Bril’s team cried out with disappointment as their constellation disintegrated into sparks. Moments later the others did too, and he had to wait while his chastened pupils moaned and commiserated and argued the whys and wherefores of their failure. After that he spoke to each group, explaining what went wrong. The one successfully completed constellation he bound in a holding incant and placed on the classroom’s display shelf, a reward for success.

On his desk, the day clock Barl had made for him chimed the late hour. At least, not chimed. Letting her giddy sense of humour hold sway, Barl had crafted his class clock so it honked like a goose on the hour, every hour. And on the hour, every hour, hearing it, his pupils dissolved into giggles.

“Take your seats!” he said, over their hilarity. Discipline was important. His children were never permitted to bolt from the room like startled rabbits. “Take your seats for the Oath of Mages.”

It was how they began and ended each day: with the solemn recitation of that most sacred of vows. Scuffled to their rightful places, heads bowed, hands clasped before them on their child-sized wooden desks, even sulking Jossie joined in the careful chant.

“By the scales of justice we do properly swear that no harm shall be done, no darkness shall guide us, for we are Dorana’s mages, humble and true.”

Remmie swept his gaze across every small, trusting face in his classroom. “We are Dorana’s mages, humble and true. And let that be true of us, every day of our lives. Class is dismissed.”

Their self-control lasted until they crossed the room’s threshold. And then, because they were children, they ran and squealed and shoved their way outside into the afternoon sunshine. Because it was safe now, he laughed. Barl never understood his delight in teaching, in children. He couldn’t understand her lack of it.

Relishing the quiet, he entered his thoughts in the class book, noting who had passed the day’s mage tests and who had not, and a few little comments here and there. He’d be meeting with his pupils’ parents soon, and they were a useful reminder.

With the class book completed, that was almost his day over. Last of all he doused the room in a powerful cleansing incant, washing away the remnants of his pupils’ failed constellations. When that was done, he breathed a sigh of relief. The children’s poorly constructed energies never failed to distress him. It was the only sorrowful part of teaching. Well… that, and whenever he felt he’d failed to do his best by a child.