The dark cloaked Templar, eyes blazing red, bloated black tongue wagging, grabbed at Brandy - while she grabbed the sword of the Savior.
She grunted and spun, swinging the weapon with both hands and all of her strength. The blade sang a low-pitched song as it cleaved the air, generated a sickening thunk as it met the dried flesh at the mummy"s throat, a nerve-rending snap as it parted the second and third cervical vertebrae and, a breathless instant later, a muffled plunk as the chaplain"s decapitated head hit the weeds and rolled to a stop on the ground.
The momentum created swinging thirty-two pounds of forged steel threw Brandy off her feet. On her butt, on the ground, she swallowed hard, taking in her handiwork. The skull of the dark cloaked Templar lay on its side in the tall grass,
