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

now. Every culture has its own deep-seated beliefs and customs about how their dead are to be treated. How the body is prepared for its journey to whatever afterlife, what is sent with it, etc. This could be tokens of affection, money to pay their way, a six-pack of beer, or just a few items of sentimental value. And almost always, elaborate ceremonies. These customs are based out of respect and religion. Respect for the dead and who they were in life.

I have no respect for these elves; therefore, I don't care about their customs and beliefs. Our dead are always food for the ogres and goblins. Respect is a two-way street, no matter how you look at it. Their lack of respect ensures that I will be using their dead for our advantage.

I realize this seems cold and callous, and I even agree with that… somewhat. But see it from my point of view. We've been torn from our lives and used for their gain and amusement. We’ve been deprived of our homes, our families, and our futures on their whims. They don't give a shit about us except as cannon fodder.

In the course of my career, I have pronounced a lot of people dead. Some from gunshots in a filthy alley, some from suicides in lonely apartments, and others from heart attacks in front of their loving family. They all deserved some token of respect given the basic assumption that they've done something with their lives to earn the love and devotion of others. Even if they didn't realize it.

Right now, at this time, I can't, and don't, believe the elves have earned that. Their own actions have ensured this. But, also, I can't begin to think that they have…because this would be much harder if I did.

More importantly, this point of view is now producing some dissension among us, especially from Thorn.

“Jesse can ride better than you, and Vince can shoot a bow better than you,” Haynes states a few facts. “As far as that goes, I shoot and ride better than you.”

“Yep, but it’s my plan, my risk.” With unwavering stubbornness, I tighten the last slipknot on the back of the saddle and pitch my voice low as I continue to speak, “You're gonna need Jesse and Vince if the shit hits the fan again. They are both armed, and as you said, better shots than me. I'm the next best choice after you, and these guys need you in the front. You're our Leader. If they lose you, they lose all cohesion and order. That would be catastrophic and lessen everyone's chance of getting out of here.”

Haynes checks the load lashed behind the saddle and thinks for a minute. “The horse is gonna be slowed by all the extra weight and drag,” he says, changing tack.

“Yeah. We've been through this before. I only have to outrun them for about a quarter-mile, by your own estimate. Then I turn and run. Me and the horse, we’ll be much lighter on the way out. No sweat.”

Haynes turns and puts his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “I don't like this, Caleb. It’s a bit gruesome, as well as dangerous. That trail was rough and overgrown, and it’s gonna be even worse in the dark.”

“Uh-huh, and if we had any other choice, I'd be happy to hear it. But we're kind of short on options, so this is what we got. If I don't rendezvous with you guys at the lakeside within twenty minutes, assume I ain't gonna make it, and make a break for the gate.” I swing up into the saddle and lean down to the left where Des helps me to lash a shield to my arm.

We've already added extra shields to the horse's flanks and chest, taking extra care not to restrict the horse's movements with the web of leather straps that we've constructed.

“The timing is extremely tight. If we're off, we're all stuck here,” Vince says. “Wouldn't it be better if we just went through and tried to defend ourselves from the other side?”

“No. We have no idea where we'll end up and no way to set up and dig in. Also, we're low on ammo. Better to jump through at the last minute and let the gate close behind us. That will definitely cut off any pursuit,” replies Haynes, a frown still etched on his dark face.

“The moon sets early tonight, about three hours after midnight. I can't tell you exactly, but it will be around then,” Thorn says, still not looking at me. “We really can't time it too close, or we may miss it altogether.”

“It’s a chance we have to take. We cannot afford another running battle. Let’s face it; we've gotten really lucky up until now. Now we have to play the cards we've been dealt and handle it the best we can,” Haynes says with finality.

Des walks around to my right and repeats the process with another shield on my other arm. He then takes the knotted lead from the large bundle behind me and places it loosely in my right hand. My left hand rests on a stained scrap of blanket wrapped around a small package around two feet long and about eight inches around. It sits on the saddle in front of me, hooked over the saddle horn.

I nod my thanks. Turning the horse about and onto the road, I look over my shoulder at the assembled group. Everyone has turned out to see me off. Solemn faces and nods of encouragement come from everyone except Thorn and Olivia.

The former feels particularly disgusted by this plan. I can't say I blame her, but the lack of options limits my ability to give a crap about her feelings right now. She refuses to look at me, but that doesn't stop her from cursing me out in English and Elvish and spitting in my general direction. Yet, she stands with the group. Angrily, she buries