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

drawn into a firm line, Bolo drew out the ebony stone and revealed it to all.
    “I have been chosen,” he said.
    “Are you ready?” asked Therian, eyeing the group.
    “Wait!” cried the fat-cheeked coxswain. “This is not right. Bolo held back the black stone in his hand. He’s sacrificed himself.”
    “The choice has been made,” Bolo said.
    “Should not one of us trade with him?” pleaded the coxswain. “Do any of us possess the honor?”
    None met his gaze.
    “What of yourself, coxswain?” asked Therian in sudden interest.
    The coxswain eyed Therian’s blades, and then the black stone, which Bolo still held out in the palm of his hand. He licked his lips. His eyes narrowed to slits. They slid back again to the silvery blades in Therian’s hands. Finally, he shook his head and hung it low in shame.
    “Very well,” said Therian. “The stones have been distributed.”
    “I choose to defend myself,” Bolo said, drawing his notched cutlass slowly. He took a firm grip on the sharkskin-wrapped hilt. The rest of the men drew back and formed a circle around them.
    Therian’s eyebrows rose, but he made no comment. He stepped forward, unconcernedly. There was a predatory grace to his walk. His twin blades twitched upward as he came near, as might the ears of a great, stalking cat.
    Bolo lifted his cutlass and took a deep breath.
    Therian spoke words that injured the mind of all there who heard them. Succor and Seeker ran with eldritch lights. White flames sparked and twisted unnaturally over both blades, but no heat issued from these manifestations.
    Therian lunged suddenly, unexpectedly. His blade pierced the coxswain’s round belly. Seeker twisted and thrust upward. The man’s heart was instantly stilled by the tip of the sword.
    The coxswain fell to his knees. His lips worked silently. His eyes popped wide, but it was clear to all present that those eyes did not see the same world the rest saw. White lights played in those dying eyes, and his expression was one of shock and infinite horror.
    “Treachery!” shouted Bolo, stepping forward. His raised his cutlass.
    Gruum stepped forward to meet him. “It is not treachery,” he said, speaking up for the first time. “Think man! One soul is not enough to face such a monster!”
    “One is not enough? Why didn’t you tell us?” Bolo asked, dismayed.
    Therian snorted. “I thought it was abundantly clear.”
    From somewhere behind the trees there came a laborious splashing—a slopping sound, like that which great hogs might make heaving themselves out of a pool of thick mud.
    “But I drew the black stone!” Bolo cried.
    “Exactly,” said Therian, his voice cool. “And I worship the Black Dragon. Her color is the color of good fortune. Thus, you are to be spared.”
    “Seven souls?” Bolo asked in despair. “You need seven to face the sea monster?”
    Therian made another lunge. This time the act was even faster and more suddenly done. A sailor who had strayed a step nearer fell stricken. His eyes mirrored the surprise and horror of the coxswain who lay crumpled in death upon the sands.
    “I’ll not allow it!” Bolo roared. He made as if to charge Therian, but Gruum interceded and engaged him with his blade. The two traded strokes, slashing and parrying.
    “Let me go after him, man!” Bolo shouted. “He’s a devil. None of us shall live to see another sunrise. Let’s at least die with honor.”
    “You have no honor. You roasted a boy and celebrated the event last night.”
    Bolo’s eyes narrowed. “I had wondered which of my men weakened and finished him off. It was you, then.”
    “Yes it was, and I’ll enjoy watching your soul leave your body with the rest of us this day.”
    Bolo lay into Gruum then, orange sparks flew from their blades as he cut high and low, seeking a way past Gruum’s determined guard.
    The other crewmen ran for their lives and their immortal souls. Therian sprinted after them with unnatural speed. Like a panther