Uizor

Uizor's Capture Before The Battle of The Flood   “Bring him in.”     Mayor Rocca’s voice had authority, but like the others seated at the meeting table, it was an acted one. This was not some thief caught stealing a lamb for lunch.   A hulking man appeared. His face, a contortion of teeth and bulging features, took up the entire top of the door frame. There was some shuffling behind him, and he was pushed through, smacking his bald head on the hard wood. As he bellowed and growled, two council members at the front of the table half stood to run, but the ogre seemed content to cuss and hiss. Rocca collected herself and in an instant took several steps toward the captive. “Bring him here.”   She pointed to a hastily made platform, and it creaked and groaned when the deputies pushed him up on it.   She launched immediately into the matter: “High Council of Shorn, a week ago I commissioned an expedition to help discover the fate of Gili Swiftgalley and her team. The commission was cheap, so I don’t want hear any complaints about this, and the commission was fruitful. My team captured this giant and uncovered through him a plot to invade and subjugate the western free towns.”   “He,” she said gesturing dramatically to the ogre, “is named Uizor and has made a full confession of these plans. Though he does not speak the common tongue, we have here with us our good friend, Rargy Rockhopper, who knows the giant language. We are lucky to have his talents today.”   The old wizard narrowed his eyes at the ogre and nodded when he was acknowledged. His presence made most folks in the room less nervous and they almost leaned toward Rargy even when looking elsewhere.   Uizor, on the platform, seemed nervous in comparison to his previous outburst. His tiny eyes darted between the faces before him and he seemed to be chewing on his own mouth.   “Uizor,” Rocca addressed him and his eyes darted her way. “Your life is on the line. You will tell us everything we want to know or you will know free town justice. Tell him.”   Rargy did not rise, but allowed the mayor to be the speaker, he only her voice.   “Hjálpaðu eða deyðu. Skilja?”   He turned to Rargy and grunted what appeared to be an affirmation.   “What is your job, Uizor? Are you a soldier?”   Confused, he looked back at the mayor.   Rargy echoed: “Staða Uizor? Berst þú?”   It took the giant a dozen times to look at Rocca while hearing Rargy’s words, but eventually a rhythm was established. His answers were grunts for the most part, but soon other council members felt confident proposing their own questions.   “Ask him why he is helping us. Surely he can’t be stupid enough to think we will spare him?”   “He clearly does.”   “Can they hang a giant? I don’t think I’ve seen gallows so big in Flintridge.”   “An animal like him isn’t going to be hung. We’ve got a cage built here in Shorn that’d fit him. You put him inside and let folks shoot and throw him bloody. They’ll need the practice if there’s really an invasion on.”   “Can they really have planned a whole attack? We haven’t seen heads or tails of giants in a few years.”   Rocca cut in at this point: “That may not be true.”   “What? You knew about giant activity?” a wealthy sheeper said, anger in his voice.   “I didn’t,” she admitted, “but someone did.”   She walked closer to the platform and made a presenting gesture.   “Uizor is not an ogre.”   No one moved or said anything.   “Rargy, ask him who his father is.”   Rargy cleared his throat and leaned forward, almost delicately.   “Hver er faðir Uizor?”   At this, the giant man made a strange face, almost pained, and stared at the center of the table in the room. Rocca and then Rargy repeated themselves, both even softer than before.   At last Uizor spoke: “Þeir sögðu mér að hann væri maður, eins og þið öll. Hann heitir Biggun.”   There was a pause as Rargy did not translate.   “Did I hear, what I thought I heard? Biggun? Orgon Biggun?” Pastor Orson asked, shock clear to read on his face.   “Abomination,” someone said.   “How?” many asked.   “I knew there was something wrong with that man,” the mason said, disgusted.   “He’s been real quiet lately too. Now we know why.”   Rargy watched Uizor as the others tried to grasp the will and even the physical act of creating an Uizor.   Rocca redirected them. “Orgon may not be the only one. The hill folk have been subjugated, some even assimilated, to put it frankly, and we’ve been duped. I have here a warrant sheriff Calvin wrote up for the arrest of Duncan Brook.”   “Duncan? I grew up with the Brook boys!”   “What has he been doing up there if not watching?”   Rocca looked uncomfortable.   “Coordinating, we think,” she finally said.   This raised a serious alarm among the group and the gravity of the word invasion started to be felt. The volume in the room escalated.   “Council,” Rocca cut in before they could get in too deep. “If we have no more questions for Uizor, we should move him.”   “If we have no more questions for this thing, we should end it,” someone argued.   “That is not the law,” the sheriff said sharply.   “That’s not a person though, sheriff. The edicts don’t apply to their kind. They don’t know the gods, and the gods sure as hell don’t know them.”   The sheriff softened a bit: “Look, if it were up to me-“   “He is half a man,” Rocca said definitely, glaring. “I’m the mayor of this town, last I checked, and you will consider that half.”   Most looked into the middle distance as they tried to make sense of these things. Rargy was still looking at directly at Uizor. Pastor Orson was the first to join him. The others took longer to consider the monster before them, but one by one, their eyes settled on him.   Rocca’s voice was gentle now.   “Rargy, ask Uizor how old he is.”   At the translation, the big man looked down to his hands, counting carefully. He had a small, proud smile on his face when he finally held up nine of his fingers.   Rargy was nodding and smiling too.