Changes

No one objected, though. Everyone remembered what had happened a mere few moons ago. And when Mags said that Ice and Stone were more dangerous, and more skillful, than the man who’d nearly burned down Companion’s Stable with Companions locked into it, the team was inclined to believe him.

“I . . .” Halleck rubbed his helmet absently. “This is insane. How can we play a game when—how can you think to play, Mags—”

Gennie came trotting back over to the huddle. “That’s what we were just talking about. We aren’t going to play a game. We’re going to give a show. Riker and I will call the moves, Mags will tell the rest of you. We’ll end in a tie. Stay sharp. Mags, keep most of your attention on the crowd, keep watching for those men. All we need out of you is the occasional brilliant move that I’ll plan for you, and relaying orders to the non-Gifted. So long as you do a few plays that look like our star Kirball player, no one is going to notice that you’re nothing more than Dallen’s passenger the rest of the time. That suit?”

There were no dissenters.

“Right, then. First play out of the box, scrum a bit, and whoever gets the ball, kick it to the twisted elm and let Riker’s bunch run it up and down the sidelines for a while. When the crowd gets tired of that, we’ll break for a new play. Hup!” She pulled the face-guard down over her helmet; they did the same. Both teams headed for the middle of the field, and the start of a game-that-wasn’t.

::You just stick tight, and I’ll make it look as if you’re actually playing,:: Dallen told him, as the pack scrummed over the ball. ::Concentrate on watching for those devils.::

Mags hunched down over his saddle horn obediently, while Dallen was seemingly everywhere. It probably looked very exciting to their audience, and Dallen was working up quite a sweat. But it was all running and leaping and fancy footwork that didn’t actually accomplish anything, though it wasn’t likely anyone would notice.

Meanwhile, Mags cast his mental net wide, searching for either a hint of those cold, cold thoughts or the shields that guarded the two.

::Mags!:: A cautious call from Gennie got his attention. ::Ball coming, right right back. Give me a brilliant hit down the center toward the goal. Now!::

He swiveled in his saddle, saw the ball coming at him at exactly the right angle for him to give it a boost onward—of couse, the other team also had a Fetcher, which was probably why it was flying so true—stood up in his stirrups and hit the ball with all the pent-up fury over this situation he had dared not otherwise express—

He hit the ball so hard he came close to bursting it. Probably the only reason that it didn’t was that it was already moving and he just boosted the speed. It screamed toward the opposing team’s goal with a force that surprised everyone, including him. Pip just got out of its way instead of giving it a helping whack. The goaltender stiffened, then dove to the side, not even pretending to try to intercept it.

The ball hit the back of the goal, in the deep black shadows of the little stone building. Hit it so hard that the tiny building echoed with a hollow boom—

“Did the ball just explode?” Halleck asked in the sudden silence.

The goaltender peered inside. And signaled for a new ball.

One of the judges rode up to the goal, brought out the flattened remains of the Kirball, and held it over his head.

The crowd went insane, as one of the sideline helpers brought in the new ball.

His entire team was staring at him.

::Well... :: Mags managed. ::Ye wanted a brilliant move.::

::Bastard,:: said Riker, with no rancor whatsoever. ::How the hell are we supposed to top that?::

Mags didn’t manage to top that move himself, although he did execute three more showy plays, one in each quarter. That was enough to make it look as if he was playing the game brilliantly, when in fact he wasn’t playing the game at all.

It was just as well, because early in the second quarter he knew that the Foreseers had been absolutely right. He sensed the odd blankness of those shields somewhere beyond the watching crowd. He caught faint hints of Ice, thought none of Stone, during the last quarter. He relayed all of that to the Heralds guarding Amily.

They were all glad to exit the field at the end of the last quarter. Mags had a throbbing headache, and they were all drenched with sweat. Riker walked over to the horse trough and fell into it, armor and all, then got out, pumped his helmet full of colder water from the pump and dumped it over his Companion’s head.

“I hope we never have to fight a battle in heat like this,” he said aloud.

“Weaponsmaster says heat kills more fighters in a summer war than anything else but disease,” Gennie observed. They both cast a brief but penetrating glance at Mags. He shook his head slightly.

::Where’s Amily?:: he asked Dallen.

::Still judging dogs. They’re restless. Herald Sorald says they sense something out there, but they haven’t managed to locate it.:: Dallen sounded worried.

::Then they’re better nor me. I’m jest gettin’ liddle flashes. So she’s still judgin’? Hev I got time t’—::

::Yes, just as we planned. I’ll go to the judging ring, Nikolas will put her up on me and we’ll meet you there.:: Dallen tossed his head impatiently. ::Go!::

Mags stared at him, askance. He was filthy, covered in sweat and sweat-caked dirt. ::But ye look—::

Dallen gave a quick glance around, as if to make sure no one was watching. No one was. He shook himself vigorously, and for a moment the sun winked off him as if he were made of something reflective.