The Legend of Gord and the Stonefiend, Part II: The Stonefiend's Proposition

by Yorvald
===The Stonefiend's Proposition===
The dry, dusty heat of the Badlands bore down on Gordvord and Thelmo. The dwarf had long since dismounted; each grunt of the tired, thirsty ram had cut into Gordvord’s heart until he could no longer bear to ride. Leading Thelmo by his bridle, Gordvord trudged across the dried mudplain, nearly sun-blind but ever-searching the distance for his foe. 
It wasn’t long before Gordvold spotted the Stonefiend. It began as a black speck against the brown expanse of desert and craggy buttes, but as Gordvord approached the unmoving form, he began to see it in total. Taller than a dwarf and broader at the shoulder, the Stonefiend’s skin was the even darker than the coal gray of the Dark Iron Clan and its hair was the color of sun-bleached bone. As he got closer, Gordvord could see the ridged quality of the Stonefiend’s earthen flesh – polished as if by the hand of a sculptor. It knelt in the hard dirt, one hand draped over its bent knee, the other holding a black-metal spear upright so that its tip pointed defiantly at the high sun. Around it, almost in a perfect circle, lay the rotting corpses of King Madoran’s soldiers. Sandflies buzzed about the dead dwarves, but not a single one alighted on the statue-like countenance of the Stonefiend. 
Gordvord dropped Thelmo’s bridle and donned his helm. He unlimbered his shield and clutched his spear, trying to swallow the fear that had nearly blocked his breath at the sight of his foe. Possible courses of action whirled through his head. He took a few tentative steps toward the Stonefiend... 
“I knew you would come,” said the Stonefiend, its voice a basso rumble that shook Gordvord’s bones. 
For what seemed a century, Gordvord knew not how to respond. “Me?” stammered the dwarf. 
“I misspoke.” The Stonefiend looked at Gordvord, its searing white eyes without any visible pupils. “I know not your name. But I knew that Creation would send one like you. One who is my opposite.” 
“Opposite…?” 
“It is the way of creation, Bronzebeard. Dark opposes light. Heat opposes cold. The void ever seeks to repel that which would fill it."
 
Gordvord took a breath, steadied himself. “Aye, well, that migh’ be so. So which of us is the void an’ which is the stuff what needs to fill it?” 
“It matters not, dwarf.” The Stonefiend made a sound that resembled a chuckle. It made Gorvord’s stomach hurt. “Most beings see things in terms of good and evil – you are no different. There is only a thing, and its opposite – all things serve Creation.” 
“Ye soun’ like a ruttin’ priest,” Gordvord stood straighter, and a familiar smirk spread over his face as the sheer improbability of the situation struck him. Had he really traveled all this way for a sermon? “Did ye talk all this shite to me brothers here? Was it yer spear what did ‘em in, or did they die o’ ruttin’ boredom?” 
The Stonefiend chuckled again. “I am no priest. But if you wish, I will hear your confession before I make your corpse dance on the end of my spear.” 
“Aye, I’ll give ye a confession… I confess I’m gonna miss those few minutes I spent listenin’ to yer yappin’ when I’m on me deathbed.” Gordvord loosened his limbs into his fighting stance. “When ye’re dead… do ye think I’ll be able to get ‘em back?” 
The Stonefiend shook his head. “Not likely.” 
“Then enough wastin’ breath,” Gordvord struck his spear to his shield. “It’s time fer me to fill yer void.” 
His foe stood and brandished its spear. “Come then, if you are indeed unafraid to meet your destiny."
 
“For Khaz Modan!” cried Gordvord, and charged. 
Gordvord and the Stonefiend crossed spears for hours. Gordvord was the faster, nimbly weaving his way between the Stonefiend’s thrusts. But though Gordvord scored several hits against his opponent, his spear did little damage to the Stonefiend’s black rock flesh. Flecks of ebon flew away from the Stonefiend, and occasionally sparks would issue from the contact of metal on stone. But even though the Stonefiend would grunt in pain from the blows, it neither acted wounded nor seemed to tire. Gordvord himself was beginning to feel winded, and though he knew he would not tire for quite some time, he began to feel the futility of the battle. 
He had just begun to formulate a different strategy when the Stonefiend roared, curled its fingers into a fist, and pounded Gordvord’s shield. His shield arm went numb from the impact. The wood splintered and the metal edges bent. A yelp of pain escaped his bearded lips as he dropped the fragments of the shield and stepped back, clutching his spear in two hands. The Stonefiend thrust its spear at Gordvord. Disoriented from the pain, Gordvord tried to dodge… 
…but the Stonefiend’s spear plunged into his side. Gordvord felt a horrific pain and a sickening pull as the Stonefiend tugged its spear from his body. The dwarf dropped to his knees, fighting desperately to keep consciousness. 
“You should be proud, Bronzebeard,” said the Stonefiend, idly looking over Gordvord’s blood dripping from its ebon-tipped spear. “I slew your brothers in minutes. You truly were the first test of my strength. Creation rewards effort. I am an issue of Creation, and I must abide by its plan. I offer you a reward.”
 
Gordvord stood, clenching his teeth against the agony. “Don’t wan’t no ruttin’ reward from the likes o’ you, ye stinkin’ piece of demon-shite.” 
“As you wish. If you will except no reward… would you hear a proposition? You are as good as dead. If you do not bleed your life from the wound I just gave you, the next one you receive will finish you. I ask you now… what shall be done with your remains? Do you wish to have your corpse remain here, in this desert, for the sandflies? 
“I propose that you choose your final resting place. I pledge that I will carry your body along on my journey to crush your King and give it the proper respect due a great warrior. What say you to this, Bronzebeard?” 
Gordvord felt his hope and courage leaving his body even more rapidly than his own blood.. They’d been right about him all along; he was worthless, clumsy and stupid. He was a Bungleboot after all. 
He was tired, so tired, and all he wanted to do was lie down and let it end. He felt heavy, the weight of the pain and failure dragging him downward like… 
…a stone. 
Gordvord blinked. For a split second he forgot about his pain… and had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling. Then, in the most agonized, deathly voice he could muster, he looked to the Stonefiend and said: “Loch Modan. Bring me body to Loch Modan...” 
Coming Soon - Part III: Opposing Elements
Yorvald at Thorium Brotherhood Wiki
Category:Stories