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

earned their right to be here, but so far, those I can see sport a blade of grass. The hall quiets when our group walks in, everyone turning to look at us.

Haynes stops and surveys the crowd for a moment and then nods to himself. “All squad leaders and their seconds, come with me. Everyone else, go about your business. You will all know what you need to as soon as the leaders have met. Dismissed!” He stops at the door to our arming room and pitches his voice low just for us, “Des, you’re with me. The rest of you, stand guard; let no one in but those I just called. If there's any trouble, hit the door three times. Caleb, you'll do all the talking out here. Jesse and the Gnolls will back you up. Any sign of an ogre, goblin, or elf, you hit that door three times. Got it?”

“5x53, Sarge,” I reply, making sure my mace is loose on my hip and my shield is tight on my left arm.

A small stream of men and women pass us as they walk into the room. I recognize Grayson and another Berserker, Colt, and Steve, Olivia and one more tall man with long hair. Another ten or twelve folks that I know by face, but not by name, walk past, most nodding greetings to us. The door closes, and I stand in front of it. Jesse plants himself to my left, Nian to my right, and Thirax takes a place across the hall, facing me.

Over the next few minutes, the hallway slowly clears out, the remaining groups heading to their own arming rooms or back to their cells. A few don't seem to take the hint and mill about, looking suspicious as hell.

I clear my throat to get the remaining bystanders' attention. “Move along, everyone. You'll call attention to us now, and we'll end up paying for your stupidity.” I make eye contact with a few of the closest men, and they seem to get the message. They shuffle away, dejected and maybe a little scared. All except two men standing to the side a little ways down the hall. Both wear hooded cloaks over their armor, concealing their features and any weapons they may have. They couldn't look more like trouble if they had a flashing neon sign hanging over their heads announcing it.

“There gonna be a problem here, gentlemen?” I ask in a neutral tone. I already know there will be a problem; it’s up to them as to how big a problem it will be. Another little tidbit from my eclectic work history—I worked as a bouncer at a pool hall for a few months for a couple summers some years back. Add that to my midnight shifts in EMS in one of the toughest cities in America, and you can see why my 'trouble meter' is honed to a razor’s edge.

“We're just looking for some info, just like everyone else. We know something is going down tomorrow, and we want to know what.” The speaker's hood casts dark enough shadows over his face that I can't see any details, but his deep voice, with its calm and menacing tone, lets me know this is about to escalate. His answer is too smooth and too confident for someone who should be scared, or at least nervous.

The two of them are about ten feet to my right and standing about four feet apart. Plenty of room to draw a weapon, but not close enough to get between Thirax and me. I notice no visible blade of grass on either of them.

“Why don't you take them hoods off, and we can talk like men.” I turn to face them fully forward as I say this. I shift my feet so my weight is evenly balanced, ready to move in any direction.

“Well, arrogant little human, perhaps because we are not all men, eh? Lord Dullahan is aware of your attempts to unite the slave army, and he is most displeased. We are here to discourage that.” The speaker reaches up to draw his hood, and the long brown sleeves fall back from his hands, revealing yellowed talons tipping each of the five fingers on both of his hands.

The claws seem to retract into the pads of his fingertips as they touch the hood. The cover drops back, revealing pale white, short fur surrounding a blunt muzzle with whiskers sprouting from either side of its black nose. Green eyes with vertical slits flash yellow in the torchlight. Its hair grows longer past its forehead and is bound up in a top knot pulled away from its pointed ears that sit just a bit high on the sides of its head. His cloak parts, revealing blackened plate-mail. The cat-like creature stands on reversed legs like the Gnolls. It smiles with malice, showing very sharp fangs on its upper and lower jaws.

The Gnolls begin to growl, hands on their weapons, but not yet drawing them.

I realize maybe just a fraction of a moment too late that all our attention was fixated on this little bit of showmanship. Great. In a split-second, I lift my shield in front of my chest before I even shift to look at the other cloaked figure, her robes flying open as she underhandedly flings a dagger at me. I'd almost missed her sidestep as she'd set up her shot.

The dagger deflects off the edge of my shield and takes a wild spin, cutting a deep laceration into my right cheek. Blood flows and runs hot down my neck.

Another dagger flashes past me, but this one comes from Jesse. I watch its flight as it passes me, and I hear a meaty thud, followed by a gasp. It catches our attacker in the gut and drops her to the ground.

The Gnolls react with lightning speed, loud growls and blades flashing. Both strike at the feline-like creature at the same time. Cat-thing parries their attacks with two short