“Worse than this? We’re locked up in a dungeon right now, Abia,” Shyan says. “I mean, I can imagine worse I guess, but I can imagine a hell of a lot better.”

Already Berstuun has stopped kicking at Fassn. He slumps, only his soft, slow breathing moving his body at all.

“Witch has magic circle,” Abia says. “Put Berstuun in.”

“Perhaps you had not noticed,” Cang begins. “The tattooed witch, that cackling hag in the lighthouse, she is herself the lich now. We cannot walk into its abode and ask to destroy its sire.”

Berstuun moans weakly.

“Relax, old man,” Fassn says. “You’re going to visit Old Ajralan.”

“Can we make our own magic circle?” Shyan asks.

“Yes,” Abia says. “Not here. Not well.”

Shyan rolls her eyes. “Of course not.” She sucks air through her teeth. “All right, Cang, you’re with me. Abia, take point behind Fassn while he carries our friend.” She peers up the crooked stairway to a tiny rectangle of flickering light. “Let’s go.”

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.”