The Age of Wings and Steel

by DSNesmith

40. Fire and Water

Viera was close. The nexus of the magical power had to be in the lower levels of the keep, but she was not sure yet where. She’d have to be careful about getting to it; damaging the tower could send the entire structure tumbling down onto the precious artifacts within.

A flash of gold and silver caught her eye. Through the rain it was difficult to tell, but she was fairly certain that it was the pegasus from earlier. They’re persistent, I’ll give them that.

“Dragon!” shouted the tiny, insolent creature. “I will give you my terms once more, but only once!”

Viera lazily turned her head to blast the pony—with fire, this time—but something caught her eye. The pony was wearing a silver band around her forehead, a magnificent little piece of jewelry. The jewel at the center was particularly entrancing. More than the purity of the metal, Viera could smell the magic in the tiara.

The pony was still talking, but Viera did not even register her empty words. All that mattered now was her prize. That tiara was meant for her hoard. It would be the prime item of her collection.

She lifted from the wall like a mountain taking wing. The pony, more intelligent than it looked, turned immediately and fled. Viera followed, her eyes locked on the wondrous crown.

Thunder boomed above, but she hardly noticed. All her attention was focused on her quarry. The pony was fast for a pegasus, managing to stay just slightly ahead of Viera’s jaws. It would be so easy to roast the pony like a duck, but Viera would see no harm come to that beautiful tiara. Her mouth opened slightly as she neared the pegasus, her massive teeth prepared to close around the pony’s body once it was caught.

Vaguely, she became aware that they were flying away from the city. It mattered not; the gate was in ruins and the walls could not stop her in any event. It would still be there when she had claimed her trophy from this arrogant pony’s corpse. Air rushed past her head as their altitude dropped.

Suddenly they were above the lake, its glassy surface marred by uncountable raindrops, roiling in the storm. Viera’s tail skimmed the surface of the water, and a quiet sense of alarm began to grow in her mind. She was flying much too low, without being fully aware of her surroundings. That was the best way to get killed in Wyrmgand.

But she was not in Wyrmgand, and she could not let this pony escape with that priceless silver. Viera flew on. Ahead, the pony shouted something like “Now!”

The first chain slashed up out of the water like a steel snake, around her neck and over her back, between her wings. Viera ignored it, laughing to herself. Was this a trap? A poor one, if so. She flew on, dragging the chain with her, following the siren call of the tiara.

The second chain came from the side. As her wings drew close to her body to prepare for the next beat, the chain circled completely over her right wing and around her left side. It pulled taught, locking her wing against her body. Her course slipped, and her head smashed into the freezing waters of the Pale Lake.

Her mind cleared instantly. Whatever spell that tiara had cast on her was banished by the water, and the very real danger she now found herself in. She was sliding along the surface of the water, her momentum still carrying her forward. One wing was locked against her side, and her neck was being pulled back by the chains like reins. The irony was not lost on her. So the horses think they can bridle a dragon?

A third chain came at her from the left, but she twisted her head and inhaled. The fire burned within her, and rushed out to meet the ponies. The lines of pegasi carrying the chain were consumed instantly. The heavy metal links fell into the water, glowing with the heat of the dragonfire.

But she was not free yet. Her momentum had slowed, and now she was sinking into the water. Viera’s eyes narrowed. She’d let herself fall for such a simple deception. None of these ponies would live long enough to tell of her humiliation.

* * *

Windstreak had joined the second chain team as soon as the dragon began to thrash. Her hooves were wrapped around one of the massive links, pulling with all her might. The pegasi held the chain tightly wound, struggling to keep the dragon’s wing from unfurling again.

“Hold it! Hold it!”

Metal groaned as the dragon strained against her bonds. Water sprayed all around them as the dragon crashed into the lake. Windstreak spat the taste of the limestone-tainted water from her mouth, pulling harder on the chain. The dragon, incredibly, was sinking. The plan was working.

The dragon roared as its tail smashed against the water. The fourth chain was now above them. It dropped, looping over the dragon’s back and sending a shockwave through the water that blasted the lower pegasi away.

“Lock the chains!”

The final links at the end of the chains were open and hooked. The ponies pulled tighter, and linked them together. Held by the tension of the dragon’s straining muscles, the chains locked tight.

“Release!”

The pegasi leapt away from the dragon, soaring up. Firewings and Cloudsdale pegasi alike hovered above the violently thrashing monster below. Windstreak looked down, incredulous. “It worked. I don’t believe it.”

