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massing in the blackness of the shadows for a bined attack。 And Sabat felt himself starting to weaken； his brain going muzzy again！
He had difficulty in praying； an incoherent mumbling。 The laughter came again； a mocking cackle that might have been Quentin's and might not。 Sabat dipped his fingers； felt only a moistness on the silver … the holy water was all gone！ Peals of laughter； the wind starting to strengthen； a tearing freezing blast that had him staggering back。
Run！ The church； it's your only hope； you'll be safe in there。 Too late； the blackness had closed in； not so much as a twinkling star to silhouette the way to the church； blundering blindly on； all sense of direction gone。
Panic gripped him the same as it had up in that mountain forest when he had suddenly realised that Quentin was invincible。 He threw the chalice； felt the gale whip it like a dead leaf； heard it strike something solid。 Something sharp pierced the back of his neck； scraped the flesh。 He knew what it was； tangled hawthorn； the straggling boundary hedge of the cemetery。 He could go no further； he was trapped！
And then suddenly Sabat saw them； outlined in an ethereal glow that came neither from the moon nor stars。 Dozens of them； an angry mob in filthy tattered garments； screaming for him。 More light； now he could see their faces； grotesque inhuman features that had no right to exist on this earth。 A frenzied mob of 。。。 Oh God； what were they？
Their bodies stank； an acrid odour of sweat and urine 。 。 。 and death A thought crossed his mind； nearly froze his brain with terror； the old Haiti legends； the dead raised from their graves by the bocors and made to work in the fields； Zombies！ No； it couldn't be； but surely these creatures in human shape were not living mortals。
He calmed his panic。 These were the dark forces taking on terrifying forms； able to change them at will； deadly dangerous in whatever shape they chose to show themselves。 Women with grimy scaled breasts； pubic hair that crawled with lice。 Except one！ Sabat recognised her； picked her out of the howling mass； the exquisite figure； so sensual at the height of her fury； long auburn hair that fell tantalisingly around her shoulders； a Beauty amid the Beasts … Miranda
Her eyes met his； seemed to glow with a greenish hate； the full lips parting into a lusting smile。 And even in the throes of this latest terror he felt himself getting an erection。 He tried to look away but could not； a kind of hypnotism that was willing him to rush forward； fall at her naked feet and worship her the way he had once worshipped God。 He'd let them do anything they wanted； just for the chance to copulate with her。
e to me； Sabat！
He found himself stepping forward； then something jerked inside him； a spark kindled into flame； a determination to go down fighting。 He grasped the crucifix and held it aloft like a sword。 And that was when they fell back screaming！
A half…realisation within himself … the inverted cross； these evil ones' own blasphemous symbol from which they drew their dark power。 And Sabat was turning evil on evil； using fire to fight fire！
A cry escaped his lips； more of a howl than anything the human vocal chords could issue。 Discarding one power for another； he leaped into the fray； and as he did so he called upon one to help him for whom this place was sacred 。 。 。 Baron Cimeterre； Lord of the Cemetery； chief of the evil Petro gods of the West Indies。 A prayer that was a blasphemy in itself； a black invocation。
The gale came again； colder and stronger than before； whipping into the faces of the cowering rabble； several of them stumbling and falling as they turned to flee。 And Sabat was upon them； his crucifix a devastating sword； this latest disciple of Baron Cimeterre bent upon bloody carnage。
Sabat raised his eyes to the sky above； muttering words that only a Creole might have understood but there was no humility in the way he asked the ancient Lord of the Cemetery to help him in his hour of need； a mercenary fought for the highest bidder。
The sword came round in a sweeping arc； two of his attackers falling to the ground with screams of unearthly anguish。 A squat hairy man shrieked as he clutched with one hand at the severed stump of his other arm … but there was no blood A cavalier fighting against overwhelming odds and driving back the enemy； rapid thrusts that were too quick for the eye to follow。 Had the fallen been mortals then this wilderness of a graveyard would have run red with spilt blood； gaping wounds； entrails spilling from open stomachs； gashed throats and eyes that dangled from skewered sockets。 And Sabat was relentless； now truly a demon possessed with unbelievable strength。 A woman； a filthy hag of indeterminate age； standing her ground and screaming her venom at him； age…old curses that elsewhere would have brought assistance from her familiars but even her powers were useless when pitted against those of the Lord of the Undead； the chief of the Petro gods in a far off dark land。 The godgame was the ultimate clash of power and there could only be one victor。
Sabat stared into her seemingly sightless orbs and read a defiant hatred； a toothless cavity of a mouth miming obscenities。 Sagging revolting breasts scaled with the grime of a past age giving off a vile odour which in different circumstances would have had him retching。 But not now； it was the heady smell of battle。
'You have defiled the temple of Baron Cimeterre；' he hissed； weapon drawn back。 'A sacrilege； performing your blasphemous rites in this place when they should have been his。 Each and every one of you must be struck down in his name！'
The wind shrieked as though the Petro god himself roared his approval of Sabat's words。 Then Sabat struck； a wide sweeping blow； felt his arm jarred for one brief second as the blade met with some obstruction then passed on and pleted its arc。
Those few survivors who had huddled behind this witch for protection； confident in her powers； moaned their terror； stared aghast at what had happened。 The crone reared upright； at full stretch； the severed skull screaming its agony even though it was parted from her almost skeletal naked body； a head that seemed to hang in the air as though some invisible thread suspended it there； dilated eyes watching the trunk as it sank to the ground。 Then the cranium fell with a sickening thud； rolled towards the neck as if seeking to rejoin the body from which it had been parted。
Sabat laughed； kicking it to one side as he stepped across it。 More of these 。 。 。 things remained and now he had no fear of them； they could neither flee nor fight； condemned souls awaiting execution。 And he was going to enjoy every second of it！
This time the blow was low； knee…high； scything through a forest of legs； bone splintering； limbs cracking and spinning away。 A writhing revolting mass of legless wounded； groaning their helplessness； at Sabat's mercy。
For a few seconds he savoured the situation； gloated。 This is what they would have