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

he says with a grin. “Hey, I'm not exhausted like when we use the stones. Maybe the slow meditation is less of a strain?”

“You might be onto something there. We'll worry about that later; for now, we're moving to a nicer wagon. This one smells like burnt feet.”

Thorn and I spend a few minutes discussing Nian's condition. We are both guessing at Gnoll anatomy here, but we both agree he's in a critical state. I think he's been shot through the liver, and there's no way to get the arrow out without causing a lot more damage. We've inspected one of the arrows from my quiver; if it's the same type, it’s got nasty barbs on it designed to keep it from being removed.

The best plan we can come up with is that I do the cutting while she tries to heal the damage I inflict, as well as whatever else is caused by the arrow itself. Not a great plan, and one we can't do in a bouncing wagon. Brushing the fur away from his wrist, I see a lot of black and very little red on his tattoo. We leave him to lay on the bench with strict instructions to not move under any circumstances. I don't have high hopes he's gonna listen for long.

Telling Haynes is our next order of business. Thorn stays behind to check on Jimmy's stump of an arm and Vince's head wound. Vince was asleep when we were all in the wagon but woke up when I poked him. He seemed groggy, but mostly with it. I like Vince. I haven't forgotten that he was the first one from another group to step up and help me with Colt.

The thick mud squishes under my boots as I walk to the front of the wagons again. I stop next to Haynes' horse and run my hand down its neck. The horse nickers in appreciation. I look up at Haynes and pull my helmet off. I'd almost forgotten I was wearing it. I run a gloved hand through my hair as the rain begins to cool my scalp.

“Sarge, we got a serious problem. Nian's hurt real bad. We don't know if we can get the arrow out and keep him alive at the same time. But one thing is certain—we sure as hell can't try to do anything to help him in a moving wagon.”

“How long do you need?” he asks, still scanning the road behind us.

“Dunno, but I'd guess at least an hour to be careful, and there's no guarantee this is gonna work.”

“We don't have an hour to sit out here in the open. I think we're lucky no one has caught up with us yet. Even pulling off the road leaves us too vulnerable. Thorn says there aren't any other roads to detour on until we get to the lake, so there's no place to hide.” He stops to think a moment before saying in a tone that leaves no argument, “We can't stay here. Can you keep him alive until we get to the gate?”

“Maybe… probably… ahh, shit. I don't know. We just don't know enough about how Gnolls are built. All I can say is we'll try.”

“All right, mount up. The sooner we get there, the better off we're all gonna be.”

“10-4, Sarge.” I put my helmet back on and tighten the strap.

I give the horse a final stroke and a pat before turning to leave. I catch a quick movement out of the corner of my eye and see Thirax standing on top of a wagon and pointing.

“Riders! Down the road and gaining fast!” he calls out.

“Shit, everybody, mount up and move out! Silvia, scout ahead! Grayson, stay with the wounded wagon!” the Sarge calls out orders and wheels his horse about.

Sylvia kicks her horse into a gallop and speeds off down the road. The other wagon, carrying those we don't know, has already begun rolling and has a good head-start on us. Thorn's horse is tied to Jesse's wagon, and it trots behind as they pass me.

Colt gets our horses moving again, straining to pull the wagon. I speed up also to grab the doorframe and pull myself up. Olivia's wagon is right behind us and keeping pace. Thirax balances on top of it with a sword and shield at the ready.

Beyond them, I squint into the rain and see a group of mounts in the distance. I grab onto the wood of the doorframe to keep my balance and just watch for a full minute. I estimate we have four or five minutes until they catch us.

Jimmy's brother, the Berserker whose name is Miles, has his hands full keeping his brother from falling off the bench while helping Thorn to keep Nian down. In his spare time, he shoves Vince back onto the bench with his brother whenever he starts to bounce off.

I grab Thorn by the shoulder and lean in to speak close to her. “Look, we can't stop now, and we can't try to remove the arrow while we're moving, so I want to attempt something else. This works in my world with humans, but it was tested on dogs before that—”

She interrupts me with a horrified look, “You barbarians! Testing on dogs? What is wrong with your people?”

“A lot, but we don't have time for that now,” I say with a bit of frustration, “Listen, I need you to put Nian in a deep sleep and then lower his body temperature. It’ll slow the bleeding and maybe get him to last a few more hours.”

She frowns in thought for a second. “Exactly, how cold does he have to be?”

“Cold enough to slow everything down extremely slow—breathing, heartbeat, just everything. Do you know anything about cellular metabolism?”

“Do you know anything of Werniker's Polar Manifestation or The Principals of Innate Life Essence Reserves?”

“Okay, I get your point. You think you can do this?”

“It's risky, and I'll have to stay devoted to only him for