Maja panted as she jogged up the pass. Her long legs had eaten the leagues, and, despite the ever-present concern she would miss the Leydenese, their tracks had become visible nearly an hour ago. Even so, it was a struggle. Pain emanated from her knees and tendons, her body creaking as it worked to move her mass upwards. Her heel cords had began throbbing several hours ago – she did not know whether they were simply strained or on the verge of snapping. Maja recalled it all being easier. She had never thought age would be a barrier for her. An Oxblood that grew old was one working against their nature. Death had always seemed to be lurking, just over the horizon. Yet, somehow, she had become elderly.

Perhaps it would have been easier, had she not already passed most of her blood on. Blooded aged more gracefully than normal people, after all. However, Maja found it hard to regret the decision. She had her worries, and her regrets of course, but even so, she was more at peace than she could remember.

Running through a desert and then up a mountain was not her idea of a tranquil retirement, however. At least the desert was flat. Her legs and lungs were punishing her for eight years of sedentary living, her wheezes cycling through various breathing exercises. Had Maja not performed more arduous journeys before, she may have collapsed. Willpower forged through decades of enforced marches pushed her unwilling body along. Compared to some of the skirmishes she had participated in, before she had any authority, it was idyllic. There was no one poisoning her water, no Foxbloods dropping out of the trees, and no monsters deciding to interfere with her run.

The return trip may be different. She would have to beat the Lizard’s parasites, but had little intelligence on where the Lizard actually was. All she truly knew was that it was staggering its way towards the mountain range's largest pass. It was too far away for her to feel its weight, but that meant nothing.

Maja had fought four gods in her lifetime: the Fox, the Lizard, the Ox, and the Raven. A decade ago, she would have said the Raven was the worst among them. Now? She feared the Lizard more than her own death.

No god had killed as many children as Dure. It was unstoppable; indefatigable – it spread disease and sickness like an infant spread mucus. Other divine beings could be hidden from or avoided – the Lizard’s weapons cared nothing for concealment. And deterring it was next to impossible; whatever wounds humanity could inflict were nothing compared to its constant torment. Without more Blooded, it would be impossible to alter its course.

Maja wished she had taken the children and left as soon as she had suspected it was coming. Yet House Esfaria was stationed there, and Representative Fedor and Captain Vernon possessed some of the strongest Godsblood she had ever seen. They were a step beneath a general, and several below a Great General, however Dolphinbloods were singularly effective against the Lizard. She trusted Jackson would ensure whatever plans they made would prioritise the city’s wellbeing.

Then House Leyden struck. Using – if her suspicions were correct – her own son as an unwitting knife. She was unsure whether that was a coincidence, a thinly-veiled threat, or fuel for future blackmail. Regardless of the cause, she could not afford to ignore the god much longer. Orvi’s blood would grant him resistance to its festering rot, but the twins had no such guarantee. Doing nothing meant their death.

Maja grunted as her foot ploughed through an errant pile of dirt, sending her stumbling. Frowning, she paused, attempting to recover her rhythm. The path veered drunkenly between freakishly hot and cuttingly cold, the temperature dictated by whenever the wind deigned to change directions. The pass snaked up the red mountain range, beaten flat by centuries of passing animals and the occasional monster, constantly pressed by sheer drops on at least one side. Maja was no mountaineer, and would have missed the path had she not been told its location.

The large woman looked at the soil she had unwittingly kicked, only to find the mound was something she was far more familiar with. Horse dung. Heat was still emanating from it.

Maja smiled faintly. She was close.

The Leydenese spies were waiting for her; nine of them spread across a thin ridgeline. A single misstep could send a would-be hiker tumbling down the abyss that waited on either side of the trail. It seemed likely that one or more of the Leydenese were Foxblood, and had spotted her approaching. It was a relief. Maja could stop running, if only for a moment. Had they been much further, she might have snapped a tendon. That was less than ideal.

She feigned idleness as she approached, looking down at the drop that greeted her on either side. Vertigo had ceased being a problem for her long ago, however she would not be surprised if the sight inspired enough dizziness to send most would-be travellers stumbling to their doom. It was no wonder this path remained mostly unknown. Yet, one of the men ahead sat on the thin path atop a chestnut stallion, obviously bred for war even to Maja’s untrained eyes. A misstep would send him his death. He had courage. Years of working as a chef had taught her to admire a gut with that much steel in it. Even if they worked for a House she loathed.

