The earth quivered so violently it was almost impossible to stand. Yet still Baiel's voice boomed through the village.
"Give me the blood of Theusaman and I spare the tribe!"
From priest, he had become the sun god himself.
The rain fell in a deluge. The snow dissolved into slush, and the village ran with mud.
Dayhan screamed. I turned and saw one of the tribal hunters atop the stone pedestal, drawing careful aim on me with his bow and arrow. I caught the shaft in the air with a wide angle beam from my Hayden.
"Give me the blood of Theusaman!" Baiel cried.
The quaking increased steadily. Small landslides of stone began to slither from the face of the cliff. The roof of the cave shook and sagged. The tribe backed away, swirling around me in fury and brandishing their spears in the bleary air.
The distant rending of the glacier reached a new climax of thunder, and the deluge swelled into a torrent. The draining water became a stream, racing muddily through the village and eating at the crumbling cliffs. The skies darkened as if it were dusk. It was difficult to recognize faces in the frenzy of squirming bodies.
Driven by the madness of Baiel's chanting voice, many of the young hunters threw themselves upon us. We used Haydens only as a last resort, and the sluggish, hand-to-hand fighting in the rising mud went on indecisively. No one was badly hurt. It was too easy to escape clutching arms; it was too hard to know the face of friend from foe in the gloom. Shouting voices were drowned by the rising wind, the ceaseless din of crumbling glacial ice.
Abruptly the battle was over. A terrified whisper swept the throng: the god was gone! Someone had looked into the cave and found it empty. Baiel and ten of his faction had fled; thirty of the tribe had departed with them.