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***
272 A.D.
The road linking Highgarden and Staromest was considered one of the oldest on the continent. According to the bards and merchants we met throughout the Expanse, it had been built by the Gardeners, former rulers of the Kingdom of Meadows and Fields, to connect the country's capital with its largest port. Legend has it that engineers from the far eastern empire of I-Ti, whose roads were as good as Valyrian roads, were involved in its construction. So the White Road, despite thousands of years of history, is still one of the most convenient for travel and transportation of goods in all the Seven Kingdoms, unlike the Royal Road, which turned into a clay mess after every rain. Why the Targaryens did not lay their famous Valyrian roads instead, though they could easily have done so, is unknown. It was not the king's business to fly a dragon and melt rocks with fire.
Anyway, thanks to the good road and sunny weather, we were already five days ahead of schedule and were already there. It was clear from the bright flames on the top of the White Tower, the family castle of the Hightowers.
«Gentlemen, let me congratulate you. We're here. You have the Old City in front of you. - I said, pointing to the view from the hill just outside the city.
«Wow... - The delight on the faces of Robin, Piper, Joen, Rick and Dick was understandable. The first two were villagers and had never seen a real city, while the redhead and the brothers, though they had lived in Lannisport all their lives, had never seen such a beautiful city. Unlike many other cities in Westeros, even King's Landing, where no one oversaw the construction of the city, Staromest was entirely stone and completely cobbled, down to the last street. Even from here, the network of crooked alleys and nooks was like a spider's web, where it was very easy to get lost and never get out.
But there were exceptions. To the west of the local river, named for its rich orange color, stood the planned palaces of the Guild, the largest association of merchants in the Seven Kingdoms, controlling most of the trade of the Spaceland, Stormlands, and Western Lands. Upstream on both banks, connected by closely built stone bridges, rose the domes and towers of the Citadel, the purpose for which we had come to this city. Downstream of the river was a stately building with black marble walls and rounded windows. Judging by its regular heptagonal shape, it was the famous Star Septa, the old residence of the High Septon, the local Pope. Well, and where Medovicka flowed into the bay was the White Lighthouse, or High Tower, the residence of the Hightower family.
«Let's go. - My words snapped them out of their trance and brought them back to reality. It was already the middle of the day, and we had to hurry if we wanted to make it to the Citadel before sunset. The gate was easy to pass through - though the city guards of Staromest are considered one of the few regular armies in Westeros, they were a long way from the same red cloaks. A few groats and light swings of a two-handed axe with one hand quickly discouraged them from prying into our pockets and carts.
There were three city gates in Staromest - the central White Gate, the Port Gate, located near the city harbor, and the Septon Gate, leading to the city quarter near the Star Sept, where mostly fanatical servants of the Church of the Seven lived. We passed through the White Gate and along the main city street we could quickly reach our first destination, the main branch of the Iron Bank.
There, after checking my pendant and contract for authenticity and finding a copy of the contract from Lannisport, another 795 gold dragons were added to my deposit of 1714 gold dragons. In a year's time, I would be able to get almost 250 dragons on interest alone. Still, transactions with the Iron Bank are always profitable if you know how to use the money correctly. If I hadn't wanted to travel and had more ambition than many of the locals, no one would have stopped me from living a life of idle pleasure in taverns and brothels. Though I doubt it. I'd have been robbed or killed sooner.
After that, the Citadel awaited us. Located in the northern part of Staromest, it was a large complex of buildings with its own unique architecture, built on both banks of the river and on small islands in its course. In essence, it was one large separate neighborhood of the city, where very different people lived and very different laws ruled.
As I looked at the main gate of the local abode of knowledge, decorated with two winged sphinxes of green marble with onyx eyes, one with a male face and the other with a female face, I realized that one of the most important stages of my life in this world was coming. Depending on how much knowledge I would learn from this place in two years, my life could take many different paths. In spite of the years that have passed, I still have in my memory the fact that in 10 years a terrible war will break out. And to run away from it will not work, because in Westeros I still have a family that refuses to leave the place where I was forced.
