said Boïndil, gazing at the crumbling ramparts and fallen towers that were all that remained of the stronghold’s glory. He, Tungdil, Balyndis, and a group of twenty handpicked warriors were marching ahead to survey the land. The gateway to the fifthling kingdom lay before them, tall as a house and tantalizingly close. The doors had been smashed to pieces. Boïndil looked back at the steep path leading down the mountainside. The remaining dwarves were about a mile away, working their way to the top with their belongings and supplies. “They’re moving too fast,” he muttered. “They need to be more careful with Boëndal’s stretcher—and they shouldn’t be making so much noise.” He dispatched a warrior to pass on the message. Tungdil left the little group, ducked behind the weathered ruins, and darted toward the gateway, moving as quietly as he could. Mindful of the possible dangers, he had taken his ax from his belt and was ready to strike at a moment’s notice.
