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

the floor. He slams the door shut without another word, and the cart moves off to the next cell, taking our friend with it.

11Haynes

Haynes and the other cell leaders follow the small wagon as it makes a final stop in front of the arming room. Haynes watches as the goblins stop and argue with themselves for a brief time. Ledger Goblin finally has enough and slams his leather-bound book into the side of the third goblin's head. The one with the crossbow laughs from atop the cart as Ledger Goblin grabs the short sword from the dazed goblin's sheath. He jumps back and yells in his hissing, chittering language while he waves the sword at his companion. The losing goblin straightens his short helm and spits at Ledger. He grumbles as he pulls aside a dirty tarp and lifts a bloodstained, oilskin package from the cart. A few maggots fall loose and curl up when they hit the floor. He casts a baleful glare at the other two goblins and turns to the door. No one ever volunteers to feed the Gnolls.

Crossbow Goblin raises his weapon and crouches down as low as he can from his vantage point on top of the cart. Ledger steps to the door and puts a key into the lock. He glances at the third minor Fey, who nods with hesitation.

Ledger twists the key and jumps back. The door slams open, and a feral roar floods the hall. The humans all drop down into crouches, as low as their chains will allow. All except Haynes, who was expecting it.

The unlucky goblin squeaks like a scared rat, trying to throw the oilskin bundle into the room and scramble away, but a large, black-furred hand shoots out first. It lifts the goblin off his feet by his head and drags it into the shadowed room.

A moment later, he flies back out and crashes against the side of the rickety cart. The wagon rocks to the side while the goblin shrieks in pain before hitting the ground in a disheveled pile.

“Nicely done, boys,” Haynes says under his breath, a small grin on his face. The door slams shut before the cart even settles back on its axles. Ledger lets out a long sigh and tosses his cohort's short sword onto his unconscious body, leaving him to rest as the cart rolls down the hall.

“Get moving humans,” Ledger snarls. “To the courtyard.”

The procession makes its way slowly through the tunnels and out into the courtyard. The waxing gibbous moon hangs low in the sky over the western wall. Guards above walk their rounds, silhouetted by the moon’s light. A large circle of torches burns brightly, surrounding a large trestle table. A corridor’s worth of armed and armored ogres stands at attention, long spears in hand. The twin lines of foul beasts stretch from the open gates to a long table set perpendicular to them. The wagon makes its way between the ranks, towing the line of humans behind it.

The table is laden with steaming piles of roasted vegetables, fruits, and a small amount of meat. The diminutive goblin leads the humans to the table before pulling free the chain that links their manacles to each other.

On the opposite side of the table sits a dozen elves in matching armor, save for one empty seat in the middle. Their breastplates gleam in the reflected moonlight, and the chainmail seems to flow like a light fabric. The fine-boned features of their faces stare off into the middle distance, just above the heads of the disheveled and dirty humans. Neither side says a word as the cart rattles back off toward the cell block.

The prisoners glance at each other, uncertain as to what to do. Minutes pass in an uncomfortable silence, while more than a few stomachs growl at the smell of hot food. Finally, a raw-boned blonde woman, whom Haynes recognizes immediately as Olivia, steps up and says, “Screw this, I'm getting some while it’s hot!”

She reaches over with her manacled hands and picks up a piece of charred meat. With an angry movement, the elf directly across from her grabs her wrist in a flash of polished metal.

“Filthy human slaves will wait on the pleasure of our Lord Dullahan. Reign in your poor manners or I shall take your hand at the wrist!” the elf says angrily through clenched teeth.

“No need to be rude, Santa's little helper.” She returns his glowering eyes with defiance and a small half-grin on her lips. The elf twists her arm enough to reveal her tattoo and briefly glances at it.

“Like what you see there, Legolas?” she spits out, staring him down.

“You’re no match for me, Human. Do you really want to test me?” the elf sneers.

Haynes glances back at the table again, but no knives or even a single fork are on the prisoners' side. Even the shackles' chain connecting their hands is too short to allow much of a swing.

With a small, lopsided smirk, the human slave drops the piece of meat back onto the plate, and the standoff comes to an end. The elf waits for a beat before letting go of her hand. Both sides relax.

But then, in a move obviously calculated to maximize the insult, she flicks her greasy fingers at the elf. Gobs of melted animal fat spatter across his polished breastplate. The elf stares in shock for a moment then begins cursing in his language. He steps back to make room to draw his sword, but the two knights flanking him stand and restrain his arms.

Two human men step in front of Olivia while she breaks into a loud laugh. “Fuckin' prissy little fairy tale! Bring it on, Keebler!” She tries to push her way to the front again, but the others hold her back.

Just then, a fanfare of trumpets announces the arrival of Lord Dullahan and his retinue. The gates below the castle swing open, and a large, ornate carriage, drawn by four regal, horse-like beasts,