So I need to become as rich, powerful, clever and strong as possible in the time allotted.
With such thoughts I, in the company of my friends entered under the walls of the building, which in the near future will be our home.
***
P.O.V. Third person
274 A.D.
«Felix! Felix! - A loud voice, like an avalanche of snow coming down from the mountains, spread through the walls and halls of the gigantic and ancient library. - Felix, for fuck's sake! Where the fuck is that book lover?!
Its owner, a young red-haired youth, was dressed in a simple gray robe and gray pants, with unremarkable shoes sewn on his knee. The only thing that stood out from his clothes were the links. Six links, four of which were of different metals such as copper, dull steel, lead, and silver, and two identical ones of red gold. This was an indication that the young man was a Citadel candidate, versed in history, blacksmithing, poisons, and medicine, as well as having a great knowledge of jewelry making. An amazing result for his age.
«Felix! Mark my words! When I find you then *****, and then I will stick a sword in your ***** up to the *****, and a good... - But at the moment he did not show the slightest bit of the courtesy inherent in educated people, and filthily swore like the last cobbler in the Flea end of King's Landing. And for good reason.
As he walked past the giant racks full of books, most of them many times his age, from the days of Aegon and the Rock of Valyria, he kept looking around, searching for one single person. To look for one person here, according to most of the locals, was tantamount to looking for a needle in a haystack.
And yet he was lucky.
In one of the unremarkable corners, of which there were hundreds in this temple of knowledge, he saw the target of his search. It was a young man, very tall, muscular, dressed in a simple green doublet and gray canvas pants, with simple slippers woven from bark. At the moment he was sleeping sweetly, using as a bed a pile of ancient books that had miraculously not fallen apart. If someone from the Conclave of Archmasters were here right now, he would be slapped for such disrespect to the source of knowledge.
«There you are, asshole! - But the young schoolboy was indifferent to such an attitude towards ancient relics. At this moment he wanted only one thing - to crack his negligent friend on the head with all his might, so that he would finally wake up.
Which he did.
Crack.
«Ow! Joan, you're out of your fucking mind! - The sleeper's reaction was immediate. After a not very pleasant awakening, the sleepy brain made the most rational decision in its opinion - to kick the offender and break something.
«Felix, that's enough! - But the redhead's tongue was quicker, forcing his friend's fist to stop inches from his face. - You have an exam with Archmaster Margach in half an hour, and after that a meeting with the conclave of archmasters about our leaving!
His words made the black-haired man feel as if he had been struck by lightning. His green eyes, having lost the last signs of drowsiness, instantly flashed like burning wild fire, showing that their owner was awake and full of energy.
«The seventh scorcher.
In a few minutes, the two young men were rushing through the nooks and crannies of the library, trying not to be late for one of the most important events for the locals - the exam for forging one of the links for the maester's chain.
As Joen ran, his friend, taking advantage of his longer legs and better fitness, looked around, warmly reminiscing about his years in this place.
***
P.O.V.Felix
Once again, abruptly changing direction and running into another narrow passage between bookcases, scaring away and pushing away the maesters, candidates and schoolboys I met, I looked nostalgically at the familiar spines of old talmuds, most of which remained unread by me.
Come to think of it. When I had arrived at the Citadel, I had expected to see the most intelligent and honorable men of this world, who had sacrificed everything worldly for the sake of knowledge and lived for one goal: to know this world.
How wrong I was.
It turned out that the Citadel was a place of soft exile, instead of the Wall, where most of the third, fourth, and other younger sons of the lords were sent. For them, it was a place where they could quietly study for a few years and earn the rank of maester, giving them the right to return home without the threat of being killed or banished for fear of inheritance by their older relatives. They didn't care about knowledge or science. Of course, this was only a fraction of those who entered. There were quite a few who entered the Citadel on their own, of their own volition, but far from for the sake of knowledge. It turned out that the Hightowers had a tradition of catching escaped students every year, who had stolen some book or relic for sale, and bringing them back, where they could never rise above schoolboys. And finally, there were enough simple idlers who joined the organization for free food and a roof over their heads. They mostly did the dirtiest work, serving as laborers, serving meals, cleaning night pots, and storing and sorting books. Many of these "knights of knowledge," as the Maesters had originally intended, could not even read by the end of their lives.
