Blade urged his mount down the field. There wasn't anything to do except his best, and hope it wouldn't be good enough. Twenty beats to go, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen-the goal almost within shooting distance-fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve-
If he shot now he might miss. But he didn't have to shoot now, and everybody would wonder if he did. He had a clear field ahead. He could ride down and practically spit the ball into the cap, and since it was possible he had to do it. Blade rode on.
At eight beats to go he was in shooting range. He dipped his stick, then snapped it upward. The ball soared through the air, losing a feather at it went. Maybe that would change its course enough to make it miss. It rose-and suddenly Blade knew that it was rising higher than it should. He hadn't put that much strength into the stick's movements, hoping the ball would fall short.
Instead the ball rose a good six feet into the air. Nobody except Blade would have noticed anything, but Blade stared as the ball soared over the hole. It struck on the far side of the mound, bounced so high that Blade was afraid for a moment it was going to do the impossible and bounce back in, then rolled down the mound and off into the coarse grass beyond the boundaries of the field.
The roar of the crowd drowned out the last few drumbeats.
The Black Rocks had won the Great Game of nor, eight to seven.
Blade threw down his stick in a good imitation of anger. He was more surprised and suspicious than angry. Something-or someone-had obviously been acting on the ball from outside. Telekinesis? Probably. And whose? Had he managed to become telekinetic by simply wanting to be? Or had someone else-?
For the moment it was an unanswerable question, even if he could give it the attention it deserved. Both teams were riding toward him, their captains riding side by side in the rear. Both sides looked too exhausted to either rejoice at their victory or mourn their defeat. All Blade saw was blank, dust-caked faces like his own.
All except Winter Owl's. The warrior was grinning as he rode up to Blade. «Blade, if you play for the White Trees next year, I think I shall call the game their victory before we play. Why make ourselves tired and dirty when we know what will happen? Better to sit with women on our knees and beer in our bellies.»
«Do not be so sure of that,» Friend of Lions said. He wasn't exactly grinning, but he no longer looked grim. «And besides, does not the beer taste better when one has worked up a proper thirst?»
«There may be something in that,» said Winter Owl. «Let us go find out for certain, and take Blade with us. This day I say there is neither winner nor loser in the Great Game of nor.»
«I thank you,» said Blade. He had to fight not to sway on the back of his mount, and the idea of anything to drink was enticing.
His day's work was done. He had Winter Owl's goodwill, and no one suspected there was anything odd about the outcome of the game. No one, that is, except the person who jiggled the ball in Blade's last shot-if there was such a person.
That question could wait. Eye of Crystal was running across the field toward him, wearing a broad grin and not much else. She laughed and threw her arms around his knee, and he reached down and tousled her hair. She would make a fine woman to have on his knee while he quenched his thirst.
Chapter 19
By the time the Mistress Ellspa was asleep, it was dark. If things were not the way they were, Cheeky would have been afraid to leave the hut in the darkness. But he had to go to the Uchendi village to find the Master Blade and tell him what he knew.
The Wise One had gone into the Uchendi village with Moyla, leaving Ellspa and Cheeky a short distance away, in case she needed them. The feather-monkey and his mistress were staying in a deserted hut in the woods not far from the village, awaiting word from the Wise One.
Cheeky had learned what was afoot from Moyla, who had sent a message to him. (Apparently telepathy worked over long distances, like radio transmission.) What Moyla had said was that tonight, the Mistress Wise One was going to send another Master-Cheeky had the picture of a young man who seemed to be angry all the time-to kill the Master Blade. If Cheeky did not go to the village and give a warning, the Master Blade might die. Cheeky could not let that happen, no matter how dangerous it might be to try to stop it.
Cautiously Cheeky crept out from under the blanket he shared with Ellspa and looked up at the roof, which was full of holes. He could see that the moon was in the sky. Maybe it would not be quite as dark as he had feared. But animals would be walking in the night bigger than he was and hungry enough to eat him. He could not see the mountains that during the day would have guided him to the village of the Uchendi Masters and the Master Blade. He might get lost. Then he would die even if he did not meet a dangerous animal.
The Mistress Ellspa sighed softly and stretched out her arms on either side. One hand nearly touched Cheeky's back. He stayed very still and took small breaths until he was sure the Mistress was still asleep.
Cheeky wondered if he should try to mind-speak the Mistress Ellspa without her knowledge. He might be able to do it. If he could, he might be able to make sure she slept so deeply that she would not wake up until long after he was in the village. That would be better for him, since then she could not warn the Wise One. It might also be better for Ellspa because the Wise One would not be so angry with her if she was put to sleep.
Cheeky did not want anyone angry with Ellspa. She had always been kind to him, not only in what she did but in what she thought. She really liked him, so much that he had sometimes heard her thinking that she wished he was a man. He had wished that she was one of the Feather People.
That could not be. Also, she was not kind to the Master Blade. She was still his enemy, and she would help to kill him if she could. He did not even try to talk to her about this. She would not change her mind, and she would tell the Wise One what he felt. The Mistress Wise One was not kind to anyone except Moyla, and not always kind to her. The Wise One would be sure to have Cheeky killed, or at least keep him from escaping.
He decided that he would not try to speak to Ellspa's mind. He knew more about strong thoughts, both his own and the Masters', than he did about mind-speaking. He was not sure he could enter a Master's mind without the Master knowing and stay there until the Master did something he or she did not want to do. So he would just go out of the hut now and hope that the moon would let him go to the village before Ellspa woke up.
Fortunately the hut was so ruined that there were many ways out. Cheeky used a gap between two logs. It was tight, but he finally got out with rumpled feathers and a few bruises. The ground outside the hole was hard, not soft like the ground outside the door to the hut. He would not leave any footprints on the hard ground. Beyond that was forest where he would also be hard to follow. He would not stay in the forest long, though-he did not want to lose his way.
Cheeky hurried across the ground toward the trees. At every step he expected to hear Ellspa shout, either in his mind or with her mouth. Instead there was silence all the way to the forest, and even after he got inside it.
Inside the trees it was very dark on the ground, but overhead he could sometimes see the moon through the branches. He scrambled up a tree until he was the height of six or seven Masters. Now he could see the moon even better, and there might not be any dangerous animals up here. Birds, yes-he remembered the hawks the Masters of the Crimson River sometimes used. But nothing else would be up this high unless it could climb trees as well as he could.