The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4) (48 page)

“Step aside, Gar,” Warren said, “Be ready to run as soon as I knock that door down.”

“No,” Garrett said, “It’s not gonna work with your hands behind your back like that… Can you break the chains?”

“Whatta you think I been tryin’ to do?” Warren growled. His massive shoulder muscles tensed and the cords of his neck stood out as he strained against the manacles again.

“Maybe I can slip out,” Garrett said, trying to twist his wrist free of the shackles.

A moment later, he gave up. “Too tight,” he said.

A low groan sounded from the back of the room. Garrett looked up to see Caleb push his way to the front of the crowd of zombies.

“Caleb,” Garrett said, “are you all right?”

Caleb’ squinted at him, his face unreadable behind the wrappings of his satyr headdress. He slipped a gloved hand inside his pocket and withdrew a silver fork. The zombie lifted the fork between his fingers and twirled it once before dropping it. It landed on the floorboards with a dull clatter, and Caleb gave an embarrassed groan as he stooped to retrieve it.

“What are you doing, Caleb?” Garrett asked.

Caleb made a sighing noise as he stepped forward, reaching for Warren’s arm.

Warren pulled away, eyeing the zombie suspiciously.

“No,” Garrett said, “I think he’s trying to help.”

Warren let the ghoul fumble at his manacles behind his back. The ghoul cast a worried glance at Garrett and then turned his neck to try to see what the zombie was doing.

Two metallic
pops
sounded in rapid succession, each followed by a tinny clatter as two broken fork tines fell to the floor at Caleb’s feet.

“Hey! Watch the fur!” Warren said, hunching forward as Caleb lifted Warren’s paws behind him.

Caleb moaned, bent over the manacles with a look of intense concentration in his milky eyes.

Now a steely note rang out as one of the manacle cuffs popped open, freeing Warren’s right arm. He brought both hands around in front to massage his bruised wrist.

Caleb gave the ghoul an annoyed look and then shambled around in front of Warren to work on the remaining cuff with his broken fork that now bore only a single twisted tine.

“Thanks!” Warren said, looking rather impressed as Caleb picked the other lock. Warren tossed the manacles aside and then grinned, clapping Caleb hard on the shoulder.

The zombie staggered, moaning angrily at the big ghoul as he turned to walk slowly toward Garrett.

A few moments later, Garrett was free as well.

“Thanks, Caleb,” Garrett whispered, “Good job!”

Caleb gave a satisfied groan and then shambled back to the huddled mass of zombies at the back of the room.

“All right,” Warren said, “The plan’s the same, just with more punching now.”

“No,” Garrett said, “I think its time these guys learn what happens when you mess with a necromancer.” He looked at Warren and then nodded toward the small army of undead that stood, shoulder to shoulder, awaiting his command.

After a short discussion, Garrett and Mrs. Nash retreated safely to the back of the room, and Warren knocked the door from its hinges with one mighty blow, sending it smashing against the opposite wall of the corridor. Then, at Garrett’s command, he jumped back, allowing the horde of zombies to surge through the doorway and spill out into the hall. The startled shouts of the Templars were drowned out by the eerie moans of the dead.

Snuff screamed as he dropped a half-eaten piece of pie and fumbled for his mace. Tom the kitchen zombie was on him before he could draw it, and both went down in a heap.

“The heads!” Hawk roared, “Aim for the heads!” The big Templar drove his boar spear completely through the skull of Garrett’s coachman, destroying the zombie’s brain. The coachman’s body crumpled to the floor, dragging the barbed spear down with him.

Hawk scrambled backward, drawing his mace as he did, but he collided with a younger Templar behind him, and both men stumbled before being overwhelmed by the onrushing zombies.

“Don’t kill them!” Garrett cried, “Just bite ‘em… a lot!”

Snuff howled in pain, the heel of his right hand clamped firmly between Tom’s yellow teeth.

