He was up with the first man while the other's eyes were still widening in surprise. Then the eyes went blank and closed forever as Blade's sword slashed down through a pitifully clumsy guard, deep into the man's neck. His head dangling on one side, he fell. Blade sprang forward, over the spreading pool of blood, feinted with his sword at the second man, then chopped his left arm off with the axe. The man screamed and reeled back, raising his spouting arm high. Several of his fellows found the sound and sight too much for their fragile new courage, and backed away. The priest's angry shouts rose higher still, and Blade could now make out his words.
«You are picked warriors sworn to serve Ayocan, sworn to obey his priests. But one man stands against you. One man, who has polluted the sacred shores and broken the trees of life and death and slain your comrades among the Holy Warriors! One man, who will make a mighty sacrifice to Ayocan!»
The priest's words made Blade understand his situation better but like it much less. So they were going to sacrifice him to Ayocan-whoever or whatever that was. Did that mean they were going to try to capture him alive? Possibly, but he couldn't count on it.
Those thoughts ran through his mind in seconds and left him clear-headed and alert, ready to continue his attack. The warriors who had been backing away from around him stopped at the priest's words. But Blade was upon them before they could get up the nerve to launch their own attack.
He broke their line by throwing his axe again. This time his target got his sword up in time. The axe struck the bronze blade with a terrific clang, glanced off, sailed into the air, and smashed into a priest's face. Not the chief priest's, unfortunately, only one of his underlings. The man screamed and collapsed, clawing at his smashed and bloody face. The chief priest gave a scream of quite another kind and jumped up and down in a burst of rage.
«Take him, you pigs! Take him, you turtle turds! Take him, take him, take him!» The man's face was dark with fury. For a moment Blade wondered if he were going to fall down in a fit.
But the chief priest did not fall down. Then the warriors attacked and Blade had no more attention to spare for the man. The warrior that had deflected the axe came at him, whirling both sword and axe like the arms of a windmill. That was more spectacular than useful. Blade launched a feint at the man's left side, then whipped his own sword high over his head and brought it down on the man's right shoulder. His arm half-severed, the warrior staggered. Once more Blade plucked an axe out of its owner's failing hand. This time he swung it hard to smash in the man's skull.
The man behind the first warrior tried a slash at Blade, but his sword would not reach. Blade's would, and the warrior reeled back, dropping sword and axe and clutching his stomach to keep the gaping wound there from spilling out all his guts. Blade whirled as he heard footsteps behind him, whirled fast enough to deflect a sword blow with his axe and slash his attacker across the chest. The cut was long but not deep enough to kill, and the man kept on coming. His axe whistled down at Blade's head, but Blade's arm came up and smashed the attacker's elbow, so that his hand opened and let the axe fall. A second later Blade's sword slashed again, deep into the man's thigh, and this time he did stop and go down onto the blood-soaked ground.
The extra time taken in killing the last warrior had let several others get around Blade's flanks. He had to back away again. He realized as he did that if these warriors could ever launch a mass rush at him, they would have him. Did they have some tradition of fighting one at a time, or did they want to wear him down and take him alive? Blade hoped it was the second. If they took him prisoner, he could always look for a chance to escape. But that was no reason to not go on making things expensive for them. A quick slash at a warrior who was crowding too close, and another man down with a leg streaming blood. The chief priest howled again.
Slash with the sword, lopping off limbs, opening chests and stomachs. Deflect blows with the axe, or use it to smash skulls and collarbones into bloody fragments. Scream war cries that made some of the enemy stop and stare-stop and stare for a few seconds too long. Hear the chief priests gibbering with rage as the Holy Warriors of Ayocan went down one by one, sometimes two by two, to litter the ground.
Before long Blade could no longer distinguish one exchange of blows from another, or keep track of his opponents. In spite of his iron endurance, his breath was rasping in and out of his sweat-soaked chest. His sword seemed to weigh a hundred pounds and his axe fifty. One man could not kill two hundred, no matter how much better he might be than any one of them. The enemy's warriors saw him beginning to flag and slow, and rushed in, still one or two at a time. They were too bold and Blade was still too fast, and more dead or wounded men joined the ones already on the ground. Blade stood with a circle of dead around him, in some places piled two or three deep. He could not get out of that circle any more, for the Holy Warriors were all around him. But when they tried to get at him, they were slowed by having to climb over the bodies of their comrades. And no matter how little they were slowed, it was still too much. The voice of the hysterical chief priest grew hoarse and raw.
But that voice finally pushed the warriors forward in a mass rush at Blade. So many of them came forward at once that they got in each other's way. Some stumbled over the bodies and Blade slashed at others, but there were still too many of them coming at him. They pressed in around him, now swinging the flats of their swords and axes. This cost them more men as Blade leaped and whirled and struck with the last of his strength. But eventually an axe blow smashed across his right wrist, and his sword slipped out of numb fingers.
Now a warrior rushed in on Blade's disarmed right side before he could shift his axe, and grappled Blade around the waist. Blade had enough strength left to bring his knee up into the man's groin. He screamed and jerked, but clung. Blade raised his left arm, to smash the man down with his axe, but a dozen hands clutched at the raised arm and pulled it down. Blade jerked and kicked and bellowed like a bull. Then an axe head smashed down on his skull, cold and hard and brutal. He sagged back into the arms reaching to grab him and hold him, as everything around him swirled away into blackness.
Chapter 4
When Blade awoke, he was lying on his back on a cool damp surface that swayed under him. Above him was solid blackness. For a moment he had the unnerving thought that he had gone blind from the blow on the head. Then he realized that he was lying under a heavy canopy in the bottom of one of the canoes. He could hear the splash-clunk of the paddles and the high sing song of somebody calling the stroke.
He felt as though he had been run through a cement mixer filled with large rocks. His head ached, his wrists and ankles were bound with rope tied so tight it gouged the flesh, and he had purple bruises and red welts all over his body. He was also still naked. But at least he was alive. The Holy Warriors and priests of Ayocan had captured him, and now they were taking him to be sacrificed to their god.
Several hours passed, with the sound of the paddles and the calling of the stroke continuing without a break. Blade began to feel uncomfortably hungry and thirsty. More hours passed, and then Blade heard the stroke speed up. The motions of the canoe became livelier. In fact, they became so lively that Blade rolled around in the damp wood of the bottom, adding new bruises to the ones from the battle of the night before.