Azerick vs. the Giant
(deleted scene)
This encounter takes place as Azerick is making his way to North Haven after leaving the Dwarves. I took it out after deciding that it was not needed.
“You stop now,” came the slow, rumbling command.
Azerick looked up and could not help but stare at what stood before him. Standing just in front of a bridge that crossed a narrow but deep river, was a huge, ugly man. He was not just huge but gigantic, far bigger than any human could possibly be.
The sorcerer ran through the veritable library inside his brain for any reference of such a creature. Just as the enormous creature jammed a thick finger nearly two knuckles deep into its left nostril, Azerick pieced together the creature’s identity. It was a giant, and not just any giant but a lowland giant, the stupidest of the elusive giant races.
The giant stood close to eleven feet tall and carried a club the size of a fencepost propped up on one shoulder. The giant pulled its finger out of its nostril and grinned stupidly, obviously pleased with the results of its nose mining.
Azerick felt his lunch rise to the back of his throat as the giant popped the large digit into its wide mouth then extracted it with a loud, satisfying smack of his overly large lips. The lowland giant wore the skin of what appeared to be a bear that, judging by the smell, he had not bothered to cure before donning it.
Azerick stopped and stared at the slow-witted brute for several minutes until he realized that the giant had apparently forgotten the reason for ordering Azerick to stop. The lowland giant snapped back to reality as the human began walking towards his bridge once more.
“You stop now. You pay toll to use Bracknar’s bridge or you get squished,” the giant, apparently Bracknar, demanded.
Azerick’s first instinct was to blast the foul creature out of his way, but he quickly released his hold on the Source. The fact that his first instinct was to unleash his lethal power against this simple being deeply disturbed him. Lowland giants, like most giants, were not notoriously cruel as the fables and wives tales would have you believe. Perhaps they once were, but as humans grew in number and became a serious threat, the giant races receded from human populations and were rarely seen. Azerick decided he would try his wits and words first. He could always rely on his magic if those failed.
“You can’t collect tolls on bridges,” Azerick informed the giant.
Bracknar scratched his head in confusion, causing a host of fleas to jump about and seek refuge in his filthy bearskin. “Why not I cannot collect tolls?”
“Because everybody knows that only trolls can collect tolls, and that is because they live under the bridge.”
Bracknar’s jaundiced eyes widened in fear as he quickly bent down and peered under his bridge for any sign of trolls. Having found none, he stood back up and turned his attention back to Azerick.
“There be no trolls under Bracknar’s bridge,” he declared with relief.
“Then I’m afraid you cannot collect any tolls,” Azerick told him and began walking towards the bridge once more.
Bracknar whipped the huge club down off his shoulder and stopped Azerick with the end of it. “This Bracknar’s bridge, not troll bridge! You pay toll or you die!”
Bracknar did not know anything about troll tolls, but he knew this was his bridge and people had paid his tolls before.
“No, you will let me cross the bridge or you will die,” Azerick countered with certainty.
Now Bracknar was thoroughly confused. He thought he had solved the toll dilemma, but now it seemed that the usual options had changed. Bracknar had been charging tolls to use the bridge for months, always with the same two options, pay or die. It had been rather successful, even though technically the bridge did not belong to him.
It was already here when he found it, he simply decided that he could make money or get items in exchange for allowing the humans to cross it, and so far, it had worked out rather well. It was a small fee since he could not count beyond two or three, and most farmers and the occasional travelers simply gave him a couple coppers or a piece of food without complaint just to avoid trouble or getting squished.
Bracknar sat down on a stump a short ways from the end of the bridge to try to figure out this sudden change in the rules. Bracknar had two rules, they pay or they die. Now this human says that he crosses or Bracknar dies. The giant held up two fat stubby fingers on his club hand indicating his two rules, and two fat stubby fingers on his stupid hand, the one that did not work as well as the other, indicating the two rules the human had put forth. He tried to count his fingers but immediately realized that the numbers involved exceeded his ability to count them.
One, two, three, and one more after three. What came after three? Bracknar dislodged another battalion of fleas as he scratched his head in confusion. He thought he had solved the riddle when he saw that he now only had two fingers up like he was supposed to, but as soon as he stopped scratching, the other two came back and the problem remained. He forced himself to focus on the three fingers plus one, which made his belly grumble from the exertion imposed upon it because everyone knows that the center for thought came from the stomach.
The giant counted his fingers once more. One, two, three, and one more. What was that number that came after three? He was pretty sure it started with the same letter that made the sound of the first letter in foot. Farth, flern, flem? No, it was none of those he was sure. Bracknar decided he would just call it foot. Now, his two rules were— one, pay the toll or two, you die. It was simple and that was what he liked about his rules.
Then he looked at the two fingers he held up on his stupid hand and counted. Three, the human crosses his bridge, or foot, Bracknar dies. Bracknar immediately determined that foot was not a good option. He looked back and forth between the two pairs of fingers for several moments until he figured out that there were now twice as many rules as there used to be.
How did two turn into foot? He gave up on using his fingers; they were not helping at all and instead picked up two sticks that lay near his feet. He looked at the two ends of the stick that he used to indicate his two very simple rules. Two sticks for two rules; nobody could argue that obvious fact.
