The battle of the bands is so yesterday

We have dueling persons of power.

I wish to add that I had wizards and sorceresses in my tales in 1972-73, long before Harry Potter. Just saying.

It is time to undo the illusion woven earlier, the one convincing onlookers that the attackers were three times their actual number. The countess brings in her own sorceress.

Her arms suddenly flew up, startling those who watched. The great sleeves of her dress were as wings and she seemed a foot taller than a moment before. One soldier asked another under his breath, “Will she fly from the rampart?”

Firmly rooted, V. moved her hands apart, then together, then apart again, repeating the motion to include all below her. She was a perfect target for a [northern] arrow but none came near. A midnight blue mist seemed to form around her and sparks of the same shade would occasionally leap from her fingers as she began to chant:

Aon jel aon, ghe da.
Aon jel aon, ghe tri.
Aon jel aon, ghe ceith.
Aon tolc jel aon.

At aon afaic, ghe da.
At aon afaic, ghe tri.
At aon afaic, ghe ceith.
Tolc at aon afaic.

One is one, not two.
One is one, not three.
One is one, not four.
One is only one.

One I see, not two.
One I see, not three.
One I see, not four.
I see only one.

She's good. "The armies battling before F. were roughly equal in size and T. was less frightening than he had been moments before." The guy whose spell she broke is sidling off in hopes that T's sister (my Lady Macbeth of ambition) does not notice what happened and most especially that she does not notice him.

Thank the stars the handwritten grammar from the 70s was next to my chair so I could do the chant. I can count from one to ten in Imperial Sivvaron but never really memorized my numbers in the language of the lands I write about.

Ambition, like most things, is a two-edged sword. As the desire to excel, it is wonderful. As the desire to prevail at the expense of others, no so much. This latter does not fare well in my books because fiction allows one the freedom to express narrative judgment. Which is not to say the good always prevails in my tales either.

Well there, you have no reason to read my books. I've gone and told you everything already. Silly me. Unless you are motivated to explore my world and get to know my characters and what motivates them. After all, there are very few plot lines in all of literature but there are many memorable stories.

I wonder what the topics of conversation are on the evenings of mead and knucklebones at Cousin Utdar's?

Are V. and V. happy, now that they are married? (Based on his bruises, I am guessing yes. What? You didn't know I have a straight S&M couple in the extended ducal family? Well then, you do still need to read.)

I am also curious about what goes through the mind of the queen who has lost all that matters and is about to renounce all that does not. We will see her again (book four) but it's the intervening period that remains a mystery of sorts.

Tomorrow night I will be off discussing systematic theology over Indian food, so there might not be an update.

Sweet dreams, my oscillating ocelots!

--the BB