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The sword blade cut viciously downwards； would have severed his head had he been where he was that split second earlier。 He felt a rush of air； something snagging at his jacket。 Then he hit Kent； his shoulder taking the Fleet Street man in the groin； the two of them hurtling backwards into the solid marble headstone； falling in a heap。
There was no pause； no respite to regain their breath。 The shuddering impact was merely the beginning of a hand…to…hand struggle； and Kent still had the sword！ Sabat gripped the other's wrist； tried to wrest the weapon from his hold but suddenly； it seemed； the journalist was imbued with tremendous strength and cunning！ Kent seemed to go limp； and even as his muscles relaxed； they taughtened into a double…action retaliation。 A knee shot up； found its mark in Sabat's groin； doubling him up while in the same movement the cropped head came down and butted him in the face。
Sabat saw flashing lights that had nothing at all to do with moonbeams glinting on rubies； and a blackness hovered and threatened as though the surrounding shadows encroached to e to the aid of their own。 He tasted blood； rode a wave of nausea； and came back fighting。
He clung grimly to the sword arm so that it could not be raised again； keeping the keen edge at a distance。 And in that close encounter he was aware of both Kent's superb strength and the evil force which drove him to unbelievable efforts。 Sabat realised； as he hung on for his life； that physically he could not match the other。
Sabat snorted and cleared the blood from his nostrils； tasted its iron flavour in his mouth as he gulped for air。 Still alive； but no way could he match the strength of this powerful evil in the form of Kent； the journalist。
A roaring filled Sabat's ears like the pounding of a mighty waterfall and the blackness closed in again。 Despair threatened to engulf him； hopelessness because his strength was waning； but he threw it off with a colossal effort。 Now he heard laughter； mocking tones which he recognised as Quentin's。 Damn it； he wasn't giving up； he'd fight them all the way。
Kent was trying to knee him again； powerful blows that took Sabat on the thigh； jarring him。 Suddenly Sabat loosened his grip； jerked his hand free and plunged it into his pocket。 The …38 was a temptation。 One bullet would have blasted Kent into eternity and then he could have destroyed the evil which had taken over the flesh of his friend。 No； there was another way。 。 。 。
Sabat held the small crucifix between his fingers when Kent dealt him a powerful jab； a shuddering body punch that sent him spinning； tore his grip from the sword…arm and sprawled him full…length。
'Now； Sabat！' Kent's voice was a rasp； almost unrecognisable from the familiar soft tones。 'You have tried to destroy us； the ancient Oke Priests； but instead we shall destroy your
Sabat saw the upraised sword； knew there was no way he would be able to twist himself out of its path。 Certain instant death glinted redly and Quentin was laughing again。 His arm went back； shot forward。
One last effort； enough faith to know that it would work； that the hurtling crucifix would be faster than the descending sword blade； that it would find its mark。
Kent screamed； a cry that embodied physical pain and mortal terror。 The sword seemed to check； then was suddenly wrested from his grasp like a twig being snapped from a bough in the teeth of a gale； whipped away； clattering against that marble headstone； its glittering hilt dulled。
The journalist straightened up； clutched at his face as though it had suddenly been scalded by boiling water。 The scream died to a moan and he began to sob； floundering and clutching at the tombstone for support。
Sabat called upon his last resources； remnants of a shattered physical strength that responded to his demands。 This time Kent's struggles were feeble as he was borne back； flung to the ground with Sabat on top of him。
Sabat stared down into the features he knew so well； now barely recognisable； twisted with hate and evil 。 。 。 and fear！ Mouthing obscenities； calling upon the forces of darkness to e to his aid； physically spent。
Sabat wet his forefinger； made the sign of the cross on the forehead of the man he pinned to the ground。 Kent screamed again； struggled； but that unbelievable strength was now reduced to mortal proportions。
