Pyp had elected to sleep on the outskirts of the marching camp with his fellow Dragoons. They were rough men who were used to rough conditions and Pyp himself felt rough after the days of riding and fighting he had endured. Pyp had sold most of his armour to buy a small tub of honey from a soldier with ties to the merchants which followed the army like flies. Pyp savoured every mouthful as he leaned against the trunk of a large oak tree. His horse lay on the ground next to him snoring peacefully. Pyp was trying to decide whether or not he was regretting his decision to join the Vanguard instead of the quieter rear, or just staying with the infantry.

Why am I doing this, why can't I stop myself, thought Pyp, he put lid back on his pot of honey and tucked it into his saddlebag. He recalled the life he had before Finepoint, the time he would spend sat in his room playing his flute, writing new tunes to play.

Was I happy then, or did was I just too ignorant to know better.

Pyp had done everything his father had ever wanted, he had become the man they all thought was forever out of his reach.

Father is dead, I have no need to do this to myself. Pyp winced as he brushed his fingertips across his face, the constant use of his matchlock had given him slight burns across his cheeks.

When he thought about going back to his room in Heartford, going back to his small room and fiddling with his flute for days on end turned his stomach. But similarly, the thought of standing in a line waiting for a small lead ball to rip through his body made his chest tighten. A man with a small pot of stew snapped him out of his trance, the grumpy soldier ladle the slop into his bowl and moved along. Pyp tasted the foul-smelling stew and fell back into his existential crisis.

The morning air was wet and crisp as Pyp woke with a start. He had been pulled from a dream of the Finepoint bank.

"Wake up sir, you've been ordered back to the Lord General," said Captain Ransley.

Pyp rubbed his eyes and stretched his legs. "So soon."

Ransley said nothing but waited expectantly. Pyp noticed he had already saddled his horse.

"Let us go then Captain," said Pyp grabbing the reins.

Progress was short as they strutted through the muddy camp. Every path was clogged with mules and carts and men carrying heavy loads.

"Seems my brother has them on the move again," muttered Pyp.

"The men are preparing for a forced march, the Lord General wants us somewhere quickly," said Ransley.

"I can't imagine the men are pleased."

"No they won't but they will do it anyway, the powers to be have promised an increase in wages," said Ransley before shouting at a loaded wagon to make way.

They arrived at Edwyn's command tent, the lords were in the midst of a fierce debate when Pyp walked in.

"Brother please take a seat," said Edwyn who was sat with an elbow on the table and his cheek in his hand. He looked bored as his lords squabbled. Pyp reached forward and poured himself a cup of wine.

"Sire we cannot abandon the border for the Capitol."

"I agree with Lord Huren if we do then we leave the people to the mercy of the raiders."

Edwyn silenced them all. "We have orders from the High Prince himself, we march on the Capitol at once." He glanced over at Pyp, "If you'll excuse me my Lords I wish to speak to my brother alone".

Soon it was only Pyp and Edwyn left at table. His brother was a hard man to read, his face betrayed no emotion as he stared. "I've heard only good things from my commanders about your performance on the battlefield, even so I'm concerned about your safety. You look terrible, the fighting is taking it's toll on you brother. I'm taking you off the Vanguard, you will travel with me".

"To the capitol," said Pyp.

"Yes," said Edwyn standing up and turning away.

"And why does Baldwyn want us in the Capitol," asked Pyp.

"Well, you know our brother he never tells anyone the specifics," Edwyn's voice was strained but Pyp wasn't convinced it was because of Baldwyn.

"Enough questions Pyp, I've heard plenty from my lords and I won't hear any from you." Edwyn's tone was final.

"If you command Lord General I will leave the Dragoons and travel with you," said Pyp.

"Good, I thought you would be difficult about this, seeing as half the camp is talking about you."

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"They are?"

"Oh yes, Pyp the younger once a disappointment to the Mawson name now a hero. The only survivor of Finepoint, saviour of the army and smiter of bandits," Edwyn grabbed a jug of wine and poured them both a cup.

"None of it was very heroic," muttered Pyp.

"I can imagine," spat Edwyn.

Pyp could feel the bitter glare burning into him.

Is Edwyn jealous of me. His brother had downed his wine and was busy filling another cup. Pyp felt like he could jump for joy, Edwyn the perfect son jealous of me. Suddenly he remembered why he threw himself into danger from the beginning. It was out of desperation. But the fact he could prove everyone wrong after all this time made it all the sweeter.

"I think I'll retire for the night brother," said Pyp finishing his cup.

"Yes yes I'll see you in the morning," said Edwyn looking down at a map on his table.

Pyp marched out of the tent with his head held high. Ransley was leaning on a large wooden stake that their horses were tied to.

"Come Ransley we are sleeping in the camp tonight."

"Sire I've been transferred back to my regiment, I'm no longer your overseer," Pyp couldn't tell if the captain was pleased with the news or not.

