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

The other carts are spread out across and on the side of the road, three abreast. Jesse deftly steers our wagon off the path and next to the others, bumping through the rocky mud. We clatter to a stop and see Haynes and Thorn already exchanging greetings with the others.

In total, we have four wagons and four people riding horseback: Haynes, Thorn, Grayson, and another lady I don't know, but I think her name is Cindy or Sylvia.

Haynes clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. “So, we've made it this far, but we have a bit more to go. I don't think we're safe yet, and we all need to act like that. Pursuit is inevitable, and they can make a pretty damn easy guess as to where we're headed. So, speed is essential from here on out. We have an hour, maybe more, of easy travel on the road until we take a smaller, rougher trail. We think the wagons can make it, but just in case, let's get a headcount and a list of the wounded.”

The door to the wagon next to us opens with a squeal of rusty hinges, and the two Gnolls pile out and walk around to the front.

“Leader, 'tis good to see you and hear your voice!” Thirax says with obvious happiness.

Nian nudges him and points to Jesse and me. “Pack!” he says simply, a small canine grin on his face.

I smile back, happy to see them as well until I see the impressive amount of blood caking Nian's stomach and thigh. It drips like molasses, and he leans a bit on the wagon.

I hop down from the driver's bench and get a shoulder under Nian's arm to support him. “We only have Des in the back with a possible broken ankle. I think we can count Nian as a noncombatant for now as well,” I call over to Haynes.

Olivia goes next, “I got four more, not including the Gnolls. Everyone is in fighting condition expect Vince. He took a shot to the head and has been acting off ever since.”

“I got the two Berserkers, one of 'em badly wounded,” Colt gives his report.

The driver of the fourth wagon speaks last. She's a stocky brunette with her hair cropped short. “I got a mixed bag, five total with three wounded. Don't know how bad.”

“Okay, anyone got any healing stones or fireballs left?” Haynes asks, still in 'take charge' mode.

“What’s it to ya'? I ain't giving 'em up even if I do have 'em,” says the unknown woman, her rough voice clearly aggressive as she challenges Haynes.

The Sergeant stares at her for a moment. “And who the hell are you?”

I look over and notice that she isn't sporting a visible blade of grass anywhere. She's probably not up to speed with our plans, and she's acting like it.

“I was gonna ask you the same damn thing. Who the hell put you in charge?”

“We all did. He's the one who set up this whole breakout, so you should be thanking him, not giving him a hard time!” Colt erupts. “How 'bout you just shut up and answer his damn question?”

She turns a cold glare in Colt's direction. “Nah, I don't think I will. A few weeks ago, we were all at each other's throats, now we're all supposed to just get along? Ha!”

“All right, fine, but if you do anything to stop us or slow us down, we're gonna respond accordingly, you understand me?” Haynes stares, dead-eyed, at the woman for a long moment. She breaks eye contact first, turning and spitting on the ground.

“Let’s get all the wounded into one wagon so I can set to work,” Thorn breaks in, shattering the tension. “Stupid One, if you will assist me?”

Jesse and Haynes both snort with suppressed laughter, and I feel my cheeks go a bit red. “Our wagon is a bit wrecked, and we're down a horse. I'd advise using a different one,” I say, ignoring her jibe.

“Use mine, I already have the one wounded, and these horses seem strong,” Colt offers.

“Me and my people are staying right where they are, thank ya' very much. We can take care of our own,” the brunette states, petulant.

“Fine, if that’s how you want it. Just remember what I said,” Haynes says, leaning a bit hard on the last part before he turns his back to ignore her.

“Thorn, Nian has a broken arrow in his gut; I think he needs to go first. And one of the Berserkers got his arm amputated; he should be next.” I pass Nian off to Thirax. “Let me check on Des.”

I walk around to the back of our wagon and pull the door open. A few bits of broken wood fall out and land in the mud. The hole in the roof is letting in plenty of light, and I see Des, lying on his back, his breathing shallow. I climb in quickly as I call his name. No response.

I kneel next to him and give him a quick, firm shake. His eyes snap open, and he sits up, very startled and shouts, “Aarrggh!”

A sense of magic, almost like a thick ozone, fills the wagon, and the splint on his leg bursts into flames.

“Shit!” I grab what’s left of the blanket and smother the flames.

“Son of a bitch!” exclaims Des. “What in the hell did you go and do that for?”

“I thought you were unconscious! Sorry!” I toss the singed and smoldering blanket out the door into the rain and mud.

“Nah, man. I was meditating, trying to speed up the healing,” he says with a self-deprecating grin, “and I wasn't expecting it to burn up like that.”

I brush off the remains of the charred wood and blanket. Underneath, I see healthy skin with little swelling. “Wow, Des, I think it was working!” I exclaim. I look at his head and see the scalp wound has closed into an ugly, thick scar.

“Yeah, well, next time lemme finish!”