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

deafening, and I singe my hand, steadying myself on the charred wood of the door frame. Both shots miss, and I curse out loud.

A reverberating thud hits the roof above us. It takes me a second to realize that one of the flying elves have landed on our wagon.

“Miles! Give me a boost!” I yell as I put one foot on the bench and find a toehold on the rough beams of the open door. Miles crouches down and braces himself in the doorway. I twist at the hips and get one boot on his armored shoulder. Miles grabs my leg and places one hand under my thigh, and heaves.

I find myself launched up onto the top of the wagon and rolling over my hip…. Damn that guy is strong. The cart bounces as we run off the road and onto the rough grass. I'm almost thrown off before I can even stop myself from tumbling.

So, there I am, flat on my back, atop a careening wagon, looking up at the back of an armored elven knight. He glances down when he notices me sliding to a stop against his legs. He breaks off his attack on Colt and with impressive dexterity, reverses the grip on his sword and drives it down at my guts.

In an almost hopeless, do-or-die move, I try to heave onto my side and curl my body around the sword's intended path. I'm very surprised that it almost works.

A bright line of pain tears across my stomach as the blade punctures my steel armor like wet tissue paper. I hold my breath, still sucking in the ol’ gut, knowing that if I exhale and loosen my stomach muscles, this blade will spill my intestines all over the wagon roof. The sword keeps me pinned to the rough wood like a moth stuck in a collector's showcase.

Salvation comes in the form of Colt and his crescent-bladed ax as he turns in the driver’s bench and swings his blade horizontally from a kneeling position. The elf, despite his heavy armor, is nimble enough to jump over the sharpened steel. He does not, however, manage to pull his sword up with him. The stout head of the ax smashes into the flat of the silver sword and shatters it into large metal shards. I'm able to roll over the stub still stuck in the roof without cutting myself any deeper.

Getting to my feet and coming dangerously close to the edge of the roof, I pull my mace. My feet slide a bit on the rain-slicked wood. I’ve got to end this quickly before I fall off, so I take advantage of what I know of these elves. I swing the mace in a very obvious, very easy to dodge, overhead swing. The arrogant elf takes the bait and leans out of the way. I check my swing and change direction with a grunt of effort, sweeping it in front of me.

The elf gets his arm up to try and block my attack, but he's just a fraction of a second too slow. The stolid mace glances off his elbow, smashing the bone, and continues right into the full-faced visor of his helmet. The metal deforms, and his head snaps back, blood spraying from the sides and bottom of the mask.

His body topples from the wagon roof and leaves a deep furrow in the muddy road.

A shot rings out, followed by two more in rapid succession. I look up and see Jesse standing atop his own wagon, one foot on the roof, the other on the driver's bench. He's holding his smoking pistol in a two-handed grip, still tracking his target.

He holds his fire as the second flying elf crashes through the hole in the roof of his wagon and disappears from view. Jesse stares down into the interior with a serious look on his face and decides to ensure his quarry is finished for good. He fires off two more shots into the hole. While I can't see where they hit from where I am, I’m sure that elf will not be getting back up.

Colt regains control of our wagon in time to swerve out of the way of Haynes and Grayson. Both men have turned their horses and drawn their weapons. They charge full speed at the two remaining elven knights, Haynes with his falchion held high and Grayson with his double-bladed ax grasped in a strong one-handed grip.

The knights respond in kind, drawing their swords and bellowing war cries as rainwater runs off their silver blades. The four horses throw large clumps of thick mud high in the air as they charge headlong at each other through the driving downpour.

Haynes has a good twenty-yard lead on Grayson and closes on his adversary with heightening speed. Both mounts are traveling at least sixty miles an hour as man and elf attack with deadly intensity. The blades shatter upon impact from their tremendous speed and momentum. Haynes and his quarry rock back in their saddles, but neither are unseated. The Sergeant pulls on the reins to slow his horse and turn it around as fast as he can. The elf has the same plan, but his horse balks a bit at the abuse.

Grayson goes for a different tactic. He raises his ax high and then drops it in a low sweeping arc. Intellectually, I understand his tactic, but I cringe a little in disgust and empathy. In his situation, I hope I would act differently, but I know that this is a tried and true method of fighting mounted opponents. Take out the mount, and the rider falls.

The elven knight realizes this at about the same time I do, and he savagely yanks the reins aside, pulling the horse's head as far as it can go. He doesn't see the move as a feint, and neither do I. The knight’s horse has turned almost at a right angle to meet Grayson's charge, putting its rider right into the mouth