"So what does that mean for me," asked Pyp.

"You are a Prince sire, you can do what you please."

Pyp felt the elation slip from his grasp. "Well then Captain I would like to bed down with your regiment, it will be good to see them again" said Pyp, he quickly pulled his horses reins from the stake and set off into the camp with Ransley in tow.

Pyp was warned multiple times that he would be more comfortable with the other lords at the centre of the camp. But he waved them off saying he had slept in worse recently. He opted to sleep with the other officers in their cramped tent. He led a toast to the men who died in the pike square Pyp had been a part of.

It feels like years since then.

They drank their wine and ate their meagre rations before retiring to their bedrolls. Pyp lay his bedroll where the table had stood and lay down on the hard ground. It felt more comfortable than when he slept under the stars as a Dragoon, the sounds of distant snoring reminded him of Finepoint and his time spent with Erit and his looters.

His morning was early and frantic. Men flew around their small section of camp bundling tents onto mules and food into bundles which were slung over backs. Pyp sought out Captain Ransley to thank him for the company before heading off to the centre of the camp. Edwyn was already fully armed and armoured on his jet-black destrier. He looked every part a warrior sat on his tall steed, nearly every inch of his body wrapped in shining steel with gilded edges. Pyp knew how much their late father had spent on that armour and it was enough to make even a bankers head spin. Pyp on the other hand looked scruffy. The only armour he wore was his dented breastplate, his helmet was strapped to his horse along with his weapons. He learned early on with the Dragoons that only a fool dresses like every second will be a battle. Better to be comfortable and alert than hot, sweaty and distracted. He pulled up beside his brother who was deep in conversation with Lord Messer. They stopped abruptly when Messer noticed he was within earshot.

"Don't let me interrupt you Lords," said Pyp.

"Sire, have you become bored of the Dragoons so quickly," said Messer snidely.

"Actually, my brother was concerned for my safety, seeing as I've been doing most of the fighting. He wanted me here".

Messer gave Edwyn a brief glance. "He did, did he?" Pyp barely heard the words.

The large man nodded at his commander and pulled his horse away. Edwyn said nothing as they set off to lead the army to the capitol.

The High Castle was a magnificent sight. It was built on an island which sat in the middle of a large lake. Huge river barges drifted back and fourth between the fortified city and the small town called Portsfell.

Here is the centre of the entire Kingdom. There was no way to get across by land, only by ferry could you land on the docks. It was the most well protected city in the world, never had it fallen to any army, no matter the size or strength. A number of rivers ran through the lake snaking off into the High Kingdom. Edwyn lead his honour guard through Portsfell, people lined the streets to watch them march along the single road which led to the docks. His brother seemed displeased at the sight of the silent crowds.

What did you expect brother a parade in your name, no one asked us here.

Pyp saw more than one glare in the crowd. The local lord rode down to meet Edwyn at the head of the army. Pyp was too far to hear what was said but the red-faced lord was clearly angry. His brother kept his cool and spoke with restraint and soon the lord was calmed. After some more negotiation, Edwyn turned back to the rest of his assembled lords.

"Lord Tunsten has graciously agreed to let us cross to the High Castle, the army will stayed camped outside of Portsfell."

He then waved Pyp over to his side. "Brother you will stay with the army, I will take the lion share of the lords with me and you will lead whoever I leave."

Pyp said nothing and just nodded.

I don't like any of this thought Pyp, seeing the quick glances between his brother and Lord Messer.

Edwyn left him with three of his Lord commanders. Pyp knew that he only had nominal command of the army and that the real power would be left in their hands. But they did not control every regiment and Pyp hoped he would be able to get a number under his own belt.

As the Lord General set off to the High Castle with his honour guard Pyp was organising the camp outside of Portsfell. Lord Tunsten insisted they stay at least a mile away from the city proper. The three lords that he was left with were hardly an inspiring sight, all three were overweight and bursting out of their armour. When he tried to engage them with talk of setting up camp they claimed it wasn't their job to organise camp detail. So Pyp left them to their wine and sought out the engineers who planned the camp fortifications. He found them crowded around a small table with a map of the local area.

"Are you the army engineers?"

"That we are sire" said a man with a colourful hat and busy moustache.

"Hard at work already I see."

"The lords give us lots of freedom when it comes to breaking camp," said the man.

"I'm sorry your name is," asked Pyp.

"Falk Brandt, senior engineer."

"You're in charge of these men?"

"That I am."

"I'm concerned about the camp, I fought when the last camp was invaded, I want this camp to be as close to unbreakable as possible."

The engineers exchange a number of looks. Some where annoyed at Pyp's' criticisms of their work, others looked at the map with renewed interest.

"To do that sire we would need more materials and manpower," said Brandt.

"You will have everything you need, write me a list and draw up plans," said Pyp turning to leave. He turned his head to face Brandt. "Unbreakable Mr Brandt."