with troublemakers,” said Koenyg. “Best that you wise up to it, brother.”
Damon snorted. “I'll not lick the north's boots just because it's convenient.”
Koenyg turned a hard gaze upon him. A strong, broad face, more rounded than Damon's or Sofy's. More like Sasha, Damon thought, and their departed mother. “You will if I tell you to,” Koenyg said darkly.
Damon could not think of a reply. Then the adjudicator saved him the trouble and yelled for a start.
Tyrblanc drove his horse straight at Jaryd, and Jaryd's mount shied aside. Other horses rushed the circle, but the Banneryd were better coordinated, using their horses to block while one rider leaned low from his saddle and hammered the ball with his hook. That rider wove past intercepting Tyree horses, dragging the weight on one arm and steering with the other, then a skilful switch of hands as Sergeant Garys came thundering up on his right, and hauled the heavy ball across the saddle to the protected side.
Garys ducked a forearm blow aimed at his head, jostling the Banneryd's horse, steering him away from the goals toward the outer wing as a massed thunder of horses pursued. Damon galloped to the defence, between the ball and the goals. Another Banneryd horse blocked Garys's, which reared alarmingly, and the ball carrier galloped free down the flank, to the cheers of slightly nervous spectators on the perimeter, who were pleased to see the action come close, but were making to scatter even now.
Banneryd riders formed a blocking perimeter for their man, harassing those who tried to intercept, but already a Tyree horse was coming at him from the right, and another, unnoticed, had somehow come ahead to stand unattended on the perimeter line. As the ball carrier's attention switched to his new assailant, the unnoticed rider dug in heels and accelerated up the line. The ball-carrier saw, too late, and tried to switch the ball, but the charging rider leaned left-handed from the saddle as the horses slashed past in opposite directions, and smacked ball on hook so hard it tore the Banneryd's hook from his hand.
Damon was already racing in pursuit to assist, weaving past the mass of confused riders, who tried to change direction or figure out what had happened…and there ahead was Sasha, racing at top speed astride a middle-sized dun mare, her left arm low and behind her with the weight of the ball on her hook. She galloped right past the noses of the Taneryn contingent on the sidelines, who roared and cheered as if she were one of their very own.
Ahead, two Banneryd riders came across from deep defence to block her way…where were the Tyree forward blockers, Damon wondered? Then he saw them, holding back and making no attempt to make a path for Sasha. One of them was Pyter Pelyn.
Sasha swung the ball across her saddle to the right, pulled hard left, swinging her horse across and exposing her right side…a Banneryd rider held back, turning in a circle in case she reversed and tried to flank him. Sasha held her line, heading for the second Banneryd rider, then tried to dive between him and his comrade. It was suicide, and they converged on her, but Sasha threw a glance over her shoulder to Damon, took both hands off the reins and threw the ball two-handed off to her left.
It hit and rolled, catching both Banneryd riders wrong-footed. Damon accelerated straight for it and leaned low from his saddle to swing. He felt the hook catch, and the weight on his arm…and nearly slipped, his heart racing as he suddenly noticed the speed at which the grass flew past.
One Banneryd rider was on him before he could properly reseat, as Sasha blocked the other with dangerous force, deflecting one blow with her armguard, and returning a hard one of her own to the cavalryman's middle. Damon swung the ball across his saddle to the left hand, fending with his right, but the Banneryd's pressure was hard, forcing him across the face of the goals. Now behind, the great mass of riders was catching him. In a moment, he knew he'd be swamped.
The weight on his left arm suddenly disappeared and he turned in astonishment to see Jaryd dropping back from his left. Where the hells had he come from? The ball neatly stolen, Jaryd reined back behind Damon and tore for the goals. Two Banneryd pursuers arrived from behind, one chasing on each side. Jaryd swung the ball to