Arn’s father hurried over after he spotted the two of them approach. He smiled, though it never reached the man’s eyes. The concern on his face was apparent despite attempts to hide it.

"They're sending him to Kalarhan," he said.

"Kalarhan!" Arn’s mother whispered, her eyes widening.

"Nothing I tried made a difference." his father said.

"What is Kalarhan?" Arn asked.

"It's a border town southwest of here," his father replied.

“He can’t go there, Atrel, he just can’t!" Arn’s mother pleaded.

"You know that's not how it works." Atrel took a deep breath. "I looked into it and he's not the first - a few were already sent westward, and some are now returning. They're all fine, it should all be fine."

"How is it fine for them to send a boy -" she said, her voice trembling.

“I’m not a boy!” Arn protested.

"Just be careful," his father told him. "Don't use your Tjoreal if you can help it, perhaps keep it out of sight."

"Why? We all have it, what can possibly be wrong about using it?”

Before his father could answer, a tall man in a brown coat approached them. He had long thick moustaches that reached all the way down to his chin which was covered by days old stubble.

"Stonefather?" he said in a deep, gruff voice.

"Yes." Arn's mother replied.

"I am here for Arnyrath - him, I assume?" he nodded at Arn.

"It’s just Arn," Arn said.

"As you wish." the man replied.

"Isn’t there something we can do about his destination? Does he have to go to Ka -" his mother started.

"Sorry mam," he cut in loudly, "I shouldn't have to ask you to be quiet." The man then glared at Arn’s father. “Certain information is privileged; do you understand me?” Arn’s father nodded, though his face was tense, and his jaw tightened.

"There is no cause for concern,” he looked each of them in the eyes. “Oshaaland is the safest province of Nedreal, east, west, north, or south - it matters little. Unless you question the Inspectorate’s word, or perhaps our ability to govern our own borders?”

"We question no such thing," his father said, then he looked at Arn, "remember what I told you, please." Arn furrowed his brows but nodded.

Nyra sighed and looked at Arn, "be safe, ok? Assume that everything is suspicious and dangerous." she said. The tall man shook his head.

They hugged and his parents watched him enter one of the carriages. It looked like what he'd imagined the absolute average carriage in the province of Oshaaland must look like. Dark brown with a small window and black curtains. The wheels looked worn but sturdy and the leather must have seen more than its share of journeys. It creaked as he climbed in, but the insides were rather unexpectedly accommodating. A soft bench on one side, and clean, thick fabric that covered each wall and the ceiling. Arn sat down and took off his backpack. He pulled the curtain aside and waved at his parents as the coach started to move.

***

The carriage crested a hill and Arn got a glimpse of the distant small buildings that made up Nysaros. It’s so small, he thought. He’d never been quite so far from the city before and a sudden sinking feeling washed over him. He sat back down and watched the clear blue sky through the small window on the other side. Massive mountains loomed in the distance; the forest climbed their foothills, but the trees grew sparse with elevation. The mountains gave Arn some comfort, they were the same mountains he saw from his bedroom window, and he imagined that ancient spirits dwelt there, and that they were watching over him.

The carriage carried on south on the forest road and no more hills lay before them. Only trees were visible from the window - trees and a bit of the sky. Arn started daydreaming about his future self on the way back, in just a few short weeks. His stomach lurched uneasily - hunger, he convinced himself and took out the food bundle his mother packed for him. Inside were small containers with preserved and dried foods. He settled on the mushrooms, they were crunchy and quite spicy - every bite sent a wave of warmth throughout his body. Arn kept the container with the mushrooms and put the food pouch back into his backpack. He munched the dried snack and felt his tension melt away.

A little while later he held up a letter from the Inspectorate detailing his assignment at a town called Kalarhan. Ossagar - the driver of the carriage, had given it to him just before they left. The town lay about four days’ travel from Nysaros - and quite near to the southern border wall and the ominous sounding Forest of Wolves.

So what if it’s a bordertown, he thought. The Inspectorate knows what they’re doing. I’ll finish the inspection - it’s just simple rules, everyone follows the rules.

Arn traced a line on the small map at the bottom of the letter, he started in Nysaros and followed the road through the forest all the way to Kalarhan. His parents were just worrying too much - as parents tend to do. Who'd ever heard of youth disappearing during their first summons? That’s right, a voice at the back of his mind said, no one hears of them again - that's why - "stop it!" he mumbled to himself.

