Kryssa Frostborne wanted a warm-land city for her own. She wanted its stone walls, its full grain stores, and its people bent under frost folk rule forever. But she stood alone in the longhouse doorway, and no war band stood behind her. Her left eye burned under its leather patch, hungry to freeze a southern gate. A raid needed warriors. She had none. Inside the longhouse, the polarbear folk feasted at long tables. Their laughter shook the dragon-headed rafters. These were the strongest fighters in the north, and every one of them followed Hjalgrim Frostpaw. Kryssa had come to take them south. She had no right to ask, and no gift to offer. Only her word. She crossed the hearth-light and stopped before the cleric. Hjalgrim rose. Seven feet of white fur and rune-etched steel, his bone spear crackling with cold divine fire. He looked down at her the way a wall looks at rain. "You want my warriors," he said. It was not a question. "I want a city," Kryssa answered. "A stronghold that never melts. Your bears die raiding for furs and salt. I offer them stone that lasts." Three warriors turned from their meat. Bjorn Frostclaw, broad as a door, folded his arms. Urik Iceveins leaned back and smirked. Iska Frostclaw watched Kryssa with red-marked eyes and said nothing. "Words," Hjalgrim said. "The south has broken many war bands. Why should mine follow a frost woman with empty hands?" Kryssa did not argue. She lifted her hand to the patch over her left eye. The room went quiet. Frost folk did not bare that eye without a reason. "Then let the cold decide," she said, and pulled the leather away. Blue light flooded the longhouse. A cone of freezing mist tore from her eye and struck the far wall. Ice sheeted across the timber. A table split. Frost climbed the dragon gables and hung the rafters in white spears. Warriors leapt back, snarling, hands on axes. Kryssa covered the eye again. Silence, except for cracking ice. Bjorn was the first to laugh. He slammed his fist on the table. "That one will open gates." Urik grinned. "I go where the fighting is good." Iska rose slowly. She crossed the floor and stood at Kryssa's shoulder, facing her own people. That was answer enough. Hjalgrim studied the frozen wall a long moment. Then he planted his spear butt against the stone floor. "The bears will follow you south," he said. "But I lead the marches. My god walks with us, not your winter deities. Cross that, and I bury you in the ice you love." "Agreed," Kryssa said. She had her war band now. She also had a giant at her back who did not trust her, who claimed the road as his own. The raid could begin. So could the fight over who truly commanded it.