Free The Dragon-Child by B. V. Larson Page B

hands, each two feet wide, grasped the great tail and hauled upon it. Unable to lash or gain purchase, exhausted, the sea monster was hauled up completely onto the beach again.
    “One on each limb, two on the neck, one at the tail,” ordered Therian. He was cool, no more ruffled than might be a deck commander who called the arrangement of the sails to catch an even-tempered breeze.
    Breathing hard, the monster quieted and lay still upon the dry beach. Her big, black eyes studied the sea, no more than a dozen feet from her face. So near, but unreachable.
    “I wish to go home,” rumbled the monster.
    “We will be glad to oblige,” said Therian. He used his blades to break open the circle he stood within. He stepped forward and walked up to the beast’s neck. He gestured over his shoulder for the two men who watched in safety to come forward.
    “I meant the sea,” she said. “That is my home.”
    “You will be reunited with your mother soon enough. She will comfort you.”
    “I do not like it there. It is too dry, and mother is unpleasant.”
    Therian gestured, and one of the sand golems clamped Humusi’s maw shut. Gruum and Bolo eyed one another, then walked forward slowly. It was impossible to approach such a formidable group of monsters, both conjured and hatched, without terror.
    “The neck,” said Therian. He coughed, then continued. “I don’t think I have the strength left to saw it through. You must help me.”
    The men looked at one another with wide eyes. Neither of them moved.
    “What’s wrong with you?” shouted Therian, suddenly displeased. “You gave up seven of your crewmen’s lives, Bolo, to help me slay this foul being. She has sunk a thousand ships, by her own admission. Do you love her so? Or do you lack the courage to slay a helpless monster?”
    For Gruum, it was neither of those things that held him back. It was the horror of the task. He’d never been a whaler. He’d never hunted game bigger than a deer or a forest boar. Somehow, sawing at the neck of a massive, ancient creature that was capable of speech disgusted him. But he could see that it must be done. He looked to Bolo and caught the other’s eye.
    “It must be,” said Bolo.
    It took a long time. Occasionally, the monster lurched and heaved. They bled her until the sands were caked for a dozen yards in every direction, but she did not die. In the end, when they managed to sever the spine by hammering their swords into the top of the neck, she gurgled and stared out toward her beloved sea in death.
    Therian stood upon that head, and when the moment came, he did speak his words. Dragon Speech rent the air. Out over ocean, the sun was setting with orange-pink beauty. A line of sea birds flew away from them, leaving the island.
    The life of Humusi thus ended, and she was sent home to her mother’s domain from whence she’d come. The Dragon-Child had been returned home.
    Therian lowered his arms and stood with head bowed, weary and spent. The seven sand golems instantly froze in place. Driftwood weapons dropped from crumbling hands. Legs cracked and split, spilling into dry, shifting piles. Vague faces melted and tore apart, disintegrating into a million particles of fine grit.
    The beach, and the entire island, fell quiet again. Only the wind sighing over the sands and the crash of the waves could be heard. Gruum walked away from the battleground, looking back over his shoulder.
    The golems were conical piles of sand with debris trapped inside. The dead Dragon-Child was a wet hillock of dark, rubbery flesh. The sailors had been buried during the titanic struggles. Only one was in evidence, his headscarf fluttering in the sea breezes. By the size of the man’s belly, Gruum figured it was the coxswain.
    Gruum stopped and stood wearily for a moment. Then he reversed course. He took the time to bury those that had given their all to defeat the monster. He hoped they would sleep easily with the Dragons, if only for this single