//------------------------------// // 63. The Generals // Story: The Age of Wings and Steel // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// The council chamber’s vast window shattered into a thousand shards of prismatic glass. Light scattered through the air like a rain of sparkling color. Windstreak and Shrikefeather fell together, crashing onto the giant table that took up the center of the chamber. Shrikefeather’s claws flashed. Windstreak twisted her head to the side, and his talons dug deep scores into the wood. She kicked up, pushing him off. The two rolled apart, pulling upright. She lunged for him, but Shrikefeather swung to the side as she passed, raking his claws along her side. She felt them scrape her armor, stripping gold from steel. She lashed out with her hind leg, catching him in the head with a light blow. She whirled to follow through, punching a hoof for his helmet. They grappled, spinning around on the giant table, trying to strike a solid hit. Windstreak’s hoof landed on a large sheet of unbroken glass, and she slipped. Shrikefeather leaped above her, driving his claws for her face. There was a creak and a low groan. Both of them paused, looking up. One of the support beams on the ceiling was cracking. Windstreak and Shrikefeather dove apart as the beam crashed down, followed by rocks and broken spars of wood. It slammed into the table with enough force to crack it in half. The two of them swayed as the halves of the table tilted. The castle, blazing with the flames from the dragon’s attack, was coming down around them. They stared at each other across the burning debris, breathing hard. Shrikefeather’s face lit with exultant joy. “So!” he said, “Here we are at last, Firemane! You and I, the generals, come together at the ending of an age, to witness immortals perish and nations crumble!” Fury boiled within her, as hot as the burning castle. “I’ll end you, Shrikefeather. Even if it kills me.” Shrikefeather grinned. “That’s what I love about you, Firemane. You’ll do anything to win. Just like me.” Windstreak flew at him, screaming. She burst through the flames and slammed into the griffon, and the two rolled across the broken table. She drove her front hooves together into his chestplate, right on top of the long gash in the armor. He growled in pain, slashing at her face, but she ducked the blow and spun away. They circled, both crouched low, ready to pounce. Another groan signaled more collapsing infrastructure above. Shrikefeather’s eyes flicked up for a brief moment. Windstreak dived at him, but his distraction had been feigned. He dropped beneath her attack, slashing up and drawing a trio of claw marks across her belly. She soared over him, skidding to her hooves as she tried to turn, but then the ceiling broke again and a massive jumble of stone and wood came tumbling down. She jumped back to evade it, losing sight of the griffon. Closing her eyes against the cloud of dust from the rubble, she coughed. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. The griffon had disappeared from view behind the pile of rubble. She raced around it to discover he had vanished altogether. Shrikefeather’s voice echoed through the chamber. “You burned Equestria’s entire harvest to the ground, rather than let me have it. You left the city for my griffons to burn, rape, and pillage, rather than spare a single unit of pegasi from the battle. You nearly destroyed the cloud foundries, ruining the world’s ecosystems for generations, to kill just one griffon.” His voice sounded warm, almost loving. “You’re absolutely ruthless.” Windstreak screamed, whirling around, searching for him. “I’m nothing like you! I fight to defend, not to conquer!” The voice laughed. “And who were you defending when you abandoned the field and your commanders to chase me?” A massive sound of cracking wood, the loudest yet, filled the council chamber. The doors of the chamber bent in half, splintering. They collapsed, followed by the doorframe, as the entrance was buried under a pile of rubble. The commotion distracted Windstreak for a critical second. She heard the rush of air over feathers and threw herself forward. Shrikefeather slammed into the table where she had stood, knocking her off of the wood and onto the carpeted floor. She scrambled to her hooves, turning around as he leaped for her. A claw scraped across her face, drawing blood. She ducked the following blow, twisting her body and throwing both of her hind legs into a kick that took the griffon full in the chest. He fell back, wheezing. “Captain!” They both jerked their heads to the shattered window. Through the smoke of the burning castle, a golden-clad pegasus burst into view. “Wheatie!” roared Windstreak. “What are