Mercedes Lackey: Changes

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 runner. 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.”