Lieutenant Shamus Sharpshot adjusted his newly acquired fleece tunic as he made his way toward Hailstone Keep—the real Hailstone Keep. It was an impressive place. One wouldn't expect to find such a fortified city of its size and build this far North.

And yet there was something different about Hailstone Keep that stood out from the other cities he'd helped colonize in his career service in the Flintlock Army. It wasn't a strange place by any means. It was very ordinary. In fact, what really struck him was how well it was constructed and cared for in its ordinariness.

The sturdy walls were made of finely hewn stone connected by crenelated towers that held the exterior together like joints on a skeleton. The paths were of cobblestone, bound by a grayish grout. People pulled wagons filled with goods along the paths from one place to another. Their horses were well-groomed, and their clothing was as neatly pressed as a Flintlock soldier's uniform. Even their attitudes displayed a certain cheerfulness one might not expect to find in the Northern Reach.

Everything was immaculate about this city—idyllic. Nothing seemed out of place. Five, if he wasn't on duty, he could take his time off in a place like these.

Even retire.

Could he retire now that he'd been endired? Shamus wondered to himself. He wasn't sure. But perhaps he'd ask to be stationed here after the Flintlock inevitably conquered Frosthaven. At this rate, it might be a long time before Burns decided to send for reinforcements but he'd find a way to win. Burns always won.

Something else struck Shamus about the city as he looked around. Weren't these people supposed to be frost mages? Why didn't he see more frost structures or frost forms? Five, if they could create an entire fake city made of frost just to trick the Flintlock, imagine what they could create here?

Or maybe the city was made of frost. He leaned over next to a brick building and placed his hand on it. No, it wasn't a frost form. The brick would've been cold to the touch.

Five, these people used ordinary work to build this place. It was as if they lived on the basis of their hard work as opposed to making use of their powers. Why would they do such a thing?

He couldn't understand that. But that wasn't important now. What was important was tracking down the man who had flooded his army. They'd already killed the frost mage girl who'd likely been the culprit for setting their company in flames. She'd paid the price. Now it was time to find her partner in crime. Track him down where he stood, and kill him.

The problem was, as soon as he opened his mouth, they'd know he was a foreigner. He'd managed to sneak into the Keep on the back of a covered wagon with only his rifle, a small bag of supplies, and himself.

Using stolen clothes, he'd disguised himself as a denizen of Frosthaven. Their clothes were simple yet neat. The ones he wore were a set of brownish gray pants and long-sleeve shirt. He carried his rifle inside a cloth covering. He also wore a circular hat. It extended out in a six-inch radius, giving some shade to his face. Likely worn by agricultural workers to keep their eyes shaded during the day, allowed him to partially hide his face. His square jaw and high cheekbones might give away his identity as a foreigner. It didn't cover him completely, but it was better than nothing.

It would probably be better if he traveled at night, as opposed to in broad daylight, but he had a job to do, and observing a city was easier done during the day. So, Shamus strolled through Hailstone like he belonged there. Best to act like one of the locals. He could do that without opening his mouth and giving way his accent.

Perhaps he could find something to read? It wasn't like they spoke a different language. It was the frost mage language, after all, that everyone in the world spoke. They had taught it during the halcyon times of ancient lore when frost mages had ruled the nations.

It actually made the Flintlock's job of subjugating peoples much easier—the fact that everyone spoke the same language.

Strange to see the once-great power of Frosthaven relegated to a place like this. Its majesty certainly attested to their might and power, but to be isolated out here in a distant corner of the world. A place that would be nearly impossible to get to except by those with means or incredible fortitude. Frosthaven also placed very little emphasis on trade, thus giving no incentive to foreigners to travel this far.

The Flintlock would change all that, of course. If these people did have any interesting technology, the Flintlock would confiscate it as they did from every other people they conquered. Then they would open trade routes to other colonies within the empire. If they let the citizens live anyway.

Shamus scratched his head. Would Burns let these people live? Generally, the Flintlock allowed survivors to carry on under a new allegiance. However, these were frost mages. But were they all frost mages or only some of them? Shamus wasn't sure. He supposed the testing glass would be used just as it had been in every other nation they'd conquered. Those who tested as Frostmarked would be killed; the rest could be allowed to live.

