They left the town early in the morning. So early it was that the cook at the Inn’s tavern was just starting on breakfast and Ossagar had elected to take some provisions for the road instead of waiting. Likewise, the stable hands hadn’t reported in yet and the two of them had to prepare their horses themselves. Ossagar didn’t say a word of complaint, he did the work dutifully and it was still early morning when they left the village and continued the journey to Kalarhan.

Several hours into this leg of the trip, while Arn was munching on the food his mother packed and looking out the window at the scenery there was a click. Arn looked at the carriage wall opposite him and a small hatch was opened.

“You must be curious about Inspectorate tokens,” he heard Ossagar’s voice. “Can’t quite share that yet, I’m afraid”.

“I understand,” Arn replied.

Ossagar grunted, “it’s fine - curiosity is the province of youth, I don’t blame you” he said. “You know, I joined the Inspectorate many years ago - wasn’t much older than yourself” he added.

Arn was taken aback by the man’s sudden openness. “You and I must have had similar childhoods, give or take a few decades,” Ossagar continued, “Nysaros is a good place to grow up, not unlike my old town.” The carriage hit a pothole and rattled. “You are fortunate that I am here to guide you on your first summons, for not all places you'll visit will be alike,” the man said. “The old ways are not wholly gone from the world; they linger even within our own borders."

Old Ways? Arn wondered - what does he mean, ‘old ways’? After a moment of silence Arn blurted a thank you. The man’s words lingered in his mind and conjured up uncle Doren’s warnings. Arn shivered.

“Have you seen a beggar?" Ossagar’s question startled him.

“Have I seen a what? What is a beggar?”

Ossagar chuckled. “You have Elar’Saga to thank for that,” he said, “him and the Inspectorate who continue to enforce the laws he had bestowed upon us,” his voice was full of pride and Arn was certain that the man wore that unsettling smile of his. “Long ago he gave us the guidance to become better, but not all people were ready to accept it - did they teach you about that?”

“Yes,” Arn replied.

"They did? Well, that is something at least. I say some people, but I mean the royals and their lords. I wager the regular folk were ready enough even back then." A crow croaked in the distance. "Go on then, tell me what you've learned,” Ossagar demanded.

“What I’ve learned, you mean about Elar’Saga?”

“Yes, yes, and Nedreal too.”

“Ok,” Arn said and tried to recall his history lessons from the academy and his great uncle Sead's stories. "During the early centuries of Nedreal, the kings and lords twisted the laws of Elar’Saga and turned them to their advantage, they corrupted the good people and manipulated them. This continued for many years - until one man conquered all the small states and fiefdoms and proclaimed himself Emperor.”

"Emperor you say, and what was his name?” Ossagar asked.

“I don't think I've heard anyone call him by any name - just the First Emperor.”

“That is the best answer I've heard in a long time, as good as I could hope for,” Ossagar said, and though Arn couldn’t see him he was sure that the man was smiling again.

“Why?”

“Why? Because his name carries his memory, and none should encourage it, nor give him honour by speaking it long after his miserable life has ended. We are to forget his name, and all about him, save that he did great injury to his people."

“Oh,” Arn said.

Ossagar chuckled, “Oh? That’s all you have to say?”

“I’m glad that his name is erased from history,” Arn added hastily.

“Allright, allright. Go on with your story.”

Arn cleared his throat then continued “the emperor’s family was to be worshipped like the spirits, and their laws were to be followed with the same vigor as Elar’saga’s laws.”

Arn heard Ossagar spit, then the carriage shook. A short stretch of silence ensued, no doubt appearing longer in his mind as he wondered what he may have said wrong this time. “Don’t mind that, just something on the road.” Ossagar finally said, though his voice trembled. Arn felt a chill run up his back, standing the hairs of his neck on edge. He tucked his shoulders and felt an urge to press into a corner. The solitude of his situation struck him suddenly and he now wished for Kalarhan to come sooner, be it a bordertown or not.

“Well, go on then, finish the tale.”.

“Yes, sorry…”

“Don’t offer so many apologies, people will think you did something to warrant them.”

“Fine,” Arn replied, his cheeks flushed and fists momentarily clenched. His heart beat faster and the weight over him lessened. After a moment he continued “they brought about the Dark Ages, and only those still true to Elar’Saga’s teachings stood a chance at saving Nedreal.”

