The crowd went insane, as one of the sideline helpers brought in the new ball.
His entire team was staring at him.
::Well... :: Mags managed. ::Ye wanted a brilliant move.::
::Bastard,:: said Riker, with no rancor whatsoever. ::How the hell are we supposed to top that?::
Mags didn’t manage to top that move himself, although he did execute three more showy plays, one in each quarter. That was enough to make it look as if he was playing the game brilliantly, when in fact he wasn’t playing the game at all.
It was just as well, because early in the second quarter he knew that the Foreseers had been absolutely right. He sensed the odd blankness of those shields somewhere beyond the watching crowd. He caught faint hints of Ice, thought none of Stone, during the last quarter. He relayed all of that to the Heralds guarding Amily.
They were all glad to exit the field at the end of the last quarter. Mags had a throbbing headache, and they were all drenched with sweat. Riker walked over to the horse trough and fell into it, armor and all, then got out, pumped his helmet full of colder water from the pump and dumped it over his Companion’s head.
“I hope we never have to fight a battle in heat like this,” he said aloud.
“Weaponsmaster says heat kills more fighters in a summer war than anything else but disease,” Gennie observed. They both cast a brief but penetrating glance at Mags. He shook his head slightly.
::Where’s Amily?:: he asked Dallen.
::Still judging dogs. They’re restless. Herald Sorald says they sense something out there, but they haven’t managed to locate it.:: Dallen sounded worried.
::Then they’re better nor me. I’m jest gettin’ liddle flashes. So she’s still judgin’? Hev I got time t’—::
::Yes, just as we planned. I’ll go to the judging ring, Nikolas will put her up on me and we’ll meet you there.:: Dallen tossed his head impatiently. ::Go!::
Mags stared at him, askance. He was filthy, covered in sweat and sweat-caked dirt. ::But ye look—::
Dallen gave a quick glance around, as if to make sure no one was watching. No one was. He shook himself vigorously, and for a moment the sun winked off him as if he were made of something reflective.
And in the next moment, he stood there looking as if he were fresh from the hands of the groomers.
Mags gaped.
::What?:: Dallen said, with irritation.
::Ye—::
::Yes, I did.::
::Why don’t ye—::
::Because you’d get lazy. Now move, if you please. The dogs are not happy, and my skin is crawling. Something is about to happen. There’s something important about this whole situation we don’t understand, and—something’s about to happen. I can feel it.::
Mags moved, pulling off his armor as he ran to the stable. He’d left a clean set of Grays at the pump; he stripped off, washed, and changed in record time, then ran toward the dog-judging ring.
He crossed the end of the new Kirball field, where the remaining members of the Trainees’ teams were chatting with the Guard teams before their game, and he spotted Amily on Dallen, coming toward him.
And that was when he sensed Stone. Nearby. Very nearby. Practically—
But wait—there was Ice! Ice on one side of him, Stone on the other! But why were they here, instead of focusing on Amily? Weren’t they—wasn’t it Amily they wanted?
But he felt it now, felt their concentration on him, felt a chill of real fear lance through him.
“Lady Amily! Lady Amily!” A middle-aged man ran up to Amily waving his arms wildly. He looked vaguely familiar; Mags tried to place him. Guard? No, he didn’t have a fighter’s build. He wasn’t in the uniform of any of the Collegia—
“Pawel!” Amily said, in surprise.
Course. Pawel. One’a th’ servers at Collegium— Of course Amily would recognize him and remember his name. Like her father, she made a point of being able to recognize almost everyone she had ever been introduced to.
“What—Pawel, what is it?“ she asked. Loudly. Loudly enough to make heads turn toward both of them.
Not nearly as much attention as Pawell’s shouting attracted. “Lady Amily, don’t—don’t go to the Kirball field!” he shouted desperately. “It’s a trap, Lady Amily! It’s a—”
Mags had wormed his way through the pack at the end of the field and felt a surge of icy anger that stabbed right through his head and made him double over with the unexpected pain.
Which was why the man who had been following him stumbled right into him. Fear joined the pain—
It was Stone! How had he gotten so close?
Instinctively, Mags ducked under him so that the man rolled over his back and landed on the ground. Mags got a startled glimpse of something in his hand that glittered, reflexively kicked it away, spun, and ran toward Amily.
::They’re ’ere!:: he mind-shouted. ::They’re ’ere and they’re after both of us!::
Evidently the group going after Amily had not discussed things in advance with the group going after Mags. Or perhaps, vice versa. Mags sensed Stone behind him, dropped, and rolled out from under his grasp, coming right back up on his feet again as rescuers came running from all directions.
Someone in a Guard uniform had knocked Pawel to the ground and was reaching for Dalen’s bridle. He was saying “Lady Amily, this man is demented, allow me to escort you away from here.” He was saying that, but Mags read his thoughts, and they were not that of a Guard.
::Tha’s not a Guard!:: he shouted to the rescuers, as Dallen half reared, lashing out at the man with wicked hooves. ::Trus’ Dallen!::
As Amily clung to his saddle like a burr, Dallen put his head down and charged an entire small group of “Guardsmen,” barreling right through them and heading for the real Guard and more of the Heralds.
Mags sensed Ice coming at him from the side. This time instead of dropping and rolling, he abruptly changed direction, heading for the piled supplies for the stables. He vaulted over a stack of hay bales and switched direction again. Ice followed him—out of the corner of his eye he saw that Ice was wearing a Guard uniform. Stone probably was, too.
Another three men in Guard uniforms had converged on Amily. Two were hanging onto Dallen’s bridle, forcing his head down by their weight. One was shouting something about getting that horse under control. Obviously they hadn’t yet figured out what Dallen was. Mags did another tuck and roll, this time starting with a leap. Ice and Stone nearly collided, saved themselves, and pelted angrily after him.
He looked for a weapon, spotted a hayfork. That would do. He glanced at Amily—already Herald Caelen was charging up to Dallen’s side, his Companion ramming one of the men trying to “coax” her out of the saddle and sending him tumbling.