"And so you contrive to enter the Test and lure young mages like me into your web," said Raistlin. "I would guess that I am not the first. What has happened to those who came before me?"
Fistandantilus shrugged. "They died. I told you. They spoke to me. The conclave fears that I will enter into the body of a young mage, take him over and so return to the world to complete what I began. They cannot allow that, and so each time they see to it that the threat is eliminated."
Raistlin gazed steadily at the old man, the dying old man. "I don't believe you. The mages died, but it was not the conclave who killed them. It was you. That's how you've managed to live for so long––if you call it living."
"Call it what you will, it is preferable to the great nothingness I see reaching out for me," Fistandantilus said with a hideous grin. "The same nothingness that is reaching out for you, young mage."
"I have little choice, it seems," replied Raistlin bitterly. "Either I die at the hands of three wizards or I am to be sucked dry by a lich."
"It was your decision to come down here," Fistandantilus replied.