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  Pip raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that going bit hard for an exhibition? We might upset some parents.”

  Halleck snorted. “Not as long as there’re no broken bones or broken necks. People like to see some danger as long as everyone walks away from it.”

  Corwin nodded. “Maybe you didn’t hear it over the noise, but me old man was shouting at me from sidelines, telling me to break some heads. He don’t mean it literally, but he’d have been the first one on his feet shouting hurrah if I’d pulled someone down.”

  “No broken heads, but no easy quarter of it either,” Gennie told them. “If we’re given the gift of a goal opportunity, take it, but otherwise, we concentrate on giving them a hard time, and not letting them score on us.”

  Pip laughed. “Now, wouldn’t it be the height of irony if West’s captain is telling his team the exact same thing right now?”

  The Companions all snorted. Gennie grinned. “That’s why we’re against West for this exhibition, instead of North or East. Harkon couldn’t be more unlike me and still be in Grays. Dean wants a good exhibition game, not a mirror-move chess match.”

  It was their ball, and Mags had it, and when the whistle blew, signaling the start, he feinted to Pip, then dropped it straight down among the legs of the Riders. He and Dallen stayed to contest it, while Pip and Gennie headed straight for the West goal, momentarily confusing the entire West side, half of whom thought Pip had the ball, and half, seeing Mags drop it, knew it was down among the feet of their mounts.

  It took West a moment to sort themselves out, then they were all back into the scrum, leaving their Foot to be harassed by Pip and Gennie.

  Now, one of the West’s Grays had Fetching Gift. They knew that, of course, and West knew that they knew, and in all the games that had been played before, he had never actually used it.

  Until now.

  They had always assumed that anyone using Fetching Gift would be standing off to one side and concentrating hard to manipulate the ball into the goal, or (more likely) grab the flag from afar, since it was a tricky Gift and required absolute concentration.

  So they had assumed. They hadn’t counted on the wielder using it for something very small. “Kicking” the ball into the open, for instance; that didn’t require any more concentration than hitting it with one of the Kirball sticks. But that was exactly what he did, and the moment he did, one of the other West Grays pounced on it like a cat on a catnip toy.

  This was not how they had planned things! ::They have the ball!:: He “shouted” into the minds of his teammates, together with the projected image of the Gray with the ball, who was even now pelting toward the South goal. Mags and Dallen skittered across the ground to intercept him, the rest a few paces behind.

  ::How?:: Gennie blurted incredulously, then got the image from Dallen exactly as it had happened. Her reply was rude and laden with exasperation at herself for not foreseeing this very thing.

  But their Foot were on it, as fiercely determined to prevent a goal as Mags had ever seen them. No matter where the ball went, they were there first, and instead of hitting it back hard, they hit it into the most awkward places they could. The third time they blocked it, one of them managed to shoot it into a tangle of bushes, and at that point it became a scrum again.

  It stayed a scrum, right in front of the South goal, until the whistle blew and everyone had to back off, because it was time to start the third quarter and get a change of horses.

  “Where did that play come from?” Corwin asked, wiping his head and neck down with a towel and accepting water from a runner.

  “Fetching Gift,” Gennie said, her voice thick with disgust. “Oh, too bloody smart altogether, he’s using it to bunt the ball, just a little. He doesn’t have to stand off and concentrate on it to do that, he just needs to see it.” She took off her helmet, dumped a pail of water over her head, and jammed her helmet back on. “They’ve been keeping that little play a secret, that’s for sure.”

  “Then we’d better not put the thing in the air,” Corwin warned. “He’ll bunt it there too.”

  “Well . . . then we have to keep him from seeing the ball,” Jeffers said slowly. “Which means one of us has to mind him.”

  “That’ll be me,” Wess volunteered immediately. “This rack of bones is no good in the scrum, and he’s tall enough I’m practically sitting on a cliff. I’ll mind him for the entire quarter.”

