When Beor left, Arn took in his surroundings. The room looked like a waiting hall, with chairs and couches that could sit a dozen or so people. Currently, there were nine people in the room, primarily elderly, but one other woman looked not much older than Arn. Two of the elderly men spoke in hushed voices, though the size of the room didn't allow for much private discussion.

"The Black Warden, they say," one of them said.

"I thought he was just stories, the sort one tells the children to stop from misbehaving," the other replied.

"Well, think what you will, but here we are. Real enough to cause all this ruckus!"

"Who do you reckon this fella is? I've heard stories of him in my youth, but it couldn't be the same, could it?"

"Ah yes, so I've heard as well. My mother, Elar'Saga bless her soul, she told me of deeds claimed by this Black Warden from her own youth. What will you make of that?"

"Well, it's certain, isn't it? How can such a man exist, causing all this mischief for nigh on a century? He'd be older than the two of us!"

"I hear tales that he is one of the immortals," one of them said, quieter than the rest of his words.

"Immortals, you say? What sort of spirits are they?" the other questioned.

"Not spirits of any sort!" the first man said, then leaned close and whispered. Arn had to strain and move a little closer himself, just to hear the end of it.

"Men! Men who gained longer lives than they were given!"

"Shush, you old fool, don't make such talk!" his friend replied. "You'll get us both in trouble, and we're too old by half for any trouble, I say!"

"Well, suit yourself. I'm just telling you what I know."

"Shush! Look over there. The youngster's been listening! You'll fill his mind with nonsense too!" the two of them looked at Arn, who immediately looked away and focused on the wall just ahead.

"Hey, young man!" one of them called out. Arn continued to ignore them.

"Young man! Don't listen to the old fool. He had one too many adventures in his youth if you know what I mean."

The other man exclaimed indignantly and shoved his friend. "I shan't stand for this foolish talk!"

"Quiet you! I am trying to help, you old ninny!" the first one whispered. The two of them continued to bicker for some time. They didn't mention The Black Warden again, and neither did anyone else. The lot of them sat in silence, aside from the two men.

Arn let his mind wander. Could the Black Warden be part of the Rebel Clans? He didn't seem like the sort of character to associate with the Inspectorate, though Arn realized that he knew little of either party. Maybe the warden is a monicker for an agent, and after one got too old, another took his place. Then again, he might not have been real at all, and as the old man thought, a tale to scare children. Though it seemed that he now scared older folk too.

At any rate, Arn hadn't read anything about him at the archives, so whoever, or whatever this being is, wasn't known in the pre-revolution days of Nedreal some three hundred years ago. It was then that he recalled Ossagar's words of the Shepherds and the origins of the Inspectorate. Could this Black Warden be the Shepherd who founded the Inspectorate? In which case, he'd have to be centuries old. There couldn't be real immortal people, could there? This all began to sound too close to what Rana was showing him.

An hour later, the door to their room flung open, and a different constable entered. He brought word that The Black Warden was far from Nysaros now, and he'd been dealt with besides. So the coast was clear for them all to return.

It was two more hours before Arn arrived at his clan house, escorted by two city constables. People will never let this be, he thought, Nyra's son getting an escort from the constables. His family won't let it be.

Sarhaa was the first to greet him. "What did you do?" she asked upon seeing the constables.

"I did nothing. This is for my protection!" Arn said, folding his arms.

"Unless you did something, you wouldn't need protection!" she replied.

Just then, Uncle Doren came to the door and took in the situation. "Well, I can't say that this surprises me," he said, smiling broadly.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"We had a situation, and protocol dictates that all vulnerable people must be escorted to their residences," one of the constables said monotonously.

"Do you possess the authority to receive him safely?" the other asked.

"No one needs to receive me!" Arn protested.

"Shush you!" Doren barked, a severe expression on his face. "You don't say," he replied to the constable. "I suppose we'll learn of this through our clan representative at the briefing?"

"That is not for me to say. Perhaps you will. Someone from your clan will be notified." The constable said coldly. "Can you receive him or not?"

"Yes, yes, just be on your way!" Doren replied, frustration and a tinge of indignation in his voice.

"Very well, be safe," the constables said, and both left promptly.

"This looked serious. What happened?" Doren asked Arn. Sarhaa followed them as they entered the clan house. Arn had never seen Doren in such a state. The man usually had a disappointed expression as though Arn had somehow offended him. But now, he seemed genuinely worried.

"They said something about The Black Warden," Arn said once they were in the clan hall.

"The what? I didn't take our Small Council to be naive children!" Doren replied, his usual character crept back in.