If they managed to win this place anyway. So far, the frost mages had proven to be a cunning adversary. But now, the Flintlock, or rather, the blood mages, would pull out the real weapon. Their powers, Shamus' new powers, would be used to conquer.

Suddenly, a loud voice cut off his thoughts of conquest.

"Proclamation—a royal proclamation by his royal majesty the king!" a loud voice thundered through the streets.

Shamus walked toward the end of a winding road that opened up into a busy market square. There were dozens of stands filled with wares for sale—food, clothing, mechanical tools, medicine, and much more. A short man wearing a colorful cap with a long red feather sticking out of it stood atop a podium in the center of the square.

"Gather 'round," the man bellowed. He had a loud, deep voice that seemed to carry on for a mile. Five, the man had to have the lungs of a whale. He'd no doubt make an effective officer in battle.

The hustle and bustle of the marketplace calmed down, and people began to gather around the man, curious to hear what he had to say.

"His majesty then king proclaims a week of mourning," the man said. "All shops will be closed promptly at two o'clock in the afternoon. The doors of every building must be marked with ash. There is a suggested fast for those who are able."

"Why?" a woman called out. She raised her hands. "What gives?"

"The king's niece," the messenger proclaimed. "Alta Oliviana. Is dead."

The crowd gasped.

"She was killed at the hands of the Flintlock Army at the Battle of Sundered Rock," the man said. "Executed in brutal fashion, her severed head was delivered to the palace by courier this morning."

More gasps. The crowd began to murmur. "Kill them," a man said, his voice was angry and hoarse. "Kill those blasphemin' sons of curses. They ought to die for their high crimes against the crown and Frosthaven."

The crowd cheered. Several more shouts ebbed them on.

Shamus' eyes widened at the news. General Horace hadn't told him he planned to send along the girl's head. Five, he was sending a message—a strong one.

The man held out a hand to silence the crowd.

"The king has asked that we pay homage to the death of his niece, and pray for her soul. She had—he paused—blood on her hands and will require a supplication for her eternal soul to find peace."

"What do ye mean?" a woman's voice said aloud.

"She set afire to the Flintlock Army, killing more than half their number. The king prays this action was an accident as it violates our sacred ways. The king himself stepped in to save their lives."

More gasps rang out from the crowd. Then silence. No one seemed to know quite what to say to that.

Shamus furrowed his brows. Shouldn't they celebrate the death of their enemies?

"I say they got what they deserved," the woman said. She had braided hair and wore an angry look on their face. "Killers don't deserve to—"

"It's not our way," a bulky man said, raising his voice. "We are a peaceful people. Even in war, we find ways to make peace without killing. When killing must occur, damages ought to be minimal."

"Enough with the peace," another man said. "These people are savages. Look at what they done. Sending her head along to her worried uncle. Heartless beasts!"

More spoke up. There seemed to be genuine disagreement and angst in the crowd about what had transpired. Clearly, a sacred covenant had been violated in killing so many. Not something Shamus could understand, but it was useful intel to learn about. These people were pacifists at their core. That could turn out to have useful ramifications in battle.

Very useful indeed.

And yet some wanted to fight, while their core beliefs held them back. Was it something in the frost mage teaching that went against fighting? It would certainly explain why they hadn't engaged the Flintlock before.

Shamus observed the scuffle unfolding in the market square, his lips curling to one side. Yes, he thought to himself. This might just give them the edge they needed. If Frosthaven wouldn't engage in battle unless it felt it absolutely needed to, then the Flintlock might just find itself holding a major advantage, especially if blood magic was involved.

"Silence," the announcer bellowed from the podium. "The king has asked for a period of mourning. He asks you respect that request in honor of his niece, Alta Oliviana. Please respect his wishes."

The commotion died down. The mob was angry, but they could understand the need to grieve. The only way to trump an emotional mob was with a different emotion. The wise king had clearly understood that. The call to mourning had not only been a means to pray for the soul of his beloved niece, but to reign in an angry crowd and grant peace during a period of unrest.

Shamus placed his hands in his pockets and hung his head, not wanting anyone to recognize him as a foreigner.

In addition to the useful information about the frost mage ways, this little announcement had given him something else he very much needed.

He now knew who his target was. The man who flooded the Flintlock Army, humiliating them in battle, was none other than the king of Frosthaven.