  Now it was scarcely fair for Wess to call his horse a “rack of bones,” but it was one of those “gift horses”—very well bred, rather too well bred for Kirball, and very tall. The gelding was like lightning on straight, even ground, but he couldn’t turn the way Jeffers’ ponies could, and he got very nervous when his footing was uneven. Oddly enough, he’d take getting rammed and was astonishingly even-tempered about herding or being herded. In fact, his temper was the best thing about him.

  “All right; that will leave us a Rider short, so we’ll just have to make up for it. By the way, Foot, damn fine job on that save.” This, in Mags’ opinion, was one reason why Gennie was such a terrific captain. “Now remember that if the ball gets in clear sight, it just might start to act unnaturally, so be alert. Expect it to change direction at any point. So, heads up, stay sharp, we’ll have to play this quarter by best guess, and go all out in the last. Hup!”

  The third quarter was a frantic mess. Wess did manage to keep the Fetching Gray occupied during most of it, but the time or two he broke free and got an eye on the ball, it clearly had a mind behind it. There was no telling where it would go for certain, and all they could do was follow it. And one of those times, the other team scored a goal.

  The timing could not have been worse for South; they’d made a series of spectacular saves, but the ball was still in front of their goal. One of West’s players managed to scoop the ball into the air, but instead of hitting it toward the goal, he smacked it in the opposite direction. Mags thought he was mad, until he realized that the Fetching Trainee had gotten free of Wess—

  He realized that too late. The ball suddenly acted as if someone else had hit it with a paddle in midair—sending it straight for the goal. The Trainees and Riders, who had been in hot pursuit, couldn’t reverse fast enough, and just when it looked as if Holly was going to make the save, the ball did a bizarre drop, bounced once, then an invisible hand smacked it into the goal.

  The crowd went insane. Mags swore, and he was pretty sure that the rest of his team was turning the air blue with curses as well. Dallen danced under him with frustration.

  They were so determined now that it was mere moments from the point where the ball came into play again that they had it in front of West’s goal. But try as they might, they could not manage to shake it out of the scrum, and the quarter ended with West still ahead by one.

  “This is the point where I should be a good sport and remind you all that this is only a game,” Gennie said crossly, as they huddled. “As your captain, I am supposed to keep the greater good in mind.”

  “Right. Ye’ve reminded us,” Mags managed from between clenched teeth. Now ’ow d’ye really feel?”

  “Ballocks to that cant,” said Gennie fiercely, her eyes gleaming behind the face-guard. “I know they weren’t cheating, but did they have to pick the day we’re playing in front of half of Haven to pull that trick out?”

  “I’ve got a trick of m’own,” Corwin said grimly. “Are there any rules ’bout gettin’ help from the side, so long’s it’s not touchin’ the ball?”

  There had been some extremely stringent regulations laid down regarding extra players on the field or a spectator using any Gift to interfere with players, ball, or flag. Gennie and the others looked at each other. “Noooo—” Gennie said, slowly. “You know all the rules as well as the rest of us, Corwin, so I assume whatever you have in mind doesn’t break anything existing. What are you going to do?”

  “Keep ’em busy, but keep half an eye on their goal,” Corwin said. “When you see me pop up in front of it, g
et the ball t’me, anyhow.”

  Now they all looked at Gennie, who shrugged. “We’ve got nothing to lose and we have to make two goals to win,” she pointed out. “Try it, Corwin. Hup!”

  So it was football again, with Jeffers and Halleck keeping the Fetching Trainee so busy he was never able to put an eye on the ball for as much as a heartbeat. Mags couldn’t figure out what Corwin was up to; he seemed to be holding his place in front of their goal, steady as a rock—

  When suddenly, he blinked out, just vanished, and when Mags threw a startled glance at the West’s goal—there he was!

  ::Corwin!:: he shouted into everyone’s heads, and fast as a snake, Pip had the ball up out of the scrum and in the air, and Gennie hit it as hard as she could in a fast drive to Corwin, while Jeffers and Halleck boxed in the Fetching Trainee and shoved him down a slope.

  Corwin leaped into the air and snatched the ball out of it, then tucked it under his arm, put his head down, and charged like a bull for the goal. There were no rules about that, either, although no one in all of the games that had been played so far had ever tried to run the ball to the goal physically. No one could believe that Corwin was doing it. The West’s Foot, stunned for an instant, charged for him. They all met in a cloud of dust and a tangle of limbs right at the door of the goal.

