The rescue was absolute shambles.

I don’t mean it took them a while to figure out what was going on, although they did. They came in expecting an out-of-season assault, and that would have been the most urgent thing to solve. My rescue, as personally important as it obviously was, was not as high priority as ensuring they were not being attacked. That was perfectly understandable. I mean that the chaos of dragons and riders became even worse once they had realised what was happening. All it really required was to remove me from the grounds, and the situation would have calmed down by itself. They didn’t do that. Instead, it was a swarm of dragons diving into the situation, with fire and spells heading in every direction.

When I had thought that one flame had been terrifying, I hadn’t left enough space for the presence of dozens. It wasn’t just sound at that point. It was pressured air, pushing against every part of my body, first from one direct and then another. As massages went, it was a few steps beyond ‘deep tissue’. The heat was indescribable. It felt like the air itself was igniting, with stray flames coming off from every direction. I crouched to the ground, trying to hide between the eggs. I had no idea how much protection they’d offer, but my only other choice was nothing at all. I was in more danger from friendly fire than I’d ever been from the original dragon.

> ‘Friendly fire’ is any damage done by one’s own side, a so-called ‘friendly’, and not strictly fire damage. The prime meaning is that of a misaimed attack or other accident. It is also used ironically to imply deniable sabotage or murder of another member of the same armed force. It isn’t clear which meaning is intended here.

I pulled my robes up above my mouth. For a little while, the dampness helped. But even through those layers, I could smell burning flesh. I could only hope that it was the dragon and not me, because I was past the point of being able to tell if I was injured at all. It didn’t take long until my robes stopped steaming. I knew that it wasn’t long until they caught fire, if not from an accidental fire breathing, then just from the heat of the air. I held my breath, even though I knew that wouldn’t be much help.

Silence slowly, slowly sank. I resumed breathing, but didn’t move. It was the correct choice, as a few more short-lived flurries of attacks broke out before dying away themselves. I waited a count of a hundred, suspicious even of that peace. Was it truly quiet, or had I simply lost my hearing? That worry was at least relieved when I heard a voice called my name from ground level. I reluctantly, and very cautiously, stood up. But it was really over. The dragon riders had retreated to land elsewhere. The parent dragon was dead. Very, very dead. It looked like it had been killed five time over. That seemed a vast over-reaction to the situation. Even killing it once seemed a vast over-reaction. The dragon was simply trying to protect its eggs. It hadn’t even done any damage to me for it to have any sort of ‘man-killer’ tendencies.

Someone fetched me and helped me back up the stairs to the old-section. The commotion there was less lethal, but almost as disorganized. It didn’t seem that anyone was in overall control. The people in the air might have been mostly students, but they were in their final year of a military academy. I would have expected better. This was amateurish on an entirely inexcusable level.

> Trust His Devotion, Saint Percival the Investigator, to have a comprehensive criticism of his own rescue. I suspect that his perceptions are unreliable here. This probably all occurred over a matter of minutes or even seconds, hardly enough time for any organisation to be possible.

I didn’t say anything. It would not have been gracious under the circumstances. Besides, nothing was going to bring the dragon back to life, anyway. The person escorting me kindly led me to the resident healer, which gave me an excuse to sit. My whole body was twitching and shaking. The tide of adrenaline was starting to pull back, and I dreaded the damage it would reveal in its wake. But I once again had cause to be thankful for magic. The healer cast a series of spells that undid everything before I needed to come to terms with it. He fixed the wrenched joints, the burnt spots, and even the bruises. Once it began to get silly, I insisted he go instead and tend to the dragon-riders that had no doubt injured themselves in that turmoil of a flight. I convinced them to let me return to my quarters for new clothes before talking any further. That would give me more time to think.

Branneth and Lilianna had just returned to the dormitory when I arrived. They were a shock, like intruders from an entirely different world. I had to get my head together. I had lived and was now unhurt. That was excellent by any possible measure. But now I had other problems I needed to solve, and not much time to solve them in.

Stolen novel; please report.

“I should have been allowed to help,” Branneth was saying. “What kind of Hero sits back and finishes lunch while problems are happening?”