* * *

Viera’s irritation had blossomed into fury. How dare they? Using steel of all things to take away her flight. The hubris was appalling. She strained against the chains again. It was no ordinary metal. She could feel the taint of magic upon it, holding the fragile steel against her incredible strength. The water was rushing up around her.

She breathed flames onto her own back, searing her scales. But the pain was miniscule, and the chains glowed red-hot. Viera flexed her muscles, and yanked hard against the chains. They were the finest metal Equestria could forge, enchanted with the strongest spells they could cast. They were the symbol of the ponies’ grit and determination.

All three snapped like cotton strings.

Her wings free, she twisted out of the water and beat the air. Her great body rose, drenched in water from the rain and the lake. She roared in fury, searing the sky with fire. The pegasi had chosen a swift, painful death. She would grant it to them.

* * *

Bergeron’s heart fell. They’d failed. Half their chains were gone in an instant. It seemed all they had succeeded at was making the dragon angry.

No. It’s not going to end this way. Not while I still breathe.

He flew toward the central group of hovering ponies, seeking the pegasus wearing the silver tiara.

“Captain!” He brushed past a spear-wielding pegasus who stared down, aghast. “Captain Strudel!”

“It’s over, Bergeron.” Windstreak’s voice was hollow. “Sound the retreat to Whitewall. We’ll hold there as long as we can.”

“Give me the tiara, Captain.”

She looked at him with puzzlement, and then anger. “No! Whatever damn fool idea you’ve got—”

“Captain. The plan can still work, if the dragon can’t breathe fire.”

Below, the dragon was rising. Flames reached up and snared a group of pegasi across the lake. Bergeron looked at his captain, pleading. “There’s no time. Give it to me!”

Reluctantly, Windstreak took the silver band from her head. “Bergeron, what are you—”

Bergeron shoved the spearpony pegasus aside, grabbing his spear. He shoved the tip through the loop of the tiara, and pulled it from Windstreak’s grasp. “Get the chain crews ready with the last two. You’ll only have one more shot at this.”

Finally, he saw understanding in her eyes. She couldn’t know what exactly he was about to do, but she understood deep down that he was leaving. “Bergeron! You—you can’t—”

“It’s okay, Captain.” He held the spear over his shoulder, flapping his wings steadily in the rain. He smiled at her.

“No—Bergeron, let me, whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Not this time, Captain. Just promise me you’ll tell my grandkids about old Grayzden Bergeron, and that he got the chance to see dragons.” He gave her a solemn look. “Goodbye, Windstreak.”

“Bergeron! Bergeron!”

He turned and flew toward the battle above, where the dragon waited. He could only think of it as the end.

The dragon was flying in circles above the lake, spitting fire indiscriminately. Pegasi cartwheeled and spun to avoid the flames, their ranks broken and their units scattered across the sky. Lightning flashed above, as the rain fell. Bergeron cocked the spear forward like a lance as he flew.

He took a deep breath as he approached the green monstrosity’s head. The places he’d been, the things he’d seen, the battles he’d fought and won and lost, all led up to this moment, right here, right now. Today, he would make history, one way or another. Bergeron smiled. He was ready.

* * *

Viera’s rage seared the sky, slaying dozens of ponies with each breath. They knew, now, that she was more powerful than any of them, and their fear was sweet on her tongue. She spat sulfurous death upon them all, watching with vindication as they burned.

A single golden pegasus flew from below. She turned to face the impudent new arrival, and sucked in air to unleash a new blast of fire. It caught in her throat as she saw it, dangled on the end of his spear. The tiara.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew it was an illusion. Yet, to a dragon’s deep magical attunement, the simple glamour charm provided an irresistible pull. Her mouth opened wide as she stretched forward to snatch it out of the pony’s grasp.

The pegasus jerked the spear, and the tiara flew into the air. Viera’s head followed it up, her jaws opening further in awestruck wonder at the beautiful silver. It arced slowly through the rain.

In the back of her throat, Viera felt an astonishing pain. The tiara vanished from view as it tumbled away. Her senses cleared once more, and her eyes bulged as the sharp, stabbing needle in her throat seared her nerves. The insane pegasus had actually flown into her mouth, and plunged his spear into the soft tissue that lined her throat.

Outraged, stunned, and violated, Viera violently jerked her head forward. At the same time, she snapped her jaws together. The pegasus, thrown out by her movement, was caught between her massive teeth. She bit down hard, with a satisfying crunch as the pegasus’s armor buckled and broke under the tremendous pressure. She shook her head like a dog, letting the pony’s lifeless carcass swing back and forth. She released it, letting it fall away like the tiara.

