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

was being dragged to the local lock-up by the Sheriff while the hippies were shuttled to the nearest emergency room. Then he describes an eerily similar story to mine. I guess getting shanghaied through a mirror is a favored method of recruitment. He tells me he has been here for about two-and-a-half years. And as far as he knows, it’s still the '70s.

He continues his story, explaining to me that his knife-fighting skills and hand-to-hand combat abilities were acquired through specialized Army training and combat tours. Being here forced him to learn the art of sword and shield fighting. That and the Gnolls beating the crap out of him for months on end until he got better.

Jesse, who awoke sometime in the middle of Haynes' story, declines to share his own with a self-deprecating grin. “It’s just not that interesting,” he says, but I insist, thinking there might be a pattern to the abductions.

“Did you get pulled through a mirror also? It might be something important…”

“Nah, Hoss," Des interjects. "I got in a bar fight and passed out in the woods after some bouncers threw my ass out. Next thing I knew, I woke up here. See, not that interesting.”

“Well, what did you do for a living? Maybe there's some kind of link there?” I press the issue a little. There must be a common factor of why we each were picked.

“I was a machinist back in the real world. I also made custom knives and metal works. Built my own forge and everything,” he says with a proud grin. “Honest work, but nothing real fancy.”

Hmm. Two soldiers, a medic, and a metal worker. Also, two dog-faced Gnolls. Not a lot of similarities that I can see. I don't think I'm any further into figuring out how or why they chose us. The only commonality I can determine is that most of us had been in a fight right before we were taken. Is it really that simple?

I don’t ask about Thorn but decide to wait for them to bring her up. I have a thousand questions about her story, yet I can sense they are still very protective of her.

Des tells me that each squad tends to lose people all the time. Some crack up mentally. Some are killed in training “accidents” against other squads; some just seem to give up entirely. All of them get taken away and never heard from again. Rumor has it that the ogres usually eat their remains.

“If we're all in the same boat, why are we fighting among ourselves? Shouldn’t we be working together?” I ask.

“As best as we can figure, they like us at each other’s throats. It keeps us from banding together and trying to escape,” answers Des.

Haynes picks up the thread, “See, the better a squad fights, the better armor and equipment they are issued. And the better the food rations. Sabotaging another unit is an easy and cheap way to move up in the ranks and get better stuff. Also, good old-fashioned jealousy and human pettiness goes a long way. Notice our gear is kept separate, and the Gnolls guard it at night?”

I nod, understanding. “That’s why I got attacked leaving the armory, right? To weaken the squad?”

“Yup, and ‘cause you’re the new guy. Kinda like lethal hazing,” says Des with a wry smile. “Right now, we're in the top ranks of the slave squads.”

“The only ones above us are the Fey Squads,” Haynes again resumes his explanation. “Those are the mercenaries hired to fight. They are free to come and go. Their barracks are located outside the courtyard practice field. Most of them are a mix of arms and spell throwers.”

“What about these ‘Highborn’ I keep hearing about?” I ask. “Also, ‘Spell-throwers,’ what are those?”

“Elves. Highborn is what they call themselves around here. A lot like Tolkien wrote about, but much nastier. You almost never see them bastards fight. That’s what they use us for,” Des says with a snarl. “Oh, except for the Knights, of course. Sadistic bastards, every one of them. They love a good fight and mix it up a bit by using magic as well.”

“But, what about Thorn? I mean, isn’t she Highborn?” I ask, forgetting about the second part of my question regarding the spell-throwers.

Dead silence. I should have heeded my own advice. The two men exchange glances, and finally Haynes says, “She’s a prisoner, just like us. Only difference is she was captured from another fiefdom during a raid. She belongs to this world, just not to this Fiefdom. Throughout the year leading up to the battle, the Houses of the Nobles conduct raids and skirmishes against one another to test each other's strength.”

“And this battle is for who controls the weather for a year?” I ask, glad to be steering back to safer ground.

“Not only the weather. Whichever kingdom wins gets the lions’ share of the ambient magic around here. Each Fiefdom controls about a hundred miles worth of magic, and the larger kingdoms control the Fiefdoms. And there seem to be a lot of these little Fiefdoms. The weather is just a major part of it. Imagine being able to send a tornado against your enemies and then follow that up with a flood and an earthquake. That’s the kind of thing they can and have done to each other. Allegedly, they do have some kind of code or rules about this stuff, but damned if we know what they are. Their magic is powerful, but as best we can tell, it also takes a lot of energy. It weakens the house that uses too much of it and leaves them vulnerable to the other Houses that survive. It’s a delicate balance of power that has been going on for a few hundred years,” Haynes says. “They call it 'Mortis Causa' or some such nonsense.”

“Calling these battles a 'war' is kind of bullshit,” Des steps in. “These houses have all kinds of rules for these fights. It’s kind of like