Lunch felt like another concept that was entirely out of place. My lunch had gone up in flames, after all. I couldn’t honestly say I was hungry. Even the concept of hunger was a little out of reach. I hadn’t had the chance to enjoy the jerky, and now it would take me some time before I’d be able to face the smell or the sight again without thinking of that dead dragon.

“We have not yet integrated you into our response teams,” replied a new-section staff member. “I’m sure we will rely on you if anything happens in future.”

Considering the chaos of that response, it was entirely the correct call not to make it worse by tossing in someone new. It was debatable if there was even anything that Branneth could have done, with no dragon and limited magic. Had he intended to stand there and shouted at them? ‘Drive me closer, I want to hit them with my sword!’ I stifled a giggle at the mental image, recognising that it was hysteria that I could not afford to indulge.

> Don’t ask us. We have no idea what His Devotion, Saint Percival the Investigator, is referring to either.

“And where were you?” demanded Branneth, finally noticing my presence.

To my surprise, Rider Grovepond answered for me. “Hero Percy was rescuing some dragon eggs when the dragon attacked.”

… sure, I thought. Let’s go with that.

“He was what?” asked Branneth in obvious disbelief.

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Rider Grovepond said. “He was guarding them with his own body, even as the mad dragon attacked.”

“A mad dragon?” asked Lilianna carefully. “Is that what triggered the alarm?”

I was confused as well. They couldn’t really believe that, could they? I hadn’t seen any evidence of madness. Was that the reason they had killed the dragon? Or was that the excuse?

“Yes,” said Rider Grovepond with every sign of sincerity and concern. “A feral dragon attacked the wall in the old-section. It’s been years since the last time we had an outbreak of Mad Dragon Disease, but it seems to have come back. Thank the gods for our new defences.”

I could hear the capitalisation in the phrase. A very straightforward naming system, I gathered.

“Are we certain that the dragon had this disease?” I asked, guilt bubbling uncomfortably close to the surface.

“What else could it be?” asked Rider Grovepond rhetorically. “No normal dragon would have approached to close to the academy. Not with the scent of all the mature dragons we already have living here.”

“Any fear that it will infect the rest of the dragons?” asked Lilianna.

“We hope that we caught it in time,” said Rider Grovespond, “but we’ll work on screening and quarantines.”

I was struck with an uncomfortable thought. If I had just faked a dragon illness, could I have indefinitely postponed the bonding? It might not even have been that hard. I could have prevented all of this. Not just the horror I had just faced, but all the problems I would have to face now. I had made promises to Assistant Oxenden and assurances to Branneth, secure in the knowledge that I would never have to pay up. Except now I would have to.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I need to change.”

I really did. The original water might have long since dried off, but the stains suggested I had been splattered with various bits of ex-dragon when I had been worried about other things. I was still shaking, and the cold wasn’t entirely shock. I was in entirely too few layers now that I was no longer active.

“Wait,” said Branneth, barring my path by shoving his arm across the doorway. “I thought you said that you were taking some time for a personal religious meditation. How an earth did you end up facing a dragon in the old-section?”

“I made a divine request for assistance,” I said. “I was led there by the answer.”

Should I provide some fluff about why I didn’t go over the bridge? No, I thought. The more explanations, the more points that could reveal a lie.

“For the investigation into poor Candidate Bethany?” asked Lilianna.

At this point, ‘Poor Bethany’ might just be the proper way to refer to her.

“I thought you said you were done with your investigation,” said Branneth.

“I am,” I said. “This was a personal matter on behalf of my god.”

“Well,” said Branneth, drawing out the word. “I can’t say I’m surprised that your god also wants to kill you.”

“Hero Branneth!” came the shocked reprimands from multiple people.

I admit, I hadn’t expected him to be so indiscreet. Didn’t he know that a hero had an image to maintain? He recoiled in surprise, and with that distraction, I pushed past him. I needed the time. And I needed to be clean and warm. I washed and washed, and then washed once again. I tried not to pay any attention to the things that were falling out of my hair. Whether it was parts of dragon or just clumps of my own burnt hair, I didn’t have the capacity to care. I ran through my story in my head for holes. It was futile endeavour. It couldn’t be anything other than full of holes. I could only stitch over the very worst of them.

Memo to Self

- Survive [success!]

- Bluff my way out of my escape attempt