So where did the other two rules come from?
Bracknar glanced down at the ends of the two sticks that stuck out from the bottom of his hand. There it was! There were two sticks at the other end too!
This must be where the other two rules came from.
His stomach rumbled loudly at the exertion imposed upon coming up with such sound mathematical reasoning. Bracknar folded the bottom ends of the two sticks up so that they were in line with the top ends so that they were easier to count. A sharp crack sounded near the middle of the sticks as he bent them upwards to stand next the other two ends.
Now the giant had foot sticks for foot rules but he had to break the sticks in order to get that many.
That was it! Two sticks could only become foot sticks if you broke them!
Therefore, it stood to reason that two rules could only become foot rules if they were broken. That meant…what did that mean? His stomach roared in protest, sending a deep ache of hunger surging through his thinking spot as he tried to come up with the answer.
With a final groan from his stomach that hurt so bad it almost doubled him over, Bracknar had his answer. The human had broken the rules!
Now Bracknar was angry because the human had cheated. He was also extremely proud of himself for his logical deductive reasoning, but mostly he was hungry from having expended so much energy coming up with the answer.
He stood up, ready to confront the cheeky human for trying to cheat him, but saw that the cheat had already crossed his bridge and was now rather far away. The thought of chasing after the sneaky, cheating human made his stomach rumble even more, so he decided it would be best just to let it go and get something to eat instead.
Azerick enjoyed the brief distraction with the simple lowland giant, and h
e was surprised to find that he felt good about having dealt with the situation without having to resort to violence. He knew as sure as he breathed that he could have killed the dimwitted brute without effort, but there had been no need. He was tired of being the instrument for so many needless deaths.
A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR
I hope you enjoyed this fun little tale and will try my other works. Please drop by at http://www.brockd.us and give them a read. Feel free to look me up on Facebook! You can also check me out on my NEW blog at http://brockdeskins.blogspot.com. I post release dates, answer questions, and occasionally some new covers for my books!
The Sorcerer’s saga is an open-ended fantasy series about a boy that faces adversity. As he grows into manhood, these struggles forge him into a powerful figure who may one day be the world’s only hope against a growing threat that even troubles the gods.
The Sorcerer’s Ascension, first of the series, starts with Azerick as young boy of wealth who loses everything before discovering great potential as a sorcerer while trying to survive on the deadly streets he now must call home. Travel with young Azerick as he grows up, grows strong, and grows steadfast in his determination to survive and make those pay who have taken everything from him.
The Sorcerer’s Torment: Azerick has flees The Academy but quickly falls prey to powerful beings that use his skills and power for their own amusement. What these creatures do not understand is the power of the young sorcerer's will and the lengths he will go to for vengeance. Despite becoming a prisoner, Azerick finds his first true love but can he keep it?
The Sorcerer’s Legacy: Azerick has found himself a home and tries to settle down. He takes on an apprentice and tries to put all the death and desire for vengeance behind him. But when the Rook finds him, Azerick is once again pulled back into Ulric's schemes. Knowing that all he has worked towards and everyone close to him is in danger as long as these schemes are ongoing; Azerick decides to put an end to it, once and for all.
The Sorcerer’s Vengeance: After narrowly avoiding being killed in his own bed by the land’s most feared assassin, Azerick leaves his school behind to find out who sent him and to put an end to their threat once and for all.
The Sorcerer’s Scourge: With the siege broken and Ulric dead, Azerick can finally relax, study his magic, and run his school in peace. Unfortunately, Jarvin’s reign is far from uncontested and the true usurper decides to make his move. Jarvin escapes with help from an unlikely source—a vampire named Landrin who still clings tenaciously to his own humanity. While Azerick and a large force from North Haven race to save the King in exile, evil forces are preparing to unleash a nightmare upon the kingdom that may well destroy them all.
Shrouds of Darkness is a modern day vampire tale. Leo Malone has been a vampire for the better part of the twentieth century. Once a prominent Sherriff (vampire cop), he now earns his living as a private eye and occasional bodyguard for anyone that requires some serious protection. Leo is hired by the daughter of a mob accountant who has gone missing.
The fact that he is also a werewolf has Leo following a trail of grisly murders that will lead him through a web of intrigue and conspiracy involving his fellow vampires and the local werewolves that make New York their home, all the while trying to keep one particularly determined cop off his back and himself out of jail. Leo is a hard-eyed, remorseless killing machine who does not take crap from anyone.
The Portal is a fun and exciting story of some less than popular teenagers that accidentally open a portal to a mystical land during one of their role-playing games. Drew, a dour and anti-establishment teenager, is pulled through and captured by evil creatures lying in wait on the other side. Now it is up to his friends and older brother to rescue him, but who will rescue Drew’s captors from him?
Thank you all for your patronage. Buying my books keeps me from living in a box under the overpass, which frankly, is not conducive to the creative process. If you received a copy without actually purchasing it then I hope you will have the decency to feel bad as you drive past me holding my cardboard sign that reads: “will write for food”. Thank you and good journeys.
The Sorcerer's Torment (The Sorcerer's Path) Page 40
