Then again... these people had all been invited directly by Herald Setham. So whoever they were and whatever their backgrounds, they had passed his muster.
It was Gennie and a third Trainee, Pip, whom Setham set off against the first group of foot-players. Mags very quickly saw why Setham was considering her for team Captain. She and Pip moved together in a way that Mags recognized had to be due to Mindspeech. Although the foot-players managed to keep them from lobbing the ball through the goal-windows for a while, eventually a clever feint on the part of Gennie caused them to concentrate on her long enough for her to flip the ball to Pip, and Pip to peg it through an unguarded window.
Then it was the turn of Jeffers and four of the riders against Gennie and Mags.
:Hullo Mags,: came the cheerful mind-voice as soon as he and Dallen replaced Pip on the field. :Setham says you and Dallen are something special when it comes to riding.:
:Uh—: he replied the same way, :Dallen thinks he is. Tells me alla time.:
She grinned, while her Companion snorted.
:I heard that!:
:You was meant to.:
:All right, I had something in mind for these fellows, so let’s see if we can pull it off. They’re already concentrating on me, which is good. Now, Pip and I play in-saddle ball games all the time for fun, so we’re used to ball passing. I don’t expect you to have that sort of coordination yet. You will, but not yet. So what I want to do is this, keep them concentrating on me, while you and Dallen run interference, and we’ll see if I can get a ball in. If I can’t, then on one of those interference passes, we’ll brush by each other and I will pass you the ball, and while they still think I have it, you try lobbing it in.:
:We kin do that,: Mags agreed enthusiastically.
:Right then, here we go.:
What followed was barely-controlled chaos.
Mags and Dallen shouldered into the riders—carefully timing and gauging their bull-rushes so as to not actually put the poor horses in danger of a bad fall. They were only horses, after all. Meanwhile, Gennie made runs at the goal.
But the riders were good. And they had, somehow, in the short time they had been consulting with each other, worked out a strategy for communicating. Not as good as Mindspeech, but effective enough to keep Gennie away from the goal.
Dallen rushed Jeffers’ horse and at the last minute, feinted left, went right, and shouldered him into a little rise. The hard smack of the impact of Dallen’s shoulder into the horse’s haunches shuddered through both of them, and the poor horse stumbled, but didn’t fall. Gennie shot past just behind Dallen and made a run for the goal, but Jeffers shouted “Four!” and one of the others managed to intercept her. Dallen whirled on his hind hooves, put his head down, and went straight for the rider. :Take off your blinkers,: he said with glee, and hit him shoulder to shoulder. The taller horse skidded and slipped to the right.
“One, Two” yelled the rider, and the remaining two closed up to keep Gennie off the goal and force her to gallop off.
:That patch to the left under the hillock with the low stone wall on it is like a bog; try not to go there,: Gennie cautioned.
:It’s slippery where I jest was, left of goal,: Mags replied, knowing both Companions would hear him, though it wasn’t likely he would hear Gennie’s Companion.
:Good place to shove them into,: she returned, as she and Mags milled confusingly together, and the four riders lined up again.
There was a crowd at the fences now, and it made the four riders a little nervous, if not their horses. It made Mags a little nervous too, even though he knew that he was one of the first picks for the team. Out there—well, who knew who was out there? People who didn’t like him and didn’t feel he belonged, hoping to see him fail. Friends who maybe hoped too much. Bear, who didn’t want to see him hurt.
:You in first,: Gennie said, and feinted with the ball. Mags made as if to take it and then Dallen dashed at the line. Two of the riders charged straight at him, without waiting to see if he actually had the ball, and Dallen compacted himself and braced for impact.
“Three, Four!” yelled the third rider, only now seeing that Gennie was the one with the ball, too late for the two heading for Dallen to change course. Mags closed his eyes and made himself as tight and small as he could. There was another smack, a bruising impact on his left leg, and Dallen’s whole body shuddered, while the right-hand horse was forced right down on his own haunches and the left went staggering away, the breath knocked out of him.
Ninety-nine Trainees out of a hundred would have sat there for a moment, but not Dallen and Mags. Without a word being exchanged, the moment that Dallen felt Mags’ weight shift, he was off again, rocketing straight for Gennie.
:The ball!: Mags said, as Dallen aimed for one of the two riders that had hemmed Gennie in.
Then they hit, and Dallen sent the off-rider stumbling into that bit of bog, and under the confusion, as they passed, Gennie shoved the ball into Mags’ hands.
Then Dallen put his head down and ran for the fences, Gennie right at his heels, and all four of the riders streaming out behind them in a tail chase. :I’ll make for the goal on high right!: Gennie called, looking back over her shoulder to be sure that she was still being followed and the riders thought she had the ball. She peeled away, taking three of the four with her. Only Jeffers was still on Mags.
Dallen reversed himself suddenly, pivoting on one hoof, and slammed into the chest of Jeffers’ mount. The poor horse went staggering off, and sat down suddenly, dog-fashion, to avoid falling; Dallen ricocheted off the beast’s chest and bolted for the goal.
“SCRUM!” yelled Jeffers, but too late. The others pulled off of Gennie, but were miles behind, and Jeffers’ horse was too shaken for the moment to get up. With horses coming at him as fast as their well-bred legs could carry them, but a clear goal ahead, Mags and Dallen kept their heads down and their wits about them and drove for the open door and windows. As they passed, Mags pitched the ball in the doorway, as the biggest opening, and heard the cheers of the crowd just as the horses caught up with them and surrounded him.
“Goal!” shouted Setham. “Well done, Mags, Gennie, you are in! You too, Jeffers!”
A rush of elation filled him as the crowd cheered.
He and Dallen went out twice more, each time solo against foot groups. That was hardly fair; the best they could do was try and blockade the doors and windows with their bodies, and they couldn’t be everywhere; the goal had been planned and built that way. Mags scored goals each time, but at least one of the groups of four made it hard enough on them that Dallen was lathered by the time they made their point.
When all four Herald Trainees were weary and their Companions lathered, Setham sent horse against horse, horse against foot, and foot against foot and sent the Trainees back to the stables. At this point, Mags didn’t care. He knew he was on the team, and that was the important thing.
Physically, he was as bruised and battered as he had ever been since leaving Cole Pieters’ mine, but he didn’t care about that, either. He felt good, a good tired, and Dallen felt the same way.
They went back to the stable, walking slowly so Dallen had a chance to cool down. Actually all four of them did, more or less together. Gennie glanced over at him after a while.
“Good job out there,” she said.
He bobbed his head. “Thenkee,” he said awkwardly.