That was the choice with evil, after all: you faced it, or you fed other people to it in hopes that it'd eat you last. "I don't think I will," Garric said, turning to face the monster. "Many people would think that was the only sane course, Prince Garric." There was a nick just below the fat part of the blade, but nothing that seriously impaired its usefulness. The servant's hand was slender but ridged with sinew the skin had a grayish cast. He threw the dagger down and wrenched the curved sword from the dead man's grip. The servant's blow had notched the steel a finger's breadth deep it'd been sheer luck that the blade hadn't snapped instead of blocking an otherwise fatal stroke. Garric knelt and wiped his sword on tunic of the corpse lying across the causeway. Dangers-the huge pincers, the tentacles that writhed five or six feet out from the lamprey-like mouth-and weaknesses-joints and the great central eye-were highlighted, while the rest of the creature remained a shadowed bulk. He was a warrior, a man of war first and foremost. Garric felt Carus place a cold overlay on the image of the monster before them.
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