It was plain that Fryg was just waiting for a response to bounce off of, so Zel at least tried to steer the crone.

“The Jorfr I know is not mediocre in any aspect. If he truly was as mediocre as you describe when he left, his growth should have been abundantly clear upon his return,” Zel said.

“I will admit that I was pleasantly surprised. I was fully prepared to forgive his viking trip, considering that whatever he has done in the course of becoming as he is now will likely bring our clan significant honor, and his future participation in holmgang is assured to raise us back to a Primary Clan.”

“Do you really think they won’t cheat again?”

“Ah. He told you. That… Is a matter we cannot resolve from where we stand. Our best hope is to bring it up with the Revenant King when next he wakes and hope that he takes it as contempt of the honor system.”

“I don’t have the time to wait that long. I’m waking him early.”

“...I-I apologize, do you comprehend what you just said?!”

“I cannot afford to wait for the next turning of the cycle, nor do I intend to give any of the other Great Clans the chance to prepare contingencies. I will wake the Revenant King, make the accusation, present all of my and Jorfr’s deeds, and make my demand. As I recall the only way up other than the Passage of the King is a three-kilometer climb up a sheer, frozen cliff in high-velocity winds… I can climb that with some preparation.”

“In all my six-hundred forty-seven years… Well, I cannot say I am unhappy to meet someone like Arnys again.”

“Six hundred? I’m curious, what sort of immortality do you have?”

“I’m a draugr. Just as our King, all Boreans possess the latent potential to just refuse death when the time comes, or to persist inside their corpse and rise later. Those who do become draugr, eternal warriors of the Revenant King, though the effect is markedly more powerful the closer to Him we are. I fell hunting the abominable Smoke Witch, who so callously stole a precious cornerstone of our clan’s history as payment for her work in constructing the Great Oasis. And again… And again. I killed her. She killed me. Over and over, for three hundred years, until she hid away in that demon-lord’s mansion.”

“Demon-lord?”

“Oh yes. That place was once the home of a demonic sect opposing those who later became the Three Kings, an impregnable fortress full of illusions and shifting rooms. I half hope it swallowed her up, and half that it didn’t so that what she took might one day be recovered.”

Lacking a proper response that wouldn’t tip her hand, Zel completely changed the topic: “I wish to make two things clear. First, Jorfr has done it - ancestor-summoning, I mean. He summoned the visage of his grandfather to forestall a monstrosity empowered by the eye of a dead Dragon Descendant. Secondly, when we leave, Jorfr leaves with us. After what I will do for you you won’t have the right to utter one word in protest.”

She left the longhouse without giving the crone the opportunity to think up a response, making her way through the just-waking city to the same gymnasium as last time. A strongfat, redheaded Borean confronted her there, though there was neither malice nor the will to fight in his stance. Just as she had begun stretching he stepped into her field of view, briefly gathering his wits before pointing down the street: “I think the gymnasium down the road has equipment more suited to you, sister. Just a friendly suggestion. You also seem like you would like to meet one of the regulars there.”

“You’re not trying to send me into some ambush in a back alley, are you?” Zel asked openly, continuing to stretch as she did. It sounded more like some ancient mechanism settling than anything else, metallic creaking and popping reverberating from inside her joints. It didn’t feel like there was malicious intent to the man’s words, but for all she knew he could’ve been put up to this. He had the glimmer of recognition in his eyes, but he was clearly trying to suppress it.

“What? No. No, no, no. I am not a fool. I did not mean anything by what I said, I just thought you might appreciate the suggestion. It has been nice to see someone get use out of the bigger weights, if anything,” the man shook his head.

Zel decided to take him for his word, considering the nervous tension that overtook his demeanor when she confronted him. He looked more concerned with possibly having insulted her than the implication that he might be trying to send her into an ambush.

“Thanks for the advice, then. I’ll just finish my stretches and head on down there,” she nodded to him.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he agreed, walking away, all the way across to the other side of the gymnasium to the side of a similarly built compatriot. In fact, looking at them, they looked related, at least cousins. The both of them took to punching a cold-iron target block while speaking to one another, and Zel couldn’t help but hone in on their conversation. Filtering out the noise wasn’t too difficult - more than anything interpreting Borean spoken at a rapid, native cadence was the hard part.

“Why would you send her there? We have not had a heavyweight here in months,” the Borean’s compatriot questioned.

The first man replied: “Kyriak’s orders, have you forgotten?”

“That is Zelsys Newman? I thought she would be… Bigger. More unhinged.”

“You thought she would scream when she lifts like Kyriak does,” the first man said.

“That too,” the other nodded.

The first man glanced her way.

“The things that woman does… They work for her, I will not deny that, but I doubt they would work for anyone else,” he said.