you doing? Get out of here!” Wheatie soared in, heading straight for Shrikefeather. The griffon’s wings flapped, and he flew backwards. Windstreak’s own wings beat the air, and she was after him. Shrikefeather flew over the pile of debris, reaching down a claw and grasping a broken spar of wood. He stuck the end in the flames, then slashed the impromptu torch at Windstreak’s face. She broke off her attack, dodging the blow, but lost control and crashed into the ground. She recovered in moments, but when she turned she saw Wheatie and Shrikefeather clashing on top of the pile of broken rock and lethally sharp fragments of wood. Shrikefeather stabbed forward with his stick, aiming for Wheatie’s un-helmeted head, but the pegasus ducked and swiped a hoof at the griffon’s leg. Shrikefeather leaped over, slamming his torch down onto Wheatie’s back. The wood broke in half on the pegasus’s armor, and Wheatie whirled to attack again. Windstreak’s hooves thudded on the carpet as she raced toward them. Her wings flared, and she flew straight for Shrikefeather. He saw her out of the corner of his eye, and whipped around to hurl the broken piece of wood at her. She dodged it, barely, but the distraction was enough for Wheatie to attack. He slammed into Shrikefeather, and the two toppled from the pile of debris onto the ruined remains of the table. The griffon landed on top, and Windstreak heard a whuff as Wheatie had the wind knocked out of him. Shrikefeather grasped Wheatie’s collar, and his other claw curled into a fist. He bashed it against the pegasus’s face, once, twice. Then Windstreak slammed into him. She hit him so hard that his helmet flew from his head, rolling away into the ruin. Her momentum carried them across the table, sliding over the wood and through the ash. They crashed into the golden throne, standing tall at the edge of the table. She drew back her right hoof and slammed it into Shrikefeather’s face, again and again and again. She was screaming, her throat hoarse as she poured out her rage in furious blows. She beat him over and over, blood splattering across the seat of the throne. Her hoof paused, as she gasped for breath. Shrikefeather, somehow still alive, weakly lifted his head and spat blood over his chest. His left eye was swollen shut, his feathers matted with blood. The smile had vanished, his beak lolling open as he panted for air. “Does that…” he gave a wracking cough, spraying a fine red mist onto her face. “Does that feel good, Firemane?” Her teeth clenched. She grasped his armor’s collar in her mouth, and pulled him away from the throne, casting him to the floor. She kicked him. “Come on, Shrikefeather. Get up.” She kicked him again. “Get up!” He staggered to his feet and claws, swaying unsteadily. She didn’t wait, slamming into him again. She bashed his head right, then left, pushing forward. He caught one of her hooves, trying to stop the rain of blows, but she lunged into him, smashing her other into his stomach. Shrikefeather bent double, holding his chest. The ceiling moaned again. She looked up to see that the third beam had splintered in the middle. Cinders rained down from the burning roof, falling through into the chamber. The beam was behind her. The debris would not harm her. She turned back to Shrikefeather, striding toward him, ready to finally end it. “Captain…” came the weak call. Behind her Wheatie was lying on the table, struggling to move. She paused, her head swinging between the griffon and the pegasus. The ceiling broke. Three tons of wood and rock came falling in. Wheatie stared up at it, and closed his eyes. Windstreak flashed over him like lightning, grabbing him bodily with both legs and hurling him away. The table vanished under the cascade, burying the throne and the seat cushions of the councilors. Wheatie rolled along the floor, splaying out on the carpet. Windstreak lay on her back gasping, her wings fluttering. Everything hurt. She looked up at the giant pile of rocks that had narrowly missed her, then tried to pull away. When she could not, she looked down to find one of her hooves had been trapped beneath a large bar of wood. She bent against it, trying to lift it off. She was gratified to see the beam slowly rise. Then she heard a broken laugh from above. Windstreak looked up to see Shrikefeather staggering over the top of the rubble. She redoubled her efforts, straining against the wood. The griffon’s wings rose, and he floated down, landing heavily on top of her. She felt one of his hind paws press against her chest, pinning her back against the ground. He leaned in, blood dripping from his ruined face onto hers. “You,” he said, his voice cracked and hoarse, “have cost me far, far too much.” His claws reached out, not