by Джеффри Лорд
Then the whistles and drums began to sound, calling the teams back to their positions for the rest of the game. Both teams were now tired riders on tired mounts. No one could have detected this from the way the Black Rocks came on, though. Winter Owl was far ahead, taking all sorts of chances he would probably not have risked if sticks had been lawful weapons today.
«Curse these child's rules!» growled Friend of Lions at the sight. «If I could shove my stick a hand's breadth up his arse he'd not be sitting so easy!» He clearly wanted to say more, but that would have been too close to disputing the Guardian's judgment.
By now the day had turned blazing hot, and two dozen ezintis were churning up the field until a fog of dust hung over it. It was getting hard to see one's own teammates, and nearly impossible to find the ball unless it hit you between the eyes. And if that happens, you won't be able to use your knowledge of the huba-gan, thought Blade. Half a pound of bronze moving at the speed of a cricket ball would crack a man's skull like a hammer.
Everyone was riding cautiously. Exhausted mounts and poor visibility increased the danger of being spilled and trampled. Blade didn't have to worry about standing out in the crowd any more. Nobody more than thirty feet away would have recognized him, let alone told what he was doing. He was coated with dust from head to foot, to the roots of his hair and even under his loinguard. His mouth was filled with dust, and mud dripped from his limbs where sweat had flowed through the dust.
A Black Rock scored; the game was tied again. Blade hoped all of the White Trees were even more exhausted than he was. If they scored again, it was going to take a lot of luck for either him or the Black Rocks to save the game. He wasn't sure if the best thing for him now wouldn't be his mount dropping dead.
It was the first time in his life that Blade had thought playing the game out to the end would not be a good thing. Most of the time it was the wisest course of action. You always should be able to outlast an opponent, if nothing else. But not nor. Not when Winter Owl's goodwill might mean the difference between victory and something far worse.
Winter Owl found himself in the open, with the ball and a long clear shot. He let fly, and the ball hit home.
Eight to seven, in favor of the Black Rocks. Some of the Black Rocks supporters were cheering again. They had a right to, Blade realized. The game had about five minutes more to run, and if the Black Rocks simply played it cautiously they would have their victory. Then Richard Blade would have a good-tempered Winter Owl ready to listen to him.
Half blinded by dust, sweat, and heat, men on both sides were now riding their mounts over the boundaries of the field and being ruled out of the game. The Black Rocks were down to seven riders, the White Trees to six. Blade hoped the next rider would be from the White Trees. That would settle matters.
A Black Rock charged at him out of the murk. Blade raised his stick. The other mount flinched aside, nearly went down, then headed off at an angle. The rider cursed. Blade saw now the bedraggled feathers of the ball trailing from the cup of his stick. He dug his heels into his mount's flank and followed the Black Rock.
Better keep an eye on him, to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid like giving the White Trees a chance to score, Blade told himself. Just don't get caught in a position where what you can do will make the difference between winning and losing.
Suddenly the runaway ezinti was coming up on the boundary of the field. The rider had to get rid of the ball and did so, to the nearest rider-Blade. Perhaps he hadn't recognized Blade as a White Tree, or was too exhausted to think that a rider following him might not be a friend.
As he realized this ugly truth, a drum started to boom, loud enough to be heard all over the field. When that drum sounded thirty times, the game would be over. There was no tie in the game of nor; if the score was even at the end of three periods there would be a fourth. Blade wanted to avoid that. If he could just keep from scoring until those thirty beats passed…
He couldn't drop the ball. All at once there wasn't enough dust around him to hide him from his teammates.
They would see him plainly. His mount seemed to have found new strength. It was pawing at the ground, ready to run instead of collapse. Blade cursed it.
If only he had some really useful form of telepathy! Telekinesis, for example-the ability to control physical objects with the mind. He could shoot the ball and make it miss, or snap his stick before the ball left the cup, or-But he didn't have telekinesis, and someone would surely detect it if he did and used it. Using telepathy among telepaths was like shouting secrets in a crowded theater.
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 dar
kness. 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.
Cheeky started swinging through the forest, from branch to branch and from tree to tree. He was happy to be able to move like this, in the old way of the Feather People. He was not so happy that he forgot about the Master Blade, the danger to him, and the warning he must bring.
Blade awoke to the sense of something warm close to him. He wasn't surprised to find that it was Eye of Crystal snuggled against him, her bare rump pressed comfortably against his stomach. His hand crept over her shoulder and down to cup one full breast.
«Yeeeeep?» came a soft sound from the darkness around the sleeping furs.
Suddenly Blade wasn't sure that he was awake after all.