Even this pathetic attack had failed to harm her. She inhaled deeply, and rasped. The spear was still lodged in her throat, and every movement she made widened the wound. She could taste blood—blood!—in her mouth, and felt a steady trickle in her throat. Below her, groups of pegasi were rising, with more chains held between them. She snarled.

Viera sucked in more air, and felt it mix with the flammable gas inside her lungs. But the blood now streaming down her throat was thick and vile. She choked, gagging. Her wing beats slowed as she fought to breathe.

The first chain retook her right wing, as she careened through the air. Her controlled spiral downward became a plummet as her left was bound by the second. She was in serious trouble now; she could feel it, deep in her bones. The water below rushed up to meet her.

She smashed into the lake’s surface headfirst with the force of a meteor strike. The full weight of her body drove her down into the murky water. Viera twisted completely around, and her head burst from the water. All around her, pegasi hung onto the chains for their lives, trying not to be thrown away to drown. Viera’s vision was beginning to dim at the edges, as she struggled to get just one full breath. She caught one last glimpse of the fiery-maned pegasus before her head slipped back under the water.

As she began to sink, her wings bound uselessly behind her back, Viera was filled with disbelief and desperate rage. It was impossible. She was a dragon. Even the gods feared dragons, and rightly so. How could these pathetic mortals have done this? How? How? HOW?

How?

With her vision fading fast, she reached deep within herself, to the deep pit of hate that had grown in her lungs, and let the flames loose. They traveled up her throat, incinerating the spear, and out through her mouth into the water. Then the lake rushed in, and Viera’s world went cold and dark.

* * *

Windstreak and the other pegasi released the chains, desperately trying to gain what altitude they could before the dragon could retaliate. But Bergeron’s sacrifice had worked, and the dragon’s flame had failed. As she hovered forty meters above the lake, Windstreak and the pegasi around her let out an involuntary cheer. The dragon disappeared into the depths.

“Look out!” came the shout. Windstreak peered closer and her eyes widened. The black water glowed red, then yellow, then white, as the dragon’s final breath reached the surface.

The surface of the lake, superheated by dragonfire, exploded. A vast cloud of steam shot upwards, enveloping the pegasi near the surface. Windstreak, in desperation, turned right to fly away. She felt a scalding heat on her left side, and screamed at the pain. Similar screams echoed all around her, as the pegasi unlucky enough to be deeper down were roasted inside their armor.

“To the shore! Get to the shore!” Her voice was hoarse and cracked as she struggled away from the boiling vapor. She arced out and away from the steam, watching as a dismally small number of pegasi followed. The shore loomed before her, before she smashed into the ground.

She lay there, spent, as pegasi landed around her. Those that had not been caught in the blast were arriving as well, calling back and forth to report the injured. She felt a pony lean down beside her.

“Captain Strudel! Are you hurt?”

Wheatie’s voice had never sounded so wonderful. “All along my left flank. Burn. Burned. Steam.” She breathed shallowly. “I—ahhhhh!” She screamed as he touched the red flesh on her left leg.

“Come on, Captain. We’re getting the wounded back to Whitewall. The mages can treat this. You’re going to be fine.”

“Please… keep… telling… me that…” she panted, trying not to move. “How bad are… the others?”

“Just worry about yourself for now, Captain. We can take an account once we’ve got you all back safe and sound in the city.” She felt herself being lifted gently onto a stretcher by several sets of hooves.

“I’ll send a page to you with the report later, Captain. I’m going to look for Bergeron.” Wheatie vanished before she could say anything.

There were some things she might never be able to say.

* * *

The next day passed slowly, like a bad dream. Feverish visions of Rye, Apricot, Bergeron, and dragons swam through her head uninvited, slithering through her thoughts and leaving behind pain and the sensation of loss. She moaned and reached out, seeking any form of comfort, but felt her leg pushed gently back down.

She lost consciousness often, but never for long. Somehow her armor had been removed, thought it felt as though it had fused with her skin. The intense pain of the burn faded as a pony she did not know slathered her with some kind of ointment.

“Wha…. Wha’s is?” she mumbled through cracked lips.

“It’s fire balm,” said the pony. “Mixed it myself. Duke Bellemont has organized the recovery of the wounded, and we’ve been shifting you all into the city throughout the night. We’re treating all your burns as best we can. You’ll pull through, General.”

