Trullion: Alastor 2262 Read online

  “Still, he’s captain; who’d play his position? What about you?”

  Lucho shook his head. “I don’t have the patience. What about you?”

  “I prefer to play strike. Candolf is pretty sound.”

  “He’s possible, in a pinch. But I’ve got a better man in mind—Denzel Warhound.”

  Glinnes considered. “He’s smart and he’s quick, and he doesn’t mind contact. He’d be a good one. How strong a Gannet is he?”

  “He wants to play. The Gannets don’t have a home stadium; theirs is a very makeshift operation. Warhound would switch if a good opportunity came up.”

  Glinnes emptied his mug of beer. “Tammi would lay an egg if he knew what we’re talking about… Who is the pretty girl in the white smock? I ache to see her so lonely.”

  “She’s second cousin to my brother’s wife. Her name is Thaio and she’s very sympathetic.”

  “I’ll just go ask her if she wants to be a sheirl.”

  “She’ll say that up till the age of nine this was her dearest ambition.”

  The game between the Gorgons and the Tanchinaros occurred on the afternoon of a beautiful war day, with the sky a hemisphere of milkglass. The Tanchinaros were immensely popular in Saurkash, and the stadium was crowded far beyond capacity. Out of idle curiosity Glinnes looked along the line of boxes; there as before sat Luke Casagave, again with his camera. Odd, thought Glinnes.

  The teams formed in ranks for the paraded, and the sheirls came forth: for the Tanchineros, Filene Sadjo, a fresh-faced fisherman’s daughter from Far Spinney; for the Gorgons, Karue Liriant, a tall dark-haired girl with a ripe and sumptuous figure, evident even under the classic folds of her white gown. Lord Gensifer had kept her identity a mystery until a team meeting three days before the game. Karue Liriant had not tried to make herself popular—a bad omen in itself. Still, Karue Liriant was only the least factor disruptive of morale. The left side guard Ramos, annoyed by Lord Gensifer’s criticisms, had quit the team. “It’s not that I’m ao expert,” he told Lord Gensifer, “it’s just that you’re so much worse. I should be ki-yik-yik-yikking at you rathe than you ki-yikking at me.”

  “Off the field with you!” barked Lord Gensifer. “If you hadn’t quit I would send you down in any case.”

  “Bah,” said Ramos. “If you sent down all those complaining you’d be playing by yourself.”

  The question of replacement arose during post-practice refreshment. “Here’s an idea to help the team,” Lucho told Lord Gensifer. “Suppose you were to play guard, as you’re well able to do; you’re big enough and obstinate enough. Then I know a man who’d make us a very able captain indeed.”

  “Oh?” said Lord Gensifer frostily. “And who is this paragon?”

  “Denzel Warhound, now with the Gannets.”

  Lord Gensifer took pains to control his voice. “It might be simpler and less disruptive merely to recruit a new guard.”

  Lucho had no more to say. The new guard appeared at the next practice session, a man even less capable than Ramos.

  The Gorgons, therefore, came to play the Tanchinaros in less than an optimum frame of mind.

  After circling the field, the two teams pulled down their helmets to accomplish that always startling metamorphosis of men into heroic demiurges, each assuming in some degree the quality of the mask. For the first time Glinnes saw the Tanchinaro masks; they were striking affairs of silver and black, with red and violet plumes—the Tanchinaros made a fine display as they took the field. As expected, the Tanchinaros were strong and massive. “A team of ten guards and a fat old man,” as Carbo Gilweg had expressed it. The “fat old man” was Captain Nilo Neronavy, who never left the protective radius of his hange, and whose plays were as forthright as Lord Gensifer’s were intricate and confusing. Glinnes anticipated no difficulties in defense; the Tanchinaro forwards were inept on the trapeze, and the swift Gorgon front line could play them one at a time. Offense was a different matter. Glinnes, had he been captain, would have drawn them in and out—to one side, then another—until a path flickered open for a lightning lunge by one of the forwards. He doubted if Lord Gensifer would use this strategy, or even if he could control the team well enough to orchestrate the quick feints and ploys.

  The Gorgons won the green light. The gong sounded; the light flashed green; the game was on. “Twelve-ten, ki-yik!” cried Lord Genssifer, thrusting the forwards and rovers to the moat with the guards advancing two stations. “Thirteen-eight!”—a thrust at the side passages by wings and rovers, with strikes ready to jump the moat. So far, so good. The next call almost on the instant should be, “Eight-thirteen,” signifying rovers across and forwards in a feint to the left. The rovers crossed the moat; the Tanchinaro forwards hesitated, and now there was time for a swift attack on the Tanchinaro right wing. But Lord Gensifer vacillated; the forwards recovered, the rovers recrossed the moat, and the light shone red.