Her passage forward was halted by a pale man, cloak flapping in the wind. Sharp canines, orange sclera, and heavy sideburns marked him as a Foxblood – one with an excessive amount of divinity in his veins. She was taller than him by over a foot and likely nearly his weight, however that was no reason to underestimate him. The Blooded, like all Foxbloods, would be sadistic, volatile, and eager for bloodshed.

“State your name, woman,” he commanded, voice warbling and unpleasant.

They knew who she was. By the blood, she hated Houses. “Maja of the Oxblood,” she announced. The words repeated themselves as they rattled down the mountains, as if the land itself were heralding her arrival. Or mocking it.

“Ah,” the man on the horse replied, a toothy grin stretched across his pale face. Despite the wailing wind, his voice was clearly projected – a symptom of regular vocal training. “The former General Maja. Or would you prefer ‘the Slaughter’?”

It was an old epithet, one she had accidentally stolen from a renowned bandit after butchering him and his men. The title had stalked her through the years, though she had minded its company less and less as time went on. However, it would be impolite to say as much.

“Maja will do,” she rumbled. “May I have the pleasure of knowing your name, young man?”

He barked a strained laugh, fury lurking beneath. “Master Reagan, third son of Earl Tridor, of the House Leyden.”

Spite was in the air, accompanied by a mocking danger barely concealed by his words. Reagan Tridor was clearly itching for a fight. If she had not come seeking a deal, Maja would have been happy to acquiesce. Despite her objective, she hadn’t the skill to defuse his bloodlust – only to demonstrate that it was unwise. Fighting at least one of the Leydenese seemed inevitable. Perhaps more, if she were unlucky. The extent of the violence would be determined by their Master.

Reagan’s sneering smile was fixed, hollow. His eyes were that of a cornered wolf, awaiting its death. Few of the Houses were kind to those who wasted their investments. Less so to a third son.

“I suppose the name Maja is more fitting, now,” he taunted, “given that you’re eight years away from the warrior you used to be.”

Maja chuckled. “That is still eight years closer than any of your posse will ever be, considering I have already killed the two you sent after me.” Over politeness would do her no good. Not when the man seemed to be as desperate as she was.

The scion’s smile widened further. “So, Maja.” His eyes carried dark bags beneath them, and were riddled with tiny red capillaries. “Are you here to show us the Slaughter firsthand, diminished as she is?”

“I was hoping to keep her stowed, at least for now. I have an offer for you, Master Reagan.”

“Ha!” he barked. “I don’t care for any offers coming from the Ox of Esfaria. As a matter of fact, you could say that I,” Reagan gaze throbbed with suicidal mania, “don’t care for any offers, at all. Now, Blooded Aston,” he jerked his head towards her, “send Maja on her way.”

The feral Foxblood in front of her began approaching. Maja considered drawing her sword – at this point in her transference of her blood into Jackson, Aston’s Godsblood was likely more potent than hers – however doing so would mean killing the man, robbing the Foot of a Blooded they could scarcely afford to lose. She risked injury by fighting without a blade, however a non-fatal victory would be a decent show of goodwill.

Besides, the fact that Reagan hadn’t ordered any of his thralls to interfere meant he was testing her mettle. Or, had accurately evaluated that the narrow path and fierce winds made more interference useless. Either way, the only thing Maja was truly concerned about was pulling a tendon or accidentally killing Aston. Mercy was something she remained a novice at.

The Foxblood walked in a deceptively casual manner, strutting towards her in a way Maja knew could go any direction, on flat ground. Traditionally, this kind of match-up was considered bad for the Oxblood. A Fox was better at reading movements than an Ox, so as long as they were not woefully outmatched in strength or smarts, the Fox would simply avoid getting hit. Unfortunately for Aston, this was not the case here.

Maja slashed forward with her scabbarded sword. From there, the man had only two choices: jump or duck. Any horizontal movement would send him falling to his death. Wisely, he chose to crouch underneath the blow, avoiding the vulnerability inherent in leaping into the air. She then kicked towards him. Something cracked in her heel, the sensation like a heavy blow. For a second, she thought her opponent had somehow stabbed her there, but a flicker of the eyes downward revealed only flat dirt and empty space on either side. Aston twisted, allowing the foot to go sailing past his shoulder. He sneered in the way Foxbloods tended to do, and charged forward, knife in hand, only for Maja to fold her kicking leg, trapping his torso in the crook of her knee, between her thigh and calf.

