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“You’re a good man, Tanis Half-Elven,” the old mage said softly, “but you worry too much. Now just relax and let us send these poor souls back to their sleep. Bring the others along, will you?”

Tanis, too startled for words, fell back as Goldmoon and Fizban walked past, Riverwind following. As Tanis watched, they walked slowly between the rows of gaping stone doors. Behind each stone door, movement ceased as she passed. Even at that distance, he could feel the sense of malevolent evil slip away.

As the others came to the crumbling entryway and he helped them through, he answered their whispered questions with a shrug. Laurana didn’t say a word to him as she entered; her hand was cold to the touch and he could see, to his astonishment, blood on her lip. Knowing she must have bitten it to keep from screaming, Tanis, remorseful, started to say something to her. But the elfmaid held her head high and refused to look at him.

The others ran after Goldmoon hurriedly, but Tasslehoff, pausing to peek into one of the crypts, saw a tall figure dressed in resplendent armor lying on a stone bier. Skeletal hands grasped the hilt of a longsword lying across the body. Tas looked up at the Royal Crest curiously, sounding out the words.

“Sothi Nuinqua Tsalarioth,” said Tanis, coming up behind the kender.

“What does it mean?” Tas asked.

“Faithful beyond Death,” Tanis said softly.

At the west end of the crypts, they found a set of bronze double doors. Goldmoon pushed it open easily and led them into a triangular passage that opened into a large hall. Inside this room, the only difficulty they faced was in trying to get the dwarf out of it. The hall was perfectly intact, the only room in the Sla-Mori they had encountered so far that had survived the Cataclysm without damage. And the reason for that, Flint explained to anyone who would listen, was the wonderful dwarven construction—particularly the twenty-three columns supporting the ceiling.

The only way out was two identical bronze doors at the far end of the chamber, leading west. Flint, tearing himself away from the columns, examined each and grumbled that he hadn’t any idea what was behind them or where they led. After a brief discussion, Tanis decided to take the door to his right.

The door opened onto a clean, narrow passageway that led them, after about thirty feet, to another single bronze door. This door, however, was locked. Caramon pushed, tugged, pried—all to no avail.

“It’s no use,” the big man grunted. “It won’t budge.”

Flint watched Caramon for several minutes, then finally stumped forward. Examining the door, he snorted and shook his head. “It’s a false door!”

“Looks real to me!” Caramon said, staring at the door suspiciously. “It’s even got hinges!”

“Of course, it does,” Flint snorted. “We don’t build false doors to look false—even a gully dwarf knows that.”

“So we’re at a dead end!” Eben said grimly.

“Stand back,” Raistlin whispered, carefully leaning his staff against a wall. He placed both hands on the door, touching it only with the tips of his fingers, then said, “Khetsaram pakliol!” There was a flare of orange light, but not from the door—it came from the wall!

“Move!” Raistlin grabbed his brother and jerked him back, just as the entire wall, bronze door and all, began to pivot.

“Quickly, before it shuts,” Tanis said, and everyone hurried through the door, Caramon catching his brother as Raistlin staggered.

“Are you all right?” Caramon asked, as the wall slammed shut behind them.

“Yes, the weakness will pass,” Raistlin whispered. “That is the first spell I have cast from the spellbook of Fistandantilus. The spell of opening worked, but I did not believe it would drain me like this.”

The door led them into another passageway that ran straight west for about forty feet, took a sharp turn to the south, then east, then continued south again. Here the way was blocked by another single bronze door.

Raistlin shook his head. “I can only use the spell once. It is gone from my memory.”