Dain was still in one piece. His sides and back had been buffetted by many a harsh blow, but he had suffered no grievous wounds or broken limbs. His son Durin fought near his side. The lad, too, was still on his feet, swinging his axe with determination and grit. Still, their lungs screamed for air, and, like the others, they were not sure how long things could continue like this.
Dain had been positioned in such a way on the mountain that he could see the broad outline of the Uruk army as it made its way marching forward. That so few could stand against so many was indeed amazing. But how long could they last?
Dain crouched and waited for the final breakthrough. Even fighting was better than this infernal waiting. He thought for an instant of his wife whose safety depended on what happened today on this mountain. He took a quick glance over at his son and steeled his heart one more time.
Outside, he could hear the tramp of iron boots on stone and the dim sound of warriors running. But who these runners were and which way they headed, he could not tell. Dain wondered again how Belegond, Arlome, Einen, and Gromfelt fared. Then, without warning, there was a great crashing sound, again and again, as if a giant rod were being rammed against a barrier. For a number of minutes the barricade held. Then there was the sound of splinting wood and shrieks, along with the mingled voices of Uruk and goblins. All inside raged forward with weapons raised, eyes shot through with madness, waiting for the battle to begin anew.
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