face from a jagged laceration to his forehead. Scalp wounds always look bad. They bleed a lot but aren't usually dangerous. “How's it going down there?” I ask.

He looks up at me with a scowl. “Been better, Hoss. My head’s poundin’ like a bad hangover, and I'm pretty sure my ankle’s broke.”

“Shit. Sit tight for a minute until we're sure there's no one following us… but, hey! Des, we made it out!” I say with a grin.

Des smiles back, a bit weary and sad. “Son, I hope you didn't just jinx us. This don’t look like home to me yet.”

We hit the road proper, and the wagons begin to pick up a surprising amount of speed. At a guess, I'd say we're doing at least fifty miles an hour, much faster than this thing should be able to move. The beauty of magical enchantments.

I adjust the strap on the quiver and slide it over my shoulder. I test the pull on the bow and find it tough, but manageable. I pull an arrow and set it to the string and watch the trail behind us. I wonder how many prisoners actually got out and how many more were left behind.

18Haynes And Thorn

Haynes pulls the reins and slows his horse to a walk. The deluge has lessened, and the road seems clear to this point. He turns in the saddle and scans behind him. He's a bit surprised to see a riderless horse galloping about a hundred yards back. He puts his hand on the .45 but doesn't draw it yet.

As it gets closer, Haynes notices the reins seem to be held up in the air, and the stirrups aren't bouncing loose like they should be. He turns his horse to face the newcomer, now drawing his pistol. He aims in the general area the rider should be. “That’s close enough! Reveal yourself or die unknown!”

“Oh, oh no, don't shoot, Elias! It’s me!” A moment later, Thorn fades into sight. Her robes are blood-spattered and muddy. Her hood is dripping cold rain onto her face, but her eyes glow blue with happiness.

They both dismount in a heartbeat and run to each other. Her petite figure is lifted off the ground by a bear hug from Haynes. Both laugh with joy at finding each other. Tears flow freely as they bask in a short-lived moment of undiluted bliss.

“I thought we lost you,” Haynes whispers into her hair.

“And I, you! I was trapped on the grandstand, but Osmanthus… Osmanthus gave his life so I could hide myself and flee.” Tears of joy now turn to ones of sorrow.

“But wasn't he our guide out of here?” Haynes pushes Thorn back a little with reluctance and looks her in the eyes.

“He