Free The Dragon-Child by B. V. Larson

teeth. Ropy strings of saliva dripped from the creatures jaws. The falling strings formed puddles on the beach which quickly transformed into dark patches as the thick liquid soaked into the sands.
    “Can you possibly become any more intriguing? My desire to taste your flesh grows by the moment. I see now, up close, that you are not a normal man. You are of a different complexion and demeanor. I would have you name yourself to me, morsel.”
    “I am Therian, Sorcerer-King of Hyborea. Now I know you, Humusi, daughter of Anduin. I name you a lost Dragon-Child. You are among those I must seek.”
    “For what purpose, doll-king?”
    “To return you to your mother, lost one. It is she, Anduin the Black, who has charged me with your retrieval.”
    “Charged you? For what purpose?”
    “To become her champion upon this world.”
    A strange, blasting sound erupted from the creature. Steamy vapor blew from its mouth and nostrils. Foul scents washed up the beach, encompassing the last three living men on the island. Could the creature be laughing? Gruum wondered, uncertain.
    “You amuse me greatly!” said the Dragon-Child. “How might you perform this impossible task? Perhaps you will stuff me into your leather pockets? Or shall I loop a rope around my neck and harness myself to your crippled ship?”
    Therian gave his own huff of laughter. “Nothing so mundane, Great Lady.”
    Another blasting eruption of foulness occurred. Gruum’s hair fluttered back, while Therian’s black locks flew about him as if he rode out a gale. Gruum was certain now, the creature was laughing at them.
    “I will watch with great interest as you make your first move, absurd being.”
    Therian used both his blades to circle himself, running them twice around, then once more. He had drawn a circle in the sands that completely encompassed him.
    “And what’s this? A barrier that I cannot pass? I feel no presence holding me back, mortal. Perhaps your spell has failed you.”
    “Just wait a moment more, Humusi. The circle is to protect me—but not from thee.”
    “All right, but do hurry, sorcerer. I feel that I must eat you soon, lest this all be a ruse. I can’t let you escape me now. I’m mad to taste your flesh. You smell of rare spices and dried meat.”
    Gruum and Bolo had, by mutual silent agreement, retreated another dozen paces up the beach from the sea monster. They continued their vigil, however. There was nowhere else to run. Should Therian fail, neither man imagined he would survive.
    “What will your master do?” asked Bolo.
    “Something unexpected—and frightening.”
    Bolo looked at Gruum with a frank expression. “I can’t think why you follow him. Are you as mad as he is?”
    Gruum nodded. “Often, I ask myself that same question.”
    Therian bent over his patch of sand. It seemed, at this distance, that he piled up the sand and bits of flotsam at his feet. Gruum watched as the sea monster twisted its head this way and that, the long neck craning to see what the sorcerer was up to. Was this the moment Therian had been waiting for? Gruum expected to see his master spring up, mount the sea monster’s tree-trunk neck and perhaps ride it, slashing.
    “Enough,” said Humusi, puffing at Therian. “I’m tired of this game now. You plan to exhaust me on this uncomfortable beach until I’m lulled into a compliant slumber.”
    Therian stood. At his feet were a half-dozen figures built of sticks and sand. Black wax held them together at the joints and held the stick-swords to their tiny hands.
    “What is that you have built there? You are not a sorcerer, but an artisan. And a poor one at that.”
    “Look into the forest you have broken with your body,” said Therian, pointing behind the monster.
    Humusi turned her great head, and Therian began to chant in Dragon Speech. His words were so powerful they bit into the minds of all present. Gruum grasped his head with both hands. Bolo did the same. But though they squinched