After a few weeks, this nets him 1 Petronian Law XP as well.

Large parts of that code are distressing, but he supposes he already knew that joining an order was a choice you made for life. The weirdest part of that is the one about scrying. Magi must really value their secrets to justify that, which doesn't quite make sense if the whole goal is to share knowledge.

The book goes into some detail on the historical background; before Petronus, magic in what would become Miezia was jealously hoarded by dozens of small specialized traditions in constant competition for lore and vis. Officially, they all either joined the Empire or were destroyed under the first Primor Magnus, but mistrust remained. Even now, only the Order of Cognizance is legally required to share their findings with the other Orders, mainly because advancing the state of magical knowledge is their primary reason to exist. 

The journey to Arbis takes most of the spring; by the end, Alex's shades helpfully inform him that he is at Name Lore 1 (7/10 XP to next level) with a specialty in Miezian Named, and has gained 4 XP in Petronian Law and 1 XP in Medicine. 

The terrain gets increasingly hilly towards the end of the journey, but the road also noticeably improves, widening and smoothing and bearing an ever-growing amount of traffic. A couple weeks out, Alex notices that even inclement weather seems to avoid the road, rain sheeting into the ditches along the side during a thunderstorm.

Then the caravan crests a hilltop and Arbis enters view. The city, nestled in the foothills of the Dorsumine mountains, is massive, with three tiers of golden walls and enough buildings in its middle ring alone to house more people than twenty of Isvos and who knows how many Eriksmonts. The inner city and outskirts alike press against the river Clarus, bright with snowmelt and living up to its name, and overflow into a riot of buildings beyond. No fewer than five bridges and at least a dozen aqueducts march across the banks, somehow not obstructing the passage of river barges, and on the landside a nearly constant stream of carts and wagons bear grain and goods through gates taller than the palace at Isvos. 

A spur of land nearly bisects the river, surrounded by cliffs smooth enough that they could only have been carved by magic. A sprawling fortress commands its peak, turrets rising above the city in flawless stone. Even at this distance, Alex can feel the magic of it on his face and exposed skin, an orchestral thrum of latent power. 

"Incredible." He soaks in the view as much as he can while the caravan is still in motion. He thinks he might have been to the capital before but if so he was too young to remember it.

"Quite the sight, isn't it? The castle on the river is your destination, Grawtosh Academy. On the hill opposite," he points, "are the Imperial keep and palace, and the new Senate. Regent Falvia governs from there, when she's not visiting the provinces."

"It truly is. Thank you so much for your instruction and company on this journey."

"You're welcome, lad."

By completing a learning montage with a fortuitously-encountered mentor figure, you have gained 1 Might XP! 

"Although you've not seen the last of me just yet," Trefoil continues, patting the covered top of his cart. "I also have business with the Academy. I'm headed for the research buildings just outside the school proper, to start." 

He's briefly surprised by the pop-up and especially it's word choice but he tries to put that aside.

"Then we'll just have to travel together. What sort of research are you collaborating on?"

"Attempting to reconstruct what I can from before the Great Forgetting, with sufficient caution to avoid be driven insane by the process."

The fall of Gnostic civilization has come up before, along the journey, in bits and pieces as stories touched upon it. Over a century ago, demonic forces unleashed by the Tarnished Witch and her allies struck at the knowledge of the gnomes, somehow erasing centuries of accumulated learning and driving insane those who retained or sought to reclaim fragments of it. To this day, individuals who learn too much about the nonmagical workings of the world, as did the gnomes, have a tendency to lose their minds, giving rise to Named such as the Mad Maker and Mad Scientist. (Reading between the lines, Trefoil seemed far more upset about this than about Hellish monsters having subsequently eaten his homeland.) 

"A worthy goal. I wish you the best of fortune in achieving it."

"Many thanks." 

The caravan follows the (now greatly expanded) Miezan road to the looming gates of Arbis. A guard in slightly tarnished armor stops the caravan master at the gate, conversing for a minute before waving them through.

He holds up a hand when Trefoil and Alex approach, however. "Name and business?"

"I'm here to enroll at Grawtosh Academy."

"Gate toll is two victories a head." 

"That's odd," remarks Trefoil, a little icily. "There hasn't been a gate toll in decades. If I recall correctly, Guard Commander Rutilus was vehemently against the practice."

"Guard Commander Aemilianus updated the policy, gnome," sneers the guard. "You want an exception, make your own arrangements with his staff."

That's steep but he can afford it. He'll get the coins out and not make a fuss.

Trefoil likewise pays, his face expressionless.

The first thing Alex will notice is that the streets of Arbis are weirdly clean, even by the standards of an Imperial city. There is a surprising lack of nauseating ditches, rivulets of filth, or piles of horse manure. It barely even stinks!

(There is, of course, magic involved.) 

It would hardly feel like a city at all if it weren't for all the everything else. And there's quite a lot of everything else. Buildings multiple stories tall, extravagantly painted, and somehow taller as they travel inward! Engraved marble columns and stairs! Enormous temples! Whole squads of guards in full Imperial armor! Giant overhead aqueducts! So many people! So much noise! 

The main thoroughfare is wide, but busy, with multiple branches and side streets, and it winds almost like a switchback up the steep hills of Arbis. 

The going is slow and a good bit tiring, but Trefoil, at least, seems to know the way. They pass through a second set of gates, this one mercifully without a toll, and enter a part of the city that is notably more populated by scholars and magi. He leads the way to a cluster of low buildings with oddly patchwork construction; wood, brick, stone, marble, bronze and gold and stranger metals, even something that looks suspiciously like bone. He stops at a relatively mundane-looking stone building, which according to a charcoal-toned sign studded with stars that actually twinkle is called the Conjunction Inn. 

"Here's where we part ways, lad, at least for the time being. I need to make arrangements to deliver my findings." 

Grawtosh itself is hard to miss, its clusters of turrets visible behind and above yet a third layer of walls not far away.