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

“I have other contacts! Others will notice my absence!” shrieks Morus.

“Others will know that you ran out on your latest debts! None will mourn your leaving, except your creditors,” replies Wylde with a sad smile.

Skemend chants in a rapid staccato rhythm and makes a series of gestures. The first, a tearing motion; the second, a hacking motion; and the third, a quick plucking.

Morus's grunts and groans of agony are muffled by a quick spell from Wylde. Morus struggles futilely as his tongue, his right ear, and his right eye land wetly on the table. He falls to the ground, writhing and clutching at his ruined face.

“I will miss you, my petty, ambitious friend,” Castanea says sadly before he reaches down and touches three fingers to Morus's chest, just below the sternum. Paralyzed, the traitor is frozen in place in an instant. Castanea sighs deeply while getting to his feet. He pulls a bag of powder from his brown leather belt pouch. “You were correct, it seems, Osmanthus.” With the tip of a stone dagger, he renders a rectangle in the dirt around the immobile body lying on the ground.

“I'm sorry, old friend.” Osmanthus’s face shows the shared pain by all around. “I truly am. I wish I'd been wrong. There never is a good time for affairs such as this.”

“It needed to be confirmed. This business is getting worse, but I cannot lay this at your feet. His choices were his own.” Castanea whispers a couple of words and sprinkles a few pinches of reddish-brown powder onto the body. “We can't be certain how much of our plan he sold. All of this might already be for naught.”

“Verily, however, we must continue, regardless. We have come too far to stop now. I believe that had he sold enough of our secrets, we would all be in chains right now, not sipping bad wine,” replies Osmanthus with a wry smile.

The rectangle of powder glows dark red, and the body begins to crack and crumble, as if made of dried dirt. It sinks into the ground as the glow fades, leaving no trace, no turned soil. Nothing to mark the traitor's grave.

Skemend collects his trophies from the table and places them all into the leather bag.

Thorn remains silent and wishes the whole business were over.

Shortly after Haynes returned to us, Thorne joined him. They relay the odd sequence of events that took place on the practice field, Thorn dabbing at her soft blue eyes with a scrap of a rag once they are finished. Haynes puts a comforting arm around her shoulders and hugs her silently. She leans into him, accepting the warmth he offers.

We try to respect the moment and give them both time to collect their thoughts, everyone staying silent until too many questions run through my brain, and I blurt out, “Damn. That is some sick magic they used, huh?”

Thorn sighs in the manner an exasperated teacher would with a dull third grader. “Stupid One, that’s all you could take away from our tale?”

“Well, no… not entirely. I mean, where to begin? Olivia is pretty awesome, isn’t she?” I see Haynes glare at me. “Okay. Seriously, what do we do next? Is our escape plan sunk?”

Haynes thinks for a minute, “No I don’t think so. I think Thorn’s friend was right. If we were sold out, we’d all likely be dead by now.”

“I agree. Osmanthus is canny. Nothing gets past that wily old elf. If he says we continue, then that’s what we will do. I have complete faith in him. He wants to return to your world as much as you all do. He bears a love for you humans that I am only beginning to understand…” She looks at Haynes when she says this. He meets her steady gaze, and I swear I think I see him blush a little.

Not that I'd ever point that out. I may be somewhat uncouth, but I'm not suicidal.

Des clears his throat after a moment or two. “That Dullahan is a real psycho, eh? He’s the one behind all this, right? The real reason we're all here.”

Thorn breaks eye contact with Haynes with a longing regret and refocuses on the conversation. “Not so much a lunatic, just a Highborn who was never taught anything different. To them, anyone beneath their station is expendable and not as valuable as they are. It’s a real shame…. By all accounts, his father was a force of good and helped lead the Fey to this new land.”

“Well, his kid turned out to be real shit. At least his Council is on our side. I guess he managed to alienate them enough, and they got sick of him,” Haynes says, thinking out loud.

“His council was appointed by his father. They remember the old ways when we co-existed with the humans. They believe there are better ways to return to your world and leave Under the Hill behind.” Thorn answers.

“Why do the elves say ‘Under the Hill’? I’ve always wondered where that came from.” Des asks looking at Thorn.

“It’s an old expression, a euphemism actually. When the Fey were dying off in large numbers in your world, they began searching for a new place to live. Their scholars tapped into the largest source of magic left to them at the time… necromancy… magic of the dead. You must remember that magic can be used symbolically and sympathetically…. Most of the Fey believe that dying is just moving to a new world, so this made the most sense as a way to find a new place for us. Most of the earliest experiments took place at burial sites called ‘Barrows.’ The polite way to refer to a barrow is as someone’s ‘hill,’ instead of their grave. So, the common way of saying that someone died became ‘going under the hills.’ The phrase just carried over as sort of a macabre jest, I believe. The learned Fey are nothing if