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

Five armored elven knights on their huge armored steeds do not break stride. The silver visors of their helmets mask their expressions, but I'm pretty sure they intend for us to meet a violent end.

I catch Olivia's eye and point behind her. Raising five fingers, I point again; she nods in understanding and veers her cart more toward the edge of the road. Thirax roars a challenge at the pursuing elves.

I raise my bow and sight along the arrow. This is more difficult than it looks, bouncing along in a speeding wagon on a rutted, muddy road while adding to the fact that I haven't shot a bow since I was in the Boy Scouts.

I try to time the bounces as I let loose the arrow. It sails harmlessly over the heads of the five horsemen and disappears in the distance. Crap. That’s kind of disappointing. I pull another and try again. Closer this time, it hits the roadway in front of the lead mount and gets crushed under a metal shod hoof. I never had a chance to train here with a bow, since none of us were allowed to have ranged weapons. I guess my childhood lessons weren’t enough to be remotely proficient.

At least it got their attention this time. The lead rider raises his left hand and makes an odd series of gestures, then clenches his fist and pulls. The bow in my hand suddenly jerks away. I just manage to keep my grip on it, but I end up getting pulled halfway out the door. The arrow in my hand falls to the ground as I grab onto the doorway. It’s a close call, but I manage not to get yanked from the wagon with the bow by the time the spell comes to an end.

Now I'm pissed off. I rip another arrow from the quiver and take a rushed shot. Why not? Aiming doesn't seem to help. The arrow glances off its intended's breastplate with a small spark but otherwise inflicts no harm.

I see the lead rider's head turn to the side, and the four other riders face toward him as if they are listening. Of course, I can't hear them at this distance, and he's probably speaking in Elvish or some shit anyway. The other riders seem to understand him just fine, however.

The two on the ends raise their arms parallel to the ground; a moment later, they lift off their saddles and hover a few feet over the horses. They both draw swords, gaining altitude as they fly toward us. Now that’s just not fair; since when do they get to fly?

I take another shot and miss by a mile. Just then, I feel a hand on my shoulder pulling me back a bit. Vince reaches over and grabs the bow from me. “Gimme that! You've obviously never been bowhunting.”

Stepping back, I take the quiver off my shoulder and hand it to him with no argument. Maybe he'll have better luck. He nocks an arrow and pulls the string back until it touches his cheek. He breathes out and lets it fly.

The arrow arcs as it whistles through the air. As if drawn by a magnet, it punches through the center of one of the elves' breastplates and knocks him backward off his horse. Yup. Much luckier... and better than I was.

“Nice shot!” I slap Vince on the shoulder with enthusiasm, but our smiles fade as we see the reaction.

The lead rider sees his companion tumble and hit the ground. He shouts something to his remaining knight, and they both begin to wave their hands about in deliberate patterns. Burning runes form in the air around their glowing fists. The wind leaves flames streaming behind them, and the rain adds a thick gray fog of steam to their trail. The lead rider thrusts his hand forward, palm out, and a ball of red and white fire streaks from the center of it.

It falls just short of the back of our wagon but explodes with enough force to knock us both on our asses and makes the end of the wagon jump a couple of feet in the air. The heatwave sears our skin and raises the temperature inside the wagon at least thirty degrees. The rear of our wagon trails with a thick, black smoke.

The aim of the second fireball is better. It hits the back of Olivia's wagon like a rocket. We can't see how it blasts the door off its hinges, but we can see the effect. Thirax's arms flail about, trying to catch his balance as the wagon rocks violently. Then, the fireball detonates within the wagon. The thick wood is enough to contain the blast for a moment, amplifying its effect on those inside.

A split second later, the wagon explodes into ash and splinters as the white-hot flames erupt like a miniature sun. Thirax launches himself in the air, trying to get away from the blast. The shockwave catches him and propels him even further. The last I see of him, his body is crashing through some trees on the side of the road.

I shield my eyes from the heat, but not before I see body parts burning and cascading through the air. Olivia screams as she's thrown from the driver's seat, her back blazing and smoking. I see her land somewhere amid the horses, tangled in their harnesses as the panicked beasts react in a frenzy from the explosion and resulting fire.

All four wheels remain intact, and the burning pile of lumber continues to roll at an impressive speed down the road. Of course, the horses are most likely running faster than their magical imbibements, desperate to escape the flames. It passes us, leaving us in a pall of black smoke, thick with the stench of burned hair and skin. My stomach drops as I see the damage with no sign of Olivia.

I pull out my .38 revolver and fire off two shots. The noise is