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

enters the practice yard. The driver keeps the team moving at a sedate pace while the trumpets’ blaring continues. As it draws nearer, a few humans, Haynes included, are surprised to see a single horn on each of the horses’ heads.

The coach makes a lazy arc and comes to a gentle stop some twenty feet from the table. The driver hops down from his perch and placed a wooden step under the carriage door. He then opens it with a bow and a flourish, announcing, “His Lord Seneschal, Dullahan of Terram Caeruleum!”

In unison, the elven knights drop to a knee with their right fists crossed over their chests.

Lord Dullahan steps into the doorway, purple cape swaying with the movement, soft deerskin boots spread apart and hands on his hips over a thick golden belt. The trumpets fanfare builds to a crescendo and then stops, much to everyone's relief.

“Well, isn't this just fancy?” mutters one of the captives. A few other prisoners snicker and try to hide their laughter.

Dullahan ignores them and steps down from the high coach, affecting a casual walk to the table. Behind him, the Captain of his guard and several other figures exit the carriage in a less dramatic way.

“Welcome my loyal servants!” begins the Lord of Terram Caeruleum. “I've had a feast prepared for you tonight in honor of our imminent battle and victory! Tonight, you will dine with your betters and allow my Lieutenants to meet and assess each of you. Rise and be seated, my loyal Lieutenants!” Dullahan makes a magnanimous gesture to the kneeling knights, who in turn stand and bow. Then, each one takes a seat at the table and removes their gauntlets and open-faced helmets.

Dullahan, the Highborn elf and ruler of this fiefdom, steps forward and claims the seat in the middle of the table. He begins to pick at the offerings while his Captain stands behind him, alert and stoic.

“My Lord… what of your other guests?” asks a quiet but sibilant voice from behind. The rest of the leader's retinue still stands in an awkward group behind the seated lord.

“What? Skemend, do you expect me to dine with humans and the rest of you lot? My patience and manners stretch only so far!” he replies with a disdainful sneer. “Occupy yourselves for the moment.”

A tall elf in outdated court garb then steps in front of the group and says, “Come, my friends, we may be ignored by the Gentry, but that doesn't mean we have to stand for it. Skemend, if you please?”

The troll nods and mutters a few words. With a gesture, five small stools of various sizes appear in a circle, and a low table fades into existence in the middle of them. From the folds of his dated brocade jacket, the elf, Osmanthus, produces a blue, glass bottle and several goblets in a satchel.

“My dear Thorn,” Wylde says and takes Thorn's hand, escorting her to a seat as the wizard troll, Skemend, and the others take their own.

Haynes immediately looks up at the sound of her name but cannot see past the armored knights before him.

Dullahan pops a small grape into his mouth. “Yes, Jester, take charge of my advisers. I oft think you may be the wisest amongst them.” Now he glances at the line of humans still standing in front of him. “Please, my vassals, eat! This feast is in your honor after all.”

“Oh, no, the honor is all ours!” replies Olivia, heavy on the sarcasm. “Take off these handcuffs, and we can thank you properly!”

The assembled knights tense, and one of them reaches for the hilt of his sword.

“Stay your hand, my good knight! This is why we employ these humans, for their fighting spirit! Their stubborn inability to give up!”

The blonde interrupts him here, “In our world, we're called type-A personalities, and we're not known for our patience or forgiveness!”

Dullahan ponders that for a moment. “Olivia, isn't it? I believe you were a knight of some renown in your world.”

“I was ESU1, you asshole. We used to take pretty boys like you and your friends down before breakfast every day.”

“Well then, Olivia, my dear… I don't say this lightly, but if you address me directly again with such poisoned words, I will have your tongue,” the Lord says in a casual tone, as if discussing the side dish choices. “Now, as we break bread together, I will let you all in on a great secret. The enemy Fiefdom of the Terrestris Laminis is afraid of my power. They are afraid of what my vast armies and vassals can do to them! They are so fearful that they seek to bring about Mortis Causa Ludicio Exercitus two weeks early! They hope to catch us flatfooted and unaware! But I have yet another secret! A gift to each squad leader—devices of magic to allow you to achieve my victory!” He smiles widely and daintily eats another grape.

The humans react with stunned silence.

“You expect us to thank you for this?” Haynes asks, slow and incredulous.

Dullahan stops chewing. “I expect you to fight for your lives and my pleasure, nothing more and nothing less,” he retorts. “I offer you each food from my table and items of magic, and this is how you react? No wonder you will never rise above the base animals that you are!”

“Incredible. You really believe your own bullshit, don't you?” asks Haynes, staring at the bejeweled Lord.

Dullahan waits a beat and seems to choose to ignore the outburst as he continues addressing his stolen captives, “You will each be issued an item that will allow you to cast a short-range, but powerful, Globus Ignis, or fireball in your crude tongue. This spell is very useful against groups of fighters, such as what you've faced before and will face again.”

“You sure do love the sound of your own voice, don't ya' now?” interjects Colt.

“Milord, I request leave to teach these rabid dogs some manners!” An outraged knight stands, sword half-drawn, acid in his