"When the gods want to test your problem-solving skills, they drop a boulder on your friend's leg."
***
Another moan answered Petra's question. Deeper. Edged with pain that made Rhys's stomach clench.
He followed the sound deeper into their pocket of survival. Past a scatter of goblin weapons. Past the remains of Petra's mana-light orb, now nothing more than cracked crystal and dead magic.
The torch picked out details as he moved.
A handprint in blood on the wall.
A chunk of Jorik's hammer-crater, recognizable by the distinctive pattern of fractures.
Finn's pack, torn open and spilling supplies across the floor.
Jorik lay on his side twenty feet from where Rhys had found Petra. His massive frame was twisted at an angle that immediately told the story. No examination was needed to see what had happened.
