Tyzmon: The Last BladeHunter [1st ½, Act 1]

1st ½, Act 1: Chapter 2

Oh, but there really were giants…

Chapter II: The Large Ones

The two men ate quail fireside, discussing Radulf's story. Tyzmon, of course, participated in the discussion, however, he avoided the food. Radulf and Icon, being human, were soon tired in spite of the excitement. They left Tyzmon to his own thoughts as the conversations trailed off and they slumbered.

Tyzmon, who couldn't tell dream from reality, memory from story, sat in a position of meditation, the light from the fire dancing in his eyes and Ralph's story dancing in his imagination. He thought of Lucy, the Captain, the Earl, the locations, Brechyn, Sommarsward, the Hamlet of Helgen Ynez… He almost didn't notice the earthquakes.

There was a slight rumbling in the ground…

Tyzmon shook his head and thought about Ralph's injuries when Tyz first stepped over him. He'd been beaten, yes, this could be the result of large stones finding his body home; however his throat had been cut. Whoever did it did not take the gem. Perhaps he wasn't dead… the thought was interrupted.

The rumbling in the ground was strong enough now that the others were reacting, slightly moving, turning in their sleep. Tyzmon placed both hands on the ground and the quaking did seem to stop, but only briefly.

“I think it's a tremor,” he said this aloud, but probably didn't mean to. Tyzmon closed his eyes and concentrated. All he could conjure were the figures of men walking. But they walked funny, not quite a march, but not a run. Also, their heads were out of proportion to their bodies. Tyzmon shook his head, opened his eyes, closed them and concentrated, harder this time. He brought his hands together slightly, lifting his thumbs.

“They're not human at all,” a whisper, a thought so loud it could be heard. The faces were grotesque—round mouths with pointy teeth at the wrong angles, the feet bulbous, bizarre, short arms, long, thin hands containing longer, thinner fingers with black, knife-like, nails coming out perpendicular to expectations. Also they were ash-gray with shiny, black hair.

Some of the figures in his mind began picking up rocks which they proceeded to toss into the air.

A great hiss, a soft whistle … is what Tyzmon would have heard if he wasn't concentrating on the ground.

Several rocks hit near their encampment and Icon was smashed beneath a large boulder, killed instantly. Radulf got quickly to his feet and, grabbing Tyzmon, began to run.

Tyzmon pulled Radulf, gesturing wildly while shouting, “we need to go against or toward, but not away from, the barrage!”

“What?!”

“We cannot outrun them, we need to hide!”

Tyzmon drew Ralph to one side, in the direction of some low foothills, more trees. They reached them in minutes, minutes that felt like mountains. When the trees were dense enough, they stopped and leaned on trunks, gasping for breath and trying to be quiet, failing.

“What the fuck was that?!” Radulf was panting, but he knew the answer already. “Didn't I say there were giants?”

“Do you know your throat had been cut?” Tyzmon was supernaturally calm.

“What? What are you talking about? When?”

“When I first found you, it looked like you'd been beaten, but ultimately, you died from having your throat cut.” Tyzmon was still putting things together. “You told us you saw rocks, but you didn't mention any enemies who wanted you dead in this way.”

“Shouldn't we talk about this later? I mean, aren't we in danger?”

“I'm not.” Tyzmon sighed. “Why did the giants come back?”

“You think they're related?” Radulf began to realize that Tyzmon may be a little crazy. “But I was dead; unless they saw our fire, I cannot understand it myself.”

“They could just be coming back from something, I suppose,” said Tyzmon. “Maybe they saw the fire and started tossing those rocks.” Suddenly Tyzmon realized something. “I didn't notice boulders near your body or, for that matter, anywhere.”

“Maybe they pick them up en route and use them as ammunition?”

“Have you ever seen these creatures before?” – Tyzmon gestured against his hands, long fingers. He gestured at his mouth, monstrous mouth. …&c.

“No, I barely saw them before, and couldn't say anything about that. Someone yelled, 'Giants!' and we all were running and then, well, then you.”

Tyzmon sat down, placing his branch across his lap. Trying to maintain calm, Radulf did the same, their backs against tree trunks. They could still hear the rocks flying through the air, could still feel the rumbling of them striking the ground, but a deeper rumbling as the giants footfalls came closer.

“You have to stay here. I have to go back for Icon.” Tyzmon was examining his staff and speaking as though describing it, no urgency in his voice at all. “He was asleep, so probably didn't feel … you know.”

“He was smashed under a boulder!” Radulf's horror, his shock was palpable.

“We have to let them pass, it's true.” Tyzmon took a deep breath, closed his eyes momentarily, turned his face toward Ralph:

“Don't worry, man.”

There was a loud screeching, a great crack, a sudden feeling of being in the middle of a wind-storm and Tyzmon was gone. Branches and leaves fell where he had been sitting an instant before.

Radulf collapsed—face down—to the ground, grabbed Tyzmon's staff, wished for invisibility and tried to keep his breathing as quiet as humanly possible. Something had reached through the trees, grabbed Tyzmon and just took him. Radulf barely saw anything, there wasn't much light, the Moon wasn't even half full.

“Tyzmon?” Radulf said, somewhere between a sob and a worried whisper.