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rules about me being
     dismounted, is there?” he asked. “That’d make two guards instead of one. I can run
     pretty fast, an’ Dallen moves like a scared cat.”
    :I like that plan.:
    “Nothing in the rules,” Gennie said cheerfully. “And there’s plenty of times in a
     real fight you’ll be going dismounted, so I doubt very much anyone is going to object.
     At least not for this particular game.”
    This was sounding better and better.
    “And nothing in the rules says that you
have
to hit the ball with the stick.” He grinned. “Plenty of times in the scrum Companions’ve
     been kicking the ball around, right? Well, Dallen and I have been working on something,
     something you have to be in the open to do. I lob the ball to him, he kicks it to
     the sky. More
up
than straight, and no direction to speak of, but that’s good ’cause they’ll have
     to figure out where it’s coming down. If they come at the goal when we’re there, taking
     a chance on the Foot not getting through, that’s what we’ll do. Bet they’ll be so
     busy skywatching they won’t see the flag stealer till it’s too late.”
    It was obvious from the now eager expressions on his teammates’ faces that everyone
     liked this plan. Even the horses seemed to catch the excitement and brought their
     heads up, looking alert and ready to play.
    “I like it,” Gennie said firmly. “Right, then. Everyone mount up, and let’s go through
     the usual drills. The sooner we turn ourselves into a team, the better. Mags, you
     and Dallen sort out whose heads you’re supposed to be in, and make that your priority.
     Now let’s get working. We only have until lunch to turn ourselves into the team worthy
     to be called the Prince’s Choice.”
    * * *
    Mags rather liked the look of the new armor. Rather than repainting the old, two teams’-worth
     had been made in their specific team colors, and basic tunic and trews in matching
     colors were passed out along with it. That was a lot of work and quite a bit of money,
     and that made him wonder if Nikolas and the King had some notion of creating Kirball
     teams for the adults once enough players had gotten out of Grays to form two sets
     of four. It might be a good idea . . . it would certainly be something to look forward
     to. But realistically, how often would they actually get to play? Once Heralds went
     into Whites, they generally spent the majority of their time in the field. The odds
     of actually getting eight players at the Collegium long enough to practice and play
     on a team were fairly long.
    Or maybe the King was thinking about making this sort of match an annual or semiannual
     affair. The sort of thing that could be played down in the city, for instance. . . .
    He thought about that with some glee. What if there were an abbreviated version of
     Kirball, something that used only eight Trainees, maybe with a simple goal instead
     of the goal and the flag, and played on a plain, flat field? Would people like to
     watch that? He knew he would enjoy playing it. Any time he got to play a game on Dallen’s
     back was—
    :Wake up, dreamer. Game time.:
    He blinked and put his mind firmly back in the present. And, predictably, the nerves
     started.
    He
always
had nerves before a game. He had too cursed good an imagination. He could picture
     all sorts of things going wrong, anything from messing up so badly he looked an utter
     fool and was asked to never play again, to causing some sort of hideous accident.
     And no matter how many games he played, he never got over having the nerves. It made
     him feel keyed up, muscles tense, and just a little bit sick. Gennie and Pip always
     looked so relaxed at this point, and he could never imagine how they managed it.
    He comforted himself with the fact that once the game started, he would be far too
     busy for nerves.
    And if he hadn’t been picked for either team, he would not be getting any sort of
     holiday today; like Nikolas, he