Power Playing (Trolled Book 2) by D.K. Bussell

Author:D.K. Bussell [Bussell, D.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Genre Reader
Published: 2017-01-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven: Attack of Opportunity

AT SOME POINT, Nat thought, folks were going to wise up to her game. “Enough is enough,” they’d say. “No more! We’ve stuck with you to this point, but come on, this really is a step too far!”

And yet here they were, stood around a giant blimp being prepped for a kamikaze mission and saying “We’re with you, Nat. Let’s go! This one really takes the biscuit, but not to worry, you can count on us!”

Elderwood, the elves’ sacred tree that had anointed her the Chosen One, had obviously been onto something. Surely no one would volunteer themself for this madness unless there was some mystical prophecy propping it all up. Something larger at play than a girl trying to rescue her boyfriend. After all, the journey they were about to undertake wasn’t just dangerous, it was blindfold parkour dangerous.

The air balloon lay on its side, half-puffed but already starting to take shape. Inside the capsized basket was the trussed-up drequon, its cylindrical head forced backwards by a metal collar so the fiery breath from its beak could provide the balloon with hot air. The creature didn’t look at all comfortable, Nat thought, and hoped The Broken Lands didn’t have its own PETA.

The balloon stood upright at last, and Neville pulled on a chain, extinguishing the drequon’s flame. He handed it to Nat and explained that it adjusted the tightness of the drequon’s collar, thereby regulating its fiery breath. This was the vehicle’s gas pedal, he explained. “Open the choker to go up and tighten it to go down,” he instructed, backed up by nods from his pit crew companion, Tidbit.

The balloon itself was the combined work of a hundred dwarf seamstresses. Nat wasn’t exactly thrilled about the sexist distribution of labour—women doing the needlework while men took care of the mechanics—but she figured what the hell, one battle at a time. Stop Drensila the Black first, strike a blow for feminism later. Right now this world needed an actual warrior, not a Social Justice Warrior.

Neville had calculated the balloon’s lift-to-weight ratio and determined that the vessel was capable of carrying a landing party of four. To join her on her mission, Nat had chosen Eathon, Galanthre and Ashley. She smiled to herself. A lot had changed since she was picked last in a LARP game.

The fired-up air balloon began to strain at the mooring ropes keeping it earthbound. The four shipmates stepped inside and took their places around the drequon. The creature reminded Nat of one of those hapless animals from the Flintstones: a prehistoric pelican forced to serve as a pedal bin, or a lobster strapped to a trolley and employed as a lawnmower.

“I almost forgot,” said Neville, reaching over the basket and handing Nat a leather satchel.

She looked inside and found a small iron box. “What’s this?” she asked. “Did you pack me a thermos of hot chocolate and a cheese and pickle sandwich?”

Nev laughed. “Consider it an apology. For not backing you up before.

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