The Age of Wings and Steel

by DSNesmith

42. Sifting Through the Ashes

“Could somepony please shut the window?” Across the table, an exhausted-looking Duke Bellemont wrinkled his nose.

“Certainly.” Clement made his way to the council chamber windows and pulled them closed, one by one. He could still smell the smoke from the burning market districts below, though the fires that had raged the day before were finally beginning to gutter out. The overpowering stench of burning wood and brimstone began to fade as the windows sealed. Around the table, the Duke and the Norhart officers sighed in relief.

“Thank you,” said the Duke, with a shiver. The room was freezing cold, as winter had finally reached even the south. During especially cold years, Whitewall could actually see snow, but Clement doubted there would be any this season, now that Cloudsdale had fallen to the griffons. Still, the crackling fireplace was a blessing.

“As I was saying,” said Volund, sitting to Clement’s left, “the last news we heard before we entered Whitetail Forest placed the griffons all the way up into Greenway. It looks to me like they’re making a beeline for the capital.”

On Clement’s right, Major Grapewine shook his head. “They’ll need a hundred trebuchets to get through those walls.”

“A hundred trebuchets,” said the Firewing sitting at the far side of the table, “or one dragon.”

Clement examined the golden-armored pegasus with interest. Windstreak Firemane’s face was a study in horror, her fiery locks falling softly onto the mass of burned flesh on her left side. The pink wounds had already begun to regain some blue, but it looked to Clement as though they would never fully heal.

The firelight glittered on Windstreak’s bright armor, in sharp contrast with her dark expression. “We may have killed Viera, but we cannot discount the other one.”

“Viera?” asked Volund, puzzled.

“That’s what Gableclaw called the green dragon. The red one, whatever his name is, is still with Shrikefeather’s main army. We’ve had no reports from the south or the west since Trellow, so we have to assume that Norhart’s information is correct.” Windstreak nodded to Clement.

“Speaking of the griffon,” began Volund, but Windstreak held up a hoof.

“We’ve got him in the keep’s dungeon at the moment.”

Duke Bellemont snarled. “Let him rot.” Clement could understand the Duke’s anger. The reason Tymeo looked so sleep-deprived was because he’d been up all night leading the fire teams into burning buildings to rescue any civilians trapped inside. Their efforts had been only marginally successful. Tymeo’s violet mane was still stained black with soot.

Clement cleared his throat, and the table fell silent. “Until Gableclaw talks, we have little real information to go on. I’ve dispatched scouts to the west, but I don’t expect them to return for at least another two days. So we assume the worst: Shrikefeather has taken Weatherforge, and now assaults Greenway. The question that lies before us is: where to strike?”

“Attack his supply lines,” said Lieutenant Sablehoof. “Cut him off from Grypha, and his army will fall to pieces.”

“His supplies aren’t coming from Grypha,” said Major Grapewine with a frown. “The griffons have surely conquered Westermin by now, and they’re sending this year’s harvest straight to the heart of their army.”

Volund rubbed his head like he had a migraine. Clement empathized. “Shrikefeather might have a massive army at his command, but holding the entire south will stretch him thin.”

“Eventually, but it’s not as if he needs to post soldiers to watch over the ashes of the southern plains.” Duke Bellemont was scowling. “Most of his troops will be headed straight for Canterlot.”

“How does he expect to deal with the Princess?” asked Clement, skeptically.

“The dragon.” All eyes were drawn back to Windstreak’s face, shadowed by the firelight. “He’s relying on the dragon.”

“The last one didn’t give you much trouble,” said Sablehoof with a laugh.

She stared at the Lieutenant with hollow anger, before her face softened. “It’s all right. You couldn’t know. You weren’t there. You didn’t see it; see the claws, hear the roars, feel the fire…”

Clement suppressed a shiver. “There aren’t any lakes near Canterlot, anyway. We’ll have to hope the Princess can hold her own. In the meantime, I want to fortify this city as much as we can. We can’t discount a second attack by the griffons.”

There was a knock at the door. All of them paused. Clement called out, “Come in.”

A young earth pony—just a colt, really—wearing Norhart colors on his scarf entered the room, bearing a satchel of letters. He nervously approached Clement. “I have a message from Sergeant Haybreak at the city gates. He said to pass this letter on to you, sir—er, I mean, my lord.”

The speckled brown pony anxiously fumbled a letter out of his satchel. He laid it on the table before Clement, and then stepped back. Clement read the front of the envelope—that it was in an envelope instead of a scroll signified its importance—and sighed.

“It’s from my father.”

The Norhart officers were silent. Duke Bellemont looked back and forth curiously. “Is he sending us reinforcements?”

“Doubtful,” said Volund wryly. “He didn’t send us here in the first place.” Duke Bellemont’s eyes widened with understanding, and he sat back quietly. Volund looked at Clement with slight concern. “My lord?”

