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"Mmmm . . ." Caramon rumbled deeply in his chest-his
battle-cry.
"My magic can destroy it," Raistlin protested as Caramon laid
him gently on the stone floor. BURNING HANDS, Raistlin thought
grimly. A weak spell against a wraith, but he had to try. "Move,
Caramon! I have just enough strength left."
Caramon did not answer. He turned around and walked toward
the wraith, blocking Raistlin's view.
Clinging to the wall, the conjurer clawed his way to a standing
position and raised his hand. Just as he was about to expend his
strength in one last shout, hoping to warn off his brother, he
stopped and stared in disbelief. Caramon raised his hand. Where
before he had held a sword, now he held a rod of amber. In the
other hand, his shield hand, he held a bit of fur. He rubbed the two
together, spoke some magic words-and a lightning bolt flashed,
striking the wraith in the chest. It shrieked, but kept coming, intent
on draining Cara-mon's life energy. Caramon kept his hands
raised. He spoke again. Another bolt sizzled, catching the wraith in
its head. And suddenly there was nothing.
"Now we'll get out of here," Caramon said with satisfaction.
The rod and the fur were gone. He turned around. "The door is just
ahead-"
'"How did you do that?" Raistlin asked, propping himself up
against the wall.
Caramon halted, alarmed by his brother's wild, frenzied stare.
"Do what?" The fighter blinked
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