Barely a tenth of the people who lived in the Citadel's neighborhoods aspired to enlightenment.
But I must admit, even this tenth part was enough to collect a titanic library for thousands of years, the size of which exceeds the Library of Congress in the United States, considered the largest on Earth, several times. As now I remember our faces when we saw these gigantic halls, illuminated by a clever system of hundreds of lenses and lamps, filled with seemingly endless rows of bookcases. Though initially our business here didn't go well.
After an almost immediate introduction, which involved paying a single silver stag and getting our names on the common rolls, and getting housing in one of the poorer neighborhoods, we were sent straight to the local literacy courses. The only university in the Seven Kingdoms accepted everyone. Anyone could enroll and continue their studies as long as they wanted. There were no specific entrance requirements, age or otherwise. And naturally, most of the people who came here couldn't read.
The literacy course was taught by an old, but still sturdy, maester who had graduated hundreds of similar "slackers", he said. He almost instantly found those who were interested in learning to read and write and began to study only with them. He didn't care about the rest and didn't even hide it. Later, when I asked him about the reason for this attitude, he only grinned and said that with experience he had learned to see who came here for knowledge and who came here for warm chowder and a dry bed, and the old maester was not going to waste time on the latter.
The local language was called Andalos and was not the indigenous language of Westeros. It had been carried over during the Andalian invasion or migration, nearly four thousand years ago, when that nation had fled the expansion of Valyria. In its grammar, phonetics, vocabulary, and syntax, it was very similar to English, though with its own distinctive spelling and pronunciation. Because of this, learning to read and write it, already being a native speaker and being familiar with English, which on Earth was my second mother tongue, was very easy and took only a few days. Whereas it took my friends a whole month, with all their effort. That was the first push that caused me to be nicknamed "The Book Demon" in the future.
And then the trouble began. Every schoolboy, until he forges his first link and becomes a candidate, is a kind of free (and disenfranchised) laborer, doing whatever the maesters tell him, even if he is of noble blood. And it took up most of his free time, which could have been spent attending lectures or reading books in the library.
I was naturally not satisfied with this. There were two ways out - either to become a candidate, having forged my first link, as many talented candidates did, or to pay a fee of several tens of pieces of silver that your duties would be transferred to another, which was mostly used by children of rich parents. I didn't want to spend my honestly earned money, and I didn't want to complicate the life of some poor man even more. So I, shocking all my acquaintances, signed up for the nearest exam to get a brass link symbolizing architecture.
Passing the exam was easy enough. Whoever designed the Citadel was a genius, way ahead of his time. He wrote everything. All its laws, rules, punishments and rewards. This man had looked far ahead when he created the Maester's Code, knowing full well the nature of the hardened world around him and its habits of making others so. One of those laws was a set of rules for how the examinations for receiving links were conducted. For example, to get a brass link did not need to memorize hundreds of talmuds on architecture and the names of their authors, and then at the exam to retell it. It was only necessary to make a project of the construction proposed by the examiners in the allotted time, and then defend it. I was lucky, because during my test, I had to propose a design for a bridge over a large, almost a mile wide river. For the locals, who specialized mostly in building castles and various fortifications, it was indeed a very difficult subject, but not for me. All I had to do was copy one of the many ancient bridges I had repaired all over the world, whose structure had been memorized. That day I became the only one to receive the coveted link and one of the youngest candidates in the history of the university. Although it was hard to be proud of such a "success", because I was well aware that all this happened only because of the memory of my first life, and not because I was so capable.
The guys had no such secret talents. Of course, Rick, Joan and Jack had enough knowledge to qualify for a red gold link, but they lacked the theoretical basis. I had to pay, despite all their objections, nearly two hundred deer to be left untouched until they got their first links.
Thus, almost the entire first month of our stay here was wasted. And time was limited. So we had to literally settle in the library and try to reach everything we could.
