Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1) by Keith Ahrens (books for 8th graders .txt) 📗

heartbeats. With less than fifteen yards to fighting distance, I shift my weight backward and drag the left rein back as hard as I can. The horse snorts in surprise, and its hooves dig into the ground as it tries to make a hard left at full speed.

I pray the horse doesn't break a leg or flip over, but I have no chance to worry further. Timing is indeed critical as momentum lets the corpse attached behind us to continue to fly forward. Just before it hits the end of its tether, I slash with the dagger. The sharp blade parts the thick leather strap like paper, and the body flies free along its trajectory.

One hundred and eighty pounds of dead elf (minus the arms, of course) slams full force into the chest of the lead ogre. Its ax flies from his hands, and he staggers backward, right onto the point of the boar spear behind him. The thick blade punches through his back and continues through its chest, a look of complete shock on its porcine face.

Just then, my steed staggers. Whether from exhaustion or just bad footing, I don't know, but the effect is the same. I'm off balance and have no grip on the reins. I fly free of the saddle before I can grab anything.

Time seems to slow as I feel myself lift and rise into the air. I get a good view of the water dragons crashing into the clearing, climbing over each other in their haste and eagerness for fresh prey. I begin to realize I'm facing the wrong direction and then…

I hit the ground ass first, and time resumes its normal pace. I extend my arms, trying to spread out the momentum, and I feel both shields slam against the ground. I do my best to roll over backward to bleed off the speed, and it should have worked too. A real shame that there happened to be a stout tree right in my way. I hit it square with my back, the armor absorbing a lot of the force but not all of it. All the air rushes from my lungs, and a split second of panic sets in before I can draw another breath. My helmet is still ringing from the impact, and my vision goes momentarily dim. I think I'm just gonna sit here for a minute…

A loud shriek interrupts my short-lived nap. I blink my eyes several times to clear my vision, and I'm rewarded by the sight of a herd of six or seven water dragons charging the stockade. The two ogres left alive outside don't stand a chance and are torn apart in seconds. The loud gonging of several large bells peal across the clearing. There's the alarm I was hoping for.

The defenders on the wall rain arrows and crossbow bolts down on to the enraged lizards but have little effect. The dragons just lower their heads and charge at the wooden wall, trying to bash it down with brute strength and the weight of their numbers. Their jagged claws shred at the wooden barricade, leaving deep gouges in the wood.

I try to stagger to my feet and take stock of my current state. I've lost my dagger, and my horse is nowhere in sight. Then I notice that I've slid back down and am once again seated at the base of the tree. That’s strange.

Damn Horse. He must have run off and left me behind, which, come to think of it, was pretty smart of him. I've done nothing but lead him from peril to more dangerous peril. Still, he left me behind. Jerk. Now I'm glad I didn't name him. I realize that it’s my turn to try to run away while the focus is on the dragons and not me. But a brief rest also sounds great right about now. Maybe I’ll just wait a few minutes until things calm down. Perhaps everyone else will show up soon and wake me up…

25Acri

Acri Grainleaf knows he has always been underestimated and underutilized. His Sage Wizard instructors constantly claimed he was too witless and apathetic to amount to much. That assessment destroyed his chances of rising in the ranks of Mage society and House Caeruleum.

But he knew he wasn't as dim as they claimed him to be. In truth, he was bored by their teachings and preferred his own experiments. Sure, most of them failed, but they failed with style.

For the past six years, his sole assignment has been to guard one of the gates to the human lands. A gate paid little mind, save for its menial purpose, while never being in any sort of danger or jeopardy. Acri's only company is a platoon of ogres and a squad of goblins. Twenty dark Fey in all, and not one among them makes for any type of good conversationalist.

A tedious post, the monotony breaks only once a month for a foray through the gate to gather supplies. And even that’s handled by others. Still, the elves do, on occasion, bring him fresh supplies and equipment for him to tinker with.

Six years of watching other elves cross the gate, and six years spent wondering what's on the other side and how it might benefit him. However, his orders are simple: keep everyone and everything from crossing the gate except those with a writ from Lord Dullahan or the wizard troll, Skemend. So, he sits, day after day, and wonders, growing more bored with each passing moment.

That was until he discovered the pleasures of the 'wine' the goblins brewed from moss and fermented fruit… and possibly other things. He always felt it was best not to ask, each batch making his interminable post that much easier to deal with. This night is no different… or so it seems until the alarm bells begin ringing.

Acri awakens with a start, his mind confused and befuddled by the sweet, noxious wine. His head already throbs in time with the toll