The summons from the Inspectorate arrived two weeks ago and caused quite a stir. Arn remembered the confused and somewhat concerned expressions on his relatives' faces. "Well now," they said, and "they take 'em younger and younger each year." Despite any misgivings they had, no one argued with the Inspectorate. The law was the law, and that was that. They threw a quick ceremony to mark his first mission with the Inspector corps, burned a sizeable wooden protection totem for good measure, and called upon Elar'Saga to guide Arn on his first adventure.

The two weeks passed in a flash, and the day of departure arrived. Arn lay in bed on the second floor of the Stonefather clan house. He woke up two hours earlier but couldn't muster the will to get up. Light spilled into his bedroom through a narrow stained glass window. It broke into a myriad of colours upon his white blanket. His body sunk into the soft mattress and a pleasant warmth kept him from leaving.

The voices from the dining hall on the first floor were growing louder and more numerous. He realized that the longer he delayed, the worse it'd be when he finally went down there. Arn tucked the amulet under his shirt and, with a final concerted effort of will, tore himself away from the soft, inviting warmth of his bed.

"Ah! The great adventurer," Doren cried out as Arn entered the dining hall, "you finally deem us worthy of your company." Arn winced at the volume of his uncle's voice, which was entirely too loud for mornings. He mumbled an incoherent greeting and shuffled to an empty seat at the table.

"Is that what passes for a 'good morning' nowadays?" Doren chuckled, "hey, who raised this boy?"

Kenon walked into the dining room from the kitchen, a mug of tea in his hand. "Not everyone likes your loud morning greetings, dad. So let him wake up first."

"Did I ask for your advice? He's awake," he waved at Arn, "didn't sleepwalk in here, did he?"

Kenon rolled his eyes then sat down at the table opposite his father. Arn rested his head on the table. The polished wood was cool against his cheek, and the sensation distracted him from the noise.

"Are you ok?" Kenon asked him.

"Too early and too loud," Arn mumbled. He heard a chortle and felt a pat on his back. He closed his eyes and imagined where the Inspectorate might send him - the fields of Heartland, the hills of Kadam - a soft thud reverberated through the wood and drew his attention. The aroma of sauteed vegetables and fried eggs finally brought him into the waking world. He lifted his head and saw Grandmother Elo's beaming smile as she sat down across from him.

"Eat, eat," she said.

"Thank you, Mama Elo," he replied. Arn pulled the plate close and dug in.

"All of you spoil the boy!" Doren protested.

"Oh hush you," Arn's grandmother said, "he won't have such luxuries for weeks after today. Let him enjoy."

Doren raised a self-important finger, "we don't know where they'll send him, do we? Who's to say it won't be some forgotten town in the west?"

"Why do you always have to say things like that?" Kenon interjected.

"I'm just thorough," Doren shrugged. "The boy needs to know what he's getting himself into."

"They're not going to do that. It's his first time." Kenon said.

"His first time, eh? Why don't you remind us where your first time was?"

"Not 'some forgotten town in the west,'" Kenon imitated his father.

"They didn't send you to the Heartland flower fields either," Doren replied. Arn's cousin eyed his father but didn't say anything. Doren sighed loudly and shook his head, then returned to his own breakfast. Arn's grandmother winked at him and encouraged him to eat.

"Delicious," Arn said as he brought the empty plate into the kitchen.

"Don't listen to your uncle," his mother replied as she washed her own plate.

"I never do. Where's papa?"

"He had to leave, called to the Small Council - he'll be at the coach house to see you off, he won't miss it, don't worry."
Arn put his plate into the sink and was just about to leave.

"Who are you expecting to wash the plate for you?" his mother quipped.

"Oh, I'm sorry - I thought -"

"Think more as you wash it. Chop chop."

Back in the dining room, Doren harrumphed loudly. Arn and his mother exchanged glances. "Blasted cold tea!" they heard him yell. Then a few seconds later, a feminine voice replied, "Doren Dar, one of these days, the Inspectorate will have your hide."

"Aunt Vena is awake," Arn said to his mother.

"That's our sign," she replied. "I'm almost done. Go get ready, and we'll head out."

On his way back to his room Arn walked past the long table. He saw the bracelet on uncle Doren's hand glow faintly, and soon after, steam rose from his cup.

"I'll do what I please with my own Tjoreal," Doren said and pointed at the bracelet.

"Mornin' dear," aunt Vena smiled at Arn, then turned back to Doren, "your own is it, all of the Tjoreals belong to the Inspectorate, mark my words."

"I've had it since childhood. You don't know what you're -" the voices merged into an incoherent hum as Arn left the room and ascended the stairs to the second floor.

A short time later, Arn and his mother left the Stonefather clan house and entered the small streets of the residential quarter of Nysaros. Each of the clan houses had a small yard and a stone wall surrounding it. The spaces between them created maze-like passages that led to the main city roads. The walls were meticulously maintained and often bore historical reliefs and paintings. Arn watched as an elderly man tied up vines to keep them from obscuring the depiction of a large snow leopard.

The two of them passed several inner squares with statues and fountains before they reached the Curved Road, which encircled the entire center of Nysaros. The road served as a border between the residential quarters and the municipal buildings. The clan houses huddled close and created small, narrow streets, while the city center was spacious and spread out. Each building commanded a generous portion of land, with gardens and plazas abound.

Across the road, a woman met their eyes and stopped to wait for them. Arn grunted. Senal Frosthill was nosy and judgmental, and he could have done without seeing her today of all days. However, a quick glance at his mother let him know that despite her own misgivings, she would observe decorum.

"Blessings upon you, Nyra," Senal said in her nasal voice as they approached.

"May his guidance find you," Arn's mother replied and bowed lightly.

"How are things at the Stonefather clan house?" Senal asked.

"Not too cold, nor windy, Elar'Saga is praised."

"That is well, praised be he," Senal replied and smiled, "Where are the two of you headed so early in the day, hmm?" she asked, her eyes darting from Arn to his mother.

"To the coach house -" his mother started.

A glint of curiosity flashed across Senal's face, but a moment later, her expression turned to sympathy, "another summons, is it? They take 'em too young."

"The law is the law," Nyra replied pleasantly, but her jaw tightened.

Senal nodded, "have you heard about Kenon - not your nephew, but Kenon Grandrock? Sent westward, they say. What times we live in." She shook her head, then glanced at Arn.

"Westward, you sure?" Nyra said concern coloured her voice.

"Certainly, certainly," Senal nodded, as enthusiasm crept into her voice once more. "it caused quite a commotion when his family learned of it - the west is a dangerous land, no place for -" she suddenly pursed her lips and lightly shook her head. "I'm sure it will be just fine - the Inspectorate knows best, as they say."

"Mom, we need to go," Arn said and put a hand on her back.

Arn's mother nodded and smiled, "may he guide your path," she said to Senal and hurried away without waiting for a response.

"She was trying to rile you up, you know that, right?" Arn said after a few minutes of silence.

"What if it's true?"

"I don't know. What if it is?"

"I don't know."

Arn wondered why the western border towns were such a terrifying prospect. The Inspectorate wouldn't let any part of the country fall into lawlessness, so why was everyone so afraid? Were he to be sent to the west, he'd tell them all how safe it was when he returned.
The scent of horses permeated the air, and he knew that they were getting close. A two-story structure appeared in the distance. Carriages came and went, some stopping idly by the roadside. Arn's father stood across the road from the coach house, a concerned expression on his face.