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"No," the girl murmured. Her eyes still fixed on the
mage, she tried unsuccessfully to free herself from his
grasp. "You - you're hurting me. . . ."
"What are you?" he demanded.
She shrugged, squirming and pushing at his hands.
"Human, like yourself," she protested, looking up into the
strange eyes. "And I thank you for saving me, but - "
Suddenly she froze, her efforts to free herself ceased.
Her gaze was locked onto Raistlin's, the mage's gaze was
fixed upon her. "No!" she moaned helplessly. "No!" Her
moan became a shriek, echoing above the howling of the
storm winds outside the inn.
Raistlin reeled backward, slamming into the wall as
though she had driven a sword into his body. Yet she had
not touched him, she had done nothing but look at him.
With a wild cry, the girl scrambled to her feet and ran up
the stairs, leaving the mage slumped against the wall,
staring with stunned, unseeing eyes at where she had
crouched before him on the staircase.
"Well, I took care of the scum. Small thanks to you,"
Caramon muttered, coming up beside his brother. Wiping
blood from a cut on the mouth, the big warrior looked over
the railing in satisfaction. Four men lay on the floor, not
counting the one his brother had stabbed, whose inert body
was huddled at the foot of the staircase in a heap
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