From his army of the undead, Xar, Lord of the Nexus, learns of the existence of the mysterious Seventh Gate. It is said that this gate grants whoever enters it the power to create worlds—or destroy them. Only Haplo knows its location—but he doesn't know he knows it. Now an ex-lover has been sent to betray Haplo and bring back his corpse. Meanwhile, the assassin Hugh the Hand is also after Haplo, wielding the Accursed Blade. With his old companion Alfred, Haplo must seek sanctuary in the Labyrinth—a deadly prison maze whose inhabitants are condemned to death.   Millennia ago a battle raged between the Sartan and the Patryn, and the Sartan sundered the world into four realms—air, fire, stone, and water—and then vanished. But now the two races have rediscovered each other through the magic of the Death Gate—and war is about to erupt anew. Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman published their first novel in the Dragonlance Chronicles series, Dragons of Autumn Twilight, in 1984. More than thirty-five years later, they have collaborated on more than thirty novels together in many different fantasy worlds. Hickman is currently working with his son, Curtis Hickman, for The VOID, creating stories and designs for whole-body, fully immersive VR experience. Weis teaches the competitive dog racing sport flyball. She and Hickman are working on future novels in this series. CHAPTER 1   ABARRACH     ABARRACH: WORLD OF STONE, WORLD OF DARKNESS LIT BY THE fires of molten sea, world of stalagmites and stalactites, world of fire dragons, world of poisonous air and sulfurous fumes, world of magic.   Abarrach: world of the dead.   Xar, Lord of the Nexus, and now Lord of Abarrach, sat back in his chair, rubbed his eyes. The rune-constructs he was studying were starting to blur together. He’d almost made a mistake—and that was inexcusable.   But he had caught himself in time, corrected it. Closing his aching eyes, he went over the construct again in his mind.   Begin with the heart-rune. Connect this sigil’s stem to an adjoining rune’s base. Inscribe the sigla on the breast, working upward to the head. Yes, that was where he’d gone wrong the first few times. The head was important—vital. Then draw the sigla on the trunk, finally the arms, the legs.   It was perfect. He could find no flaw. In his mind’s eye, he imagined the dead body on which he’d been working rising up and living again. A corrupt form of life, admittedly, but a beneficial one. The corpse was far more useful now than it would have been moldering in the ground.   Xar smiled in triumph, but it was a triumph whose life span was shorter than that of his imaginary defunct. His thoughts went something like this:   I can raise the dead.   At least I am fairly certain I can raise the dead.   I can’t be sure.   That was the pall over his elation. There were no dead for him to raise. Or rather, there were too many dead. Just not dead enough.   In bitter frustration, Xar slammed his hands down on the elaborately conceived rune-construct. The rune-bones1 went flying, skittering and sliding off the table onto the floor.   Xar paid no attention to them. He could always put the construct together again. Again and again. He knew it as well as he knew the rune-magic to conjure up water. For all the good it would do him.   Xar needed a corpse. One not more than three days dead. One that hadn’t been seized by these wretched lazars.2 Irritably he swept the last few remaining rune-bones to the floor.   He left the room he used as his study, headed for his private chambers. On his way, he passed by the library. And there was Kleitus, the Dynast, former ruler (until his death) of Necropolis, the largest city on Abarrach. At his death, Kleitus had become a lazar—one of the living dead. Now the Dynast’s gruesome form, which was neither dead nor alive, wandered the halls and corridors of the palace that had once been his. The lazar thought it was still his. Xar knew better, but he saw no reason to disabuse Kleitus of the notion.   The Lord of the Nexus steeled himself to speak to the Lord of the Living Dead. Xar had fought many terrible foes during his struggles to free his people from the Labyrinth. Dragons, wolfen, snogs, chaodyn—every monster the Labyrinth could create. Xar feared nothing. Nothing living. The lord couldn’t help feeling a qualm deep in his bowels when he looked into the hideous, ever-shifting death-mask face of the lazar. Xar saw the hatred in the eyes—the hatred that the dead bore the living of Abarrach.   An encounter with Kleitus was never pleasant. Xar generally avoided the lazar. The lord found it uncomfortable talking to a being who had one thought on his mind: death. Your death.   The sigla on Xar’s body glowed blue, defending him from attack. The blue light was reflected in the Dynast’s dead eyes, which glittered with disappointment. The lazar had tried once, on Xar’s arrival, to kill the Patryn. The battle between the two h