the water carriers, took a drink
from it, and poured the rest over her Companion’s head. “That will give us a lively
fourth quarter if we pull it off, which wouldn’t be a bad thing. And if we don’t,
we can try it in the fourth anyway.”
But the Whites were incensed at the Blue’s deception, and nothing in the third quarter
went as it should. To begin with, the Whites got hold of the ball, and the Trainees
kept it in the air with some brilliant stick play. They all were so busy keeping watch
on the ball that they never noticed when one of the Riders broke away from the fight,
and Mags knew something was up only when he heard a desperate mental howl from their
own Foot. The Rider was managing to keep them encircled with his wickedly fast cavalry
horse, and there was nothing they could do about it.
:The Foot!:
Mags “shouted,” but by then it was too late. The White Trainees shot the ball toward
the goal and screamed after it, and one of their Riders smacked it right from underneath
the nose of Gennie’s Companion and into the goal. And that was the end of the third.
“Now or never,” was all Gennie said, as the Riders changed horses. They all nodded.
“And they’ll be expecting something from us.”
“Whatever happens, no one can say we didn’t play the game,” said Alton, one of the
Foot, with some satisfaction. “Take a look over at the rails.”
They all did. And there was not a face out there that was not turned toward them.
“I’d call that a job well done,” Gennie said with some satisfaction. “All right then.
Win or lose, well played, Blues. Let’s give them the best quarter of the game.”
When the ball was in play, a White Rider immediately headed for their Foot.
:Get on him, Mags!:
Gennie called, as the pack fought for the ball.
:We’ll hold them off if we can!:
Mags and Dallen charged after the Rider, full speed. He’d already started his encircling
strategy when they ploughed into him. They were matched for size and weight, and Dallen
made no attempt to check his speed at the last minute; Dallen had never made a full-out
body-slamming charge before in this game, and no one expected it of him.
:Get ready to jump!:
Dallen told him, just before they hit.
Both Rider and Dallen went down on their haunches, and Dallen went right over, but
Mags was ready and had jumped out of the saddle before Dallen went down. Mags was
on fire with anxiety, even though he hadn’t
felt
anything from Dallen
:I’m fine!:
Dallen said, scrambling to his feet.
The same could not be said for the Rider’s horse, who got himself up but with a bad
limp. The referees whistled for a halt, and play stopped while the rider got himself
another mount.
:Stay down, Mags,:
Gennie ordered
. :Tell our Foot if they get a chance to go for the flag, but otherwise, I want you
and Dallen down there to keep them off our goal.:
He and Dallen arranged themselves at either end of the goal area, and a good bit ahead
of the Foot, ready to move at any instant. It was a little disappointing, not to be
able to get right in the fight, but on the other hand, it would be a lot more disappointing
to see the Whites score on them. He noticed the referees watching them and conferring
with each other; he figured that they must be trying to work out whether being on
foot was against the rules. But a few moments later, they broke apart, without anything
happening, so he reckoned that they were going to let it pass.
Despite being a Trainee short, the Blues managed to fight the ball down the fence
well into goal-range on the White side. From where Mags stood they were just a tangle
of limbs and dust; he was peering after them when something caught the corner of his
eye.
:Ware the flag!:
he yelped to his own side, just as Dallen rushed the Trainee who had dismounted and
snuck up within snatching distance of the flag.
:Halleck, you sneaky git!:
he growled, and was rewarded with
from it, and poured the rest over her Companion’s head. “That will give us a lively
fourth quarter if we pull it off, which wouldn’t be a bad thing. And if we don’t,
we can try it in the fourth anyway.”
But the Whites were incensed at the Blue’s deception, and nothing in the third quarter
went as it should. To begin with, the Whites got hold of the ball, and the Trainees
kept it in the air with some brilliant stick play. They all were so busy keeping watch
on the ball that they never noticed when one of the Riders broke away from the fight,
and Mags knew something was up only when he heard a desperate mental howl from their
own Foot. The Rider was managing to keep them encircled with his wickedly fast cavalry
horse, and there was nothing they could do about it.
:The Foot!:
Mags “shouted,” but by then it was too late. The White Trainees shot the ball toward
the goal and screamed after it, and one of their Riders smacked it right from underneath
the nose of Gennie’s Companion and into the goal. And that was the end of the third.
“Now or never,” was all Gennie said, as the Riders changed horses. They all nodded.
“And they’ll be expecting something from us.”
“Whatever happens, no one can say we didn’t play the game,” said Alton, one of the
Foot, with some satisfaction. “Take a look over at the rails.”
They all did. And there was not a face out there that was not turned toward them.
“I’d call that a job well done,” Gennie said with some satisfaction. “All right then.
Win or lose, well played, Blues. Let’s give them the best quarter of the game.”
When the ball was in play, a White Rider immediately headed for their Foot.
:Get on him, Mags!:
Gennie called, as the pack fought for the ball.
:We’ll hold them off if we can!:
Mags and Dallen charged after the Rider, full speed. He’d already started his encircling
strategy when they ploughed into him. They were matched for size and weight, and Dallen
made no attempt to check his speed at the last minute; Dallen had never made a full-out
body-slamming charge before in this game, and no one expected it of him.
:Get ready to jump!:
Dallen told him, just before they hit.
Both Rider and Dallen went down on their haunches, and Dallen went right over, but
Mags was ready and had jumped out of the saddle before Dallen went down. Mags was
on fire with anxiety, even though he hadn’t
felt
anything from Dallen
:I’m fine!:
Dallen said, scrambling to his feet.
The same could not be said for the Rider’s horse, who got himself up but with a bad
limp. The referees whistled for a halt, and play stopped while the rider got himself
another mount.
:Stay down, Mags,:
Gennie ordered
. :Tell our Foot if they get a chance to go for the flag, but otherwise, I want you
and Dallen down there to keep them off our goal.:
He and Dallen arranged themselves at either end of the goal area, and a good bit ahead
of the Foot, ready to move at any instant. It was a little disappointing, not to be
able to get right in the fight, but on the other hand, it would be a lot more disappointing
to see the Whites score on them. He noticed the referees watching them and conferring
with each other; he figured that they must be trying to work out whether being on
foot was against the rules. But a few moments later, they broke apart, without anything
happening, so he reckoned that they were going to let it pass.
Despite being a Trainee short, the Blues managed to fight the ball down the fence
well into goal-range on the White side. From where Mags stood they were just a tangle
of limbs and dust; he was peering after them when something caught the corner of his
eye.
:Ware the flag!:
he yelped to his own side, just as Dallen rushed the Trainee who had dismounted and
snuck up within snatching distance of the flag.
:Halleck, you sneaky git!:
he growled, and was rewarded with
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