Warren laughed as he pounced out into the hall, close on the heels of the undead.

Hawk came up fighting, crushing a zombie’s skull with his mace. He wore a fierce grin beneath his black mustache that disappeared when he saw the massive hairy fist aimed directly at his head.

Hawk landed atop the dead zombie, looking little better himself. Warren stuck his tongue out at the fallen ghoul-slayer and then moved on to assist the zombies with the next man.

“Hold fast, men!” Captain Gaulve shouted as he stepped into the hall. He went down in a heap a moment later beneath the senseless Templar that Warren had just thrown at him. Warren loped forward, hauling the captain to his feet by the scruff of his neck.

Gaulve roared with rage, driving an armored fist into Warren’s ribs.

Warren staggered backward, letting go of the man to clutch at his side in pain.

Gaulve ripped the mace from his belt and raised it to strike, but the zombies surged past Warren through the narrow hallway, pulling the Templar captain down. He screamed with rage and pain as the creatures clawed and bit at his body, finding the places the armor did not cover.

“Warren, get their weapons!” Garrett cried as he reached in to snatch Snuff’s fallen mace from the floor.

Warren ignored him, choosing instead to bash Captain Gaulve in the head with his fist until the man stopped moving.

“Stop biting!” Garrett cried, sickened by the sight of the bloody wounds that Snuff and the other Templars had already suffered at the teeth of Tinjin’s household zombies, “Take them down to the cellar!”

The Templars who remained conscious were too injured to resist as the undead servants dragged them downstairs, and Garrett followed.

“Put ‘em in there,” Garrett commanded, pointing toward the small, dark room where Uncle Tinjin had stored bodies temporarily, either for later resurrections or for trade with the ghouls. The zombies dragged the men inside, and Garrett hesitated only a moment before locking them in. He considered giving them a torch, but decided it would be safer to leave them in the dark.

“Think of all the pies we could make,” Warren said with an evil grin as they bolted the door.

Garrett sighed and shook his head. “You all right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Warren said with a pained expression, “I just want you to know… that guy didn’t really hit that hard… he just hit me in the same spot where I hit the rocks the other night when you threw me.”

“I thought you said I hit like a baby?” Garrett laughed.

“Yeah, you do,” Warren said, “but that gate post hit like a hill giant.”

Garrett laughed as the two of them walked back upstairs together. They found Mrs. Nash and Caleb standing in the kitchen, watching Tom try to clean up the mess left by the Templars despite his badly broken arm.

“Tom!” Garrett cried, rushing forward to help his old friend. He grabbed Tom’s shoulder with one hand and pulled the zombie’s wrist hard with the other. He tried to ignore the grinding sound of shattered bones settling back into place as the arm straightened again.

Tom moaned, looking down at his stiffened arm.

“It’ll be all right, Tom,” Garrett said, “Just go to your corner and rest a bit.”

Tom shuffled obediently back into his corner and hung his head, awaiting further orders.

“Will he be all right?” Mrs. Nash asked, still a bit pale and shaken.

“Yeah,” Garrett said, “The magic that holds ‘em together will settle everything back into place eventually, as long as everything’s still attached and you keep the broken parts straightened out.”

“What about you?” she asked, then her eyes went wide, “Oh, Garrett! What happened to your face?”

“Huh?” Garrett said, touching his cheek and feeling the puffy scars there, “Oh… that was something else… I got in a fight with a vampire.”

“Not your lady friend?” she gasped.

“Oh, no!” Garrett laughed, “Just sort of… about her.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Nash sighed.

“Busy week,” Garrett mused.

“Oh, Garrett,” Mrs. Nash sighed, “You have to leave this place! More of them are gonna come lookin’ for you.”

“I know,” Garrett sighed, “Look, I’m sorry you got mixed up in this. You probably better get outta here before more of them come here. I’m gonna try to sort everything out and put an end to this.”

“Where are you going to go?” Mrs. Nash asked.