The method of making paper in Westeros has been known for almost eight hundred years. But all this paper is thick, stiff and yellow. It's no match for the paper on Earth. Plus all the books in this world are handwritten. I don't know why they haven't invented a printing press or its equivalent in so many thousands of years, but because of that, all the local books are written by hand and rewritten by the same hands. Thank the gods that the Westerosi at least got the idea of writing in large type, which makes the number of grammatical errors in books much less. And we can't forget about the local love of drawings and illustrations, which often take up most of the book. All these factors together create an interesting picture - here in front of you a huge talmud weighing thirty pounds (p.a. about 15 kg), but in fact the information in it as in a small book of 100 pages. If to all this, add also the reading speed of any person from the Earth from the 21st century, for which most of the natives generally read by syllables .... Already in the first week there was such a mountain of books next to my desk that most maesters looked at me with dazed eyes.
Coming to the Citadel I had several goals in mind:
To learn to read and write Andalos.
To learn the geography of this world.
To learn as many languages as possible, such as High Valyrian, the local Latin, all its dialects spoken by almost all of Western Essos, Dothraki, the language of the main nomads of this world, Ithian, Ibenian... and all the others I could reach.
And finally, to learn as much as I can about local politics, trade, the relationships between the different peoples and their history. Everything that the only local institute can give me.
There was no problem with the second item. Planethos, as the maesters called it, was a world of wonders, filled with unique places and anomalies. For example, the same Sunset Sea that washes the entire western coast of Westeros. According to legends, on its other shore are the lands where there is no winter and no death. This paradise, to get to which you have to cross the most dangerous of all existing oceans, where storms do not subside all year round, which in fact should not be possible.
Or the famous Seven Natural and Nine Manmade Wonders of the World? When I read this book, "Man-Made Wonders" written by Lomas Traveler about the man-made wonders of the world, I myself wanted to see them with my own eyes. The ice wall going into the clouds, the Braavos Titan, which is not inferior to its famous earthly counterpart, the Long Bridge in Volantis, which according to legends stretched for 10 miles... This world was amazing in its unexplored and exotic, as if inviting me to learn all its secrets.
"And soon my wish will come true. The main thing is to deal with those annoying old men" - I thought, slightly accelerating my step.
Tongues were a bummer. There was no such thing as phrase books or dictionaries in this world. The locals sometimes translated the paper so stupidly that it made me cringe at the absurdity of it. I can still remember Rob complaining to me over a mug of ale that when he first started his training, they made him copy a bunch of old and nearly ruined manuscripts. Half of them described how and what the kings of the Gardaner dynasty had shit on, almost 600 years ago. And there were dozens of such "works". A morass that in the Citadel, if you look for it, you can find almost everywhere.
For the sake of knowledge, I had to pester the maesters who often traveled or visited Essos on business, and with persuasion, threats, bribery, or a put fist under my nose (sometimes all together), ask them to be my teachers. They couldn't teach at all, just giving me the bare theory and answering some questions. I had to be in the harbor often not only for work, and to communicate with visiting sailors and merchants to put my language correctly. Because of this, in two years I learned much less than I intended - I spoke High Valyrian, Volantian, Tiroshian, Lysian, Myrian, and Bravosian well. He had a good grasp of Dothraki, learned by some miracle from one of the young maesters, a strange fellow named Marvin who loved magic, and the Valyrian dialect of the Bay of Traders. I wish there was more, but no one from the Citadel had visited Pentos, Lorath, Quohor, Norvos, or Iben in recent years. I-ti is out of the question. It's been years since any of the locals have traveled that far east.
And finally, my constant exploration in all walks of life.
Despite all its disadvantages, which could be written in a book, the Citadel was an amazing place. Here, as if not noticing the medieval realities, there was an atmosphere of enlightenment and science. There was no strong enough religion or some silly dogmas forbidding to study and cognize the human body and the nature around us. And if there were, the Hightowers simply shut everyone's mouths with their influence and power.
Medicine was especially developed here. I was personally present at several autopsies, where we were shown and told in detail about the structure and functions of the human body. Even surgeries were sometimes performed here, removing appendicitis or sewing up damaged blood vessels. Most of them were successful, because the maesters knew very well what hygiene was and why it should be observed.
