Intrigues

“You’re sure you can see all right?” Gennie asked anxiously. From inside the helmet, Mags nodded, the helm following the motions of his head and turning them into something ponderous. So did all the rest of them.

“All right, you lot. Remember. Play with your heads as well as your hands and feet,” she said to the team that had gathered around her. “Listen for Mags in your heads. But if you see something that opens up in front of you, think it as hard as you can.”

They stood in a circle, with the horses and Companions on the outside, reins held loosely in their riders’ hands. They could all hear the murmur of the crowd huddled up against the fence surrounding the field. A lot of people had turned up today; it was a gorgeous, sunny, warm day, perfect for just about anything. One enterprising fellow was peddling apples. Pip had taken a look at the crowd and remarked that before long they were going to need stands for the spectators. Mags had thought he was joking, but now he wasn’t so sure.

They were all unmounted for the moment, the horses stirring uneasily at the ends of their bridles, sandwiched in between Companions to keep them out of mischief. The horses were mostly well-schooled and well- behaved, but they were horses, and one perceived nip or bump might start something, wasting energy that they would need for the game.

“Riders, we’ve got a disadvantage; the Riders on North are all well monied and they have a horse for every quarter. We don’t.”

They all nodded. Of them all, only Jeffers had three horses; the other riders had a pair apiece. That meant they’d be alternating, one to ride, one to rest. The second quarter each horse played was going to be hard on them—and even Jeffers was going to have to go with a barely-rested horse for the fourth quarter.

“So ride smart. Let your beasts rest as much as possible, and see to it that theirs don’t get a chance to. Just remember this, though, your horses are all tough and scrappy. Theirs are high-bred and all nerve and nose. Chances are we can make them or the riders lose their tempers, and if we do that, we win the game. Provided you can keep yours.”

She turned to the Foot. “You lot have our secret, but remember to wait until we tell you to use it, because once we do, it won’t be a secret anymore and everyone will use the trick. We have to plan this and plan it well. Right?”

One of the Guard boys saluted. No one found that funny. Gennie nodded. “Right then. Check the saddles, bits and boots for your mounts. Check your paddle-straps. Check your armor. Let’s play the game.”

The South team lined up in the middle of the field. After a moment, the North did the same, opposite them. Mags noticed something immediately.

:The North Riders have whips in their hands,: he projected to all of them. :They won’t be able to manage reins, whip and paddle.:

He saw Gennie nod slightly, and narrow her eyes.

:Tell them this again from me. Play together, play with your heads, and follow the ball. If North gets it, drive the ball to the Riders and let them fumble it. Keep it away from the Trainees.:

The “ball,” a curiously soft thing about the size of a baby’s head, lay on the ground between the two teams. It could be kicked by the Companions or by the Foot, it could be snatched up and carried, thrown, or hit with the paddles. Anything was fair. All eyes were on it.

“Ho!” shouted the referee, and the Trainees from both sides dove for the ball.

But Jeffers, on a pony barely big enough to be a mount for him, dove in under the nose of one of the North Trainees, leaning down out of his saddle, and scooped up the ball. The indignant Companion pulled up with a whinny. As he hauled himself back up, he threw the ball toward his side.

Gennie snagged it out of the air and she and her Companion scrambled for the North goal.

No one—well, perhaps no one except the South team—had expected anyone to get his hands on the ball that fast. The North was caught unprepared, and pelted after her.

But their Foot were already moving to intercept her.

:Pip!: she called out, and feinted toward the goal while throwing the ball in a fast, shallow arc toward her teammate. It came at him like a comet, but he knew this maneuver of old and he stood up in his stirrups and smacked it with his paddle with both hands, as hard as he possibly could.

The ball flew, high and true, and in through the open door of the North goal.

The crowd of spectators—for there was a crowd—went insane.

:We’ve made ’em mad,: Mags warned, catching some black looks from the North team.

:Good. Now we tire them out with some football,: Gennie replied.

And so they did.

North got the ball this time, but as Gennie had told them to do, the team crowded the ball handler and kept the Trainees tied up so that the ball went to a Rider—and then South Riders and Trainees pressed the Riders hard, keeping them away from the North Trainees and from each other. They ran the North Riders all over the field, took them on scrambles over the rises, made them leap the little fences and tear down into the gullies, taking them over every thumb-length of ground. The horses lost their heads over this; they hated being run in this way, and as a consequence they became handfuls, fighting the bits and their Riders, forcing the Riders to use those whips in their hands. Which meant the Riders couldn’t use the paddles. And finally, the ball-carrier fumbled, and Pip nipped the ball out of the air in midfall, just as the whistle blew for the end of the quarter.

:Now that was what I call some play,: Dallen said with satisfaction. But Mags was looking at the poor horses, who were absolutely exhausted. And the Foot, who were the same; they had run all over the field, trying to stay between the Riders and the goal, ready to fall on the ball, pound it out of the air, or use the long poles they had in stands at the side to pull a Rider or Trainee out of the saddle. In a battle, it would be someone with a pole-arm doing that, and the result could be the death of the formerly mounted fighter. There were two minds about the poles, which had padded hooks on the ends. Some of the senior Heralds didn’t want them used in the game. Some, who had seen combat, were adamant about their use. The few rules were still in flux.

They all huddled up again. “We’ve made them angry too soon,” said Gennie, with a glance over her shoulder at the other team’s huddle. Mags nodded. “They’ll probably try to rush us to keep us off the ball so they can get it first. And we won’t manage the same trick to nip in under their noses. They’re smart; we’ll never be able to play the same trick twice on them.”

“I wouldn’t doubt they have more than a few tricks up their sleeves,” put in Pip. “Three of ’em are my yearmates. Never forget, my team, that the people on all four teams are the best of the best. The only differences among us are the way our coaches are strategizing the game, and the talents they picked for their teams.”

“Never forget to play like a team,” Gennie reminded them. “There is a difference between a team and a group of the best, and a team will win every time. Stay loose and keep alert. Don’t go for the ball this time; go for keeping them away from it. Keep on top of it and just don’t let them have it.”

They lined up for the second quarter. All eyes were on the ball, and sure enough, one of the Trainees on North rushed the ball, coming in with a clever scoop that might have taken it, if the South hadn’t followed Gennie’s orders. It was Companions and Trainees this time; the scrum was nothing but white coats and tails. South didn’t even try to get at the ball; they just moved in right on top of it and kept it in play among the Companions’ legs.

:Where’s the ball?: Mags asked Dallen.

:Under Hack’s tail, or at least that’s where North thinks it is.: North kept pushing and pushing at Halleck’s Companion Hack, thinking he had the ball.

:Well, where is it, really?:

:By—whoops!: The North had found it at last, and a smart kick from one of their Companions sent it soaring up the pitch toward the South goal.

But the South Riders had been waiting for that, staying well out of the scrum, and now that the ball was heading their way, they made for it.

:Don’t snag it! Keep them off the ball!: Mags “shouted” into their minds, as the North Companions, four abreast, rushed the field, trying to block the South Companions from getting to the North Riders.

But momentum carried them all across the field, and what happened was that all of them converged on the ball at once. One of the North Trainees was swinging down out of his saddle and almost—