"I think this is fair, don't you think?" Harald asked as he drew the major islands of the Stepstones on the beach with a stick.
Morgan looked at the crude map and frowned slightly. "The Targaryens get three of the ten major islands in that split. They won't accept this. Visenya will argue it's not an equal division."
"They will have to accept it," Harald said calmly, still looking at his crude map. "The islands I'm claiming are closer to Westeros and the trade routes I need to protect. If I give more, the Freehold can cut off all trade here in the future. It's a logical division based on both my interests and yours."
He looked up at Morgan with a slight smile. "And if they want to fight over it instead, well, I will show them exactly why I am known as the Dragonborn."
Morgan shook his head with a mix of amusement and concern. "You have some nerve to say that after seeing that monster flying above us."
Harald grinned.
Morgan continued, "Let's hope the Queen over there agrees. Otherwise, things will get very interesting."
Harald thought about it for a moment. He could fight the Targaryens now, perhaps end whatever Daedric influence had taken hold of them before it grew stronger. The signs were there. It was Dagon, it had to be.
But the Targaryen conquest had made them into legends. Many in Essos now saw them as practically gods, their saviors. The slaves certainly did. The freedmen worshiped them with a fervor that reminded Harald of how many in the Heartlands, and now even the Ironborn, did.
And Harald respected their crusade to end slavery. That, at least, was noble. Whatever dark powers might be influencing them, the result was the liberation of millions from chains. That had to count for something.
Let them free Essos from slavery. Let them build their Freehold. Perhaps a conflict could be avoided, and they could leave each other to their own devices.
The dragon's roar made Harald look to the sky. In the distance, Vhagar was circling, her massive green and bronze form cutting through the clouds.
It was massive. And Harald could sense that magic not of this world had been used on it, magic from oblivion itself. Morgan had told him earlier about reports that the Targaryen dragons had grown rapidly over the past few years. Apparently, the Targaryens claimed it was a blessing from the fire god R'hllor, whose red priests supported Aegon's conquests and hailed him as their messiah of sorts.
It was said that Balerion the Black Dread, the dragon that belonged to Visenya's brother and husband Aegon, was more than six hundred feet long with nearly a thousand foot wingspan.
Now that would be quite a sight, Harald thought.
He wondered if Dragonrend would work on them.
Perhaps not.
Dragonrend was made specifically to force Dovah into making them feel mortality. The shout essentially overwhelmed their minds, flooding them with concepts of death and endings, concepts that were antithetical to beings who could comprehend infinity and existed outside linear time. It gave Dovah an existential crisis so profound they literally could not stay airborne.
But a shout like Dragonrend would do nothing to the beast in the sky.
It was artificial, made by combining two different creatures through blood magic and sorcery.
A caricature of true dragons of this world, nothing like the magnificent beings Harald had seen in the memories within the weirwoods, the ancient dragons that had existed at the dawn of this world.
He wished Odahviing or Paarthurnax were here to see these Valyrian dragons. They would probably see it as blasphemous to even have them be called dragons, an insult to their very existence.
Harald looked away from Vhagar and turned to Morgan. "You mentioned a spy, the one who could get us inside the fortress and help us rescue the hostages. When will he arrive?"
"He'll be here soon, don't worry," Morgan assured him. "The man can be a bit mad, but he's resourceful. He used to be a pirate himself before coming into my employ. He knows the islands here like the back of his hand and knows how pirates think."
"Can this man be trusted?" Harald asked directly.
Morgan paused, looking like he was genuinely contemplating the question.
"Really?" Harald said.
"I'm sure about one thing," Morgan said finally. "He will never side with Xhobar. That much I guarantee."
Before Harald could press further, Aeron approached, leading twenty Ironborn warriors. They stopped a respectful distance away, and they knelt before Harald.
"My King," Aeron said formally. "We have captured fifteen ships and taken one hundred and twenty prisoners. They are secured and under guard."
"Keep the prisoners here on the island," Harald commanded. "We'll decide their fates after Xhobar is dealt with."
"It will be done," Aeron said, bowing his head.
Harald gestured to the crude map he had drawn in the sand. "What do you think of this, Aeron? The islands I plan to take for the Heartlands…" He looked to Morgan. "In partnership with Dorne, of course."
