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

29

I can no longer see the moon in the sky. I know next to nothing about astronomy, but I think that means that it has set.

I missed the gate.

I continue walking on anyway. One direction is as good as another right now, and I'm curious as to what happened at the stockade wall. My brain seems stuck in neutral right now with no ability to latch onto a coherent thought.

I missed the gate.

Now, I'm trudging through the thick trees and trip-hazard undergrowth. My leg continues to buckle and collapse every couple of steps. The pain in my lower back and various other places is like an annoying background noise, constant and distracting.

I missed the gate.

Somehow, I'm now sitting, but I don't remember stopping. I find myself resting on a rotten, fallen log, my helmet off and discarded on the ground by my feet. A cool breeze blows through the small forest, drying the sweat in my hair and blowing away some of the smoke from the recent fire.

I missed the gate.

As the visibility increases, I see the damage done in our recent battle with the water dragon. The shallow gully is scorched, and the ancient grove of trees has been reduced to ash and charred trunks.

The gloves come off next and end up in a pile on top the helmet. After that, the breastplate and pauldrons join them. The relief of losing all that weight in metal is almost intoxicating. The wind reaches my skin through the threadbare and torn T-shirt I came here in. It feels good.

My stomach rumbles, and my throat is parched. At a rough estimate, I'm halfway between the lake and the stockade that once guarded the gate. I think about returning to the lake. The thought of a cool drink is enticing, but it’s tempered by the knowledge that another aquatic undead creature might try to bite my face off. And I do not want to face one of those things for the rest of my born days. I consider going back to the trail where we passed the lean-to full of MREs. I could use some food right about now.

But, of course, the stockpile of MREs is probably overrun with ogres, goblins, and elves. Not worth it for a shitty breakfast.

I press on my tattoo out of morbid curiosity. Less than half of my Hit Points remain, and a laundry list of injuries shows up that's too long to bother to list. My inventory is empty, no food, no water…

I look at the blue tattoo and think about a healing spell, but it doesn’t seem very important right now.

I missed the gate.

For the first time in a long while, I’m lost, directionless and alone.

I missed the gate.

THIRAX and OLIVIA

Thirax leads the way along the darkened base of the wall. They've taken advantage of the attack focused at the stockade to get to the forest. The damaged wooden wall gives way to a rough rock cliff that the cave was dug from. Thirty or so yards of crouched running for Olivia, Thirax reverting to all fours, brings them to the thick foliage.

They duck down into the shadows and turn around. They hold still and look back out over the clearing. The light of Thorn's candle doesn't reach this far, and the pair begin to feel a terrible sense of fear and dread once again. They huddle closer to each other for a sense of safety.

No more gunfire echoes from the field, and the redcaps begin their charge. Olivia lets out a breath of relief when none of them turn toward the trees. It seems the two of them got away unnoticed.

The hulking Fey scream their war chants and battle cries as they smash against what’s left of the stockade wall. They swarm the area and fight each other to be first through the opening. The four armored knights and their mounts follow at a more sedate pace, surrounding the blackened coach. The banshee continues to wail her mournful dirge from within the rumbling coach.

Olivia reaches up to the much bigger Gnoll and claps her hand on his shoulder armor, pulling on him firmly. He nods and lopes off into the woods, silent as a hunting wolf. The smaller, blonde human slides into the shadows of his wake, easily keeping up and not disturbing a single branch. They slip away and begin their search.

They move quickly, yet quietly, and cover a good bit of distance. The banshee's wail is barely heard anymore and no longer felt at all. Thirax stops to scent the air but shakes his head in the negative at Olivia's look. The Gnoll points to a distant fire burning in the forest.

“Yeah, that looks like something our boy would be involved in," Olivia says, her face still grim. "Let’s go.”

They make their way through the uncut brush, staying careful to limit the noise of their passing. Several minutes pass in silence before Thirax glances up and speaks. “You know you've missed your chance to go home?”

“Yup.”

“Why are you not more upset? You humans seem to be more… dramatic than this, more emotional.”

“We've got a job to do right now. I'm planning on a breakdown and a good cry later. It just seems that being lost in a dark forest filled with hostile creatures that want to kill us while searching for a lost friend is a bad place to have an 'emotional' event. Right?”

Snort–“Agreed.” Thirax scents the air again and changes the subject. “The smell of burning wood is pungent, but I am picking up some dead reptile odor underneath.”

They approach a large circular area of scorched and smoldering trees.

“It looks like the fire has burned itself mostly out; let’s get a little closer,” directs Olivia, her cop mask back in place. She views this as a crime scene, or a large part of one.

She begins walking a concentric circle pattern around the edge of the blackened area. Careful of the embers, she climbs over massive tree trunks and studies the ground.