Читать онлайн «Changes»

Changes

The Collegium Chronicles, Book 3

Mercedes Lackey

Dedicated to the memories of Martin (Marty) Greenberg and Mark Shepherd.

We’ll miss you.

Chapter 1

Mags shaded his eyes and peered across the uneven ground of the Kirball field at the opposing team huddled up in front of their goal and forced himself to relax. There was no point in getting tense. This was only a game, after all. He had to keep reminding himself of that, even as nervous sweat trickled down the back of his neck, and inside his gloves his palms were moist.

Only a game being played in front of hundreds of people .  .  .

::To most of whom you are just a red shape on a white horse. Even with Colin calling the gameplay, they still wouldn’t know who you were. :: The voice in his head was as familiar as his own now, warm and slightly amused.

“Thanks fer makin’ a lad feel special, Dallen,” he muttered under his breath, knowing the great white horse-shaped smart-aleck beneath him had very keen ears.

::Don’t mention it,:: came the cheerfully cheeky reply.

Mags was wearing red rather than Herald Trainee Grays because his Kirball team’s color was red—although to be strictly accurate, only his padding and helmet were red. But since the Kirball field was deliberately awash with dangerous obstacles, the players wore full-body protection, so very little of his Grays were showing. The same went for the rest of his teammates—unrecognizable in padded helmet in red, metal face-guard in red, neck collar, shoulder pads, upper and lower arm braces, elbow and knee cups, thigh protection, chest and backplate, and armored boots.

Not that most people would ever have recognized this as a game field either. Gullies corrugated the field, which also contained a major ravine, little hills with abrupt drop-offs, stone fences as well as rail fences, culverts, bridges, and even a stream that led into the river. There were no big hills, but there were bits of very steep slope, enough to make even the most sure-footed Companion pause. It most closely resembled the obstacle course, or perhaps a steeplechase racecourse. But unlike the obstacle course, there was no pattern, no obvious path you were supposed to take around the field. It was, in fact, far more random than nature would have created, a calculated randomness that ensured that there were no “easy” places anywhere except in front of the goals.

At either end were two identical little stone buildings, with ramps up to the tops of them. The ramps had been stone too when the game had first been played; now they were stone and rammed earth, and the squat towers were buried to their ramparts in the rammed earth. After the first four games, the stone ramps had been deemed a bit too narrow and dangerous, and earthen slopes made sure there were no abrupt drop-offs. Flagpoles thrust up from the tops of the towers, flying pennants in the team colors, red for South and green for West, flapping bravely from the tower-tips in a brisk breeze. They needed that breeze today; it was wicked hot. It wasn’t only nerves making Mags sweat. The bathing room was going to suffer a stampede.