for her throat, but for her right wing. Windstreak struggled, pushing against his chest, but the griffon was so heavy, and she was so tired… He grasped her wing, pulling it out to its full extension. A ghastly smile lit his beak. He began applying pressure. Windstreak felt an excruciating pain. She curled her free hind leg, and kicked it straight up into the griffon’s crotch. Shrikefeather’s visible eye bulged, and he bent over her with a gasp. She felt his rear claws dig into her stomach, and his other paw slammed down on her free leg. Blood drooled from his beak, and he laughed. “Defiant to the end.” Shrikefeather twisted her wing, and with a horrifying snap, she felt the bone break. She screamed, beating her head against the carpet, tears welling in her eyes. Shrikefeather reached for the other wing. She locked it against her side, moaning, “No…” He pulled it, too, outstretched, and his muscles strained. Windstreak gritted her teeth as she felt the bone feather and crack. Shrikefeather released the pressure for a moment, then suddenly twisted. There was a crunch as he bent the wing in half, and she screamed again. They lay together, panting, as tears rolled down her face. Shrikefeather leaned in closely. “You almost did it, General. You came closer than any other. But nothing any of you do can stop the coming age. Grypha will regain her glory.” He sat back, still perched on top of her. He raised his claw, the talons extended, and inhaled. “Goodbye, Windstreak.” His throat exploded in a splatter of blood. Windstreak stared, her eyes wide, as a wooden spar pushed through, covered in gore. Behind Shrikefeather, leaning against him, Wheatie pushed it farther, his teeth clenched tightly. He slumped against Shrikefeather’s back, leaning his head to the griffon’s ear. “That,” he whispered, “was for Bergeron.” The griffon’s claws grasped the wooden spar, scratching it in disbelief. He gurgled, then the light in his eyes dimmed. His body went limp, and fell sideways. He crashed to the floor in a pile of feathers, blood, and steel. General Pyrus Shrikefeather, leader of the armies of Grypha, was dead. Wheatie and Windstreak lay motionless beside each other, breathing in the sooty air. She looked at him, her chest heaving. “Wheatie…” He looked at her wearily. “Come on, Captain. Let’s get you out of there.” He leaned against the wooden bar, lifting it enough for her to pull out her leg. She flopped to the floor again, shaking from the pain in her wings. Wheatie nudged her. She slid a hoof over his neck, and he helped her stand. “Captain, this castle’s coming down. We have to get out of here.” Windstreak shook her head slowly. “My wings are broken, Wheatie.” She looked back at the corpse of Shrikefeather. “Go. You can still get out. It’s better this way.” “I told Sprinkle I was coming back with you, ma’am. I’m not breaking that promise.” She looked at him with infinite weariness. “Wheatie… this war’s changed me. And I don’t much like who I’ve become.” She turned back to the dead griffon. “He was right. I’m like him in too many ways.” “But you’re different, too.” Wheatie stretched a leg across her shoulder, and hugged her to his side. “Not enough.” She looked around at the burning building, hearing the groans of collapsing wood from distant rooms. “General Firemane should die here.” Wheatie pulled her head toward him, and looked into her eyes. “She already did,” he said quietly. “General Firemane would have killed Shrikefeather when she had the chance. But Captain Strudel saved my life.” Windstreak’s mouth wavered into a hesitant smile. “Wheatie…” He smiled back. “Come on, Captain. You may not be able to fly, but you can still walk. Let’s get out of here.” She bent her head in a tired nod. “But how? The door’s buried.” “The tower passage.” Wheatie pointed to the other side of the room, to the small door that led to the base of the castle’s highest spire. They left the council chamber as the ceiling broke for the final time, burying the golden throne and the body of the griffon under a mountain of stone. * * * The climb was long and arduous. Windstreak’s wings sent shots of pain through her body every time they brushed against the walls of the stairwell. Blood dripped from her wounds, leaving a faint trail of red dots on the stone. At last they reached the door, and Wheatie pushed it open. The Firewings stepped out onto the platform where the goddess raised the sun. All around, giant columns of smoke rose from the burning castle. Cloudsdale floated nearly horizontally from their position. They could see pegasi, the last troops of Weatherforge that had marched with Windstreak’s army, diving and soaring through their home, clearing it of invaders. Far below, they could see the