Sorry to anyone that's been following Yasht that there was no chapter this last week, I've been working hard to polish up the first few chapters to use as an entry into a contest. Below is the result. Also I think in future I'm going to start posting all of my chapters on Mondays, as there seems to be more activity 'round here on the weekdays. See you next week for a new chapter!
Chapter 1: Rossi
The prow dipped above the cloud line as the great ship rose. Rossi dug his fingernails into his palms. "Careful, lad," the Marquis Renau Du Albret chided. "The Lily isn't a horse cart."
The boy at the wheel, Lieutenant Marchele du Albret, reddened. Rossi coughed to stifle a bitter laugh, shifting to avoid the Marquis' eyes. The rich fool wouldn't know the first thing about horse carts.
The sentiment was correct, however. The ship demanded a steady hand and the boy had the gentle touch of a rutting bull. Rossi ground his teeth. He knew the Lily better than these children play-acting as soldiers ever would. He slowed his breathing. He didn't need their respect, he just needed them to rely on him.
The years had not been kind to First Master Cesare Rossi. He was nearly sixty, his back beginning to bow. They'd tried to convince him to be stretched, but a year as a guard in the Count's dungeons had given him a distaste for both men of medicine and the rack. He'd once seen a pair of arms pulled out as the tendons snapped, their owner still conscious. The screams were still with him.
When he was a boy, a man of fifty had been rare and treasured. He smoldered at being the oldest man in the room but lowest in rank. Lower even than the ham-fisted snot currently rolling them over in a turn to port.
"Hold it! Hold it I say!" The Marquis leapt forward, grabbing the wheel. "Th-that, that’s quite enough for today, son. You're dismissed." Marchele slumped his shoulders and nodded, backing away from the controls.
Rossi sympathized with the boy, to a point. But why should the accident of birth set such a wastrel over better men? Still, if he wanted to keep his head it was best to keep such thoughts to himself. A clever man could turn the weakness of his superiors into opportunity. Rossi straightened his jacket and went to help the visibly shaken young man back to his station.
"Hands off me, dog." The Marchele's nostrils flared as he pushed Rossi away. "I'm not an invalid."
Rossi withdrew, fighting an urge to slap the child. Instead he bowed and backed away. Mazda forbid anyone should lay a hand on your illustrious person. Marchele stalked from the room, eyeing Rossi dangerously.
"Master Rossi, take the wheel and hold us steady." He leaned into Rossi's ear as he approached the helm, "Try to get along with him. There will be a place in Marchele's household for his favorites. You could do worse than to be placed with a man in line for the Duchy of Albret."
Rossi nodded and took the wheel, suppressing a sigh. Renau was a second son, as were most Marquis. When the Trosmer finally stopped fighting each other it had left many a spare heir trained for battle and with little to do. The old Comte du Albret granted Renau this airship and a small army, including Rossi himself, some ten years ago when the Marquis had been barely a man and the peace was still shaky.
None of them but Rossi had ever been to war. All they knew was saber rattling and brinkmanship. Violate enemy airspace just enough for them to notice then back home by lunch. The Marquis seemed to see this as just another maneuver, a game to goad a neighbor into doing something stupid.
It was anything but.
This was a declaration of war. An assault on two nations already fighting one. They were deep into the no man's land between the Tromer, the Republic and the Imperials. Here a man was far more likely to die face down in the mud of a ruined field than he was to retire to a fat purse in a lord’s service.
The Marquis paced in front of the main window, squinting down into the sea of clouds. "Mr. Rossi, drop the scope." Rossi complied and the Marquis scanned the ground below. "Aha! Our first catch of the day." He seemed almost to glow with the anticipation of sending his men to die, “We have a target, Master Rossi. Several in fact! Hard to starboard, fifteen degrees down bubble.”
“Aye, sire.” Rossi adjusted the controls and held his breath for a moment, listening. At first the only sound was the creak of the hull as it swayed in the ropes, suspended beneath the envelope. If they managed to approach without being seen, perhaps...
A high pitched whine cut through the quiet on the bridge. Airplanes. Rossi turned to the Marquis. “Sire, they can't be allowed to report our position.”
The Marquis nodded curtly and gestured to the weapons officer. “Target those planes and fire at will.” Grabbing the speaking tube for engineering he shouted. “Full power! We have to drop off our boys before we're torn to bits up here."
Rossi winced. Head to head with the Lily the planes were no threat. They simply couldn’t climb as high as an airship, and their only weapons were small fire bombs. Baring a lucky shot damage would be minimal. Those same bombs would tear their men to pieces though. Renau was sending them to their deaths for, what? A few yards of land? Some sort of statement?