General. Must be a Whitetail pony. Windstreak longed for the company of her Firewings, but dared not ask.

She knew that the medics would fuss more over her than her troops. She wanted to tell them to save the ointment for her Firewings, but to her shame she remained silent. The searing pain was too great to face again.

Gradually, she learned of the status of her army. The dragon’s attack on the city proper had left over two hundred of the Trellow survivors dead, and the airborne slaughter above the lake had killed another hundred and twenty pegasi. The dragon’s dying attack had killed at least a dozen more, and grievously wounded over fifty pegasi, including her.

Windstreak had been one of the lucky ones. Far from the center of the blast, she had escaped with relatively minor burns. Considering the pain she was experiencing, that those classified as severe were begging for death did not surprise her.

The Whitetail page that Wheatie had promised arrived sometime the next morning, with a preliminary casualty report. Windstreak told him to go, and return later. She was not yet strong enough to face the cost of yesterday’s battle.

By noon, thanks to the fire balm, she had recovered enough to stand and eat her lunch at a table. Half her face, her entire left flank, and both legs were covered in sickly red skin. The burns had begun to blister, leading to a gasp of pain whenever she brushed against something. She made the mistake of checking on the severe burn ward. There was no pink to be found there, just black and red. Her lunch nearly escaped as she fled the room.

Battle wounds were one thing. This… this was something else entirely. Once again, she felt the flames of the burning tent at Trellow grasp her, and she shivered. Is Windstreak Firemane afraid of fire? I’m well on my way.

Finally, the page returned, and she listened with growing despair as he read the casualty list to her. Many pegasi had died of their burns already, and more were expected to follow throughout the day. Many were unaccounted for, due to the impossibility of recovering the bodies of any who had fallen into the lake wearing armor.

Later in the day, as she stared out from the keep window, she was joined by Wheatie. He still wore his armor from the previous day’s battle, and he was still covered with grime and sweat. Quietly, they gazed out at the forest. The storm was finally coming to an end, as the rain disappeared and the clouds began to break apart.

At last, Wheatie spoke. “We did it, Captain. We killed a dragon.”

She gave a shuddering sigh. “At the cost of three hundred and sixty-one Equestrians. Sisters save us from another such victory.” She looked over a Wheatie, sadness filling her face. “With Rickald and Mirrorbright gone, that leaves only thirty-two of us left. From three hundred and twelve to thirty-two.” She shook her head. “Even if Equestria survives this war, I don’t think the Firewings will.”

“Maybe we won’t, Captain, but the Firewings will.” Wheatie had looked different ever since Bergeron’s death. Windstreak couldn’t quite put her hoof on it. He seemed more… solid. Determined. She wasn’t sure yet whether the change was good or not.

“Yes.” She looked into the distance.

“Look on the bright side,” said Wheatie, his voice light. “At least the weather’s getting better.”

As they looked up at the clearing sky, the sound of a long trumpeting call filled the air. Windstreak recognized the sound, she’d heard it before. At Trellow.

Oh, Bergeron, Bergeron, old faithful Bergeron, you were right. It’s never over.

Comments

[vren55]

*salutes* RIP Bergeron

[Azrael Chiaroscuro]

anima eius et animae omnium fidelium defunctorum per dei miseracordiam requiescat in pace.

[Cedric Bale]

Bergaron. dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/misc_Spitfire_sad.png

[Cystenian Remir Rhys]

Bergeron, rest now to rise again, and may your next life show you the peace you had only glimpsed in your time as Grayzden Bergeron, the Firewing.

In other words; godsspeed you magnificent sonuvabitch.

[Thread Necromancer]

I didn't want to do another death song, but I guess I have no choice.

[PaulAsaran]

Bergeron's death is dramatic, but I'm afraid it hurt the image to see him die in a way that I have died dozens of times in Skyrim. I don't know if you intended the similarity or not. If not, then it's an unfortunate coincidence. If so, bad move.

361? That's all? Frankly, I was expecting around three times that number. Things are bad, but nowhere near as bad as I'd anticipated. I do feel terrible that the Firewings have been all but annihilated by this point, though, and I fail to see how the defenders of Whitewall will have any chance of holding the griffons back with the walls smashed and the gates permanently opened.

I'm having to come up with my own ways to slay dragons right now. Coincidentally, one of the ways I've chosen will involve water.

[Golden Fang Ryu Shenron]

Rest In Peace Bergeron, you were an honorable warrior and a great friend.