: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—
“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.