  The entire South team ran for the West goal. By the time they got there, the pile had sorted itself out, and the referee had gotten there. He really didn’t need to make a ruling, though; the ball was clearly just over the threshold. Corwin had made the goal!

  But Corwin was still on the ground, groaning and holding his arm against his body. And three Healers had peeled out of the crowd at a run, with four Healer Trainees and a stretcher behind them.

  “Goal for South!” Colin shouted over the field-trumpet. “Foot Corwin down! Substitute for South!”

  Corwin’s sub, a Blue by the name of Jamson, ran out to join the South Foot. As everyone watched nervously, the Healers huddled over Corwin, who couldn’t be seen for all the green-clad bodies. Mags watched, his heart in his throat. How badly was Corwin hurt? Had he cracked his skull? There was an awful lot of stone around those goals.

  Finally one of the Healers popped his head up. “Just a broken arm!” he called. The crowd exploded with cheers. They cheered again when two of the Healer Trainees hoisted up the stretcher with Corwin on it and he waved feebly with his good arm. Gennie rode up to him as he was carried off the field, talked with him for a moment or two, then signaled to the referee for a time out as she rode back to join the rest.

  As Corwin’s porters made their way through a sea of well-wishers, the team gathered around Gennie.

  “How in the name of Kernos did he do that?” Jeffers demanded.

  “Herald Tamlin.” Gennie grinned. And as about half of the team, including Mags, looked puzzled, she added, “His Gift is to make you see things that aren’t there.”

  “Wait—what?” Jeffers said, then his eyes widened. “So the Corwin at our goal wasn’t really there?”

  Gennie nodded. “He’s an old friend of Corwin’s family. They probably worked this out between them last night.” She shrugged. “He was right. There’s no rule against it. It wasn’t as if he were cloaking Corwin sneaking up on the goal; Corwin’s just that good at sneaking. And I can’t believe he charged in there like that.”

  “Me either,” Pip said with admiration. He looked down at the substitute. “Think you can play up to that standard, laddy?”

  Jamson gulped, but he straightened his back. “I’ll give it all I’ve got, Trainee.”

  Gennie nodded with approval. “Well said. All right. There’s not much time left in the quarter, so do whatever it is you need to do to win this game. Just don’t break any skulls. However the game ends, it won’t be said that we didn’t give them a fight.”

  If West expected them to be shaken by Corwin’s loss, they were quickly disabused of the notion. Play started with a full-on charge headed by South’s riders, who were all over the Fetching Trainee. Pip got the ball, and he and Gennie dribbled it up and down the sides of the field, which effectively prevented about half of the West Riders and Companions from closing in on them. Mags and Dallen concentrated on harassing the edges of the action, giving special attention to West’s Riders, acting as if they were about to ram, then just brushing by. That rattled the Riders, who kept bracing for collisions that never happened, getting their ponies irritated and in a lather.

  And then—

  In desperation, the Fetching Trainee broke free. The ball popped straight up into the air.

  But Pip was already on it, standing up in his stirrups as his Companion managed to simultaneously scramble toward the midair ball and keep Pip steady. Pip hit it with a mighty backhanded swing, while the Riders mobbed the Fetcher.

  The ball arrowed toward Mags.

  Mags saw two things simultaneously, as time seemed to slow to a crawl. He could make the same swing and had even odds of getting it to the goal.

  But Halleck was in the clear, with a better shot. The odds were in favor of Halleck.

  ::Halleck!:: he shouted, ::Ball!:: And he stood in his stirrups and gave the ball a second whack, sending it screaming toward Halleck as three of the four West Trainees barreled toward him, grimly, intent on stopping him. They were too late, but they had too much momentum pull up or change direction.

  He and Dallen were hit by three Companions with only a moment to prepare. Instead of bracing, Dallen was scrambling backward when they were hit, with Mags clinging to his back like a burr.

