“Worry not,” Nika tells Conrad as they ascend the platform, smile sitting easily above her rapidly beating heart.  She breathes, calming herself.   “Whatever our teachers tell us, you do not win with the advantages you have.”

She unfolds her own stand, planting the base on the stage (adhesive patches sticking to the surface) and adjusting the panel, then looses the drawstring around her pouch.  With one hand, she grasps the fabric furthermost from the entrance and tosses the contents upwards with a clatter and glints of light; with the other, she presses a button to begin the opening sequence.

Nika feels the familiar rush of energy as the programmed spell takes effect.  Thus do the balls of magnesium halt in mid-air, rapidly heat and burst into flame, the resulting brilliant white light instantly drawing the crowd’s gaze.

Conventional wisdom coming into this event forecasts an Ishtar sweep; the academy has more experienced musicians on its side, even besides Ishtar’s long-standing advantage in Write from its freer philosophy of education.  Their rival academy cannot fight on their terms.  The counter, then?  An immediate upset – doing something unexpected and striking, making the certain uncertain.  Experience, after all, has a frame of reference; break that and what remains is [i]doubt[/i].

Nika smiles still, the magic continuing to flow from her – the marbles vibrate under her metal manipulation, issuing forth a deep, constant monotone that echoes in the stadium even as its issuers spread with predetermined direction to form a perfect rectangle, a shining backdrop to the team’s stage.  In the instant that they reach their goal they [i]pulse[/i], the monotone rising two octaves and separating to a chord – a chord of the very same notes that will begin the performance.

This song was Ishtar’s.  [i]It is now Marduk’s.[/i]

Breathing, Nika turns again to Conrad, gaze grey and sharp as flint.  “You win with how you use them.”  She looks to William, hands moving to their positions on her controls.  “Ready.”