Aeron studied the map, then looked up with fierce determination in his eyes. "We can easily hold these islands, my King. They will be yours forever. The Ironborn know these waters. No pirate fleet will ever threaten these isles again."
Morgan shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not sure how my grandmother or father would react to Ironborn holding the islands. They would have been fine as long as men from the Heartlands were holding them, defending them, and making sure the sea lanes were safe. But the Ironborn have a... reputation."
"The Ironborn have discarded the old ways by command of King Harald," Aeron interrupted, his voice hard but controlled. His eyes met Morgan's directly. "We are on a new path now. This will be our test, our chance to prove we are more than reavers and raiders. We plan to pass this test and make our king's trust in us justified. We will hold these islands through strength and discipline. This is our redemption."
Harald nodded approvingly at Aeron's words, then turned to Morgan. "The Ironborn will not raid or cause issues. That I can assure you, Morgan. Our agreement will stand. No tolls for any ships passing through the Stepstones, and special protections given to Dornish vessels, the same as those from the Heartlands. If any Ironborn breaks these laws, he will answer to me personally."
Morgan studied Aeron for a long moment, then looked at Harald, then back at the map drawn in the sand.
Finally, he nodded. "I'll speak to my father and grandmother on your behalf. If you can truly keep the Ironborn in check, if you can make these islands safe for trade, Dorne will support your conquest of the Stepstones."
"I would love to see Dorne myself," Harald said. "We will be neighbors soon, after all."
"You would be more than welcome in Dorne," Morgan said warmly. "My grandmother and father would be eager to speak with you. The balance of power in the north is changing faster than anyone expected, and you, King Harald, are at the heart of it. You have turned the game of thrones on its head."
"The north?" Harald asked, confused as to why Morgan would bring up the distant kingdom from Dorne.
Morgan laughed. "Everything north of the Red Mountains is 'the north' for us Dornishmen!"
Harald laughed as well. "Ah, I see. Well, I would rather have peace between our realms, since the Marches will soon come under my control, and I know there is quite a history between the Stormlands and Dorne."
"That is an understatement," Morgan said, his smile becoming more wry. "Centuries of raids, counter-raids, wars, and blood feuds. My people have long memories."
Before Harald could respond, Visenya walked over from where her men had finished beaching their boats.
Harald saw her approaching and gestured welcomingly. "Queen Visenya, shall we end the pirate threat?"
"I could do it myself if needed," Visenya said coolly. "And take all of the islands while I'm at it, if I wished."
"And yet here I am, prepared to generously offer you some of them," Harald countered smoothly.
Visenya's eyes narrowed. Harald could see a vein pulsing in her temple, her jaw clenched with barely controlled anger. But through all that fury on her face, Harald could also see something else, the hidden fear from earlier, when Vhagar had reacted to his presence. She was trying to mask it with aggression, but it was there.
"I think the split I proposed is quite fair," Harald said calmly.
"I agree," Morgan chimed in quickly. "I think it's best for everyone involved."
"Let's go over the plan then," Harald said, moving the conversation forward before Visenya could object further.
Harald knelt down and began drawing in the sand with more detail. He sketched out the rough outline of Bloodstone, the largest island in the Stepstones.
"Morgan, where is the fortress located?" Harald asked.
Morgan knelt beside him and drew a structure near the southern edge of the island. "Here. An old Valyrian fort, partially in ruins but still defensible. It's near a natural harbor protected by cliffs."
"The current situation, from what Morgan has told us and what we've learned from interrogating the prisoners we captured," Harald began, "is this: The fortress holds around six hundred pirates, maybe more. Most of Xhobar's remaining fleet is anchored there, perhaps ninety ships. We destroyed part of his fleet in this battle, so they're weakened but still formidable."
He looked at both Visenya and Morgan. "Xhobar did not expect me and the Iron Fleet to join this conflict. His plan, as far as I can deduce, was to defeat the Dornish fleet here, then sail to join with the Lyseni forces under Saathos to battle the Targaryen fleet together."
Harald turned his gaze to Visenya. "Here's what I don't understand. Why is Xhobar so confident? Did he truly overestimate the great Breaker of Chains' love for the enslaved? Does he genuinely believe you would not bring fire and ruin upon him just because he holds two thousand slaves and Dornish captives?"
