Mahipal was sitting in his chair, which today felt full of thrones. He knew it was not the chair but the two message- scrolls laying before him on the table causing him distress.
One was from the lord of Garuna, Oman, and the second was from Lucas, a man of King Aslan, sent here to keep an eye on Oman. One wanted him to pass the lad, who had never attended even a single class, with a good score while the other wanted him to fail the boy.
Since when did his post as a lowly headmaster of spirit-school become so brambly?
He couldn't afford to offend any of them. Mahipal was in a dilemma when someone knocked at his office door.
"Come in," He said, burning the scrolls into ashes with a fire spell.
The wooden door opened creaking, and a boy, well past 12 springs, stepped in. His ebony-black hair was falling around his conch-like neck. His black eyes had a gleam rare in his age.