Of course, there was no discovery of germs or viruses, with the help of which on Earth explained most diseases and why you can not live like a dirty pig. It was just that at one point, a keen maester named Pylos, almost two thousand years ago, while studying surgical journals and notes, noticed that people somehow died much less often after performing surgeries in clean conditions. Later there were hundreds of arguments, experiments and discussions on this topic, but, in the end, it was simply elevated to an axiom - cleanliness is one of the keys to successful treatment. However, not everyone follows this rule, even among the maesters, until they face the first death from blood poisoning or gangrene. After that, this postulate becomes their primary one. If they survive the wrath of the lord they serve.
Now, at the end of my studies, I am the proud owner of a full-fledged chain that already hangs beneath my clothes. But I cannot become a maester, for that "proud" title requires links of all metals except Valyrian steel. I possess only one copper link, symbolizing history and geography, and two gold links, showing my mastery of finance. Iron, for military science, lead, for knowledge of poisons, silver, symbolizing medicine, and red-gold links were received only in the second year of study, and even then with a stretch. And finally, my pride - three links of brass and the same number of dull steel were proof that my knowledge of architecture and blacksmithing was on the level of the Citadel's archmasters. 13 links out of the required 21. Not a bad result for two years. Although there are geniuses who manage to become maesters in only 5-6 years of training, such as Marvin and Quibern. And if you remember that having more than one link of the same metal is a sign of a very old and smart maester, and sometimes even an archmaester... you can call yourself a very smart man.
"If you don't praise yourself, no one will."
To such sad, but at the same time warm memories, Joen and I ran to the main building of the Citadel, where my last exam would be held. If all goes well, today the chief healer Margah will award me my second silver link.
***
-...one last question. What antidote should I use when poisoned by basilisk venom? - His voice rumbled through the audience like sandpaper on glass, causing most of the audience to wrinkle reflexively. Margah was an old and gray-haired elder, well past his seventies. He was dressed in a simple maester's robe, unadorned and unadorned except for a very long chain with links of various metals. Nothing in his appearance betrayed the fact that you were standing in front of a man recognized as the best healer the Seven Kingdoms, if not the world, had seen in the last hundred years.
«A mixture of mandrake tincture, white melon zest, desert grass stalks, and the blood of the basilisk itself, drawn from the near-iron regions. The proportions depend on the age, weight and sex of the patient. A full table of proportions is given in Maester Duncan's work, "Numbers in Poisons and Antidotes." - My answer was exactly according to the textbook, without any additions or clarifications. The current archmistress of medicine not only disliked me and considered me an upstart, for too fast a set of links, but also had a nickname quite appropriate to his character and appearance. The old sheep. Every citizen of the Citadel knew about his stubbornness and hardened views. He considered only noblemen and people of "honorable" age to be worthy links, not accepting any innovations and changes in long-established processes. If it were his will he would have eliminated half of the rules instituted as far back as Peremor Hightower himself, turning the only university in the Seven Kingdoms, if not the entire known world, into its counterpart in the Middle Ages - a completely closed place, more of a restricting universal progress than a developing one.
"Unfortunately, the Conclave is mostly all like that." - I thought, while Margah checked the answers in his book. Still, old age is not a happy time and marasmus is just around the corner for him. - "One hope for you, Ebrose."
His gaze shifted from the old ram to the middle-aged man standing at his back. This was Ebrose. Even now this good-natured man, known for his quiet voice and golden hands was considered one of the most respected medics in the Citadel. Everyone knew perfectly well that he, after Margach's resignation, would become the next Archmistress of Medicine in the Conclave. I'd always hoped he'd make things better here.
«That's right. Candidate Felix has earned the right to wear his second silver link. - Finally announced the examiner, to the general applause of all present in the audience.