“Sire, if they have air cover here they surely have artillery somewhere nearby. We should fall back out of the range of their gunnes and try to pick off the planes.” The Marquis scowled. Rossi was losing him. “If that fails we could always make another approach later.”
The Marquis stood silent, his eyes locked with Rossi's. “I will not have my orders questioned on my bridge, Master Rossi. We have a rare opportunity to catch the enemy unawares as they fight amongst themselves. I won't waste that opportunity.”
Rossi clenched the wheel. “As you will, sire.” They descended, the pottery-crash of fire bomb shells bursting against the hull. The Lily's turrets hissed and whined as the captain blustered. The bridge rocked repeatedly, but engineering reported the damage had not been severe. The ground rose beneath them, a mere few hundred feet to go.
The envelope was holding, though there wouldn’t be much warning if that were to change. The light material was treated to resist flames but it was not fully flame proof. Air was both wet and hot. Aqua Nitrum was the hot without the wet. Air on the brink of fire. No surprise it was lighter.
Rossi felt the thump before he heard it. Shattering glass sent him to the deck, shielding his head and hands with his coat as the windshield exploded onto the bridge with a thunderous roar of flame. He cursed himself for having thought how unlikely this was as a wave of heat washed over him.
The Marquis had not been so quick to respond. He slumped to the ground, mouth agape. Rossi crawled to him. A shard of glass protruded from his right leg and serious burns ran along his left side. His skin was yellowed and brittle as paper in patches. It was bad, but maybe not deadly with treatment. As Rossi tied his jacket around the injured leg the Marquis screamed, eyes rolling back in his head as he passed out.
Rossi struggled to his feet to call for a medic when the ship lurched once again. He fell forward, tumbled over the Marquis, and caught himself just before rolling out the window. They'd hit the tree line, hard.
Rossi scanned the room for assistance. Flames leapt from the console as instruments blazed, glass cracking. Several of the bridge crew lay motionless while others raced to fight the flames. A young ensign, maybe fifteen, rocked back and forth in the corner, his eyes glazed over in shock.
Wiping blood and glass from his hands, Rossi grabbed the captain and dragged him out of the room. “Get us back in the air!” The dazed ensign stared dumbly back at Rossi. “Now!” The boy stirred. As Rossi lost sight of the bridge he swallowed down the panic rising in his chest. They'd be in range of the gunnes soon. They'd be ripped to shreds if that fool didn't get them some altitude. There was no time to make sure they followed his orders, though. The opportunity to save the Marquis' life, that he couldn't pass up.
As they approached the medical bay, Rossi set the Marquis down for a moment and wiped his forehead. If you die, you unbelievable bastard, I'll... Hefting the dead weight up once again, he laughed at himself. I'll make vague and impotent threats, I suppose. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his breath came ragged.
Rossi grunted in frustration as he felt the ship continue to descend. Why did no one listen? With the approach botched, the bays would be vulnerable to ground fire as they deployed lances. The fools on the bridge thought of the deaths as “acceptable losses”, though. The Marquis moaned as they stumbled together over the doorway into the medical bay.
The men in the medical bay heaved in their restraints as the ship made contact with the ground. The impact shuddered the room, tossing Rossi and the medical staff about the room, sending surgical equipment crashing to the floor. Rossi's head slammed hard against an upturned stool.
Struggling to his feet he worked with the staff to get the Marquis strapped down in one of the beds. Rossi turned to the man in charge. “Well?”
The doctor clucked his tongue as he looked over the captain's injuries. “He's not dead yet. We may need to take his leg.” He turned to one of the apprentices, snapping his fingers. “My lancet, boy.” The apprentice scrambled around on the floor for a moment before coming up with a small surgical knife, wiping it on his apron then handing it to the doctor. “And the sutures.”
He turned back to Rossi. “You're dismissed.” Rossi nodded. His vision blurring, he braced himself against the bulkhead and lowered himself onto one of the beds. The doctor only then seemed to recognize Rossi's own injuries. “We'll have a look at you after we've seen to his Lordship.” He turned back to the Marquis.
I'm not staying here to be poked and prodded you vultures. Rossi rose to leave but the room swirled around him, his left knee buckling. Collapsing onto the bed he struggled to rise. He had to get them back in the air, but his legs refused to move. They had to survive. Rossi felt himself being strapped to the bed as if from a distance.
If the Marquis lived, he'd owe Rossi. Heroics like that would open doors for him. Doors leading to the hallways of powerful men like the Duke. Perhaps even the King himself. As Rossi's eyes closed he allowed himself an open, honest smile. A hero.
A man like that could do some real damage.
