"Quiet down," he ordered.
Nine mouths clamped shut. He walked to the kitchen door, pushed it open a bandwidth, and listened.
The distant but distinctive sounds of shouting men, plied iron, and panicked screams filled the air. A battle!
Suddenly, from close by, he heard a man shout in surprise, then a loud scream of pain followed by vicious snarling. The sound made the hair on tike nape of his neck rise. That had come from the parlor.
As though reading his mind, Brilla observed nervously, That sounded like an animal loose in the parlor." As one, the girls gasped and clustered together fearfully.
Gale let the door close and turned to the women. "Get in the herb pantry," he ordered, as calmly as he could. Judging from the sound, the source of the growls was a big aninia), "Block the door and don't come out unless I say so."
They stared at him blankly, dumbfounded.
"Move! Now."
That got them going.
."Yes, yes, of course," said Brilla. "Mister Cale is right. Come along, girls. Hurry now."
While casting nervous glances back at the wall through which the sounds of combat were made, Brilla quickly led the fearful staff out of the rear of the main kitchen toward the herb pantry. Cale waited till they had gone, then barreled through the kitchen door and raced toward the feasthall. He stopped cold when he reached the parlor, his favorite room.
Shouts, screams, and the crash of breaking dishes sounded loudly through the feasthall's double doors. Across the parlor near the archway to the forehall, dimly visible in the candlelight, a bipedal form in tattered clothes hunched over the body of a slain household guard. The wet chomping sounds of a feeding animal filled Gale's ears. When he gasped in surprise the creature looked up from its meal, wide eyed and startled. Gale's stomach roiled. He had expected an animal, not… this.
Strings of flesh clung to the creature's dirty fangs and inch-long claws. Yellow eyes stared out of a blood soaked, feral face. When those eyes found Cale, they narrowed to ochre slits. A purple tongue half as long as a man's forearm wormed out of its mouth, swept its lips, and slobbered up the last bits of flesh that clung to its face. It gave a low growl, a sound as savage and merciless as the fiercest animal, yet inexplicably human. It left the corpse and took one step toward him. His stomach fluttered nervously.
It registered in his mind that the creature had eaten the fallen guard. Ghouls, he realized. Ghouls are in the house! He had never before encountered undead, but he had heard enough tales to recognize the warped body of one of the creatures. No wonder the monster's growl had sounded vaguely human.
The panicked shouting from the feasthall grew louder, increasing in intensity. Men screamed, ghouls snarled-lots of ghouls-and women shrieked in terror. Cale, however, could spare no thought for the events hi the feasthall. The ghoul before him began to prowl across the parlor toward him.
Involuntarily, he backed up a step. He reached for a weapon, patted himself for anything, but quickly realized that he had nothing. He cursed himself an idiot for leaving the kitchen without at least a carving knife. Think before you act, he rebuked himself.
Picking its way through the eclectic collection of furniture, the ghoul stalked closer. It moved in a hunched crouch, a vile, sickly-gray predator ready to pounce. As it approached, it tensed its clawed arms, smacked its lips, and gave a thoughtful snarl. Cale could have sworn it actually leered at him.
It knows I'm unarmed, he thought, and he realized that this savage, flesh-eating monster still retained some intelligence.
What in the Nine Hells is happening? Where's the house guard?
He knew the answer the moment he thought the question. One of the house guards already lay dead on the parlor floor; the rest were fighting in the feasthall. Judging from all the screaming and breaking dishes, he did not think that Jander and his men were faring too well.
For an instant, he considered making a dash for the kitchen to retrieve a weapon, but dismissed the idea. He could not risk leading the ghoul to Brilla and the kitchen girls.
With his gaze never leaving the yellow eyes of the ghoul, he sidestepped along the wall. As he moved, he tried to keep furniture between himself and the ghoul. It seemed to enjoy his efforts. It playfully circled to cut him off and pawed at the air, content for now merely to toy with him.
Up dose, Gale nearly gagged on the creature's stench. It stank like the rotted remains of a corpse baking in the sun. He tried to breathe through his mouth to keep from vomiting. With only a high backed wooden chair between them, he got a good look at the creature for the first time.
A spider web tracery of purple veins showed through its gray, leprous skin. A bit of blood from the dead guard still glistened scarlet on its sunken cheeks, and its fanged mouth and feral eyes promised a similar end to Gale. The remains of its befouled clothes hung in tatters from a hunched, twisted body. Its claws, filthy knife blades caked with dirt and gore, clenched and unclenched reflexively while it stalked him. A strange mark on its shoulder caught the can- dlelight and grabbed Gale's eye.
He stopped and stared, stupefied.
The ghoul had a tattoo hiked into the flesh of its shoulder, a familiar tattoo, two crossed daggers superimposed over a cracked skull.
A wave of nausea and dizziness washed over Gale. He fought it off and studied the twisted, savage face of the ghoul. The clothes that might once have been the favorite blue cloak of a man Gale had known.
"Krendik," he whispered in disbelief, the words drawn involuntarily from his constricted throat. He tasted bile and swallowed it down. "Krendik?" he said again, louder this time.
The ghoul stopped snarling and stood upright for a moment, as though hearing Gale say its name recalled the memory of its former humanity. In that instant, the feral gleam in its yellow eyes fell away. Its mouth softened from the rictus of savage hunger and a familiar face revealed itself. Behind the blood, the stink, and the twisted form, Gale recognized with certainty the face of Krendik, once a fellow Night Knife.
"Gods, man," he breathed. "What happened to you? What has the Righteous Man done?"
Krendik the ghoul crouched low, threw its head back, and snarled into the rafters. All traces of its former humanity vanished. He returned his gaze to Gale, insane eyes narrowed conspiratorially, and hissed, "Maassk."
Gale stared, dumbfounded. Mask? He did not understand. He knew that the Righteous Man was trying to convert everyone in the guild to the worship of Mask but that didn't explain this.
Teed," Krendik mouthed, and a foul brown slaver dripped from between its filthy fangs. "Feed."
The ghoul lunged at him.
Gale shoved the rocking chair into Krendik and frantically backpedaled. His eyes scanned the parlor for a weapon. Nothing! Gale scooted to his right.
Krendik bounded nimbly over the toppled chair and lashed out with a filthy daw.
Gale stumbled backward. Inadvertently, he crashed into one of the suits of armor-and nearly tripped over the display pedestal. Unthinking, he grabbed at the armor to steady himself. It toppled. He flailed to keep his balance while the mail crashed to the floor and sent bits of armor skittering across the floor.
The ghoul pounced on him.
Krendik crashed into him like a battering ram, claws flailing maniacally. The force of the charge drove Gale backward into the wall and blew the breath from his lungs. Snarls rang in his ears. The stink of rotted flesh and fetid breath filled his nostrils. Claws tore through his clothes and raked agfin and again at his unprotected flesh.
Reeling, and with no weapon at hand, he tried to pull it close and throttle it with his bare hands. The squirming ghoul pulled him off balance and the two tumbled to the armor-strewn floor in a chaotic pile of limbs, fangs, and claws.