: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.