Intrigues

“Not today, thanks!” shouted Jeffers, as his horse shouldered into the Companion, forcing him sideways enough so that the Trainee missed his grab. Pip was right after Jeffers, and made the scoop.

But the North was determined not to let them near the goal, and so they were rushed up the field and down again. The North brought their Riders into play—and at the change, their Riders had gone for big, heavy horses. They could shove the South all over the field if they chose.

They looked big enough to eat the whole team and want dessert, in fact.

:Those Riders are too confident of their horses’ weights!: Gennie said to Mags, who passed it on. :Tell Pip to send the ball at the goal anyhow! We’ll race them and see what we can do!:

Pip and his Companion got a good smart kick at the ball that sent it skittering away across the field toward the North goal at a time when the North Trainees were scrummed up with the South Trainees. Mags knew it when the ball went flying, a breath before the North team knew, and he and Dallen went careening after it. A North Rider on a big black charger went for the ball at the same time. The black was hot and angry—you could see it in his eyes and in the flag of his tail. They were heading for a collision if neither of them wavered. Dallen was cool, calculating, and as Jeffers came streaking up behind them, Dallen applied his weight to the side of the North horse with science. Mags felt the impact all through him, and if it hadn’t been for the armor on his leg, it would have been bruised from ankle to thigh.

The blow was tremendous.

Dallen sat down and slid on his tail as Mags hung on for dear life. But when Mags looked around, the black was down and on his side, with all his breath knocked out of him, and his Rider was picking himself up out of the dirt. Neither were hurt more than bruises, but both were out of the game for a little, at least.

:Ha!: said Dallen, and scrambled to his feet, following after Jeffers, who had nipped the ball up right under the nose of the North Foot.

But the North Foot were ready for him and he couldn’t get the ball in to save his life, nor could he get the chance to rush them and steal the flag.

Time was called, and that was the end of that quarter.

“They’ll bring out fast horses for their Riders next,” said Gennie in the huddle. “What have we got?”

“We’ve got nothing fast,” Jeffers told her. “Just sound.”

“They’ll probably make a goal on us, then,” Gennie replied. “It will be up to us to make that goal back, right after, when they least expect it. Or make a try for the flag.”

“I dunno,” said Mags, who had been up and down the line of the North’s Foot several times in the melee. “I don’ see ’em givin’ us an openin’ t’ try.”

“Then we play what we can get,” Gennie said firmly. “Remember that fast horses won’t like football, and maybe we can tie them up again. If we can’t, well, we’ll do what we can.”

Off they all went to the line, and the horses that the North Riders were on looked very fast indeed. And the Riders did not want football, they wanted a game, and they had the speed to get it.

They plunged down on the ball like falcons on a pigeon; the Trainees hung back and let them, and they got the ball too, arriving a good stride or two before the South did.

The South tied up the Rider with the ball, but he gave a great heave and sent it flying toward one of the North Trainees.

On the chance that might happen, Gennie had pulled back and put herself between him and them and as she saw the ball hurtling toward her, far too fast to catch safely, she copied the move earlier in the game. She stood in her stirrups, got the paddle in both hands and thwacked at the ball in passing. Not aiming, just deflecting.

So the ball met her paddle and sped off her paddle at an angle, with the speed of her hit and the Northern Rider’s tremendous throw, and went screaming off to the sidelines.

:Paddle’s broke, I’m out!: Gennie called, and went careening to their side to get a new one.

The entire Northern field went after the ball. Mags caught movement out of the corner of his eye and alerted.

:Hack, Halleck, the flag!: he warned, for those two were the closest, and he and Dallen made a straight run for their own goal. :Foot!: he projected, as hard as he could. :The flag! They’re usin’ our trick!:

Sure enough, the North had “stolen” the South’s “secret move,” which was to send one of the Foot sneaking under cover across the field to steal the flag when no one was watching it. And if they hadn’t trained themselves for that, they might not have noticed until it was too late.

The Northern Foot had the flag in his hands as Hack nearly ran him down, Halleck snatching it away as they passed.

Their own Foot chased him back to the safety of his own lines, furious that they had been distracted enough to let him get that close. They shouldn’t have. They’d known this could happen and had planned for it to be them that did it.

:Cool down,: Mags advised to them all. :Ain’t no thing. We caught ’er in time. ’Ware goal!:

Halleck rammed the pole of the flag back in place and rejoined the game just as Gennie pounded back from the sidelines toward the Rider with the ball with a grim look on her face.

Just how grim she was, was clear by the fact that the North was dangerously close to the South goal, taking advantage of the distraction of their Foot’s attempt on the flag. She went at the Rider with the ball full-out, shouldered into his Companion, and bringing her fist up between his hands, bunted the ball right out of them. It popped up high in the air and fell back among the hooves, and there it stayed, for the South was not going to let them get it back again.

:Football! Football!: Mags “shouted,” and football they got. The fast horses of the Riders got hot and lathered as the South’s Companions kept the ball among their feet, not daring to kick it away lest it be intercepted.

Compliments were exchanged among the Riders and Trainees. Horses kicked and bit, and Companions put their heads down and would not be moved. And finally, time was called and it was the end of the third quarter.

“This will be the worst,” Gennie said, pulling off her helmet and mopping at her face and neck. “They’ve got fresh horses for the Riders, and we don’t. They want two goals; they need one.” She looked hard at Mags, at all of them. “Now’s for it, if you see it. Take chances. We won’t have another quarter to make up what we lose.”

Mags nodded. They all did. They knew what that meant. So did Dallen, who tossed up his head to show he was still in the game.

“Football, my lads. Football. They have fresh horses. They’ll drive us in toward our goal. They’ll try to get close enough to score. But we can win this one just the same if we keep our heads.”

They all nodded. Then it was into the saddle and onto the line, and the first thing the fresh Riders did was get the ball right under Halleck’s nose. But he was atop them, and copying Gennie’s move in reverse, drove his fist down on the ball, knocking it among the hooves again.

The Northern Trainees had learned by watching, and now it was their Companions who were playing as much football as the South. The time for compliments and kicks was over; both sides scrummed grimly over the ball, hocks were kicked and dust rose above the melee and the Northern Foot came up to join the fray.

This was new! They had left their poles behind!

The Foot circled the outside of the scrum, dancing back and forth, watching, watching. Mags could scarcely believe it, but it looked as if they intended to dash right in there and snatch the ball up from among the flying hooves if they got a chance!

And then it hit him. He glanced at the Northern goal.

There was only a single Foot there to guard it.

Dallen didn’t need prompting; he responded the instant Mags’ eyes took in that fact. This was what he lived for, a straight, hard run across rotten ground, as fast as he could put hoof to turf. Mags was halfway to the goal before the lone Foot realized he was coming. The man leapt to intercept them, but instead of taking one of the ramps, Dallen gathered himself like a rabbit and made an enormous jump that got his forehooves on the top of the base. He scrambled for a desperate moment with his rear, as Mags threw his weight over Dallen’s neck, saved himself, and pivoted. Mags snatched at the flag, just as a roar from the other end of the ground told him that the