“I…” Clement closed his eyes, wincing in anticipation. “If you would be so kind, Sir Volund…”

With a sober nod, Volund took the envelope and opened it. The Knight-Commander gave a weak smile as he scanned the top of the missive. “It’s for me.” He began reading the letter aloud. Clement tried to quash his growing sense of dread.

“To Knight-Commander Volund, from the desk of Duke Emmet Tybalt Blueblood:

“Effective immediately, you now have command of the Army of Norhart. You are ordered to march north immediately through Norlund and back to Norharren. Once arriving at the capital, you and your entire board of officers will submit yourselves to disciplinary proceedings. As the Duke understands the enormous pressure of conflicting orders placed upon you and your subordinates, your court-martials will be swift and judge lightly. No officers will be dishonorably discharged unless mandated by the Duke himself. However, failure to comply with these orders will be regarded as high treason, for which the penalty is death.”

Volund paused, looking uneasily over at his lord. “You may wish to read the last part in private…”

Clement’s head hurt. “Read it all, Volund.”

The Knight-Commander grimaced with sympathy before reading on. “Regarding the traitor Clement Marverion…” He cringed. “Just Marverion.”

Clement’s heart hurt. He waved silently at Volund to continue. He could feel the eyes of the entire table on him.

“Marverion stands stripped of his titles, his rank of commander, his position as a soldier in the Army of Norhart, and his membership in the Order of the Knights of Norharren. His inheritance, including the Blueblood manor and Blueblood holdings throughout the Duchy of Norhart, is to be divided amongst the houses of Rarington, Juliard, and Obernon with the rest of the Duke’s estate upon his death. His name is to be stricken from the records, and henceforth he is to be considered in a state of exile. Under penalty of death, Marverion is never again to enter the lands controlled by Norhart.

“The Duke considers you his most loyal soldier, Knight-Commander Volund. He expects to see you in Norharren by month’s end, so that this stain on your honor might be cleansed. Signed, Penslip Wellington, scribe to Duke Emmet Tybalt Blueblood.”

Volund folded the letter and gave Clement a long look. “I am so, so sorry, Clement.”

“Thank you,” whispered Clement. He stared down at the wood grain. He could feel his right leg beginning to shake, so he put it beneath the table. He blinked.

The table was deathly silent. The officers, Duke Bellemont, and the Firewing all looked at him with unreadable expressions. “I relinquish my command as ordered.” Clement tried to keep his face stern, but he could feel a tremor in his jaw.

Volund’s face was filled with pain. “My lord…”

Clement gave a smile that did not extend to his eyes. “You don’t have to call me that anymore, Sir Volund.”

The Knight-Commander looked deep into his eyes and frowned. “Yes, I do.” He slowly walked to the fireplace and tossed the letter inside. It crackled as it began to shrink and blacken. Volund returned to the table, before sitting stiffly. “Command of this army belongs to a Blueblood.” He bowed his head to Clement.

Around the table, the other officers bowed as well. Overwhelmed, Clement took another shaky breath. “Thank you. I… I’m afraid I need a moment, to compose myself.” He stood, as did Volund.

“I think we all need a break,” said Volund. “The room’s getting too hot for comfort. We’ll rejoin here in an hour, yes?” The officers saluted and began filing out.

The last to leave was Tymeo, who simply bowed his head to Clement. “If you ever need a home, Lord Clement, Whitewall is always open to you. Every citizen of this city owes you their lives. Don’t forget that.”

“Thank you,” Clement rasped. The Duke bowed again and left.

Clement sat down at the table once more, trying to get himself under control. He held back a gasp of pain. He knew that if he started weeping now, he would never stop. It felt as if he’d had his heart ripped out.

A cough alerted him to the fact that he was not alone. He turned to see the satchel-wearing colt still standing in the corner of the room, beside the fire. Clement frowned at the young pony. “What’s your name?”

“Treskitt, sir. Er, my lord.”

Clement’s frown deepened. “What are you still doing here? Shouldn’t you be heading back to Sergeant Haybreak?”

“Uh, n-no, my lord,” stammered the young earth pony. “He’s, uh, assigned me to be your personal aide.”

Clement shook his head in irritation. “I already have a personal aide. Go tell Haybreak to send Weston to me.”

“Th-that’s just it, my lord. The Sergeant told me to tell you that… that your squire was severely wounded in the fighting at the gate yesterday." Treskitt swallowed. "He… he didn’t make it through the night.”

* * *

Windstreak sat on the shore of the lake, watching faint ripples from the wind pass over its surface. The pale waters of the Dragonsbreath Lake, as the soldiers were calling it now, gave no hint of the dead that lay beneath. She picked up a pebble and let it drop into the lake, instantly disappearing from view in the filmy water.

Against all odds, all logic, and all hope, they had survived. Equestria had dealt its first blow against the griffons, and destroyed one of their greatest weapons. But would it be enough? The chill in her gut told her no. She still remembered Trellow, and the vast hordes of griffons that swept through Celerity’s forces like dust.

