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

Acri faintly returns the smile but doesn't insult her. This is a big step up from just a few weeks ago.

“I mention my ability in Earth Magics for one reason and one reason only. I carved myself an escape tunnel out through the back of my quarters.”

I look at him in surprise again. “You didn't trust your own troops?”

“Ha! Of course not. Goblins will gut you for the loose change in your pocket, and the ogres are just plain evil. They enjoy torturing things weaker than themselves for the mere sadistic fun of it. And they know how to make it last. The only smart thing for me to do was to ensure I had a bolt hole.”

“So, how do we know it wasn't compromised after you left? Surely, they sent a replacement by now who would've taken over your quarters,” Olivia reasons.

“Unless they had reason to break through a foot of granite, they will not have found it. I left the wall intact for just this reason—so no one else would find it. My rooms were closer to the gate than to the stockade where most of the troops should be concentrated. I always posted two ogres to guard the gate at all times, but I have no idea what they've done since then.”

“This is good news. That can be our backup plan. Why did you wait until now to tell us?”

“It didn’t seem relevant up to this point. Besides, I have many secrets that you don’t need to know about, as I am sure you have from me.”

“Oh, yeah… I’m secretly an elven prince, and I’m doing all this to see how the poor people live,” I answer with as much sarcasm as I can muster. “Let’s wait until 'Rax returns, and then we can figure out our best move.” I turn to Olivia, and she nods in agreement.

A few hours pass before Thirax slips back into our temporary camp.

“The way looks grim and fiercely protected. The clearing is littered with at least a score of tents large enough to hold a minimum of two ogres each. The stockade has been rebuilt taller and thicker, and is banded with brass and silver. I believe a frontal assault would be a suicide attempt.” He looks sad when he finishes his report, knowing the bad news for what it is and what it means for us humans. “I also made an attempt to secure you more of your human food… but alas, it was all burned to the ground. Nothing left but ashes. I am sorry, Caleb, Olivia,” he nods his head to each of us as if giving a condolence.

“Thanks for trying, Big Guy.” Olivia reaches up high and pats him on the shoulder pad.

“Well, lucky for us"—I smile wide—“we may have another way in. Acri, would you go over it again?”

It takes us the better part of a day and a half to reach Acri's backdoor in the mountains. There was no clear trail, just some breaks in the brush made over the years by the wildlife. It's steep and rough, not unlike the damn mountain we just left.

Tonight is the second night of the full moon. We plan to observe their night-time patrols so we have a decent chance of escaping tomorrow evening. Again, we're cutting it close, but that may work to our advantage with less chance of pursuit.

The wind is cold, dry, and blowing hard this close to the apex of the hill. Conversation is difficult, but Acri manages to convey that he needs some time to work his magics. We settle down in the lee of a large boulder to wait.

The elf scoops up a handful of rocks from the ground and stares at them in his palm for a long, dull moment. Almost a minute passes before he begins to make a series of intricate hand gestures over them. His hand droops lower to the ground with each passing moment, as if the stones are becoming heavier by the second. Finally, he throws his hand out to the right at a large boulder that is set into the face of the cliff.

A ropy cord of brown-gold light streaks out from his palm and ends in a flaring glyph on the stone face. The handful of stones in his left hand also emit the same gold-brown glow as he tosses them hard down the steep trail. A second beam of light snaps into existence and connects the boulder with the pebbles.

Like a tractor pulling a stubborn stump, the handful of pebbles tears the two tons of cliff face down and drags it a few yards before it comes to a dusty stop.

With sweat running down his pale face, Acri smiles in satisfaction. He climbs to his feet, leaning on his staff, and walks into the new hole in the wall. Without an invitation, I shrug and follow him in. A few paces forward, a spiral stone staircase begins and descends into a deep, dark gloom. A bright white light flares, and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. It surprises me enough to cause me to half-draw my weapon.

When I can see clearly again, I see Acri holding his staff high to the low ceiling, a bright, yellow-white flame dancing at the top. A moment later, Olivia and Thirax join us, as if they were just waiting for us to turn on the lights.

The motionless air in here is stale and musty. No draft stirs up any dust. We leave deep footprints in the soft ground as we make our way down the carved steps. Every few minutes, the steps hit a plateau, and we have to travel through narrow passages to reach the next series of steps going down. This takes hours of cramped, sweaty and dirty walking, with the only source of light a flickering flame that sets wild shadows about all around us. Good thing none of us seem to be claustrophobic.

I estimate it must be well