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

Midchain laughs loudly. “You never cease to use multiple words when one or two would suffice. I will make you the same offer as last year, Elf. We can forgo this entire charade of a 'battle' if you would just agree to single combat. It would save many lives, and I dare say, make many of your retainers quite happy.”

“You know it is not the place of the Nobility to fight like common fodder. The life force of the fallen is needed to refill the energy spent this past year, as you well know. However, I will counter your offer with the offer to accept your surrender. As you have stated, it would save many lives today.”

“Foolish, spoiled child”—Midchain turns his head slightly and spits onto the sodden ground— “there seems to be nothing left to discuss. As last year's victor, I offer you the first strike. Let us retire to our sidelines and watch our pawns tear each other to pieces in your 'most noble of traditions.'" Midchain laughs again as he stands up to his full height of almost six foot five. “Call the Arbitrator, and let us begin this nonsense.”

“You mock traditions that you know nothing of. You are an abomination and do not deserve the power you've stolen. That ends this day!” Dullahan springs to his feet, annoyed, and gestures to a servant.

As the Lord of this land turns on his heel, the servant takes a wooden horn from under his livery and raises it to his lips. He blows two long, mournful notes as both rulers turn their backs to each other and make their way to the ornate chairs awaiting them in the grandstands. From here, I can just make out Thorn standing near the giant crystal with another elf and a troll.

As the notes fade away, a small circle appears in the center of the field, a ring that grows brighter with a blue-green light. A figure slowly fades into view, an elf, tattoos on his shaven head and thick chains of various metals around his neck. Before he has fully formed, he glances up in mild irritation at the rain and waves a hand absently in the air above him. A dome appears, only defined by the rain now running like small streams off the sides of its invisible form.

He’s only a few yards away from us. I idly wonder if I were to shoot him now, would it stop all this from happening? I then realize I don’t have a clear shot, and I don’t even know if my pistol is accurate or not, so I just wait. I think missing would be worse for us all in the long run.

“On behalf of the Greater Kingdoms, I am here to enforce the Laws and Traditions of Mortis Causa Ludicio Exercitus. Let their Seconds come forth with the opening Incantations.” He raises both hands equally at the sidelines, open palms held up to the sky.

From the side of Terram Caeruleum steps a figure in plain blue robes, who walks with a simple wooden staff. Under his left arm, he carries an ornate box decorated with silver filigree.

From the side of Terrestris Laminis also walks a robed figure. Various bits of heavy leather cover his black cloak like armor. In his right hand, he carries a short, thick brass rod tipped with a red crystal. In his left hand, he carries a burlap sack, letting it swing casually.

Both humanoids arrive simultaneously at the Arbitrator. The blue hooded figure stops and plants his staff in the ground and pulls back his hood. Short, green-black hair sticks up from the troll's head, and slit, yellow eyes are deep-set into a scaled, dark green face.

The black-robed figure also pulls his hood back, revealing a heavily scarred face. The burn and slash marks obscure the delicate features of the elf, his pointed ears pierced many times with various gemstones and hoops. His blue eyes glow softly as he looks at his counterpart with mild surprise. “Skemend. Well met. I have not seen you since our flight from the Hags. I see time has not brought either of us much higher in the world.”

Skemend blinks slowly but smiles, showing pointed fangs. “Maclure, I have long wondered if you survived that day. ’Tis a pity we must meet at such times once more. Perhaps when this business is through, we may be reacquainted.”

“Perhaps, old friend. I think I would enjoy that.”

“Are both Fiefdoms in agreement that there is no other course of action?” interrupts the Arbitrator, a bit of annoyance evident in his voice.

Both Seconds look at each other for a moment, then nod in reluctant agreement.

“Then let the Mortis Causa Ludicio Exercitus begin.” He gestures to the box and the bag. Skemend and Maclure open their respective vessels. Three crystal orbs float out of each one and rise high in the air. A horn sounds a single strident note.

All around me, everyone is drawing weapons and assuming defensive stances. I raise my shield and tighten the grip on my spear.

14

“Get ready!" bellows Haynes. "It’s starting!” Other squad leaders echo his command across the field.

The first orb rises higher than the rest and shatters in midair. A huge blast of lightning streaks through the atmosphere and smashes into the front line of the opposing ogres. Bodies are vaporized in an instant. Giant figures get thrown violently in all directions as their brown uniforms burn. The pieces of their sundered carcasses seem to hit invisible walls within their square and fall to the mud. After a moment, each body looks as if it ejects a streak of white light that soars overhead. The white light flies almost as fast as the lightning and slams into the wood entwined crystal behind us. The veins of light splash against the orb and absorb into it.

“Easy, boys! Don’t let the bastards scare you before we even