Whereas you—”
Mags shivered. He still had the occasional bad dream where he saw those mad eyes, and knew that he could, very easily, be dead in a few moments.
“Exactly.” Setham nodded. “You actually know, in your heart, that you could be killed or worse. They still think, in their hearts, that they are immortal. They’ll learn better, but they don’t know that now.”
“So... that’ d be why they don’t take some of the trainin’ serious-like.” This was somewhat unreal to Mags; he had seen death often enough that he could not remember a time when he hadn’t known, emphatically, that if he wasn’t smart and careful and clever all the time, the next corpse could be him.
Still... he had seen for himself how some of the others were. They talked, they acted, as if death simply didn’t exist for them.
It was just one more way in which he simply did not fit in. For a moment, it made him feel his isolation all the more.
Then again, Setham was not like that. Setham understood.
He fumbled his way in the direction Setham was trying to go, reasoning out loud. “So since they ain’t takin’ the trainin’ serious enough, an’ maybe not puttin’ ’nough effort inta it, ye reckon t’ give him—what’s it called? Motivation? Somethin’ that’ll make it worth it to ’em t’ fling thesselves inta it.”
Setham grinned. “Exactly. Nothing gets interest going like a game. Where going over and over the obstacle course gets boring, Kirball is going to be exciting. Some people will do very well at it. Those people are going to find their reputations going up, and they are going to become popular. Other people will want to have some of that popularity, and so they will strive more for it. It’s just human nature. We like to have heroes.”
Mags blinked at him. “I—you ain’t thinkin’—”
“I don’t know for certain, Mags, if you’ll become wildly popular because of this. You tend to be solitary, and that will work against popularity.” Setham looked at him shrewdly. “But you already have something of a good reputation, because of helping to rescue your friend. I think you should prepare for the fact that others will want to associate with you if you become a star player of Kirball.”
Mags shook his head. “That don’t seem right... I mean, be a hero for a game? Fer doin’ summat important, mebbe, but not fer a game . . .”
Setham shrugged. “It is what it is. People become popular for lots of reasons. Even when they aren’t very pleasant people to be around, like certain Master Bards I won’t name! It won’t only be the Trainees that will be following Kirball, it will be virtually everyone here at Court. So be prepared for that, and you and Dallen should discuss how you want to deal with notoriety.” Setham smiled crookedly. “As I told you, I was a jockey, and I was a good one. Now there is something that makes no sense—being made much of because you happen to be able to stick on the back of a fast horse and bring the best out of him! Ridiculous. Nevertheless, being taken by surprise by success can be as hazardous as being taken by surprise by failure. Now. Back to the game. So you’ve seen the field. Now let me tell you the rules.”
He pointed at the two stone towers. “Those are the goals. There will be three ways to score. The first is to lob a Kirball through the windows or the door of the opposing team’s tower. That’s one point. The second is to occupy the tower and hold it for a quarter candlemark. That’s ten points, and it’s going to be difficult to do that, and I very much doubt anyone is going to try it. Lobbing balls is going to be a lot faster and easier. The third is to steal the opponent’s flag and get it back to your tower. That’s fifty points, and pretty much game-ending, because you have to get the flag back to your home base.”
Mags nodded.
“Each team will be of twelve players on the playing field,” Setham continued. “Four Herald Trainees, four players afoot, and four mounted players, who can come from anything. The foot-players are supposed to guard the goal, but they are going to be allowed to move around the field, so who knows. The mounted players can do whatever the team captain wants them to do, as can the Herald Trainees. If someone gets hurt or tired, you can substitute a new player, but only if the one retiring from the field can get to the edge of the field and tag in the new player.” Setham grinned. “We can’t make this easy on you, after all.”
“Nossir,” said Mags, though privately he wished that for once, someone would. It would be very nice to encounter something easy for a change.
