The man fell backward, and suddenly there was a path over his body for another few feet ahead. Blade leaped over the body, crashing into a priest at the end of the path. He did not even bother to kill this man, merely kicked him aside. A warrior who couldn't get out of the way fast enough was a different matter. Blade kicked him, too, then cracked his skull with an axe as the man crumpled. Then he snatched the dying man's sword from his belt, throwing one of the axes into the middle of the crowd. He needed something with a longer reach for the fighting now.

With sword in one hand and axe in the other, he carved his way through the struggling mass of people. Looking over the heads of the ones nearest him, he could see some of the Holy Warriors beginning to turn, stand, and draw their weapons. The panic was beginning to ebb. If the Holy Warriors could get at him. . But they were going to have to fight their way through their own people to get to where he was. And he wasn't going to be there when they arrived.

Now only a single pair of Holy Warriors stood between Blade and the edge of the mound. These two did not run, but neither were they very good fighters. They came at him, and as they did, a stumbling priest blundered across their path. For a moment there was a terrible four-man tangle-warriors, priest, and Blade.

Blade recovered first. He slammed the flat of the axe into the priest's kidneys, sending him staggering out of the way. As a line opened up, Blade's sword followed it, straight to the neck of one of the warriors. The reddish-brown skin gaped and blood poured out and sluiced downward, dyeing the blue leather armor. The man faltered and fell against his comrade, immobilizing the other's axe arm. Blade beat down the second man's sword with his own axe, smashing the sword so hard it flew out of the man's hand and down the side of the mound. Then Blade slashed low at the man's legs. A red line opened along his thigh, and he reeled backward. He went over the edge of the mound, lost his balance, fell, and began rolling with a clatter of weapons. Seconds later Blade followed him, leaping out onto the open slope of the mound.

For a moment Blade found it hard to believe that he was out of the deadly press on top of the mound. He kept looking around for men lurching at him or falling under his feet to trip him. But he quickly recovered. Now to get down the slope, through the thin line of Holy Warriors at the bottom, and into the crowd.

But now the Holy Warriors at the base of the mound were climbing up toward him, turning their backs on the crowd. Blade could hear a restless rumble of voices from below and see little eddies of movement in the crowd, but they were all unarmed. There was nothing they could do to help him against the Holy Warriors, even if they wanted to. At a single glance Blade counted nearly thirty Holy Warriors climbing toward him, swords and axes drawn. They showed no signs of panic, whatever might be the case behind him.

The last warrior Blade had killed was still holding his axe. Blade sprinted across the slope to the body, snatched up the axe, and thrust it into his belt. Then he ran straight down the slope at the climbing warriors. The advancing line grew irregular and stopped. Obviously the warriors couldn't make up their minds whether to spread out or bunch up. They might not be panic-stricken, but neither did any of them want to wind up facing Blade alone. Before they could decide, Blade was on them.

Thirty feet away he snatched the extra axe from his belt and threw it at the nearest warrior. The man ducked, but not fast enough or low enough. The hatchet smashed into his right shoulder, and his right hand opened and spilled his sword to the stone with a clatter. But the warrior did not give way as Blade had expected. Whether it was courage or paralyzing fear, he stood his ground, his own axe raised. Blade could not charge in at full speed, and did not. He came down on the man at a trot, his sword and axe raised.

As Blade did this, his opponent took two steps forward. Blade's descending sword drove into the man's body, too deeply. He was dead in an instant, but Blade's sword was fixed solidly in his body. Blade barely held onto it as the man went down, tugging and jerking desperately to free it. As he did so, the man's comrades took courage from his sacrifice and rushed in on either side of Blade.

Blade leaped back just in time to keep from being sliced apart by two swords coming in together. But in leaping to save himself, he had to leave his sword behind. Now he faced the warriors crowding around him with only an axe.

Not for long, however. Seeing Blade half-disarmed made some of his enemies overconfident. They came at him in a solid mass, where no one had room to swing a sword or strike with an axe properly. Blade had all the room he needed, to dart forward and strike like a snake with his axe. A man's arm cracked under the blow, a sword fell-and Blade snatched it up as it clattered on the stone. Blade slashed swiftly with his new sword at the legs of one man who was crowding too close. The man screamed and hopped back on one foot, the other a blood-spouting stump, then fell over backward. Two of his comrades fell with him, one rolling away down the slope.

Now Blade was fully armed once more, and both sword and axe flickered and struck out at his enemies. But while he was rearming himself, more of the Holy Warriors had found the chance to close in around him. Now he found himself completely surrounded by fresh opponents. He was more than a match for any one of them, or even any five of them, but there were many more than that. He chopped and slashed and parried, felt his strokes clang off sword blades or chop deep into flesh and bone. But he also felt the tightness in his chest, the sweat pouring in waterfalls down his body, his legs growing rubbery. His arms seemed to be weighted down with stones tied to them, and the sword and the axe seemed to weigh a hundred pounds apiece. The sword was losing its edge as well. Bronze could take only so much punishment, and he had given his sword that much and three times more besides. Now its edge was saw-toothed. More often than not it would only wound, not kill. As the Holy Warriors saw that, they regained still more of their courage, and more and more of them crowded, closer, even those with open, bleeding wounds.

Blade didn't know at what moment he realized that he wasn't going to get out of this. All he knew was that in one moment he was still looking for a clear path through the warriors, one down the mound and into the crowd. The next moment he was no longer concerned with that, only with killing as many warriors as possible before they killed him. He had already done much to make this a memorable High Sacrifice for the cult of Ayocan. But he wanted to do a little more if he could.

He no longer took so much care at guarding, preferring to strike even at the risk of being struck. He started taking wounds, small ones mostly, for the Holy Warriors' swords were getting almost as battered as his own. He grinned as he felt the blood trickle down thighs and torso, felt the pouring sweat sting his wounds. Now he was no longer whole and perfect. No matter how strong his spirit might be, his body made him unfit for sacrifice to Ayocan. The whole High Sacrifice would be spoiled. And whether or not Ayocan was displeased, Pterin and the Supreme Brother certainly would be. That was a large consolation.

A shrill noise began to rise around Blade, filling his ears so that he could no longer hear the clang of bronze meeting bronze or his own panting breath. Then with a shock he realized that the shrill noise was the sound of flutes, loudly played and getting closer. With a still greater shock he realized that the Holy Warriors around him were no longer crowding in to strike. He no longer had to raise his sagging arms to guard against their blows or deliver his own. The Holy Warriors had drawn back, and he was standing by himself on the slope of the temple mound. In a wide circle around him the stone was red and slick with blood and littered with maimed or dead men.