“And bring it back to the one true path.” Ossagar added.

Arn ignored the man and went on “the most loyal of Elar’Saga’s followers came together to guide the people, and they called themselves The Shepherds, and they united the people against the emperor. They fought for many years but finally the emperor and his lineage fell, and the new government of Nedreal was made to serve all of its people, and to abide by the guidance -”

“Elar'Saga himself guided them, his very hand directed The Shepherds to found the Inspectorate, which was to serve as a permanent beacon for the people in our country of Nedreal.”

“I haven't heard much about The Shepherds,” Arn confessed, “why didn't they stay to guide us, instead of the Inspectorate?”

"Such was the word of Elar'Saga," Ossagar said, his voice gaining strength again. "The Shepherds watch over all, not just us, they couldn't have stayed here forever. We must govern ourselves," he added.

"So then The Shepherds founded the Inspectorate to continue the work in their stead?"

"Now you understand." Ossagar replied.

To Arn's ears the story seemed incomplete, as though something was either missing, or added where it shouldn't be. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but he'd never heard of the Shepherds being directly guided by Elar'Saga nor that they founded the Inspectorate. Such a major role as theirs would have warranted more mention in history. He kept those thoughts to himself, who was he to argue with a representative of the Inspectorate? "This sounds correct, I suppose," he said.

“Sounds correct!” Ossagar nearly shouted, “of course it sounds correct. The first head of the Inspectorate was - well, this is speculation at present, but I do believe it to be true - he was one of the Shepherds!”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, it’s the truth, believe me. More than that, the Inspectorate rebuilt Nedreal to its true glory - and established the councils to keep it that way.”

“The councils help the Inspectorate?” Arn asked.

“They do after a fashion," Ossagar replied, then paused for a moment to consider, "not officially perhaps, the councils do have the final say according to the law. But the Inspectorate is well respected, and her guidance is seldom taken lightly.”

“So, what is a beggar?” he finally asked.

“What - oh yes,” Ossagar said, “you wouldn’t have seen one - or likely heard of one in central Nysaros, but when you’ll go to some of the distant reaches of our great country you'll see, there are people who have no food or shelter, and they are forced to beg others and live on the streets. Hence the name.”

Arn shuddered, “that’s horrible, what happens to them during the winter?"

“Many freeze to death, and worse,” Ossagar said.

Arn remained silent for a long time. The rustle of the evergreen needles as the wind passed through them created a mesmerising melody that took his mind away from their discussion. All the new information spun in his mind, and he still wasn't sure how far to trust Ossagar's words.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Ossagar finally said.

“I’m not scared.”

“I just want everyone to understand what we have.”

“I understand.”

“Good.”

Ossagar didn’t bring up their conversation until they reached Kalarhan a couple of days later. He became more friendly towards Arn, and that was both a blessing and a curse since Arn was still uncomfortable around the man. They arrived in Kalarhan on the fourth day as expected. Arn didn’t notice the smell of horses until they reached the coach station - upon exiting the carriage he saw just a few other carriages around. Not much traffic, he thought as a lone elderly man hurried into the administrative office.

“I’ll be moving on today,” Ossagar said “a Small Council representative has been informed that an agent of the Inspectorate is in the city, they will initiate contact.”

“I got it,” Arn replied, “the password is in the letter?”

“It is. I will be here to pick you up approximately two days from your contact with the Small Council - which you should do after completing the inspection” Ossagar smiled, “good luck, I believe that you will do well.” he said, then tugged at the reins of the horses and the carriage moved on.

Arn adjusted his backpack, then headed off to the administrative building of the coach station, if this place was anything like his home, they’d want to know why he was here, so he rehearsed his lines for the thousands time - I’m a scholar, advancing my historic studies and particularly interested in border towns, and I will be staying here for a few weeks. Arn fished in his pocket for the Scholar’s Token, he could now tell that it was of the first rank with just one dot on the rank ring. That smile though, Arn thought, it would almost have been better if Ossagar didn’t smile at all. How can a smile look so unnatural on anyone's face? He wondered. What am I getting into? “Stop it,” Arn mumbled to himself, “it’s your parents talking in your mind, and that old witch Senal, just stop it”.

A local constable watched suspiciously as Arn passed by shaking his head and muttering to himself. It wasn’t even the strangest thing the man saw that week.