“It may be that Tezcatl lost his wits through strong waters, Sun Child, or even that he took evil pay from still more vile hands. You have seen the last of him, though, Child of Quetzal'l.”
“You surely do not mean that—”
Aztotl lightly tapped the knife-hilt showing above his maxtlatl, coldly adding words to that significant gesture:
“There is no place for fool or traitor upon the body-guard of the Sun Children. Tezcatl sinned; he has paid full forfeit. And just so shall all others perish who dare cast an evil glance towards—ha!”
Another outcry arose from the other side of the curtained recess, and the Red Heron instantly sprang away in that direction, hands gripping weapons in readiness for instant use in case of need.
Almost as swiftly, Victo and the maiden followed, one through fear, the other through utter lack of fear, for herself.
Those savage cries came from the lips of none other than the chieftain whose now bare head bore significant traces of Bruno Gillespie's handiwork, and he seemed bent on rushing directly into the presence of the Sun Children, until Red Heron interposed, stern and icy-toned:
“Stand back, my Lord Hua!” he ordered, left hand advanced with open palm, but its dexter mate armed and ready for hot work if that must come. “Venture no closer, on thy peril, chief!”
Huatzin recoiled a bit, though that might have been more through surprise than because he feared this proud warrior. He gripped his knife-hilt, and partly drew the blade from its supporting sash. A hissing oath escaped his lips, and he crouched a trifle, as a wild beast gathers its deadliest force prior to making a death leap.
“Darest thou bar my path, Aztotl?” he cried, hoarsely. “Make way, I bid thee; make way, for I will see the Sun Children and—”