That's why I love the locals - for them honor is one of the most important arguments in their decisions. And it doesn't matter what kind of honor it is - knight, maester, merchant, pig herder, or whatever. Even prostitutes here have some semblance of professional pride, but it quickly disappears at the first clink of a coin. On Earth, he could have bombarded me with questions to which no one knows the answers, told me a bunch of reasons, and simply not accepted my exam. But no. He has the honor of an archmistress to leave a man who deserves it without a link. And I deserved it, because almost all the questions were of such a level that Ambrose sometimes frowned with tension. And our knowledge of medicine is like heaven and earth.
«Thank you, Archbishop. It was an honor to take your exam. - The phrase I had said thirteen times before came out of my mouth by itself. In my thoughts, I had long since been in a completely different place.
"So, the last formalities are done and I can hang a new link on my chain," I thought snidely as I walked out of the classroom and headed to the seneschal's courtyard with Joen. Rick, Jack, Piper, and Robin were waiting for us there, having already packed up all their things and mine, and waiting for us. - "I wish I could do this. I hope they let us out without a scandal, just by taking away the chains."
The Court of the Seneschal, as the residence of the head of the Citadel, was located in the heart of the university and was a grand stone building, very similar in shape to St. Peter's Cathedral in the Vatican. Same dome, same columns, same style, except for the lack of gilding. Past the rows of stakes and the imprisoned schoolboys who had foolishly either stolen books from the maester's section or tried to escape, we entered a huge hall with a stone ceiling going far upward and large rounded windows with various stained glass windows depicting seneschals of past eras. At the far end of the hall on a platform, taking notes, sat the local secretary, a young maester named Vaelin, a very acerbic and priggish contaminant who was the apprentice of the current seneschal. I'd only interacted with him a few times while I was studying local astronomy, and I didn't enjoy it much.
«There you are. - Vaelin greeted us with just four words, living up to his famous nickname, Vinegar. How he could pack so much sarcasm, acid, and venom into each word that it would be enough to poison an entire army was a mystery to me. - The Conclave awaits you in the seneschal's chambers. Come this way.
There was an inconspicuous door at the back of the dais where he was seated, and we were asked to enter with a careless wave of the hand. Beyond the doorway was a spiral staircase that led far up several floors. There, at the very top, behind a giant slab of iron, which could only be mistakenly called a door, were the chambers of the current Seneschal Brandon, as well as the entire current conclave.
To-day all the pews in the reception room were vacant, and this made me realize at once that our affairs were not good. As I said, only one-tenth of the people who entered the Citadel were truly seeking knowledge, not free food and the opportunity to steal something of value. Such people were carefully selected and trained with all possible dedication. We were among the 10%.
But those who can become a full-fledged knight of knowledge are not so many. In the official lists kept in the library, the university currently has 21 archmaesters who can't leave these walls, 48 full-fledged maesters who are mainly engaged in writing and updating books, 93 candidates at various stages of training, and countless schoolboys, most of whom serve as laborers and will never rise above their rank. But that's only officially, because the books don't take into account the situation of most of them. For example, only now Quibern and Marvin are absent from the Citadel, having taken several candidates with them, and sailed to Essos to seek new knowledge.
Meanwhile, people are dying. Every year, 7-8 castle scholars die from old age, disease, too much iron in their bodies, and other factors. And new ones are needed everywhere. So the Old Town University is always experiencing staff hunger.
That's why our case is unprecedented - 6 gifted candidates fall from the Citadel at once, which is equal to the loss of 6 future maesters, who can be sent to castles in the future to replace the dead ones. Although there is no clause in the rules that candidates or schoolboys are forbidden to leave the Citadel, but such cases are a pittance, and mostly it was the initiative of the university itself, when some especially gifted got into the forbidden areas of necromancy and blood alchemy. So the conclave won't just let us go.
«Okay, guys. - I turned to the men standing behind me, who had become my closest friends for two years of study and a lot of unbelievable curiosities on the streets of Staromest. - Remember, when we go inside, I'll be the only one talking. Do not be provoked. You remember Valgrave, don't you? He'll do anything to keep us here. Do you understand?
«Yes. - The chorus of voices together was my expected response. In the few years we've known each other, they've long since made me their unnamed leader, and most of the time they obey me.
«Well, break a leg.
«Into the fire!
***
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