A crowd of nearly a hundred thousand people completely surrounded the base of the mound. They would have pushed halfway up its sides, except for a solid ring of armed Holy Warriors holding them back. It was a strangely silent crowd, too, more like a crowd of churchgoers than a crowd on a festival day. Well, this was a religious ceremony, after all-whatever Blade might think of the part he was going to play in it.
Atop the mound the huge stone block had been freshly painted and waxed, so that the sun blazed even more blindingly from the glossy whiteness. A tall canopy of dark blue silk now hung from the poles, and each pole also supported a blue and white banner with the bat-wing symbol of Ayocan on it. The banners sagged limply in the hot, still air.
The top of the mound was so packed with Holy Warriors and priests that if anybody had fainted in the heat and the crowding he could not have fallen. In two places, though, tight-knit circles of warriors kept spaces clear. Inside one circle a cluster of naked men and women stood placidly, their dull eyes showing signs of the narcotic Blade was trying to escape. Lesser sacrifices, no doubt, to whet the crowd's appetite for the main course-Blade.
There was no one inside the other circle. Blade looked at it, and Pterin promptly answered his unspoken question. As usual, the chief priest was glad to boast.
«That is the King's Circle. Yes, warrior, King Hurakun himself attends the High Sacrifice, as do the Princes Kenas and Piralu. Piralu is the most faithful in honoring and pleasing Ayocan, but none are ever lacking in reverence for mighty Ayocan.» The priest's tone suggested to Blade's trained ear that neither king nor princes had much choice in the matter, if they wished to keep their thrones, titles, and heads. «You have yet further cause for rejoicing. The departure of your spirit gives our King Hurakun the chance to greatly please Ayocan.» By a minor miracle the priest did not go on to add the usual ritual phrase, much to Blade's relief.
The wailing of flutes and the roll of drums floated up from the foot of the mound. Blade looked down and saw the crowd making a path for a column of warriors dressed in black from head to foot. In their midst marched a smaller cluster of figures, also dressed in black robes, with black feathers nodding from massive black-enameled headdresses.
«Behold,» said the priest. «The king and princes approach.»
The royal party swiftly climbed the mound. At the top their black-clad warriors stopped, and the three men in black robes and headdresses climbed onto the white slabs alone. The priests and Holy Warriors in turn made a path for them, then quickly made a circle around them.
The presence of the king and his warriors was going to be an extra complication in escaping. Blade was beginning to doubt his wisdom in waiting so long for an opportunity. Instead of winding up with the best opportunity, he now thought he might wind up with one of the worst. But now he could be sure there would be no future ones. He would have to make his move soon, or not at all.
That was as far as his thoughts got before the flutes and drums of the priests started up again. To Blade, they seemed to be making a tremendous amount of noise and almost no music at all. Four of the strongest Holy Warriors suddenly darted into the cluster of sacrificial victims and pulled out a young man. He did not struggle or even drag his feet as they hauled him swiftly to the great white stone block and lifted him onto its top. As the Holy Warriors laid the victim down, nine priests stepped forward. Two seized each limb, while the ninth-Pterin-bent down and took a gleaming bronze knife from a niche in the stone. He raised the knife high, making a series of passes over the prone victim's chest. Blade realized that Pterin was sketching out a bat's wings in the air.
Suddenly the knife darted downward, entering the victim's body just below the rib cage. He jerked, but made no cry, although Blade saw his eyes roll up in his head. He was still silent as the priest swiftly disemboweled him, carving his stomach and groin open in the form of a bat's wings. Then Pterin shouted a single harsh syllable. The flutes shrilled, the drums held a long roll, and the whole top of the stone with the body on it suddenly dropped out of sight.
Blade swallowed. The eerie silence as the knife did its work was almost as unnerving as the sacrifice itself. Well, there would be plenty of noise from him when the time came.
The Holy Warriors were dragging another victim forward now, a young woman. She too died in silence, but Blade noticed expressions beginning to appear on the faces of the priests and warriors around him. Blood-lust was beginning to work on them. Let it go on working a little longer, until they were properly distracted, priests and Holy Warriors alike, and then. .
A third victim, and a fourth. The top of the white rock was now slick with blood. Even the priests were licking their lips now as each new victim came forward. The warriors around Blade were ignoring him now, their eyes fixed entirely on the block.
Then the flutes and drums sounded again in a new rhythm, and the door to the temple tunnels rumbled open. Out from the darkness below came a nightmare figure. It had a man's body, painted from head to foot a glossy white. But on its neck rode a huge bat's head with foot-long ears and glaring red eyes. From its shoulders blue leathery six-foot wings swept backward, bobbing gently as the-thing-walked. At its waist was a broad blue belt, and from the belt hung a long jeweled knife.
Nightmarish as the effect was, it did not bother Blade for very long. Instead, the apparition acted as a signal for him. This must be the Supreme Brother, the chief of the whole cult of Ayocan, and his appearance the signal for the High Sacrifice. Blade's eyes swept in a circle around him. All eyes were on the Supreme Brother. Now!
He took one step backward, then lunged forward. His solid mass of muscle and bone crashed into the two warriors just ahead of him. They lurched forward. They could not go sprawling, because the crowd was too thickly packed. But they smashed hard into the warriors ahead of them, who in turn did the same to those ahead of them, and so on. The shock of Blade's attack ran clear through the crowd, like ripples in water. And as the first two warriors staggered, they opened a gap in the circle around Blade.
He plunged through that gap. As he did, both arms lunged down toward the warriors' belts. His hands snatched their axes free, then swung them hard to either side. Ribs caved in, blood spurted, and this time both warriors did go down. Blade leaped ahead, red with the warriors' blood, eyes blazing, both axes flashing in his hands.
A foolhardy warrior charged him with a sword or perhaps the man had been pushed. In any case it made no difference. Blade blocked the sword-stroke with one axe, and smashed the man's throat with the other. Choking, clawing at his smashed windpipe, blood spurting between his fingers, the Holy Warrior reeled backward as far as he could. He tripped over someone's foot and toppled over. Two warriors and three priests went down with him in a tangle of thrashing arms and legs. They were not hurt, and Blade could not for the moment get to them, but they screamed shrilly in panic.
The screams infected everybody with the same panic. In an instant the whole top of the mound was a mass of priests and warriors, shouting, clawing, cursing, kicking, and shoving at each other. In every mind was the same thought-get away from this-monster-in the shape of a man! If Blade had suddenly changed into the true god Ayocan and started feeding on the blood and bodies of the priests and warriors, the panic could not have been greater.