Her leg slammed to the ground, serving to both immobilise the man and helping her maintain her balance. She pressed her full weight onto him. As a muted click emanated from his shoulder, the product of it dislocating from the pressure, she grabbed his opposite wrist with her meaty hand, forcing him to drop his knife. With her remaining hand, Maja smacked Aston in the head until he stopped struggling.

It was simply a bad location for the poor Foxblood. If this were a game of Web, Aston should have forfeited several moves ago. His divine gifts were rendered useless by the narrow path.

She looked up at Master Reagan, his horse shifting nervously. “Are we finished here?”

The Master scowled. Maja could see him considering sending more men, so she pre-empted his command.

“Unless you have an Albright in your back pocket, all your men will end up in similar positions. None of them can beat me alone, and that is what this path requires.” She paused for a moment, then continued. “I should inform you I come unaffiliated with House Esfaria.”

Reagan's eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”

Maja nodded slightly. “I retired from their service, alongside most of my blood.”

He frowned, madness fading somewhat. “You have my attention.”

“Do you have good reflexes, Master Reagan?”

The man shot her a bemused look. “As good as any unblooded can be, yes.”

Maja threw a stone tablet at him. Its weight carved through the wind almost lazily, before landing in Reagan’s hands. He fumbled slightly, almost allowing it to slip off the mountain, before managing to close all of his fingers around it. The fire returned to his eyes as he stared at it.

“A sixth of the Ravenblood separation technique,” Maja claimed, “imprinted by Captain Vernon.”

He let out a disbelieving huff. “How in all eight gods did you persuade him?”

“Captain Vernon believes the Foot is a vital asset for reclaiming lost Godsblood.” Her words were infused with as much sincerity as she could manage. “He has promised another third in exchange for your assistance in preserving the city.”

With that information, House Leyden might be able to extrapolate the rest of the technique. It would not be a complete success for Reagan, but it was enough to afford him some prestige. He would keep his life, at least. It was also a lie; the Esfarian Owlblood had made no such assurances, only providing a convoluted set of runes to assist her bluff. Reagan must have suspected the untruth, given the political education most noble scions receive. But much like the earlier fight, Reagan only had two options - agree, or disagree - and Maja had a counter for each one.

“I could always take this and leave.” His smile had lost some of its edge. “There are other people who know the technique, I’m sure.”

Maja nodded, as if she were considering his statement. “Of course. None as vulnerable or as willing as Vernon, however. Besides,” she said, examining the unconscious body beneath her casually, “if you refuse the offer, your blood is still useful.”

The Leydenese straightened, readying themselves for combat. “Is that a threat?” inquired Reagan, equally casual.

“Yes.” Maja stated. His expression froze. She cracked her neck. “What will it be?”

“Let my Owlblood verify it, first.”

She nodded. Reagan carefully passed the tablet off to a woman with large eyes, maintaining eye contact throughout the process. Maja judged his thrall's Godsblood weak, but even the most dilute of Owlbloods could read runes. Several minutes passed in silence as the woman stared at the tablet, unblinking. Finally, she gave her master a nod. The man deflated.

“You leave me with no choice, Slaughter.” Brushing dirt and dust from the road off his shirt, Reagan gave his answer. “I’ll come with you. But if your promise rings hollow, I’ll make sure your children suffer for it.”

Maja let him preserve his ego. Hopefully, she could convince Captain Vernon before their confrontation with the Lizard began. Her services as a trainer for some of the greener Oxbloods may be worth something. If it wasn’t, she would ensure Reagan died before the battle’s end.

“Lead the way,” she commanded, her smooth smile belying the growing unease in her gut. Reagan sneered at the affront to his authority, yet he allowed the Leydenese to shuffle past her. Maja kept her guard up for any attempts to shove her off the mountain, however she was not worried. Reagan had been offered a reason to accept her offer, and a reason to not refuse it. A drowning man would clutch at any straw - especially when a shark was biting at his heels.

After a few awkward moments sliding past her large body, Master Reagan and his thralls were ahead of her, carefully treading down the ridgeline. Maja gritted her teeth and ambled forward, attempting to conceal her limp.

A torn tendon in her heel was the least of her worries.