I was at home in the bookshops of Nar-Ankara. He particularly complimented one - the one where the old Yasira traded. Cynical and cheerful, she did not stint on ambiguous witticisms, especially when her daughter, the charmer of some years with me, appeared in the shop - Yasira constantly tried to match her to one of her customers, preferably a lighter richer. Books and manuscripts she never read, priceless knowledge, which were in her hands, did not bother her at all - Yasir was interested only in coins, obtained for them, but it was she who, more than once and twice, found the most valuable documents and half the money sent from at home, I spent here.
To read, however, it was not easy for me - four of us lived in the chambers. We three, I, Lord Waseem and Adrian, who fled with the family from the empire, tried not to interfere with each other in every way. The general nightmare was the fourth - southerner Mardan, a descendant of the kind of insignificant, but rich (of course, only money, but not minds and talents). It was said that his ancestors were from pirates who for a long time besieged our port cities and inflicted considerable damage on Erisha. Mardan was not ashamed at all, more than that - he was proud of the state made on blood and robbery. As he got to our monastery, we did not know - apparently, there were bribes. Mardan did not respect anyone and was not afraid of anything, he possessed a madman's temper, constantly started quarrels and fights, all the novices squabbled with each other. Slander and humiliating speech was just as common to him as the habit of brandishing weapons, for which he was repeatedly threatened with expulsion from school. Once he even sat for three days downstairs, in a dark cell, because he had beaten a disciple from the next room. Everyone hoped that he would not return, but Mardan returned - even more insolent and defiant than before.
He hated me with all his heart, if he had one, - I really do not know what caused that. It got to the point that I spent all day in the library with books and tried not to return to the chambers until the night fell, it was so disgusting to be near this demon. Sometimes I really thought he was obsessed, and it seems that he was right, but I had more important things to do than to reveal the nature of Mardanov's madness.
"Look, Lord Aranthir," Yasir told me once, when I visited her again, "you're young and clever, what do you appreciate these pictures?" I have not yet come across these. It seems that they would be old too, I would have to ask a lot for them, but I washed away half of it. They caught, they say, after the shipwreck in the lands of atheists.
I took the worn sheet that she held out to me. He really was strange - except for the letters that seemed familiar, there were drawings on him, made right between the words: human figures, some symbols, frames ... I looked in amazement at the scrap of paper. About the text did not have to doubt - it was the language of Shantiri, to which I just at that time not without timidity turned, although it was almost impossible to read the words written on it, so much water spoiled the priceless find. But the drawings were almost all intact, but I never saw such a record. Perhaps, a very ancient way to encrypt knowledge? It is unlikely that such a difficult work was done for the sake of empty fun...
Asking for Yasir's permission, I tried not to give out excessive interest, looked around the shelves and found a couple of books about Shantiri - at all times the works about the ancient empire were rare and expensive, and when Yasir saw these volumes in my hands, her eyes shone; she broke the price for them so much that I returned the books to the place, said my coolly good-bye, and was about to leave.
"Hold on, wait," yasir seized me, realizing that this time I would leave without replenishing her already taut pouch, "I must be offended, and I'm still a necromancer." Okay, okay, I see that you need it, take it - and called a new price, too inflated, although not so shamelessly. "Alice, what are you hiding there?" Go and bring water to the young lord, or else, look, you'll lose your fiancé, clever, for the gift of a young one, they will take them to your hands, they'll take them ... Take it, Lord Arantir, for your sake I give myself at a loss! Take it, do not doubt, it's better than me, you will not find it anywhere. And you know that if you take this scroll in addition, I still do not know what to do with it, but you, go and sort it out and let me tell you what these finds are worth. Is it going?
Having settled, I brought to my house precious books and a strange manuscript. Taking advantage of the fact that my neighbors were practicing swords in the hall, I plunged into reading and after a short time found out that in some places the researchers of Shantiri had found similar records before. The language itself was incredibly difficult: some of the letters denoted sounds, part, separately or in pairs - whole phenomena, and it was not always clear how one should read a particular word - look at it as ordinary syllables or as simple concepts that make up complex, the significance of which was yet to be clarified ... Sometimes, as it was said in one book, pictures were added to clarify the text, and even replace it. It was not easy to understand all this, it was not without reason that the experts of Shantiri in all of Askhan could be counted on the fingers of one hand, but, relying on Askhi's mercy, I proceeded to decrypt. At this time, Mardan burst into the room, started to interrogate me with sarcasm, why, when all the true men indulge in a worthy occupation, I lay on the couch, like a corrupt woman. On his luck, the neighbors arrived in time and carried him away, and I went back to the manuscript.
