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

“Y'all did what you could, boys. Don't be so hard on yourselves,” Des says, glancing up at the moon. “Maybe we got enough time to make another pass around the clearing?”

Everyone looks to Haynes, but no one speaks. A heavy silence blankets the group, each keeping their own council, some fearing the answer, others ashamed at their own thoughts. No one wants to miss the gate home, but neither does anyone want to leave their friend behind. Haynes stares at the moon for a minute, and then his face firms with a decision. His eyes go hard, and his jaw is set with resolve.

“Olivia, Grayson, Colt, Jimmy and Thirax, scout out this cave and find us the gate. We don't want any more surprises in there. Thorn, stay with Jesse and do what you can. Nian and Des, make a fast sweep of the perimeter; call out if you find anything. Ten minutes, max. If you’re not back, we're gonna have to leave without you as well. Get me? Let’s go, people, move out!”

27

I make it to the top of the gully, dripping with sweat from the heat, pain, and exertion. I roll over the lip, the fire hot on my heels (if you'll excuse the expression).

The dragon, tangled in the fallen trees, is roasting and raving mad. It claws its furious way up the steep incline, dragging its dead leg through the fires and coals. Most of its skin and scales have charred to a flaking black, exposing bone and desiccated muscle.

I grab hold of a thin sapling and haul myself back to my feet. The elf is cutting a trail that is easy for me to follow, but each running step sends a dull lance of fire from my spine down my leg. I try not to limp as it wastes energy and is a lot slower, but my leg still seems to be unable to hold my full weight.

For a second, I consider ditching the helmet and chestplate armor to get rid of some weight but dismiss the idea as shortsighted. While heavy, this stuff has saved my ass a few times, and I'm sure it’ll come in handy again.

The trees thin out, and the air seems a bit damper here. I've lost all sense of direction since encountering this damn elf, but I think we might be heading back toward the lake. Not the direction I would've picked, seeing as how it’s the water dragon's home turf, but to paraphrase an old joke, I don't have to outrun the dragon, just the elf.

His steps are also beginning to falter, and I think he just puked a little while running. I'm guessing he hasn't had the benefit of forced conditioning. I gain a lot of ground on him, but like I've said before, between the armor, my spine, my leg, my size, and my big ol' boots, I'm not exactly set for stealth mode.

He hears me rattling up behind him just as I'm reaching out to give him a little shove. The little jerk ducks under my arm and throws himself sideways at my legs. I try to jump over him, but I'm left on my bad leg. It buckles as I try to push off the ground. On the plus side, my knee rams into his ribs with a sharp crack. The downside is, we both go tumbling down the trail, tangled up with each other.

Seriously, who the hell wears a robe outside their own home? The thin cloth tears and snags on the various buckles and edges of my armor. We roll to a stop, and I shove him hard off of me. The robe tears more, and he curses at me in Elvish. I really should try to learn this language. Then again, maybe not. I don't plan on being here much longer. And wild horses couldn't drag me back once I'm gone.

We both get to our feet again, warily watching each other. Then the dragon screeches as it catches sight of us. By mutual consent, we begin running again. The trees are smaller and thinner here, and the ground is getting softer. Despite its bad leg, the dragon has almost caught up with us. The end of the trees is just ahead, the packed, flat road just beyond it. And past that is the lake. This monster will run us down without a problem on open ground, and diving into the lake is not an option for obvious reasons.

Bursting out of the edge of the wood, we hit the road, still running. I reach into my belt pouch and grab my 'last-ditch' weapon. I wonder if the elf has a backup plan too. I also hope it doesn't involve feeding me to the dragon while he runs away.

I look both ways and see the road stretching out into the darkness past my line of sight. No place to hide or use for cover.

Both of us stagger to a ragged halt, panting from exertion. By unspoken decision, or just lack of options, we turn to face the rampaging beast. The copper rod seems to tingle with trapped energy that I can feel through my heavy gauntlet. The crystal at its tip seems to glow with malicious eagerness.

The elf pulls a small, silver mirror out of his pocket. Meh, kind of unimpressive as a weapon, but what do I know? Then he begins chanting.

The undead monster crashes through the few remaining trees and lands, legs akimbo across the road. Its long neck and ruined face whips in our direction. I raise the copper rod and aim down its length, but before I can fire, the elf darts out in front of me and runs right at the dragon. The monstrous beast lunges and snaps its jaws low, but the elf nimbly leaps over it, placing a hand on its head to help him over the spikes