That sound was so much like Cheeky, but he was hundreds of miles away with the Rutari. There had to be some other explanation.
(«No, Master. It is me, Cheeky. I have come back. I want to stay with you. «)
In that moment Blade took back a good many of the things he'd said against telepathy. Cheeky's mental voice was absolutely unmistakable, and the darkness of the hut didn't make any difference. No problems with identification, as long as the other telepath wanted to be identified.
That started a train of thought that brought Blade wide awake and up out of the furs in a moment. Crystal murmured and rolled over, but didn't wake up. Blade hoped she would stay asleep until he'd finished talking with Cheeky.
(«How did you get here? Did you escape from the Rutari?»)
(«I left the Mistress Ellspa. She is in an empty hut that is all broken, about half a night's walk for me from here. The Mistress Wise One and Moyla are here in the village. The Mistress Wise One wears Master-skins to make you think she is something she is not. She hides-«)
Blade let out an oath that would have blistered the paint on the hut if there'd been any, and jumped to his feet. This woke Eye of Crystal. She sat up, naked and staring at Blade as if he'd gone crazy.
«I was right about the hiba-gan! It's no Holy Wanderer! It's the Wise One of the Rutari in disguise. She's got River Over Stones as an ally and they're planning to kill me!»
«Blade, what in the name of all Wisdom are you talking about?»
Blade took a deep breath. «I don't have time to explain more than once.» He repeated Cheeky's message, while Crystal stared alternately at him and at Cheeky. She seemed uncertain that the feather-monkey was really there, and kept rubbing her eyes as if this might just possibly make him go away.
When Blade was finished and it was obvious Cheeky was real, Crystal put on her loinguard and tucked her knife into it. She didn't bother with sandals or headband.
«I think you are telling the truth, or at least what you believe to be the truth,» she said. «However this may be, I must go with you. You do not know all the laws and customs, and you may need someone to speak of what we see.»
In other words, a witness. Blade nodded. «That is true. But you do not need to come into danger with me. Your father-«
«It would take time to wake up my father and bring him. If what you say is the truth, we do not have the time. If you have been told a lie, then there will be no need for the Guardian. «She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. «Besides, you swore you would take me to the war with you. Is this not the first battle of the war with the Rutari?»
Blade knew he wouldn't win this argument. «All right. Come on. But don't get too close to me. We may both have to move fast.»
He turned to Cheeky. («You come with me. Ride on my shoulder until we get to the Wise One's hut. Then get down and do not get in my way.»)
(«You do not think good of me again?»)
(«I do not think much of you at all until we have fought the Wise One. Is that not also wise?»)
(«Oh, yes.»)
Crystal's eyes widened as Cheeky jumped onto Blade's shoulder, but she said nothing. Either she hadn't overheard the telepathic conversation, or she knew there was no time to waste satisfying her curiosity.
Blade would have liked to expla
in Cheeky to Crystal. He would have liked even more to have Cheeky explain how he'd been getting along among the Rutari. That might tell him something he hadn't known about the Wise One. Again, the problem was no time. If Ellspa had noticed that Cheeky was gone and communicated with the Wise One, the older woman might already be alert and waiting.
If she is, Blade thought, bugger the laws about dealing with hiba-gans. I'll knock her flat and sit on her until I finish explaining who she is. Somehow I don't think those laws were meant to protect spies and assassins disguised as Holy Wanderers.
The hiba-gan's hut was at the far end of an isolated cluster of buildings on the riverbank, upstream from the walled village. This was traditional-Holy Wanderers were expected to keep themselves a little apart from the people they visited. This was good luck for Blade. He got there without having to explain Cheeky or his mission to the guards at the four gates of the village or people on the streets.
Twenty yards from the hut, Blade put Cheeky down. The feather-monkey fell back while Crystal came forward to stand on Blade's left. For a moment Blade again savored the unusual sensation of not having to go into battle alone. Then he charged straight at the door of the hut.
Blade's two hundred and ten fast-moving pounds hit the hut door like a battering ram. The door's hinges were leather thongs and they snapped like thread. The door not only flew off its hinges, it flew clear across the hut and smashed itself to kindling wood against the far wall.
There were two people in the middle of the hut, the Wise One and River Over Stones. The Wise One wore nothing but her scars and a head band, and was riding astride River, who wore about the same. Lost in lust for the moment, neither of them even looked up until the flying door hit the far wall.
Moyla wasn't so pleasantly busy and was more alert. Out of the corner of his eye Blade saw her snatch up something, then dart toward him. As she moved, he also heard a wordless screech in his mind.