“What the mounted players and the Heralds do is entirely up to the team captain,” Setham continued. “You can lob balls, you can go for the flag, or attempt to drive the opposing team off and occupy their goal. It’s all up to you. You’ll have to coordinate among yourselves somehow, which will be easier for the Herald Trainees and a lot harder for those without Mindspeech. Let’s just pick one strategy as an example—an obvious ploy might be to pick someone with Fetching Gift and try to snatch the flag without getting near the goal.”
“Aye, well, somethin’ tells me anythin’ obvious ain’t gonna work too well,” Mags said with a sigh. His stomach growled.
“Let’s go back to the Collegium and we can discuss this over dinner,” Setham offered. Just as he said that, the bell rang, calling them all to the meal.
“That was rare good timing, sir,” Mags said with a chuckle. “Aye, that suits me. I was hopin’ ye’d say as much.”
Setham did not go to the common dining room. Instead, he led Mags around to a hatch that Mags had not even known existed. He rapped on it and the hatch slid up. It looked right into the kitchen.
“Two of whatever is going,” Setham said casually, then with a glance at Mags, added “and extra pie.”
The kitchen boy nodded and darted away. Mags watched him make up the same sort of food basket that he’d gotten for Lena, and a moment later came back with it and handed it to Setham.
“I would just as soon not be surrounded by three dozen Trainees all asking questions once they find out I am one of the Kirball coaches,” Setham said, with a crooked grin. “There are going to be four of us to start, and we’ll each pick our own teams. My preference is for outstanding riders; the others will probably have preferences of their own.” He passed the basket over to Mags, who took it without a word.
“Now, I am going to be running trials just to make sure of the general skill level of my players, but I am fairly certain you are going to pass those handily, Mags,” he said, as he led the way into the Heralds’ Wing. “I don’t, however, think you are going to be team captain. I am inclined to think it will either be an older Trainee or one of the Guards.”
“I wasn’ expectin’ such, sir!” Mags exclaimed, shocked, as Setham opened the door to his quarters. Setham waved him inside what proved to be very spare rooms indeed, and just two of them. Plain wooden floors, bare walls, a simple desk with a lamp, two more chairs with leather seats, and a bookcase. The single window was covered with a shutter, and considering how it rattled, that was probably a good thing; this room must face the direction of the wind. Through a half open door Mags could just glimpse an equally plain bedroom. In fact, the place looked very much like his own room in the stable, and he felt immediately at home.
While they ate, Setham described more of how the game was likely to proceed. He already had two of his foot players—two young Guard recruits who were second-generation Guardsmen but not quite old enough to formally join the Guard itself. As was often the case with youngsters like this, they were acting as aides to the Captain of a Guard troop that did not include their parents or older siblings.
He also had one of his mounted players, the son of one of the Council members. He didn’t say who it was, but from what Mags already knew, he recognized the person as Jeffers, the son of the head of the Printer’s Guild. While not a member of Amily’s immediate circle of friends, Mags knew the young man to have been among the visitors to Soren’s house over Midwinter. He’d been quite affable there, and after identifying him, Mags had encountered him now and again up here at the Collegium where he was taking a few classes. Setham must know enough about him to trust him on the team, so that was good.
“I have my eye on a couple other Trainees, older than you, to round out the Heralds,” Setham continued. “I’m thinking one of them will be the Captain. You don’t have any objections to a girl Captain, do you?”
Mags shook his head. “Wouldn’ dare,” he replied. “They’d prolly smack me inna nose.”
Setham laughed. “All right then. The four coaches are holding the trials for their teams over the next four days. I have tomorrow afternoon, someone else has tomorrow morning. Turn up at the Kirball field instead of your riding and weapons lessons; you’ll have leave in advance. If I can’t firm up the team tomorrow, I’ll hold an open trial, but you won’t need to turn up for that one unless you want to and you’re free. Can’t have you missing too many lessons, after all.”
“Yessir,” Mags nodded. “Nossir.”
