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."