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

My boots are ripping up loam and small plants as I leap over thin logs and stumble through unseen depressions in the ground. Twenty-five yards or so to go and a loud hissing growl from behind almost makes me miss my footing. This helps to motivate me to run even faster.

At ten yards out, the thing takes a fast swipe at my legs with its clawed foot. I dodge more from luck as I catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye. A quick leap to my right and the dragon pulps a small tree instead of me.

Five yards to go, I pull out the absolute last of my reserves. Still at full speed, I plant my left foot on a fallen log and launch myself up and between the thick boles of two ancient oak trees. And promptly ricochet off the next tree. I take the impact on my right shoulder and spin off into the darkness of the forest.

I lose track of all the new and exciting bruises I'm picking up while tumbling through the trees and down the hill. Of course, the ground sharply slopes downward here, so I manage to hit every rock, root, and tree on the way to the bottom of this shallow gully. Somewhere during the uncontrolled tumble, I feel that strange weight rip from my back. At first, I think it’s my armor, but then I hit my shoulder on a rock and feel the familiar bang and dent of my coverings.

I roll to a stop on my back, breathing heavily and staring up at the treetops, my head spinning. Loud splintering and frustrated roars echo through the trees. I'm shot with no energy to even roll over. I just lay there for a few minutes, listening to the water dragon try to bash through tough old, large hardwood trees. Small twigs and dead leaves fall from the branches above me, sprinkling the small clearing I'm reposing in. I can still move my feet, but both legs have currently gone numb.

I hear a low groan coming from somewhere off to my left. It takes me a moment to realize it’s not coming from me.

I stay still and try to quiet my breathing. Not easy to do since my lungs are burning. My legs are dead weights, and every inch of my body is swollen and bruised.

Soft mutterings in Elvish reach my ears. Dammit, I can't handle another fight right now. I'm not sure I can walk or even stand, for that matter. My whole plan was to just lie here in hopes that the water dragon would get bored and wander away. Hey, it’s the best plan I got. Don't judge me. Now, that may not be an option.

Loud rustlings of dried leaves and a dragging noise are followed closely by a thump. It sounds like someone crawling and then falling again. I turn my head in that direction, but any other sounds are covered up by the raging of the dragon. I move my hand to my belt and feel the familiar handle of my mace, still hanging from the steel ring.

As I squint into the darkness, trying to see anything, a soft light begins to glow. Its yellow-orange radiance fills the area like a late sunset. I get a clean look at the charred face of the fire mage I just fought and left for dragon food.

The pieces click into place—the fire raining down from the trees when I turned to run, and at the time, I figured it was just blowback from whatever spell he threw at the reptile. Then, of course, there was the strange weight on my back, the one that got heavier all the time but fell away when I hit that tree. The son of a bitch hitched a ride on my back! He turned himself into a fireball and latched onto my armor. In retrospect, I guess that’s why the flames didn't burn my flesh; he needed me alive.

In the few moments it takes me to come to this conclusion, the light brightens and casts strange shadows through the shallow clearing. It also alerts the damn dragon as to where we are. The beast renews its screams and attacks with more ferocity through the trees, eager to get at us. A loud crack sounds, I look up to see a moderately huge tree snap into splinters and topple down.

“Put out that light, you moron!” I hiss at him, as I try to roll to my feet. I get as far as my knees when the pain in my back halts any further movement.

He tries to focus his eyes on me, and then I see his face go pale under the charring and soot. It’s good to be recognized.

The elf is down on his hands and knees, huddled over a small crystal that he cradles in his right hand. He leans back and fumbles at his robes before producing a small dagger.

I sigh and point at his lit crystal and then emphatically point back up the hill in the direction of the water dragon. As if on cue, it roars again and knocks down another tree. This one falls closer to our direction, and we’re treated to a small spray of leaves and branches.

“Put. Out. That. Damn. Light! Idiot!” I say and point again at the glowing stone.

“I speak your language, you shaved primate! Do not speak to me in such a manner!” he sneers. Great, I hurt his feelings.

“Then use your damn head! That light is attracting the dragon. Extinguish it!”

He continues to stare me down as he gets to his feet, the dagger held upright in his fist. I use my mace as a crutch and bringing myself back to a standing position. It occurs to me that if this guy had any juice left, he would've just roasted me where I am. I'm thinking those big blasts of fire used up all his reserves. He's running