Queen.”
“Ah, well then, sorted!” Byren replied with relief. “I’d much rather play the game
without worrying about politics. So, about getting that goal!”
“Anybody see any obvious weak points aside from the Riders and the fence?” Gennie
asked.
“Not a weak point, but there’s something we might be able to use in the terrain,”
said Pip. “Our side, just at the boundary line, left, there’s a clump of bushes with
a pocket at the base. Looks like it just grew that way over the summer. If we popped
the ball in there, then tore off for the fence with the Trainees, we
might
trick them into thinking the Trainees had the ball, and while they’re confused, the
Riders can kick the ball out and make a run for the goal.”
Gennie nodded. “That would be the time for you to
accidentally
tell both sides Pip had the ball, Mags. It’s earlier than I thought we’d use that
trick, but it would be a good time for it.”
He nodded.
“Right then, it’s set,” Gennie said. “Let’s play it.”
But White got the ball first, and the players were determined to keep it away from
the fence. They’d learned from the first quarter, and it was a fierce fight up and
down the field as they looked for a weak point in the Blue defense. Finally Blue was
able to force them into another scrum, but in the middle of the field and not nearly
close enough to that clump of bushes to do any good.
:
Where’s the ball?:
Mags asked desperately, as the dust from the churned-up ground rose about them all
in a cloud.
:Under my tail,:
said Companion Dustin
. :And that wretched White horse knows it, he’s kicking at my hocks! Ow!:
Dallen crabbed sideways and gave the offending mount a good shoulder-shove. Dallen’s
weight prevailed; the horse went down on his haunches for a moment and gave Mags a
chance to lean down in the saddle while Dustin held
very
still for just a heartbeat, and Mags bunged the ball out of the scrum and toward
the bushes.
Away the whole pack went after it, but the Blues got there first and wedged it in,
then kicked up enough dust to hide what they’d done before the Whites got there. The
lot of them milled in confusion as the dust rose in clouds about them and coated their
armor in a white film.
:Pip’s got the ball!:
Mags shouted to every familiar mind—which, of course, included their former teammates
on the White side. Pip shot out of the pack like a bullet from a sling, followed by
the Blue Trainees, all heading for the fence on the grandstand side. And enough of
the Whites peeled off after him to let the Blue Riders kick the ball out of its hiding
place and bung it down the field toward the White goal.
The Whites caught on to the ruse immediately, but the Blue Riders had distance on
them, and even their long-legged cavalry horses couldn’t make it up. There was some
fast ball-passing at the goal, with the White Foot trying to be in six places at once,
then three attempts at the goal, and the last one got in to tumultuous cheers from
the crowd. And just then, the signal sounded for the end of the quarter and a change
of horses for the Riders.
“They’re going to be hopping mad now,” Gennie observed, as they huddled up for the
third quarter. The water carriers had brought out damp rags for washing the dust off
armor; Mags opted to upend an entire bucket of water over his head instead. This was
excellent preharvest weather, nice and dry, allowing crops to ripen and not rot, but
it made the Kirball field dusty. He coughed, hard, trying to clear his throat, then
took off his helmet, wrapped one of those damp rags around his nose and mouth, and
put the helmet back on. He didn’t need to talk, anyway.
“They’ll get a goal on us,” Pip predicted. “I can’t see them letting this go.”
“Maybe we can use that. We let them have a goal, then we try our Foot for the flag.”
Gennie grabbed an offered bucket of water from one of
“Ah, well then, sorted!” Byren replied with relief. “I’d much rather play the game
without worrying about politics. So, about getting that goal!”
“Anybody see any obvious weak points aside from the Riders and the fence?” Gennie
asked.
“Not a weak point, but there’s something we might be able to use in the terrain,”
said Pip. “Our side, just at the boundary line, left, there’s a clump of bushes with
a pocket at the base. Looks like it just grew that way over the summer. If we popped
the ball in there, then tore off for the fence with the Trainees, we
might
trick them into thinking the Trainees had the ball, and while they’re confused, the
Riders can kick the ball out and make a run for the goal.”
Gennie nodded. “That would be the time for you to
accidentally
tell both sides Pip had the ball, Mags. It’s earlier than I thought we’d use that
trick, but it would be a good time for it.”
He nodded.
“Right then, it’s set,” Gennie said. “Let’s play it.”
But White got the ball first, and the players were determined to keep it away from
the fence. They’d learned from the first quarter, and it was a fierce fight up and
down the field as they looked for a weak point in the Blue defense. Finally Blue was
able to force them into another scrum, but in the middle of the field and not nearly
close enough to that clump of bushes to do any good.
:
Where’s the ball?:
Mags asked desperately, as the dust from the churned-up ground rose about them all
in a cloud.
:Under my tail,:
said Companion Dustin
. :And that wretched White horse knows it, he’s kicking at my hocks! Ow!:
Dallen crabbed sideways and gave the offending mount a good shoulder-shove. Dallen’s
weight prevailed; the horse went down on his haunches for a moment and gave Mags a
chance to lean down in the saddle while Dustin held
very
still for just a heartbeat, and Mags bunged the ball out of the scrum and toward
the bushes.
Away the whole pack went after it, but the Blues got there first and wedged it in,
then kicked up enough dust to hide what they’d done before the Whites got there. The
lot of them milled in confusion as the dust rose in clouds about them and coated their
armor in a white film.
:Pip’s got the ball!:
Mags shouted to every familiar mind—which, of course, included their former teammates
on the White side. Pip shot out of the pack like a bullet from a sling, followed by
the Blue Trainees, all heading for the fence on the grandstand side. And enough of
the Whites peeled off after him to let the Blue Riders kick the ball out of its hiding
place and bung it down the field toward the White goal.
The Whites caught on to the ruse immediately, but the Blue Riders had distance on
them, and even their long-legged cavalry horses couldn’t make it up. There was some
fast ball-passing at the goal, with the White Foot trying to be in six places at once,
then three attempts at the goal, and the last one got in to tumultuous cheers from
the crowd. And just then, the signal sounded for the end of the quarter and a change
of horses for the Riders.
“They’re going to be hopping mad now,” Gennie observed, as they huddled up for the
third quarter. The water carriers had brought out damp rags for washing the dust off
armor; Mags opted to upend an entire bucket of water over his head instead. This was
excellent preharvest weather, nice and dry, allowing crops to ripen and not rot, but
it made the Kirball field dusty. He coughed, hard, trying to clear his throat, then
took off his helmet, wrapped one of those damp rags around his nose and mouth, and
put the helmet back on. He didn’t need to talk, anyway.
“They’ll get a goal on us,” Pip predicted. “I can’t see them letting this go.”
“Maybe we can use that. We let them have a goal, then we try our Foot for the flag.”
Gennie grabbed an offered bucket of water from one of
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