There was no way he could walk, not with his leg wounded as it was. Desperately, he pushed himself away from Ranulf's corpse, scrabbling against the floor tiles with his hands and his left foot. Hatherle! Where was Hatherle!
Grunting and...a curse?...drew Gareth's gaze to the left, and his heart sank. Hatherle was firmly set upon by the other burly corpse. The nimble man servant ducked beneath a raking claw attack, but he bled from cut to his left shoulder and right thigh. He countered then, his longsword whipping toward the corpse's throat, but the things dodged backwards with nearly the agility of a living man. It took a cut to the front of its neck, but seemed to not even notice as it renewed its attack.
They were in trouble.
And then Gareth ran out of time to think. Ranulf's corpse
