Is anyone capable of reciting the entire spell for the creation of a Circle of Power, without reading it from your notes? Duke Roger of Conté asked. His voice, normally so suave, was now cold and clipped.

There was a brief shuffling among the students as they shot anxious glances at each other. Thom regarded them with a lazy eye, silently laughing at their stupidity. I can conjure a Circle of Power without a spell, he thought in contempt, letting his gaze settle on the Duke, who was starting to look more than a little impatient. But I'll humor him. He raised his hand.

Roger looked slightly taken aback; Thom normally fell into an open-eyed daze during class. And when he did participate, it usually was only to add a sarcastic comment or two. Wondering if this was one of those times, he nodded at Thom.

Only him, or anyone else?

Thom's hand remained a loner in a sea of lowered heads.

Very well, sighed Roger, perching on the edge of his desk. Tell me, Trebond.

As protocol demanded, Thom stood up, his hands clasped behind him. He cleared his throat, then began the words. I conjure thee, O great circle of power, so that you will be for me a boundary between the world of men and the realms of the mighty spirits - a meeting place of perfect love, trust, peace, and joy, containing the power I will raise within thee. I call upon the guardians of the East, South, West, and North to aid me in the consecration. In the name of Mithros and the Mother, thus I do conjure thee, O great circle of power! So mote it be. He smiled openly at the expression of surprise on Roger's face and at how everyone in the class was staring at him.

After a brief silence, Roger cleared his throat. Very...good, Trebond. He bore his eyes into Thom's. But can you do it in the Old Tongue?

With a small smirk, Thom spat out, Aswyna 'th , O 'n fawr amgarn chan allu , fel a byddi ata derfyn cyd-rhwng 'r byd chan ddynion a 'r deyrnasoedd chan 'r 'n alluog asbri chwrdd chyflea chan berffeithio cara , choelia , dangnefedd , a fenwyd , yn amgyffred 'r allu choda mewn 'th. Alwa ar 'r gwarcheidwaid chan 'r Ddwyrain , Dde , Gorllewin , a Gogledd at chyfnertha 'm i mewn 'r chysegriad. I mewn 'r enwa chan Mithros a 'r Fam , fel gwna aswyna 'th , O 'n fawr amgarn chan allu! Fel fflaw 'i bod.

Silence.

Inwardly shaking with amusement, Thom sat down, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest in an attitude of complete and utter boredom. By the time Roger got his act together and returned to teaching the class, he was in his usual wide-eyed stupor.

Class indeed.