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Sabat lowered his sword。 He had almost plunged the blade at the vile thing that was the Hirschlanden Warrior of L'lmpernal； trusted in his own power to destroy it。 Had his own life and soul alone been at risk he would have done so but Kent was somewhere out there in the shadows。
'You promised our lives in return；' he snarled。 'How do I know that you will not trick me at the end？'
'No！ Sabat； please don't let them kill me！' Lola was screaming； struggling； but the old ones overpowered her； stifled her cries。 And Sabat winced at the prospect of his own treachery； had to make one last try。
'I will pronounce and carry out the sentence on the two men；' he spoke firmly； 'but I must ask that you spare the woman。 She means much to me for I have mated with her！'
A hiss from the watchers； astonishment and fury。 Sabat had been installed as High Priest for this one night and this woman； proven guilty； now turned out to be his mistress； just as Alda had once taken Alena into his bed and made her one of the higher ones by sexual union； saving her from a terrible fate。
'On your oath； do you speak the truth？ For perjury is punishable by death！'
'I speak the truth。 Turn the one called Lola over to me！'
That we cannot do； for she has bee one of us through you； and we shall keep her； but the fate of the others will not be shared by her； that I promise。 Now； pass sentence on the other two for much time has been wasted and we must be ready 'ere the first rays of the rising sun strike the sacrificial stone！'
Sabat faced the shadowy circle whose numbers appeared to have swelled even further； a dark moving mass that filled this ancient temple to capacity； a crowd that was waiting to hear him speak。
The men； Boyce and Hurst； have been found guilty and there is only one penalty；' he raised the sword high in the air； closed his eyes momentarily for its flashing brightness blinded him。 'Death！' It might be carried out in a number of ways； a Wicker Man； the turf sacrificial altar； throats cut as the sun rose。 。 。 。
Cries of jubilation came at him like a rush of autumn wind； the stench of rotting vegetation。
'The woman； Sabat； pronounce sentence on the woman'
'She is guilty and must be punished according to druid law 。 。 。 but not by death； for I have that promise from the tips of the Hirschlanden Warrior of L'lmpernal himself。' Sabat sank back on to his seat； exhausted but knowing that there was more to do before this night was done。
He heard the screams of the prisoners； knew that the Oke Priests were preparing them for death； knew also that it was by his own hand that Bishop Boyce and Darren Hurst would die！
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
OF COURSE； Sabat stared aghast； he should have realised how the two men were to be executed； for was not this Council of Justice presided over by one who from time immemorial had ruled the Cult of the Severed Head！ Boyce and Hurst were to be beheaded！
The two men knelt； side by side； unfettered but not moving； heads downward on a long flat stone。 They trembled violently but did not protest for surely they had resigned themselves to their fate； and they knew that the end would be swift。 They would wele death。
Beside the execution block stood Alda； expressionless； his gaze fixed on Sabat。 Behind him in the darkest shadows the Hirschlanden Warrior floated silently。 Sabat glanced behind him； thought he heard the sobs of Lola amidst the waiting throng。 Kent would be there somewhere too。
Sabat fingered his sword blade； gingerly tested its sharpness； for without doubt this was to be the weapon of execution。 He sighed。 He had killed often and brutally in the past； emotionlessly； yet this was different。 His enemies had no chance； like blasting a sitting rabbit with a shotgun。 It would have been far better to have engaged in some kind of bat to the death with Boyce and Hurst。 Certainly he would have killed them； but at least he would have obtained some kind of satisfaction from their deaths。 Now there was no challenge … except to kill them cleanly when they deserved to suffer。
A faint greyness in the eastern sky； the hours of the psychic Oke Priests were drawing to a close。 Sabat wondered if they would exist once the daylight came。 Another day； another time…change； a brief surrender to the twentieth century。 The final hour was nigh。
Waiting。
An orange ball tipped the distant skyline； one penetrating ray； so sudden and precise； striking the stone； bathing〃 the bared necks of the sacrificial victims in a blood red aura。 Sabat's sword went up； a glittering arc of death powered by every ounce of strength in his tired body。 He heard the cries of the watchers； steeled himself for the impact。
The blade came down with tremendous force； his arm shuddered。 Hurst first； a cut as clean as that of a guillotine； blood spouting as the head toppled forward； rolled a few feet and came to rest facing him。 Eyes that still saw； a mouth twisted into a mute cry of agony and hatred。
He swung the sword again； aware that the throng had moved in closer； lusting for the sight of spilled human blood； jostling one another for a better view。
Bishop Boyce's neck was thick and strong； bull…like。 Sabat powered the blow； double…handed this time； felt the blade cut； then jam。 Blood spurting； a writhing body with a half…severed head； twisting to try and free itself。 Sabat exerted all his strength； used his foot as a lever on the stone； pulled； extricated the execution instrument。
Clumsy； sickening。 He felt the bile in his throat； drove again with all his might； grunted his satisfaction as the steel cut true； grated on stone； sent the head spinning。
Oh Jesus God； Boyce was on his feet； a tottering monstrosity that jetted blood high in the air from a mangled stump； arms flaying； seeming to point accusingly at Sabat。 You did this to me； look at what you've done！
Even the Oke Priests fell back； cries that could have been fear because never before had they known a victim rise from the sacrificial stone。 Then； like a headless Christmas cockerel； exhausted by a last burst of defiance； the bishop sank to the ground； twitching in a pool of his own blood。
A faint sickening thud like a rolling wood that had lost its impetus on a bowling green but having just enough momentum left to nudge the jack had Sabat jerking round。 Boyce's head had hit Hurst's； both of them ing to rest in a slight identation in the ground； a bizarre last reunion in blood； dead eyes blazing their hate for the man who had done this to them。
And suddenly it was dark again； an inexplicable phenomena that obliterated the rising sun； whipping up an icy wind that tore at Sabat's clothing。 Screams。 He recognised them as Lola's； turned to look for her in the blackness only to find his way barred by the floating apparition that was The Hirschlanden Warrior of L'Impernal。
'You have done well； Sa 。 。 。 ba 。 。 。 t。'
'I have fulfilled that which was demanded of me；' Sabat clutched the sa