'I am sorry； my friend；' Sabat murmured； 'but it is the only way； apart from killing you。 It will hurt； scorch your soul； but once the evil has been driven out you will be all right。'
Kent's eyes blazed momentary hate； then gave way to terror； fighting blindly as he panicked； but even a weakened and injured Sabat was too much for him。
'I mand you； evil spirit；'！ Sabat's voice was rich and powerful； vibrating in the still night air； 〃in the Name of God the Father Almighty； in the Name of Jesus Christ his only Son； and in the Name of the Holy Spirit； that harming no one； you depart from this creature of God； Kent； and return to the place appointed you； there to remain forever。'
Sabat prayed that his efforts would be enough； that his faith would triumph for he had no holy water to sprinkle upon the unfortunate possessed。 Even as he watched； Kent's expression changed； escalating terror that reached its peak； brought with it violent convulsions。 It seemed that the Fleet Street man was undergoing a fit； eyes rolling until only the whites showed like some upturned puppet； spittle frothing from the lips； every muscle straining as he tried in vain to throw off his attacker。 Then； suddenly； he went limp； eyes closed； his breathing barely audible。
Sabat straightened up； expelled his breath slowly； aware how every nerve in his body trembled。 He glanced around him； saw the sword lying there and picked it up。 Even as he handled it he detected faint vibrations as though a minute electric current ran from hilt to blade and back again。
'Incredible；' he muttered。 'Almost too incredible to be true！'
He found his fallen crucifix and returned it to his pocket； he might have need of it again before this night was through。 As he turned back； Kent was stirring； sitting up。
'What the hell's going on？ How did I 。。。 get here？'
'What is the last thing you remember？' Sabat rested his back on the big headstone； watched the other carefully。
'I was in the pub 。。。 a drink 。 。 。 talking to some guy 。 。 。 Christ； he must've slipped me a Mickey Finn！'
'Similar；' Sabat replied； 'only a thousand times stronger。 You were possessed by a spirit； Kent。 A very evil one。 Don't worry； I've exorcised you。 It won't e back。'
'That's 。 。 。 that's a sword 。 。 。 ' Kent was on his feet； swaying。 'And； oh My God； that's 。 。 。 that's Sheenah 。 。 。 she's not 。 。 。 she isn't； is she？'
'I'm afraid she is；' Sabat's voice quavered and only by a supreme effort did he stop himself from breaking down。 Tm afraid even I can't bring her back to life； Kent。 They killed her； the ancient order of Oke Priests。' It was best that way； Kent would never know otherwise。 Furthermore； it was true！
'The bloody swines！'
'That's putting it mildly。 This sword； Kent； it's unbelievable。 It could just be King Arthur's； the one he lost； according to mythology； hidden away by the Oke Priests for centuries。 Who knows？ Certainly it is very powerful； rendering its user almost invincible。 For the time being we'll have to hang on to it。 Now； the problem is we've got a body on our hands。 。。。〃
They both tried not to look at the pathetic crumpled form of Sheenah again。 Only twenty…four hours earlier the woman claiming to be her mother had died in this very place。 Then they had no problem because it was merely an astral body。 This one was mortal and the last thing they wanted was the police questioning them。
'I'm afraid we've no choice；' Sabat stooped down beside Sheenah； remembered everything that had been between them。
Kent moved alongside him； an unspoken request being carried out the way it used to be back in their SAS days together。 Together they lifted the body； carried it； a silent funeral procession winding its way amidst the gravestones。
The Oke Priests； the forces of evil； had struck a bitter blow against Sabat and Kent。 Now； for the two men； it was more than just a fight against the dark powers； a battle against corruption。
They seethed with a desire for vengeance on those who had brought about the death of the one whom Alda called Shyaena； she who had sacrificed her own life to save Sabat from certain death 。 。 。 and worse！
CHAPTER TEN
MARION HURST glanced sideways at her husband； an expression of both contempt and hate in her eyes for the man behind the wheel of the Jaguar。 Well built with long fair hair； she had once likened him to a Greek god。 Now at 42 that physique was running to fat； affluence was to blame； she told herself。 Too little exercise； too much to drink … and that bitch； Lola； of course。 Attractive； just having passed he