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

The bag quickly disappears behind a ripple of invisible fabric. “Osmanthus—”

“Hush, child! Now is not the time for arguments! Pray, remember all I did was for the greater good… and… try to remember me fondly, if at all.”

Without waiting for a reply, he sets his shoulders and confidently strides out to meet the foursome. A sincere-looking smile is plastered to his face, his hands held open and wide as he calls out, “Lord Midchain!”

Midchain smiles as he hears his name. “Look, my friends, the traitorous spy comes to gloat or perhaps to extort more money from us! Let us welcome him appropriately.” He reaches up over his shoulder and pulls the haft of a three-chained morning star from its sheath. He lets the spiked balls bounce and swing from their chains.

Each head of the morning star glows softly with different colors, auras of blue, red, and deep violet. They crackle with dancing electric discharges as they clank together on the three-foot-length chains.

The said approaching traitor, Osmanthus, sees the weapon and seems to stumble a step, but the smile never leaves his face.

“Osmanthus Wylde, your timely missives have been most accurate and useful. Were you on your way to discuss further payment?”

“Of course not, Milord. Our contract has been satisfactorily met. This is nothing more than coincidence and poor timing on my part.”

The Half-Ogre chuckles humorlessly. “Elf, we've both been around long enough to know that coincidences are the Fates' way of telling us that we need to pay more attention. And it seems I haven't been paying you enough attention."

“Think no more of it, Lord Midchain. I have my payment, and the Fates be damned! We can all go our separate ways and revel in our newfound fortunes and destinies.” He smiles a bit wider and makes as if to walk off, back the way he came.

“Ah, I wish it were that simple, friend Elf. But you and I both know that we never change, be us human, elf, or half-breeds. Once a deceitful spy, always a useless has-been. I cannot trust to leave you in my wake, nor would I want to.”

Osmanthus puts on his most charming and winning countenance. “Please, Milord—”

He never finishes. The morning star swings once and drags through the air, whistling as it goes. The three spiked heads hit with practiced ease, striking all at the same time. One to the side of the elf's head, one to the ribs, and one to the hip.

Osmanthus Wylde's benign smile instantly burns to skeletal ash before it’s blown away with the wind. His body, blackened dust scattering before it even reaches the Wall of Force.

A gasp and a sob from the distance are masked by the wind and rain as Thorn falls to her knees in shock and grief. “Nooo…” comes her anguished moans.

Tears and falling raindrops blur her vision, but she sees the Half-Ogre and his cadre continue toward her. She gathers her concentration to maintain her Veil of Invisibility and retreats up into the grandstand, looking for an out-of-the-way place to hide.

16

A quick lull in the fight gives us a minute to think. More rain falls on us through the crack in the rock above us, and it sparks an idea. We slap together a quick plan as the rain continues to dampen us. It’s not great, but we aren't exactly spoiled for choices here.

“Sarge, give us a few minutes; when the shooting starts, come out charging. I reckon we can take down two or three before you clear shelter,” Des says in a low urgent voice.

Haynes opens his mouth to argue, but he’s cut off by Jesse.

“Sergeant, it's a simple mission, one we are more than capable of completing. ’Tis our only chance,” he states frankly, finishing to reload his pistol with dry powder.

Haynes takes a moment to consider our options. He realizes we have none. “All right, no heroics. You two distract them; we'll charge up the middle. I figure those wagons can carry about fifteen people each; those are our priorities, next are any saddled horses. Shoot straight, and keep your heads down.”

Des and Jesse each give a solemn nod and begin to climb up the jagged granite inside the wall toward the daylight.

“Rest of you, reload or make ready with whatever weapons you have. We go when those two make some noise. Nian and Thirax, break away from the hole; we want to attract more human slaves, not scare them off.” Haynes delivers our orders, and everyone scrambles to follow them.

More dust and small pebbles join the rain falling through the opening above us. Olivia and her second take the place of the Gnolls at the one facing the field. She aims a crossbow she picked up from a dead goblin out in the field, and keeps watch. Her second-in-command, a guy named John, is signaling and calling out to other men and woman on the field. Already another fifteen or twenty people have gathered at the base of the opening.

“All right,” I say to the Berserker. “Get ready to carry your brother. When we move, it’s gonna be fast. Take him to the first wagon and load him in.”

“Got it,” he replies as he gathers his brother up in a tight grip. “We won't slow you down none.”

Jesse And Desmond

Jesse makes it to the top first. The crack is narrow, and he scrapes his armor, pulling himself up the last three or four feet. He pops up, pistol out and sweeping the wall top. Seeing no threat, he pulls himself over and gets to his feet. He stays crouching so he isn't visible from the ground.

Des reaches the top a little less nimbly, making a racket all the way up. Lucky for him, the storm continues unabated, carrying any clamor away in the whipping winds. All the walkways and parapets are deserted. The storm and the fighting have forced the goblins to other hideouts.

They both stay low and duckwalk along the middle of the wall. When Jesse estimates