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hundred yards or so away。 Four of them； huddled cloaked figures； bowed with grief as they surveyed the carnage around them。
Sabat experienced a sudden chill； a shiver running through him in spite of the intolerable heat。 He turned； began to make his way towards them； a feeling of guilt causing him to avert his eyes。 For he had no right to be here； a trespasser in the land of the gods； one who came only when the final conflict was over。 But it was not over； an eternal struggle in which the forces of good struggled to repel the armies of evil； a battle won today would be lost tomorrow； and so it would be for always。
He raised his head； saw that all four of them were watching him intently； yet their expressions were impassive。 Three men and a woman； at least those were the forms in which they showed themselves to him； robed and cowled so that they might just have been desert wanderers who had happened upon the slaughter like himself。
'You came too late； Sabat。' The oldest of the men spoke with a heavy nasal accent； one that could not be likened to any race anywhere in the world。 'This day has been long although it is far from finished。 Warriors have been slain by the thousand but there is neither conqueror nor conquered。 And so it will always be； eternal strife and suffering。'
'That is why I e； my Lord Damballah；' Sabat spoke humbly。 'Greetings to you and your woman Aida Ouedo。 Had I a white cock and hen 1 would sacrifice them to you but all I see around me are vultures。'
'So be it。' Damballah waved a hand in the direction of his three panions。 'Today is Wednesday which is my day； Damballah's day。 Yet you may also address Papa Legba； the giver of opportunities； and Maitre Carrefour； the Lord of the Crossroads。 See； they even pay homage to him in this land of death。'
Sabat's eyes followed the pointing finger； saw a crude wooden cross some seven or eight feet high on which had been draped a tattered tail…coat； above which hung the remnants of a top hat。 The Lord of the Crossroads； indeed； was represented here but today it was Damballah； chief of the Rada gods； who manded worship。 Sabat was fortunate； any other time he might have happened upon the evil Petro gods and surely Baron Cimeterre would not have forgiven him for his treachery； first in the cemetery and later when he had put Maurice Storton's body beyond the reach of the Lord of the Cemetery。
'You risk your soul； Sabat；' Damballah warned。 'It is only the foolish and the brave who dare to tread this blood…soaked battlefield from which there is no escape except by the benevolence of the ruling god on that day。'
'I came because it is Wednesday；' Sabat kept his eyes on the ground； saw a scorpion scuttle beneath a dead body； 'otherwise I would not have done so。 I e to ask your help。'
'Even Damballah is wary of your treachery now。'
'My treachery concerns only Baron Cimeterre。 Surely you do not despise me for what I did to your sworn enemy； a Petro god。'
'No； but I cannot trust a mercenary in this eternal war between good and evil。 Yours is a selfish request； a plea that you might be saved。'
'No！' Sabat raised himself proudly to his full height。 'I ask not to be saved myself but unless I am spared； the duppy of my brother Quentin will be released to join forces with the Petro gods。 Only by saving me will you prevent this happening。'
'You are cunning； Sabat；' a faint smile flicked briefly across the parchment…like features of the Wednesday god； 'but as your soul is also Quentin's； how can I be certain that you will not reward me with evil； turn on me as you did on Baron Cimeterre。'
'I can make no such rash promise； nor would I attempt to do so；' Sabat replied； 'for at times； Quentin is strong within me。 But I will make one vow here on this bloodsoaked land。'
'You are honest and for that I respect you。 But what vow will you make； what bargain for your life。 You cannot guarantee me your duppy because it is not wholly yours； and after death it may go into the dark unknown。'
'I promise this；' Sabat's voice was loud and clear； shouting because distant thunder was rumbling； an approaching desert storm ing to whip the sand and drive it so that this day's battle would be buried and forgotten； 'that I will kilt he who is known as Royston Spode in the name of Damballah； and that I will destroy his duppy before it can leave his body in the same manner in which 1 did one called Maurice Storton。 And should it by chance elude me； then I will follow it into the black beyond and hunt it down like a savage beast。'
Damballah was silent for a few moments； glancing at Aida Ouedo and the other two in turn as though seeking their opinion。 Heads were nodded； shaken； then Damballah turned back to Sabat。 'It is a terrible vow which you make。 You will be held to it。'
'I vow！' Sabat spoke slowly； dropping his voice to a whisper； 'to destroy the line of evil that has been continued through William Gardiner into the person of Royston Spode。 And if 1 fail then you may take me。'
'No；' Damballah hissed； 'I shall not take you； for the Rada gods will have no use of you then。 The Petro gods will claim your duppy and doubtless Baron Cimeterre will exact a terrible revenge upon you for the manner in which you tricked him。 That is the price of failure。 Now go； return to your body and we； the Rada gods； will do our best。 But even we cannot promise victory； for the evil in that temple is so strong that we may not be able to breach its battlements。'
Sabat bowed； turned away。 The tension which had built up inside him now oozed its way out； droplets of sweat that evaporated at once and a trembling that had him shaking in every limb。 Now that the ordeal was over he wanted to hasten back to his drugged body； to rest awhile in order to prepare himself for whatever lay ahead。 For even Damballah； chief of the Rada gods； was not all…powerful； Baron Cimeterre and other lords of the dark would not concede their evil prize without a terrible struggle。 And Sabat was to be the rope in their tug…o'…war！
With some alarm Sabat realised that the heat of the day had lessened； that the sun had slipped towards the western horizon。 In a world where time stood still he had delayed too long； now he sped earthwards； a hurtling speck that could have been a hunting hawk； being a jinking； twisting bat as he flitted past the ivy…covered vicarage and honed towards that open square in the overgrown； disused adjoining graveyard。
It was the smell he noticed first； stronger than before； a sickening odour of rotting flesh and death； mingled with the acrid； unmistakable aroma of blood。 Terror such as he had never experienced before in astral form； fear that he had been away too long； deserted his physical body and left it totally at the mercy of the evil Royston。
Even as he entered the crypt the scene which he feared most greeted him。 His own body lay there before that black altar just as he had left it； but in the light cast by the twin candles he saw the blood 。 。 。 his features unrecognisable beneath the stic