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Updated: June 2, 2025
Still, their number forbade a fourfold division as yet, and Aztotl feared lest the blood-ravening mob attempt to head off their flight by taking possession of the other stairs, thus being first to occupy yonder flat arena high above the earth, whereupon he hoped to still protect the Sun Children, even though he must lay down his life to maintain their lease.
Even now while the heathen were raging more viciously than ever, crowding each terrace and jamming each flight of steps to the verge of suffocation, strong arms were shielding them, true hearts were thinking how best they might be served. Time and again Aztotl warded away winged death as it sought to claim Victo for its prey.
"Not justly, nor through fault of your own, my good and true friend," the elder woman made haste to give assurance. "Not even thy lips shall speak slander of Aztotl the True-heart, my brother." With a swift advance the Red Heron caught the unarmed hand, to bend over it until his lips barely brushed the soft, perfumed skin.
"I'll win and wear you as my squaw, or else give you to the stone of sacrifice!" he snarled, then turned away as Aztotl motioned his guards to clear the temple of all intruders, then see that none other dared enter.
"You are here without law or leave, and know what the edict says: from the going to the return of the sun, these stones are sacred from all feet save those of the Sun Children and their regular body-guard." "What care I for laws? Or for such as thou, Red Heron? I will that such a thing shall be, and it comes to pass. And thou dare to bar my way, Aztotl?" "Ay. By words if they prove sufficient.
Once again Aztotl, the Red Heron, was bowing humbly before the Children of the Sun God, but now there was stern grief impressed upon his visage, rather than pure devotion, such as one might feel at the feet of a divinity.
Aztotl staggers, an arrow is quivering in his broad bosom, but still he fights on, dealing death with each blow of his blood-dripping hand-wood. A stone lays open his brow, but heavier and faster plays his terrible weapon. A javelin flashes briefly, then the red copper vanishes from sight, while the ashen shaft slowly dyes crimson, as the hot life-blood issues.
Seeing his chance, Aztotl bade his men escort the Sun Children from the Hall of Sacrifice back to their own abiding-place, barely noticing his son, and paying no heed at all to the disguised paleface.
The Red Heron arose easily, head rising proudly above his shapely shoulders as he met those great blue eyes, eyes as pure and as fathomless as the cloudless sky in midsummer. And then, more like one giving a bare statement of facts than one offering a defence for himself, Aztotl spoke of a faithless subordinate, who was guilty of either careless neglect, or worse.
With vicious force he hurled his javelin straight for the white throat of the Sun Child who had scorned his fawning advances, and only the ever ready eye, the true hand, the strong arm of Aztotl again warded off grim death from the Fair God's Child.
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