Yet now there was hope. A very slim hope, but it was there. The sun’s rays lit the lakeside with warmth. Windstreak closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She stretched her wings out to her side, feeling the tightness of the muscles on her left. She hadn’t attempted to fly since the dragon’s death, terrified that she might find that she could not.

Windstreak flapped her wings, feeling the air flow past. She smiled. I’m not that easy to kill, Shrikefeather. She took off into the air, feeling her spirits rise as she soared through the sky. It was a crisp, clear day, and the acrid stench of the burning city was downwind. The cool air was refreshing, as it would be to any pegasus.

She did a little spiral in the air, testing her maneuverability. Her left wing was sore and a bit stiff, but not nearly so bad as her leg, which was rapidly developing a limp. She didn’t mind; her ability to walk was of little consequence compared to flying. Tilting to her left, she began circling the lake. With every stroke of her wings, she felt a bit stronger.

A glint of metal caught her eye. It was coming from a tree on the edge of the forest, and she flew to investigate. Flapping rapidly to brake, she landed on the highest branch of the tree. As she walked to the end, she found the source of the gleam.

The silver tiara hung delicately like a leaf from a curved branch below. Windstreak felt her breath sucked away. She closed her eyes and slowly sighed. With a deft flap of her wings, she twirled around and rescued the crown. She descended to the lake shore, bearing it in her hooves.

Standing once more at the edge of the water, she looked down at the jewelry she held with one hoof. It sparkled in the sunlight, the bright diamond at its center glimmering like the lake’s surface. Windstreak held it close to her chest, pressing the cool metal against herself. Her face creased with pain.

“Bergeron…” The water lapped against the shore, giving no response. She hung her head. The ghosts of three hundred ponies seemed to whisper in her ears. Gently, she set the tiara down on the ground. Suddenly her head jerked up, her face filled with fire.

The shores of the lake were covered with many smooth stones. She began prying them from the ground, bringing them to the tiara, laying them in a circle around it. Soon, a column of stone began to grow.

After half an hour, the cairn had become a pyramid nearly eight feet high. Windstreak, muddy and wet, but pleased, surveyed her work. The structure was composed of exactly three hundred and sixty stones. The tiara lay buried within, representing the last Equestrian casualty.

She saluted the cairn. “Thank you, Bergeron. I swear to you, we’ll make this count.” She blinked away tears. “And someday I’ll tell your grandchildren about the bravest pony I’ve ever met, and how he got to see dragons.”

Her wings beat the air as she took off back for Whitewall. Her eyes narrowed as the wind dried them. The full impact of the grief could wait. She had a war to win.

Comments

[Wolfy]

Wow this fic is seriously under appreciated. Awesome job of writing as always. Can't wait to see what happens next.

[vren55]

1518578 Agreed. He needs another featured and a couple of hundred more likes.

[Cedric Bale]

Wow, Clement took a pretty nasty double whammy there... first his father disowns and exiles him; not entirely unexpected. And then he's told that Weston died...

[Steel Resolve]

What happened to the Blueblood line? Oh yeah, they disowned one of the most noble ponies ever to bear the name. I somehow doubt the Blueblood we know and loathed had Clement as an ancestor.

[Pulsar Glow]

HOW has this story gone unnoticed THIS LONG AT ALL?

Beautiful story, by the way.

[DSNesmith]

1546780
It's long, has an almost entirely OC cast, and focuses heavily on a winged unicorn. That's a recipe for a disastrous story, and intentionally so. I wanted to do a reconstruction of the above story elements, and I'm glad you seem to think I've succeeded!

Got a doozy of a chapter coming up, nearly 8k words so far, keep your eyes open.

[Pulsar Glow]

1546796 But Majority OC's are what makes the best stories in general (not just fanfiction), and you've created an entire era of fictional history in a easy-to-read, dynamic story to keep people captivated. You're doing EVERYTHING right- and take the compliment; I'm the child of a librarian.

[Arvaus]

Wow. I actually cried after reading this.

[Thread Necromancer]

Emmet's theme.

[PaulAsaran]

Wait, did Emmet Blueblood go back to Norhart? Wasn't he supposed to be leading an army of his own? Did he decide he couldn't conquer Easthill without the second army? Or does he fear the griffons may march on Norhart after they finish Greenway, just to prevent any attempt at reinforcement? Now I'm half-expecting Clement to show up and rescue his own father from being slaughtered.

If Westermin is the remaining major source of food for the armies, go reconquer it. Shrikefeather wasn't expecting Whitewall to survive and would have left it relatively undefended. Of course, that's not what's going to happen, and perhaps for the better; I'm sure you have other things in mind.

Nice moment for Bergeron. Guy deserves more. I'm sure, when this is all over, that Celestial will arrange something particularly special for all the Firewings.

[Golden Fang Ryu Shenron]

Poor Celement...he really has his work cut out for him doesn’t he? As for Weston...

......

That is about all I can say right now.