Visenya's expression hardened. "Perhaps. My brother Aegon was hesitant at first when we learned about the hostages. But it was I who convinced him it would be an acceptable loss. We cannot allow pirates and slavers to think they can deter dragons by hiding behind innocents."
Morgan made an angry sound of displeasure at her casual dismissal of lives.
Harald placed a calming hand on Morgan's shoulder.
"But that is not all the deterrence Xhobar has," Visenya continued. "The Lyseni fleet under Saathos also possesses ships equipped with new scorpions. They can fire ten bolts in rapid succession."
"A repeating ballista," Harald said, genuinely impressed.
"The nobles of the Free Cities hoard much knowledge of Old Valyria," Visenya said, her voice filled with frustration. "Another reason we have not attacked Lys yet is because we simply do not know what the Lyseni have planned. Their confidence in facing us is... unnerving."
"So Saathos is near?" Harald asked.
"There were reports, but we cannot be certain," Visenya admitted. "The Lyseni can navigate the deep oceans without getting lost. He can disappear into the vast waters between the Summer Islands and Lys, where our fleet cannot effectively follow."
"Even when he shows himself, which is mostly here, we still find it difficult to locate him," Visenya added with clear annoyance. "The Stepstones are a maze of islands, coves, and hidden anchorages. A fleet can disappear into any number of places and be impossible to spot from above unless you know exactly where to look."
So Saathos has a compass, Harald thought. I should really introduce a proper compass to the Ironborn. Well, soon after I make sure they are properly reformed, that is. He was pretty sure that him being the new "Sea God" in their eyes would be heavily reinforced when he gave them that kind of advantage.
"Perhaps I can help you with that when we're done here," Harald said to Visenya.
Visenya's eyebrow raised slightly, but she nodded.
"So, back to the plan," Harald said, returning his attention to the map. "I, along with Aeron, Morgan, and thirty of our best men, will infiltrate Bloodstone and free the hostages. Once they are secure and we have dealt with Xhobar, we will signal both fleets."
He gestured broadly across the sand. "Then the Targaryen fleet and the Iron Fleet will move in together and crush the pirate fleet."
Harald looked directly at Visenya. "This is when you should reveal yourself with your dragon, only then, not before."
"But first," he added, "you need to make sure Saathos is not nearby. Scout the surrounding waters. If his fleet is close, keep them occupied. We cannot have them reinforcing Xhobar or, worse, attacking our fleets from behind while we are engaged."
Visenya studied him for a long moment, then asked with clear skepticism, "You truly think you can take a well defended fortress with six hundred men inside using just thirty soldiers?"
Harald grinned. "The thirty men are to help free the captives and secure their escape. I will be fighting the pirates and Xhobar myself."
Visenya visibly showed surprise, her composed mask slipping for just a moment. Her violet eyes widened slightly.
Morgan looked at Harald in awe, shocked by the sheer confidence, or perhaps madness, of the statement.
"You plan to fight them alone?" Visenya said, and Harald could not tell if she was impressed or thought him insane.
"I have faced worse odds," Harald said simply. "And won."
He stood, brushing sand from his hands. "So, shall we begin? The sooner we move, the better. I have places to be after this."
"Yes... yes, let's do it now," Morgan added, looking at Harald with a stunned expression.
=========
Harald, Aeron, Morgan, and thirty men sat in two boats, rowing silently toward the shore of Bloodstone. They had made their way there during the night on their ships, and now, at midnight, they needed to finish the infiltration before morning so their fleets could launch a surprise attack on the pirates.
The rhythmic sound of oars dipping into the dark water was the only noise as they approached. Soon, the boats' keels scraped against the sand, and they arrived on the beach.
They all disembarked quickly and quietly, pulling the boats up onto the shore to prevent them from drifting away.
The sound of the ocean was surprisingly peaceful, gentle waves lapping against the shore and the distant cries of seabirds roosting on the cliffs. Harald looked around, taking in their surroundings. It was dark, the moon only a sliver in the sky, but he was using a simple night vision spell to see clearly. Only two lanterns were lit among the entire group, kept hooded and dim to make sure they were not spotted.
"So, where is your spy?" Harald asked Morgan quietly.
"He should be here by now," Morgan said, looking around with growing concern. "This was the agreed meeting point."
"He is clearly not here, Martell," Aeron said with barely concealed irritation.
"Shut your mouth, Hoare," Morgan shot back.