battlefield, swarming with countless thousands of ponies and griffons. Wheatie’s eyes widened. “Look, Captain!” He pointed to the great red form of the dragon, lying motionless on the field. Windstreak felt a strange sense of calm wash over her. “It’s dead, then.” “Those flags—those aren’t griffon standards, they’re pony! But I don’t recognize the symbols. I can’t make them out from this distance, but they don’t look like any of the Equestrian house colors.” Her eyes opened. “The Nordponies.” Rye! Her face lit. “He did it. He came back.” Her legs failed her, and she lay down on the stone platform, resting. “He’s alive.” Wheatie bounced. “Come on, Captain! We have to get down there. You can ride on my back, we’ll glide down—” Windstreak shook her head, smiling sadly. “You won’t be able to carry me down, Wheatie.” “I can do it, Captain!” “We can try.” He lay down next to her. She slung herself onto his back, her front legs hanging between his wings and his neck. He pushed up against her. She heard him grunt. His legs strained, and he pushed, but he could not stand. They cast their armor aside, golden plates falling away into the smoke. Wheatie tried again, but he was simply not strong enough to carry her dead weight. He collapsed, panting. Windstreak rolled off, wincing as her wings touched the stone. “It’s okay, Wheatie.” She smiled. “It’s okay.” “Captain…” He swallowed helplessly. “The whole castle’s falling apart. This tower won’t stay standing for long.” She looked at him. “Just stay with me, Wheatie. Until the end.” He nodded, biting his lip. They sat together, looking out over the ruins of Canterlot and Cloudsdale. The fires burned like stars in the night sky, flickering quietly. Windstreak reached a hoof up and touched her wedding band. She prayed that Apricot was still alive. It would be a cruel thing for her son to lose both his parents in one day. But little Cranberry Sugar had survived the same. Rye could, too. “Captain…” Wheatie looked up in wonder. “The sky…” She turned up her eyes to the reddened sky above. The scarlet light was fading away. The sun glowed bright, and suddenly the sky was filled with clear, cloudless blue. As they watched, the great orb swept slowly through the heavens, its course resumed. There was a rumble from somewhere far below them. The nearest tower tilted, and began to fall. It crashed down into the smoke with a tremendous noise and vanished. Windstreak looked back at the mountains behind the city, taking in the snowcapped peaks. “You know, Wheatie… I’ve lived here for sixteen years. I can’t remember the last time I really looked around.” She breathed softly. “It’s beautiful.” A light blossomed at the peak of the mountain directly above them. Windstreak watched as it grew brighter, the source of the light descending toward them. The light was warm, brilliant but not harsh, bringing to mind idle days spent in summers long forgotten. It landed on the platform, coming gently to rest. Wheatie and Windstreak stood, blinking. The light dimmed to reveal a tall, white, pink-maned pony, her creamy white wings and her glowing horn mere distractions from her sad smile. “Hello, my children.” They bowed. “Princess.” Windstreak felt a soothing warmth seep through her aching limbs. “Shrikefeather is dead. We did it.” She shook. “We did it.” Celestia tipped up their chins with her hoof, shaking her head. “You have given everything, Windstreak. I've never been more proud of the Firewings than I am today.” She smiled. “When even your goddess failed you, you never gave up. The courage of mortals is the envy of the gods. I am sorry, Windstreak. I have been gone for too long. But no more.” Her eyes sparkled with resolve. “No more will die today.” Windstreak felt herself lifted by an unseen force. She rose through the air and settled onto the Princess’s back. Celestia turned to smile at her. “Come, Windstreak. There’s somepony you’ve been waiting to see for a long time.” They took off, Wheatie following at their side, soaring over the city. Light bloomed from the Princess, falling out over Canterlot. It fell between the houses like rain, a soft, warm stream of sparkles. Below, griffons were fleeing the city. Casting aside their weapons and their armor, they were flying over the walls and out to the battlefield. The armies of the ponies were waiting for them, corralling them into one large group in front of the city gates. It was not long before makeshift flags made of white cloth waved from the mobs of griffons, as Shrikefeather’s remaining soldiers decided surrender was preferable to annihilation. Windstreak watched quietly, laying her head against the Princess’s neck. Her job was done, at long last. She closed her eyes, breathing peacefully. Finally, she could rest.