Ossagar made no attempt to speak with Arn. The jerking and rattling of the coach gradually stopped around dusk and a few moments later the crisp forest smell of evergreens gave way to the wood smoke and other familiar village scents. The first buildings he saw were workshops and warehouses, he could tell by their plain and even shapes and the small, ornamented areas around their main doors. He consulted the map from earlier - they reached their first overnight lodging stop. The Weyward Welp Inn - which Arn noticed was in a part of town his mother would avoid. Apparently, it was exactly the part of town Ossagar sought out.

Ossagar waited for Arn by the entrance to the inn, and upon seeing him went through the door without a word. Arn frowned and followed the tall man. Perhaps the inspectorate forbade small talk, or any talk that wasn’t strictly for the mission he thought.

The low hum of voices reached Arn’s ears even before he touched the door. Once inside, a thick aroma of frying meat and spices filled his nose. Ossagar was already moving toward the back of the tavern and Arn hurried to catch up to him. They sat down in a small booth which provided a measure of privacy. When the serving girl approached them Ossagar presented his token - this one was of the Caravaneer’s Union. Arn couldn’t read the ranks of tokens, but the girl briefly touched it, her hand glowed, just like his uncle Doren's did back at home. She nodded and recited a number of dishes for them to choose from.

Arn glanced at Ossagar as they ate, the man still said nothing. Well, not to Arn at least, he did speak to the serving girl when ordering his meal. Just then Ossagar pulled at the thin chain around his neck and a small vial of thick glass appeared. He glanced at Arn then poured a blue grey powder into his drink.

“I can see you have something to ask,” he said after taking a sip.

Arn was startled and blurted out “It's not about the vial.”

“Oh? Who said anything about the vial?” Ossagar raised an eyebrow.

“It’s the token” Arn's cheeks felt warm, “I was just curious, I haven’t seen one like that.”

“The token,” Ossagar said and fished it from his pocket, “you haven’t seen a travel token before?” He put it on the table.

“Of course, I’ve seen one before,” Arn protested and leaned closer to examine it.

“Caravaneer’s Union, third rank,” Ossagar said.

“I usually see Scholar’s Tokens, or - well, mostly that.” Arn said, eyes still on the token.

“I suppose you wouldn’t see many if you don’t travel. This token is something the caravan captain’s right hand would carry. Enough to get by but not enough to draw attention,” Ossagar picked the token back up with his rough fingers. The man smiled but it looked unnatural on his rugged and mustachioed face. Arn wondered whether he was trying to be nicer, the prospect made him feel disconcerted.

“I never knew how to tell the ranks of the tokens.” Arn said.

“Really now?” Ossagar seemed genuinely surprised, “I’d expect that sort of thing to be taught in schools - what do they teach you there anyway?”

Arn flinched - could he get his entire school in trouble with the Inspectorate for this? “Well, maybe I just don’t remember, they probably taught it - of course they taught it, I just can’t remember.”

Ossagar chuckled and then took the token out once again, he held it up for Arn and pointed at the thin dark band on its outer edge, “this is the rank ring, you see these dots, that’s the rank - dots represent the ordinary ranks.”

“Three dots for the third rank?” Arn asked.

“You got it."

"What did the serving girl do? She touched it - to inspect it?”

"She just made sure it wasn’t fake." Ossagar replied. "They don't always check the ordinary ranks. But if you have one of the special ones, like Captain or Division Head, Council Representative, and so on, those will be verified at every step - and not by a serving girl."

“Why don’t you have one of those?”

Ossagar harrumphed, “it’s too much, that sort of rank draws attention.” He straightened his moustache and put the token back into his pocket once again.

“How did she check it?” Arn asked.

“Well, it isn’t too complicated if even the serving staff can do it. Just a bit of channeling your energy through the Tjoreal and into the token - if it is a fake, it will crack and shatter. “

Arn’s curiosity took over his better sense, “can I try?” he asked.

“I think we’ve had enough of that for now, you know all you’ll need for your mission.”

Arn was taken aback by the abrupt end to their talk, he still had questions, but figured that some knowledge about the tokens was too secret to disclose like this. They must have special tokens, he thought - but then, the serving girl checked it. She must be part of the Inspectorate he realized. Ossagar narrowed his eyes and Arn immediately refocused on his meal.