Harald held up a hand for silence. He could hear faint sounds, people running, shouting in the distance. "What is that?" he asked, motioning for everyone to quiet down.
"Oi!" a voice yelled desperately.
Everyone, including Harald, looked toward where it came from.
Out of the darkness came a man being chased by about ten others, pirates, from the look of their mismatched clothing and weapons. The man ran in a strange, weaving pattern, arms windmilling, occasionally looking back over his shoulder with wide eyes.
"AHHHHHHH!" the man screamed as the pirates chased him.
"That's your spy?" Harald asked incredulously.
He took off running toward them, taking his axe from his back.
"Dammit, Jace!" Morgan cursed, following as well. The others spread out behind them.
Harald threw his axe toward two pirates who had stopped and tried to run after seeing armed men charging at them. His axe spun through the air, striking both pirates dead.
Harald called the axe back to his hand.
"You!" Harald shouted to the spy. "Fall down!"
The man looked at Harald, confused. "What?"
"Fall down on the ground. Now!"
"Okay!" the man said, throwing himself flat onto the sand mid-running with theatrical flair.
"VEN GAAR NOS!"
The shout hit the pirates. All eight remaining pirates were launched backward by the cyclone created from the shout, flying through the air in various states of flailing panic before splashing into the sea dozens of feet away.
This shout was more silent than Unrelenting Force. He would save that for later.
Harald stopped and walked over to the downed man, who was still lying flat on the sand.
The man slowly raised his head, looked up at Harald, then at the ocean where the pirates had disappeared, then back at Harald.
"Did that just happen, or am I just drunk?" he said slowly.
"I have never," he added, "been this drunk before in my entire life. And I have been very, very drunk on many occasions, so that is saying something."
He held up his hand expectantly.
Harald could not help but smile as he grasped the man's hand and pulled him to his feet.
Morgan walked over, exasperation clear on his face. "What in the seven hells, Starling? You were supposed to be here waiting for us, not leading Xhobar's men here!"
"Ah, my prince!" the man said, brushing sand off his clothes with exaggerated care. "I had a... complication."
"Yes, a big one," Harald observed dryly.
"This is Jace Starling," Morgan introduced.
"Captain Jace Starling," the man corrected, holding up one finger importantly.
Harald laughed a bit. The man reminded him of another fictional pirate from Earth.
"So, what happened?" Harald asked.
"Well," Jace began, "I got bored with all the spying business, you see. Watching, waiting, counting ships, terribly dull work, absolutely mind-numbing. And the drink on this island? Absolutely terrible. Watered-down swill. I would not even feed it to an animal."
He shook his head mournfully. "So I thought to myself, 'Jace, you are providing an invaluable service here, risking your handsome neck. Surely you deserve better refreshment than pig's piss.' And that is when I remembered, Xhobar keeps a personal collection. The good stuff. Wine from before the Doom, spirits from Lys and Myr, even some Arbor gold he looted from a Westerosi merchant."
His eyes lit up with the memory. "So I successfully infiltrated his stores and, naturally, I liberated a few bottles."
He paused dramatically. "Oh, but the bastard did not like that. Not one bit. Very possessive about his collection. He chased me himself with a rather large axe..."
Morgan shook his head in disbelief.
"Can you still get us to the fortress?" Harald asked, getting back to business.
"Oh yeah, absolutely," Jace said with confidence. "But, um, they might still be looking for me specifically after that whole wine incident. So we will have to take another way. The scenic route, as it were."
"Well, lead the way," Harald said.
"Right, yes, but before we do..." Jace looked at the group hopefully. "Do any of you fine gentlemen happen to have something to drink? All that running has left me… parched."
"Jace," Morgan said testily, "the fortress. Now."
"Fine, fine," Jace said, sounding wounded. "What does a man have to do to get a drink around here?"
He started walking, still muttering. "No appreciation. None at all... Not even a sip..."
Jace led them through the thick forest beyond the beach, pushing aside vines and ducking under low hanging branches. The canopy was dense overhead, blocking out most of the moonlight.
"This fortress, from the looks of things, belonged to some Valyrian sorcerer," Jace said conversationally as they walked. "Lots of those in the Basilisk Isles as well. Nasty pieces of work."
"Really? How can you tell?" Harald asked with interest.
