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

sits Cailleach the Hag. Her wizened blue face stares over the crowd, and she mutters to herself a lot. Her thin, stringy, gray hair falls like a greasy threadbare mop to her shoulders. Still, her powers of Winter Magic make her nearly indispensable to this court. Her cold and callous demeanor is easy to overlook when compared to her usefulness.

Her Sister Hag, Nicknever, sits beside her, sucking the marrow from a small bone and cackling with glee. A stooped and plump old witch, her taste for children of all races is well known. Her mastery of fire and brimstone earned her a place at this table, as well as the respect of her enemies and allies.

“I'll tell ya' again, m'lads are ready for the raid as soon as these bitches make with the magic,” Grimarm says between mouthfuls and a belch to end his sentence, tossing a large bone to Cu Sith. The nightmare of a canine swallows it with one splintering bite.

“The timing is almost right, laddie. You'll get your fill of blood and carnage on the morrow,” Cailleach says softly, never looking at the redcap. Her meager meal is left untouched before her, ice rimming her plate.

“When you and your sister can promise a breach of their walls, we will send in our raiding force. There will be several different groups, each with their own agendas. Grimarm, just be ready to assault the gates when the Ladies here take them down. I need your troops to cause as much havoc as possible but be able to pull back quickly. Take heed, I will need your strength again soon enough, no pointless deaths this time. Your role in this is a hit and retreat raid,” Dullahan says, slightly annoyed, as if he's already mentioned this several times before to the redcap and the Hags. “Others will handle the human forces.”

“We've pored over your maps and plans for weeks now. 'Tis the time for action! My men thirst for blood, and it's been too long since they've had a proper meal! Living with elves, it's a wonder we all ain't starved yet!” Dishes clatter as Grimarm slams a fist onto the table.

Nicknever rolls her eyes in disgust then goes back to her meal. A mischievous smile flits across her face as she flicks two fingers in the direction of Cu Sith. Mere moments later, the tip of his long, furry tail begins to smolder and smoke.

“Quiet your rantings, child. These things cannot be rushed and done well,” whispers Cailleach, the temperature around her dropping fifteen to twenty degrees.

“Hold your tongue, Hag, your betters are speaking,” snarls Grimarm. No love lost between those two.

“Enough!” Dullahan booms loudly. “After this morning's feast, you may go your own ways until the Determination! Up to that point, you will each behave yourselves in my Court under the Accords of Guests!”

Without warning, flames flare up at the tip of the beastly dog's tail. It roars in surprise and leaps to its feet, knocking Grimarm from his chair. His great bulk smashes into the table of Nobles next to him. Bodies dressed in finery scatter among the broken wood, food, and plates. The temperature in the room suddenly rises twenty degrees in a few seconds, and the air becomes stifling.

The laughter in the room dies as quickly as the hall heats up. Now, angry voices rise, and there is much confusion as to who's to blame. All around the room, elves get to their feet, yelling at each other, full of anger, though moments before, they'd been laughing and drinking together. Old insults and arguments boil up, and ancient feuds are automatically rehashed. Hollow challenges fly back and forth as prides and egos are assaulted.

The huge dog runs in circles, howling and trying to extinguish its flaming tail. More elves are knocked down and sent sprawling from their seats. Fine porcelain plates shatter on the stone floor, and silver pieces of cutlery scatter across the room.

Cailleach stands calmly and slams the end of her staff to the ground. Instantly, a circle of ice and frost covers everything—living and inanimate—for about twenty feet around her. All fighting and flames extinguish as combatants, including the giant dog, momentarily freeze in place.

All except, Dullahan, who shrugs off the frost and says, “This went as well as expected. I will see you all in the morn.” He turns with a resigned sigh and stalks out of his own great hall.

Far across the large room sits a petite figure, wrapped in robes and misery, as she watches the events unfold before her. She is far enough from the great table to not be caught up in the commotion. Sitting alone at a table designed for at least five others, Thorn eats her meal without enjoyment and tries to ignore the loud whispers around her.

“She eats like a human!” Barely concealed giggles easily reach her sharp ears.

“I heard she’s tattoo hexed just like the slaves,” another one titters.

“Well, no wonder, she's a House-less Half-breed! What would a proper person expect?”

She winces to herself at that one. Everyone knows her lineage, something she's lived at peace with for all of her former life until her own House betrayed her and sent her here as goodwill hostage. Her role and title are ‘Visiting Royalty,’ but the reality is, she is a prisoner with little more freedom than those locked in the cells.

Self-consciously, she looks down and ensures the wide sleeves of her robes are covering both her wrists.

Her continued life and health guarantee a tentative truce between her House and Lord Dullahan's. But it does nothing to stop the other Noble Ladies from treating her worse than the servants. They take it as almost a challenge to make her life more miserable with each passing day.

“I heard she sleeps in the barrack cells with the other animals!” faux-whispers a stunningly pale blonde.

Thorn snaps back without thinking, “Drucilla, you know perfectly well I sleep in the room next to your own! Forced to listen to