Abia stays by Berstuun’s side while her teammates recoil. “You called lich?” she says, but as a statement, not a question.
The old man whimpers, gripping Abia’s hand as though to keep from drifting off to sea. He’s racked with sobs.
“This good?” Shyan asks.
Abia shrugs. “Not for him.”
“All right lich-caller,” Fassn says, bending down. He hefts Berstuun’s light form up over his shoulder, the older man’s legs feedbly kicking at Fassn’s chest. “You’re coming along with Old Ajralan.”
“Whoa, Fassn, what are you doing?” Shyan says.
“Well he called the lich, didn’t he? We just throw him in a volcano and this is all over.”
At this Berstuun moans horribly and struggles pathetically.
“A volcano, very good,” says Cang. “I know just the place.”
“No volcanoes,” Shyan says firmly. Then, she adds to Abia, “Right?”
“No volcano,” Abia agrees. “This much worse.”