Jace had a moment of unexpected seriousness. "You can tell by the remains found there. Monsters created by breeding man with animal. Things that should never have existed. Truly evil bastards, those Valyrians. The ruins are littered with their monsters."
"I will have to visit the Basilisk Isles one day then," Harald said thoughtfully.
"I would recommend against it," Jace said. "Truly the worst place in this world. The diseases alone. Blood boils, green fever, dancing plague, sweetrot, bronze pate, the Red Death, greyscale, brownleg, wormbone, sailor's bane, pus eye, and yellowgum. And those are just the ones that kill you relatively quickly."
Jace kept talking as they walked, describing in vivid and disturbing detail the various afflictions one could contract in the Basilisk Isles. "The dancing plague makes you dance until your feet bleed and your heart gives out. Sweetrot makes your flesh taste sweet as it rots off your bones. The rats love it. And the Red Death, well, you bleed from every orifice until—"
"He seems madder than the last time I saw him," Morgan said quietly to Harald, interrupting Jace's gruesome monologue.
"How good of a captain is he?" Harald asked.
"The best," Morgan admitted. "He knows these islands better than anyone. He can navigate waters that would wreck any other ship."
"I might hire him after all this," Harald said. "He seems fun."
"That is not how I would describe him," Morgan said with a slight grimace.
They continued through the deep, thick, humid forest. The air was heavy with moisture and the scent of rotting vegetation. Harald used his magic subtly, creating an invisible ward around the group that kept animals and insects away. No snakes dropped from branches, no mosquitoes sought blood, and no spiders crawled into boots.
"We're near now," Jace said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "No one really comes to this part of the island. They all think it's cursed."
"Where are the captives being held?" Harald asked.
"In the pens on the east side," Jace said, pointing through the trees. "During the morning, they are made to work clearing out debris and rebuilding walls. Xhobar plans to make this his home, it seems."
Harald turned to the others. "You all go there and begin freeing them. Get them to the beach the same way we came. I will assault the fortress, drawing most of their attention."
"I would have asked if you were mad," Jace said, studying Harald with those strange, too keen eyes, "but after seeing what you did to those men on the beach, well, go for it."
"Good luck," Harald said to them all.
Aeron and Morgan nodded, their expressions serious. They led Jace and the thirty men toward where the captives were being held, moving quietly through the forest.
Harald began walking toward the front of the fortress.
It loomed before him as he emerged from the tree line, made of black stone. Some parts were in ruins, walls collapsed and towers crumbled. But the pirates had repaired sections with rough wooden palisades. He could see a large camp inside where the fortress's outer wall had collapsed. Dozens of tents stood there, cook fires burning low, pirates sleeping or on watch. Perhaps three hundred men in the camp itself, with the rest near the harbor.
Harald smiled.
He took a deep breath and unleashed the Unrelenting Force at full power toward the camp.
"FUS RO DAH!"
The effect of the shout was cataclysmic.
The wave of force slammed into the pirates. Tents were ripped from their moorings and sent flying into the air, canvas shredding. Cook fires exploded in showers of sparks. Pirates who had been sleeping were launched from their bedrolls, some flying twenty or thirty feet through the air before crashing down. Those closest to the blast hit the fortress walls with bone shattering force, their bodies turning to pulp against the stone, leaving red smears where they struck.
Half the camp simply ceased to exist.
Some pirates managed to get up, dazed and bleeding, their ears ringing from the concussive force. They saw him, a single man in black armor, walking toward them with a large battleaxe in hand.
Harald took another breath.
"FUS RO DAH!"
This time he aimed at the fortress itself. The shout struck the weakened front wall, and centuries old stone exploded outward. A section of wall thirty feet wide collapsed in a thunderous avalanche of rubble and dust, creating a gaping hole into the fortress interior.
The pirates who had survived began to react. Some ran toward him with fury, grabbing whatever weapons they could from their disturbed sleep, swords, axes, clubs, even tent poles.
Harald grinned savagely and began his work.
"SU GRAH DUN!"
Elemental Fury. His axe became a blur of motion, striking with inhuman speed.
The first pirate died before he could even register that Harald had moved, the axe taking his head clean off. The second was cut from shoulder to hip. The third tried to block and had both his sword and his arms severed in one strike.
Harald activated Whirlwind Sprint, becoming a streak of motion across the battlefield. He appeared behind a group of pirates, his axe already swinging. Three men fell, their backs opened wide. He sprinted again, appearing in front of the fortress entrance, cutting down two more pirates who had been trying to organize a defense.
