In fact, that seemed to be the trend for most of the city. He could count on one hand the number of neighborhoods that were clean and safe-looking.
As for the District of Internal Affairs, he had no clue. It was where the Sawai ’ristos lived, and it was strictly off-limits. The walls that separated the Commons from that district were even taller and thicker than the exterior walls, a fact that boggled Vir’s mind.
It was as if they feared the commoners more than an invasion by an outside nation. The walls were so thick, not even Dance could get through them, and the double portcullis gates remained highly guarded at all hours of the day. Access was restricted to royalty, Sawai, and those with invitations.
The castle district was even worse, towering over the rest of the city atop Royal Hill with walls that soared fifty paces high. The only path there led through the District of Internal Affairs.
He’d also learned that the Commons dwarfed both the castle and Internal Affair districts in both size and population. For most Dahans, the other districts existed as a fictional place, as they’d never even been there.
While getting there seemed untenable, that didn’t mean mapping out his surroundings had been a wasted effort. Far from it.
Vir slowly opened his eyes, having just completed another meditation session. His blood pathways grew larger with each passing day, but it still wasn’t enough. To learn Empower, he needed more blood flow. It was slow going, but he was steadily making progress. It wouldn’t be long before he could start doing some trials. For now, keeping a roof over his head was a bigger concern.
The fact was, Vir was more broke than a Brijer, without a single copper to his name. To stay even one more night at the inn, he’d had to improvise, and fast.
It just so happened he already possessed a useful skill. A skill few others boasted. Cartography.
Mapping out the city took the better part of the day, but once done, copying his work took little effort. Luckily, he’d brought along a few pieces of parchment from Riyan’s place. After cutting them up and miniaturizing his map, he’d set down at the Central Plaza, laid out his wares, and let the buyers come.
No one in their right mind would shell out silvers for a rudimentary charcoal sketch scribed on parchment, but the basic map he’d seen at the shop meant Vir needed little to attract buyers.
It started slow. In the first hour after he opened, he made only a single sale earning him fifteen coppers. Then word began to spread, and within hours, he’d sold out of the five copies he had.
He spent it all on paper and ink, and refined the copies a bit, cutting palm-size square pieces with his katar to get more usage out of his sheets.
Finishing right as the sun grew long, he kept his shop open right until dusk, charging fifty coppers per. Soon, he had two hundred coppers, or two silvers worth, in his pocket.
His buyers warned that his little hustle was illegal—that the Merchant’s Guild would shut him down for lacking a permit. Of course, that didn’t stop them from buying his maps.
Courtesy of the inn’s pre-charged Magic Candle, he worked through the night to produce more. Heeding their advice, he’d migrated the next day to the Upper West Side, where the citizens’ coin purses weighed just a tad heavier.
He made another three silvers that day.
With five silvers, he’d stopped his little operation, fearful of attracting too much attention.
With only one day left, he turned his attention to the Brotherhood’s trial.
His days selling maps gave him time to think long and hard about the task. Bring back the eyes of that which sees without eyes.
Unless the riddle was especially cryptic—and he doubted it would be, given the number of mercenaries out there—it likely referred to an animal of some sort. He wasn’t an expert on that subject, but figured he could learn what he needed at a place that everyone talked about: the grand Dahan library. The city’s jewel.
From his mapping exploits, he’d learned the repository of knowledge was actually within the Commons district. Because few were allowed into the upper districts, they’d placed the building where it would bring in the most money. A rare bit of foresight from Daha’s government, or so Param had said when Vir visited his shop to ask.
The library itself was situated off the main thoroughfare in the Upper West Side neighborhood, where the homes were relatively larger, and the streets cleaner.
Vir entered the three-story stone structure to find a spacious interior lined wall to wall with shelves. The ceiling reached up all the way to the third story, with walkways on the two higher floors ringing the perimeter. Those were also filled with bookshelves, though their density decreased with each floor up.
“Can I help you?” a young woman clad in a black robe called out from her semicircular librarian’s desk that stood at the entrance. Her confident and educated demeanor made her look like a guardian more than a mere employee.
“I’m looking for some books on animals. Specifically ones I can find here in Daha.”
“Yes, we have several tomes on this topic. Admission is ten coppers an hour and must be paid upfront.”
Good thing Param warned me about this, Vir thought, handing the woman thirty coppers.
She led him past a myriad of racks, and Vir found it difficult not to gape in awe.
There’s an ocean of books here! How does anyone find anything?
He could scarcely imagine the amount of knowledge packed within this great hall.
“What’s on the upper floors?” Vir asked. “Looks like there aren’t as many books up there.”
“Correct,” the librarian responded. “The upper floors are reserved for the city’s more privileged tomes. They are accessible only to the Sawai, and some even need a royal seal of approval. Though the city’s most precious books are kept deep within the castle.”
“What kind of information’s in those books?” Vir asked, his curiosity peaked. Who wouldn’t be excited by such hidden secrets?
“Ancient tomes. Whatever records we have from the Age of Gods. Among other things. I’ve never been up there myself. A separate Sawai librarian handles those floors. Besides, several of those books are written in the Imperium tongue, unreadable to most.”
“A different language?” Vir asked.
“No, scholars believe the gods spoke the same language as we do,” she said, picking up a ladder and hooking it onto a bookshelf. “But it has been four millennia since they left this realm. Speech and language have drifted far enough apart to make the languages nearly distinct.” Her finger hovered along the spines of the books.
“Ah, here you are,” she said, handing Vir an oversized leather-bound book. Its thick pages had yellowed with time, and the book was heavy with the weight of the information it possessed.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“Actually,” Vir said, having a sudden thought.
I’m already here. Might as well learn everything I can. “Do you have a bestiary of the Ashen Realm?”
“You wish to learn of Ash Beasts?” the librarian asked, raising her brows. “A rare request, but we do have a few tomes on that subject. Though, most of our more complete books live on the higher floors. I can give you a book that contains mostly common knowledge, if that is alright?”
“Sure, that works.” It may have been common knowledge for most, but he’d had almost no exposure to this in Brij apart from the occasional campfire story or myth. Shardul the Vicious had told him to journey to the Ashen Realm. It couldn’t hurt to know a bit more, even if the prospect seemed suicidal.