Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1) by Keith Ahrens (interesting novels to read .TXT) 📕

with the twist and bring my helmet crashing down on his head. Blood sprays from his scalp as he goes down. His momentum carries him forward, right into the edge of my shield as I swing it at the bridge of his nose. His head snaps back while his lower body continues falling, and he lands on his back, bleeding from his head and shattered nose. The dagger rolls from his hand, and for some reason, I take note of the tattoo on his inner wrist—an almost completely black circle with a small sliver of red.

He stays down, motionless. I put my back to the wall and my shield up in front of me, trying to see what the hell is going on around me without getting hit again. The Gnolls are in the middle of the hallway, two or three bodies scattered on the floor around them, all bloody. Nian is swinging two short wooden swords at the faceplate of an armored humanoid. The man is built like a bear and wearing a full helm with just a slit for vision. He’s distracted as he fends Nian off with a mace and shield, so he never sees Thirax flank him. The Gnoll takes a moment to line up a devastating blow and cracks him across the back of his neck with a stout, oaken club. He hits the ground and crumples, face-first.

Suddenly, a deep, echoing roar fills the air, easily overpowering the sounds of battle. All fighting immediately stops, and everyone starts scrambling back down the hall from the way we came.

My squad forms around me, the Gnolls in the lead, and we join the flow of bodies rushing away. Jesse strides beside me and passes my sword back to me. I realize then that he didn’t have a shield and had been fighting only with his oak sword and mine, one in each hand. Haynes drops in next to me, keeping a fast pace. “You okay?” he asks but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Ogre guards are sweeping the halls; we need to get outside to the practice fields before they catch up to us.” Distant boots marching in step are beginning to be heard as they get louder.

“What the hell just happened?” I ask, still reeling from the sudden violence.

“Well, you just got jumped, and a bunch of folks just got their asses kicked.” Haynes is matter-of-fact, as if this is a normal occurrence.

“I think that guy might be dead!” I wave vaguely behind me.

“Then the guards will eat well tonight." He pushes me forward with one strong hand in the middle of my back. "Now, keep up!”

A loud cadence of stomping feet and swords smashing in a steady rhythm against shields comes echoing down the hall. We make a right into the wider corridor and continue to the darkened tunnel, past where the turn off to the cells are. The ground now rises steeply, the hard pack dirt almost slick under my boots. Scattered about in alcoves set into the walls are bits and pieces of dented armor and dull, notched blades. I assume this is where everyone else’s gear is stowed. Up ahead, sunlight is visible from the end of the tunnel, and we head toward it.

“When we get outside, avoid the other groups and move to the right, by the wall. Look for the white banner with the big red ‘X’ on it,” orders Haynes as he quickens his pace. “Nian, Thirax, scout the doors, please. No more surprises today!”

The Gnolls lope off with their noses raised to scent the wind. The light gets brighter as we approach the doorway. The open double doors stand ten feet high, fifteen feet wide, and banded in, you guessed it, brass. I notice spikes above the door in a neat row. Probably the bottom of a portcullis; yup, I can see the corresponding holes in the floor. Would they drop it to keep us in or something else out?

We step out into the fresher air; I raise my hand to shield my eyes and realize it’s not necessary. The sunlight seems muted, a dull yellow that a person could stare at all day with no problem. The sky is a washed-out blue and cloudless. And the air isn't as fresh as I'm expecting or hoping for. Not exactly stale, but it's missing the usual smells of the outdoors, like fresh dirt, flowers, pollen, and things like that.

Off in the distance, maybe a mile or two, I note a large, stone tower rising above a walled stone keep, all built atop a steep hill. I step to the side of the doors and look around. There are perhaps a hundred assorted humans and other races (creatures?) forming up in groups, each by a different flag or banner. We are in a high-walled enclosure, like a courtyard, maybe two or three hundred yards square. Beneath my boots, the ground is hardscrabble dirt with trampled grass. The stone walls are mostly smooth and gray, rising about thirty feet in height. Two other gates are set into the walls to my left and right, with a much larger gate directly across from us.

Small, humanoid figures walk along the crenellations, their movements spidery and quick, each holding a crossbow in their hands with a quiver on their back. I can’t see much more from here, but of what I can distinguish, most seem to be wearing body armor and helmets. I think they might be kind of short with a yellow and green cast to their skin. Haynes had said something about goblins guarding the walls, so this tracks.

A lone, hooded figure, thin in stature, paces along the eastern wall, stopping every few feet to drop something and push it into the dirt with the toe of his boot. He’s too far away to note any real details, so I continue to scan the field.

A slight breeze picks up, and I get a whiff of something dead and rotten. It’s a very