He was an unstoppable force, a whirlwind of death made manifest.
More pirates ran out from the fortress, awakened by the noise, armed and armored this time. They tasted the edge of his axe just as quickly. Harald moved through them like a scythe through wheat, the enhanced speed of his axe making it impossible for them to even try to dodge his attacks.
One pirate thrust a spear at him. Harald sidestepped, grabbed the shaft, pulled the man forward onto his axe blade, then kicked the corpse off and continued forward.
Another tried to flank him. Harald spun, the axe taking the man's legs out from under him. The pirate fell screaming, and Harald finished him with a downward strike that split his skull.
Pirates who had moments ago been sleeping peacefully now lay dead or dying, cut down before they could even fully comprehend what was happening.
Harald made his way into the fortress proper, following the sounds of someone yelling.
"Don't run, you cowards! Stand and fight! I'll flay anyone who runs! You hear me? I'll flay you all!"
Harald ran into a large courtyard and saw the source of the voice.
A man in golden armor stood there, ornate but gaudy, covered in engravings of screaming faces. But it was the man's own face that drew Harald's attention. It was ugly and full of cuts, old scars crisscrossing his features. Covering all of it was golden powder, giving him a grotesque, painted appearance.
What the fuck, Harald thought, realizing this must be Xhobar the Flayed.
Xhobar saw Harald and stopped mid-rant. "Who the fuck are you? How did you—"
His eyes narrowed. "You made a mistake coming here, whoever you are. I'm going to flay every last one of you. Slowly. Painfully. And then I'm going to show your skinned corpses to the dragon fuckers and the Dornish as a warning!"
"Maybe I will add half of the slaves too..."
He brandished his sword, which was also golden. "Xhobar is king of these islands now! King! And kings do not—"
Harald, bored with the monologue, simply used a shout.
"YOL!"
Fire breath erupted from Harald's mouth. Xhobar's eyes widened in the split second before the flames consumed him. His golden armor melted, his flesh charred, and within seconds there was nothing left but ash and slag where the self-proclaimed king had stood.
The remaining pirates in the courtyard took one look at what had just happened and began running. They climbed the walls, some falling down in fear, their legs trembling. They were heading to the harbor, desperate to escape this demon who had just killed their leader.
"HOLY SEVEN FUCKING HELLS!" Harald heard Jace's voice from somewhere nearby. "Did you just—? I mean, I saw it, but I still—! You breathed fire! Like an actual bloody dragon! That is... that is just—!"
Harald turned to see Jace behind him.
"Did you free the captives?" Harald asked.
Jace nodded, still staring at Harald with wide eyes. "Yes. Got them moving toward the beach."
"Good," Harald said, raising his hand. He conjured a large magelight, a brilliant sphere of pure white light, and then threw it high into the air.
It rose up, up, up, high enough that their ships waiting and hiding nearby would easily see it. The signal that the fortress was taken, the hostages were free, and the fleet could attack.
"Now we wait," Harald said.
"Come on!" Jace said excitedly, already recovered from his shock and now eager to see what came next. "We can watch it all from up there!" He pointed to a still intact tower that overlooked the harbor.
Harald and Jace made their way up the winding stairs, emerging onto the top of the tower just as the sun began to hint at dawn on the eastern horizon.
And then they saw it.
The harbor and the waters around it erupted into battle.
The pirate fleet, trapped in the harbor with nowhere to run, tried to fight back. But they were caught completely off guard.
Vhagar's roar echoed across the island as Visenya flew in.
The great dragon swooped low over the pirate ships, and fire rained down. Ships burned, and their crews jumped into the water to escape the flames. It was like the sun had risen early, the fires so bright they illuminated the entire harbor in orange and red.
"Beautiful," Jace breathed. "Absolutely beautiful."
Harald watched the battle with satisfaction. The Stepstones would soon be his.
Now the Ironborn would need to hold these islands, to prove to him they had truly left the old ways behind. His alliance with the Martells depended on it.
"Can I hire your ship?" Harald asked Jace, not taking his eyes off the battle below.
"For what?" Jace asked.
"A trip to Oldtown."
Jace was quiet for a moment, then grinned. "Sure. When do we leave?"
.
.