  Dallen scrabbled and nearly went over sideways; he saved them both with a catlike twist of his body, scrabbled a bit more as dust rose about them in a cloud, and fetched up against one of the drop-offs, which was all that saved them from going over. Meanwhile, the roar of the crowd signaled that Halleck had made the goal and the shrill whistles of the referees signaled the end of the game.

  ::Ow,:: Dallen said, sitting down abruptly. Mags leaped from the saddle. ::I think I pulled my offside hock.::

  The Companion stood up, gingerly, put a little weight on the hoof, and winced. ::Definitely. Ow.::

  But a Healer Trainee was already jumping down off the top of the drop-off. He must have jumped onto the field as soon as Dallen felt the first twinge of pain. “Easy on there, old man,” the fellow said cheerfully. “Give me a moment.”

  The Healer wrapped both his hands around the injured leg as Mags fidgeted anxiously. Dallen’s sigh of relief was echoed by his Chosen.

  “Put a little weight on it, old man.” the youngster told him. “See if it will bear being walked on.”

  Dallen did as he was told. ::Tell him it hurts, but I’ll be able to get up to Companions’ Stable under my own power. And thank him.::

  Mags did so, adding his own thanks. The Healer waved it off.

  “Just stay off it as much as you can for the next two days. I’ll come by for another treatment or two barring any emergencies coming up.”

  Mags never got a chance to thank him a second time; he vanished into the mob that poured over the field to hoist Halleck onto their shoulders.

  “I saw what you did, “ Gennie told him with a grin, walking up to him with her own Companion trudging beside her. “You could have taken the shot and been the hero of the game, but you didn’t.”

  He shrugged. “Got ’nough just bein’ in the game.”

  Dallen snorted impolitely. ::I’ll just get up to the stable then,:: he said with great irony, and turned slightly to limp his way past them.

  Mags laughed. “Ye think we’ll get i’ trouble fer Corwin’s lark?”

  Gennie shook her head, the action mimicked by her Companion. “There were no rules against putting an illusion of a player on the field, only against sending in an extra. Remember, these are war games. We’ll get faintly praised for thinking of something new, faintly damned for scraping so close to cheating, and they’ll make a rule against getting help from off the field that isn’t a Healer or a runne
r. Now we had better go see to our Companions and get cleaned up and changed and out there—” she waved her hand vaguely at the rest of the Collegia. “We need to go be Halleck and Corwin’s ever-so-modest teammates.”

  Mags nearly choked on his laughter, coughing so that Gennie had to pound on his back, and when he had recovered, they followed in Dallen’s limping wake.

  2

  Mags was scarcely likely to let Dallen limp his way up to the Companion’s Stable alone, nor leave him in the hands of the hostlers, no matter how competent they were. He saw to Dallen’s comfort himself, of course, making sure he got a good rubdown before he went off himself to a cold-water wash under the pump—anything but a hardship in this blistering heat—and a change into clean Trainee Grays. He stripped as close to bare as he could get and did the job thoroughly. Every bit of him was itchy with drying sweat.

  The grounds of the Palace had been cordoned off quite properly, and only those who actually lived within the Palace walls were being allowed to get past the watchful eyes of Guardsmen who knew them all by name. But the rest of the grounds had the atmosphere of a fair. This was aided and abetted by the food and drink tents and the various demonstrations by Trainees of all three Collegia. There was a big official Bardic concert scheduled for the last event of the day, but there were Bardic Trainees scattered all across the grounds, alone or in groups, happily showing off their prowess. The game had been the big event for the Herald Trainees, but quite a few of them were ambling about the lawns with their Companions, making themselves available for questions. And as for the Healers—Healers’ Collegium had an open clinic, where anyone could come for treatment; simple cases were treated by the Trainees, more complicated ones by the Healer teachers. And many of the Healer Trainees had little booths set up to teach people about the signs of various illnesses in humans or animals and how to prevent as much disease as possible.

  Mags’ best friend Bear had one of these booths, demonstrating the use of his standard herb kit. It had been very popular all this week; it made sense to people that there were things they could do for themselves, and some parents and relatives of Trainees had come from places where there simply wasn’t a Healer nearby. These were the very people who needed Bear’s instruction the most.