"Who is the Black Warden?" Sarhaa chimed in.

"It's a myth, told to children to scare them," Doren looked at the two of them for a beat, "well, perhaps not in this clan we don't. Elar'Saga knows why."

"I heard two old men talk about him, and it did sound like a myth. But then why would the council go to so much trouble?" Arn asked.

Doren rubbed his temples and sighed heavily. "Nyra will kill me if," he whispered, "you best learn it from your own folk. I don't want anything to do with it," he said finally.

Arn and Sarhaa sat in silence. Uncle Doren didn't usually concern himself with other people's reactions. Just then, the entrance door opened, and moments later, his parents entered the clan hall. Arn couldn't read his father's expression, though his mother was clearly concerned.

"Good, you two seem to know what's what," Doren said, then got up and left without another word.

Arn and Sarhaa turned to their parents. "I'm fine," Arn said.

"I don't know what you were doing at the Small Council, but thank Elar'Saga for that," his mother said, and it was then that Arn noticed the weight of concern lift from her. He looked at his father and saw the same effect take place. Why were they so worried?

"Someone broke into the vaults and destroyed a number of the scrolls from the forbidden section," his father finally said.

The Black Warden came for the scrolls, Arn thought. If he destroyed them, then he can't be with the Inspectorate - unless it is through him that they perform such acts? This was starting to sound like the conspiracy theories that his grandparents always talked about.

"Arn, are you with us?" his mother asked.

"Yeah, I'm just - I don't know what to say."

"Why did you go to the Council?" before Arn could reply, his father added, "I am glad you did, son, still, I would know what it was for."

Well, it appears that this is the time I must confront them and be done with it, he decided.

"I went to have a Charmcrafting mentor assigned to me to switch away from history."

His father shook his head. "And how did that work out?"

"Beor is not what I expected of a councilman, but the whole business with the Black Warden was even stranger," Arn said. "I didn't get anyone assigned to me - but they did tell me that I'd have to get to Naradael for that anyhow."

His parents exchanged a look, then his father walked around the table and sat across from Arn. "Beor is a friend, but you should have spoken to us before going to him. Then again, if you stayed at the archives, who knows."

"Do you really think it's the Black Warden? Doren Sar said the man is just a story."

"Doren Sar," his mother said and then sighed. "It is a story, but we don't scare our children with shadow men. We raise them well without such nonsense."

"But he came, didn't he?" Sarhaa said.

"The vaults were broken into, and historical records were destroyed. Rare ones," Atrel said and looked at Arn. "You've been spending time at the vaults, Arn - and there was evidence of someone visiting the old scrolls in the past few weeks. Not a great challenge to put it all together."

"Wait a second, what are you saying?" Arn asked. Hints of worry grew in him.

"The council is under pressure by the Inspectorate. So they need to find someone, do you understand?" his father said.

"But, Beor - he, he was with me the whole time," Arn protested. He didn't like where this was going.

"It doesn't matter. If the Inspectorate needs a guilty party, any remote connection will suffice," his father replied. Arn's mother looked away during most of the conversation.

"We haven't broached the matter with you, but some details about your ordeal have come to light. The Rebel Clans have ways of turning people to their will, one way or another," his father finally said.

Arn felt worried, anxious even. It seemed that his clandestine endeavours at the vaults weren't as clandestine as he thought. However, learning that people knew a lot more than he shared about his ordeal at Rana's hands brought real fear. His emotions flared, and anger blossomed in him. How dare they accuse him - and of what exactly? Of being in cahoots with the Rebel Clans? He felt the anger flow through him. He felt the energizing and empowering effect it had. The metal charm against his skin came to mind - not cold or hot, it simply asserted itself in his thoughts.

"Stay your anger, son," his father said, "none at the Stonefather clan, even with the knowledge of what took place, suspect you of anything. However, the confluence of events does suggest some things."

"This isn't fair! I did nothing!" Arn cried. "I didn't damage the scrolls, and as a historian, I would have accessed them eventually!"

"Be that as it may," his mother said, "the matter remains. It would be best for you to be away from Nysaros until all things pass. The Inspectorate won't have its eye on us for long. Our town is one of the most pious, after all."

Realization dawned on Arn, and he couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face. His parents frowned at this reaction. "So then, I have no choice but to go to Naradael, right?" he said.

"Your father is scheduled to depart next week. He has council business in the capital. Things are on a slow simmer for the moment, and with some fortune, you'll be just fine. You'll get to see the capital and learn Charmcrafting," she smiled, though Arn could see the worry behind her facade.

So he was going to Naradael after all.