Garrett shook his head, trying to think clearly. At last he said, “It’s better you don’t know… but, if I can clear up this misunderstanding, I’ll find you again and let you know.”

She nodded and gave him a hug. “If you need anything, Garrett…” she said.

“Thanks, Mrs. Nash,” he said with a smile, “Now you better go.”

“I’ll… I’ll see you soon,” she said, pausing for a moment in the kitchen doorway before she slipped out into the hall and left through the front door.

“Where
are
you gonna go?” Warren asked.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Garrett said.

“What?”

Garrett shrugged, picking up the last piece of pie from the table and stuffing it in his mouth. He washed it down with a swig from one of the half-emptied cups that the Templars had left strewn around the table. Garrett’s nose wrinkled at the taste of wine, probably from one of the bottles that Uncle Tinjin had left behind. He hoped it wasn’t Uncle’s good wine, but then he had no taste for the stuff, and, knowing the Templars, it probably was.

“The way I see it,” Garrett said, “This is the one place in the city where I know Shelbie is going to be… All I have to do is wait for her to show up.”

“You’re going to fight her?” Warren asked.

“Sure, why not?” Garrett said.

“’Cause she’ll probably have a whole bunch o’ guys with her and another bottle of poison that she’ll want to shove down your throat,” Warren said.

“Should make for an interesting fight then,” Garrett said, “Besides, she can’t have too many guys with her… she wants to keep this all a secret from the High Priestess, right? She probably won’t want to have too many people that know what really happened if she pours poison down my throat.”

"Or we could maybe just go back to Marrowvyn and stick to the plan?” Warren said, “Slightly less chance of drinkin’ poison that way.”

“Good idea,” Garrett said, “You run back to Marrowvyn and get as many ghouls as you can. I’ll wait here and keep Shelbie busy ‘till you get back.”

“Or you could come with me…” Warren said.

“No,” Garrett said, shaking his head, “If she came here and I was gone, she’d just leave again. The only chance we have of catching her is if I wait here and stall her ‘till you guys get back.”

“You’re just gonna stall her?” Warren asked.

“Yeah,” Garrett said, “She’ll probably want to gloat and stuff. I just have to keep her talking for a while.”

Warren groaned. “All right,” he said at last, “but only if you keep your back to the cellar and have enough zombies handy to throw in her way if you have to run for it.”

“All right,” Garrett said.

“I’d better get goin’ then,” Warren sighed, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, Warren,” Garrett said.

“Yeah, Gar,” Warren said, turning to go, “Just remember to run for it if you have to. I don’t want to have to eat my best friend’s head tonight… especially if it’s full of poison.”

“I’ll be fine!” Garrett laughed, “And you can tell Diggs to bring all the essence he wants.”

“Oh hell…” Warren muttered as he headed down the stairs to the cellar.

Caleb moaned questioningly, looking to Garrett for instructions.

“Go round up the zombies, Caleb,” Garrett said, “I want four at the back door and six in the parlor.”

Caleb raised his eyebrow and groaned.

“I want you in the hallway to the cellar, like last time,” Garrett said, “In case I do have to run.”

The troubled look in Caleb’s eyes showed he might well remember the last time he had helped Garrett escape from the Templars down that hallway.

“I don’t plan on running this time,” Garrett laughed, “but, if I have to, I want to know you’ve got my back.”

Caleb gave a stiff nod and then walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a large carving knife.

Garrett felt a little chill to see the way Caleb looked at the knife, admiring the flicker of lamplight on the polished blade.

“I don’t want you killing anybody,” Garrett said.

Caleb didn’t look at him but slipped the blade into his belt and disappeared into the hallway with footsteps so light they were practically silent.

Garrett sighed and followed the zombie out, turning right to head down the hall to Uncle’s study. He stepped around the dark stains smeared across the floor where his servant’s teeth had drawn Templar blood. There would likely be more blood on the floor before the day was through, possibly his own.