Read Online The Dragon-Child by B. V. Larson - Free Book Online

about to lunge up upon them from the waves? Did it ramble down the slopes in the forest, snapping trunks of trees as a man’s boots snapped away dry sticks?
    Only Therian seemed unperturbed. He stared flatly at the gang of crewmen on the beach. His black hair flew about him in the gusts that came up from the sea. His eyes were narrow, calculating. “There is a way,” he shouted after watching them for a moment longer. “There is a way some of us might yet live.”
    They stopped staring at the trees and straightened their backs. “How so?” Bolo asked. He took several mores steps closer. His men shuffled after him.
    “We cannot run away over land, for this is a small island. We cannot flee over the waves, for the creature is too swift in the water.”
    “We must kill it, then,” Bolo said.
    “Yes,” agreed Therian. “But I am too weak to face the monster. Men I could slay—perhaps a dozen men. But this creature is more terrible than a regiment of guardsmen.”
    “What then? You don’t—” suddenly, Bolo broke off. His face displayed anger and shock. “You are too weak, but you could become stronger, is that it? A soul? You want one of us to give up our soul? You want another of my crew to slumber with your Dragons?”
    Therian nodded grimly. His lips were drawn into a tight line. He stared flatly at them. To Gruum, his visage was reminiscent of a hunting snake.
    Bolo shook his head. “No. A pox on all your kind and your foul beasts and magicks. No more souls will I see fed to a Dragon this day! You ask too much!”
     Therian shrugged. “Very well. May we all die well, and may the beast sup upon us quickly.”
    The men argued amongst themselves. Therian turned to Gruum. Their eyes met.
    “Will they agree, milord?” asked Gruum.
    “Of course they will. A chance at survival is far better than none at all. Especially to the mind of a sea-rat.”
    Therian stooped and grabbed up a handful of stones in his hands. He picked through them, some he kept, while others he discarded. Gruum looked on, wondering what his lord was doing. He knew from long experience it was best not to ask such questions.
    “Sorcerer,” Bolo called out after a time. “We will do this thing. How is it to be done?”
    Therian stepped forward. Both sides watched the other warily. The last living mortals on the island approached one another. Therian held out his closed fist. He opened his black-gloved palm. Upon it rested eight stones. Seven were a milky-white, but one was a black, shiny lump of ebony.
    “Each of you will draw a stone. The matter may thus be decided.”
    “Must the chosen man die unarmed, trussed and gutted by your foul swords like a pig?” demanded Bolo.
    Therian made a dismissive gesture. “Hold onto your arms. Stand with eyes closed—or fight for your life, if you wish. It makes no difference to me.”
    The crewmen, with many suspicious glances, placed the stones in Bolo’s steel cap. They drew them, one at a time. Their Captain left his stone in the steel cap, unrevealed. Slowly, each man turned his palm upward and showed his stone.
    The first three showed milky-white. One of these men, a coxswain who was a fleshy fellow with fat, red cheeks, dropped to his knees with relief, laughing and shaking his head.
    The men who had not yet revealed their stones stood with watchful eyes and baleful expressions. The fourth and fifth men decided to get it over with quickly and showed their stones. They were both milk-white. Sighs of relief were puffed out.
    In the distance, another odd, warbling howl rose up.
    “A hunting cry,” said Therian, with the attitude of idle interest. “It comes this way. It has picked up our scent. I believe it has entered the waters now and will make much faster progress circling around the island in the sea.”
    “Show the last stones,” ordered Bolo grimly.
    The sixth and the seventh showed their stones. All were white. Slowly, everyone looked toward Bolo, their Captain. With his lips