The name began with an unknown word to me. There were two parts in the word - fortunately, I knew them: "hands" and "building, building"... What is this? True, the house is a man-made shelter. But not just a house - then I could hardly make out "where the enemies are locked up." No, it's not true, it's about the future, it means "they will be locked up". A built house where enemies will be locked ... What would that mean? Next to the words, right on the same line, there were two figures - a child and a woman. It was easy to guess that this is the mother and the son. Mother gave the child shoes. Children's shoes, a house, locked enemies...
I could not understand anything. Mosaic did not add up. It was hard to read the scrap of the scroll, and not only because of the lost inscriptions. I did not comprehend allegories, drawing symbols did not help, but confused me. Hardly analyzing a few more words, I, upset and tired, put down the scroll and left the empty bedroom.
There was no one in the corridor, only measured rustles could be heard nearby. Looking around the corner, I saw an elderly servant in a blue turban, like a magician polishing the floor. As I approached, I realized that before me was not a servant, but a slave-his attire, once bright and elegant, almost turned into rags, and on his neck I with a shudder noticed an enchanted collar that suppressed magical powers. The unfortunate captive was chained into this eerie decoration forever. Yes, this was truly a magician, besides not a mere magician, otherwise why take such precautionary measures ... Thin features, hands that are obviously not accustomed to black work - a wizard, once, apparently, standing high in the Silver Cities.
Hearing my steps, he turned around and drew his white teeth into a smile:
"Hello, young man. Why are you wandering alone?"
In his voice there was neither servility nor fear. Even the fact that he spoke to me first clearly showed: he did not feel like a slave in the slave collar either. He knew his own worth, and the price was high.
For some reason I answered him:
"Other things are easier to survive on the go."
"Here's how?" He put down his brush. "And what oppresses you, if it's not a secret? Love? Homesickness? Resentment on friends?"
"Shantiri," I only said, frowning with weariness and shame.
"Shantiri?!" The magician marveled, still standing on all fours. "What in the ancient empire could grieve the young student?"
"Language," I explained softly. "I'm not given a tongue. Too difficult for me. I understand that you are a great sorcerer, and, truly, your knowledge exceeds even that which is known to my mentors. Perhaps you have the key to it?" In desperation, I was ready to accept any help, even from a slave from the Silver League.
The magician grinned, rose and shook off his hands.
"Strange - it turns out that there is something in the world that escapes your quick mind, eh?"
It was a praise, not a mockery. I did not even pause to think how he managed to look into my mind, but suddenly blushed, and the mage rather amicably continued:
"Watch out, boy. I see that you are intelligent, so know: many knowledge brings not only joy, but also many enemies, many sorrows about the imperfections of the world. You are already alone - right, you yourself notice ... I became a slave not because I was weak, but because I was too strong. Believe it, this, "he pointed to his collar," would not keep me, only do not tell your teachers about it. " I have nowhere to go and no one to trust, too many betrayals ... But enough. As for the language, I do not know what difficulties you encountered, but, perhaps, you just take on it from the wrong end? The language of Shantiri is much deeper than it seems to you. Read the scrolls not only with your eyes, not only with your mind, but with your heart, and you will comprehend the wisdom hidden in them..."
Having said this, the magician again sank to the floor and reached for the brush; I, however, thanking him, roamed the corridors for a long time, lost in sad meditation.
I heard screams when I came back. Lord Vasim, who was occupying a bunk above mine, pale as a ghost, rushed to meet me:
"Arantir, trouble! Asha almighty, what should I do..."
"What's wrong, Waseem?" he had a look that made my heart sink.
"Mardan killed the servant! It seems that the truth is killed! Caught up to him with questions, forced to respond, and then stabbed, sort of like for insolence... He also laughed!"
Without listening anymore, I ran away. Vasim rushed after me after me:
"Arantir, be careful, he has a dagger!"
To be continued
Thank you for reading!