  So the game went for fifteen minutes. Two Tanchinaro forwards were tanked on offense but were able to return to the field before the Gorgons could exploit the advantage. Lord Gensifer became impatient and tried a new tactic—precisely that play which Glinnes had used to score against the Gannets, and which was quite inappropriate against the Tanchinaros. As a result, all four forwards, a rover, and Lord Gensifer himself were tanked, and the Tanchinaros marched down the field to an easy ring. Lord Gensifer paid over a thousand ozols ransom.

  The teams regrouped. “I know one way to win the game,” Lucho told Glinnes. “Keep Tammi in the foul tank.”

  “Very well,” said Glinnes. “The ‘Sheer Stupidity’ play. Tell Savat; I’ll tell Chust.”

  Green light; Lord Gensifer set his team into motion. Two seconds before the light changed the entire Gorgon front line moved out in an apparently senseless direction. In astounded reaction Lord Gensifer bellowed counterplays well after the light had flashed red. The game halted while Lord Gensifer, not entirely unaware of what had happened, hunched himself down in the foul tank.

  Glinnes, as right strike, assumed control. During red light the Tanchinaros tried to storm the moat. By dint of precise timing, the Gorgon forwards tanked both Tanchinaro strikes and the wings retreated. Green light. Glinnes put his ideas into effect. He called plays in a series. The front surged back and forth; then the Gorgon forwards and rovers were across. The Tanchinaro rovers were tanked, but the Tanchinaro guards remained—an inexorable bulwark. Glinnes called up his own two center guards; eight men drove down the center; the Tanchinaro guards were forced to mass. Glinnes crossed behind, thrust Carbo Gilweg into the tank as a friendly gesture, and seized the gold ring.

  Lord Gensifer came sulkily forth from the tank, speaking no word to anyone, and collected a thousand ozols from Nilo Neronavy.

  The teams took positions. Red light. The Tanchinaros massed on their own left side, hoping to tempt some reckless Gorgon across the moat. Glinnes caught Lucho’s eyes; both knew the other’s intent and both crossed, both raced up the center lanes at a speed to confound a team ostensibly on offense. Behind came the wings and the rovers. A flurry of feints and swings and the Gorgons were in the back court engaging the guards. Wild Man Wilmer Guff, the rover, slid past and grabbed the ring.

  “That’s another way to win,” Lucho crowed to Glinnes. “We attack during off-light, when Tammi can’t argue.”

  The teams regrouped. Red light again. Nilo Neronavy employed the strategy best suited to the Tanchinaro abilities: a grinding advance up the field. Both Lucho and Chust were tanked; Savat and Glinnes were driven back. The Tanchinaros brought all guards to the moat. Green light. Lord Gensifer called, “Twenty-two!” a simple play as good as any, sending the forwards pellmell toward the Tanchinaro backcourt. The Tanchinaro guards retreated; the Gorgons could not win past. Carbo Gilweg engaged Glinnes; the two struggled with their buffs-up, back, hook, parry. Gilweg lowered his head, drove forward; Glinnes tried to dodge but could not avoid Gilweg’s buff. Into the tank. Gilweg looked down at him. “How’s the water?”<
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  Glinnes made no reply. The gong had sounded. One or another of the Tanchinaros had taken a ring.

  The teams took a five-minute rest period. Lord Gensifer moved austerely off to the side; Lucho nevertheless went to offer him counsel. “They’ll be playing Big Push again for certain. In fact they won’t wait; during green light they’ll push. We’ve got to break down their center before they get their line across.”

  Lord Gensifer made no reply.

  The teams once more took the field. Green light. Lord Gensifer brought his men up to the moat. The Tanchinaros had assumed a hedgehog formation, daring the Gorgons to attack, a situation where the agile Gorgon forwards, swinging the trapeze, might well tank isolated Tanchinaros—or might be tanked. Lord Gensifer refused to attack. Red light. The Tanchinaros remained in defensive formation. Green light. Lord Gensifer still restrained his men, a policy unwise only in that it indicated uncertainty. Glinnes called to him, “Let’s go over; we can always come back!”

  Lord Gensifer stood stonily silent.

  Red light. The Tanchinaros came forward, all eleven men—“the sheirl guarding the pedestal,”as the saying went. As before, they thrust past the moat, with only the guards on Tanchinaro territory.

  Green light. Lord Gensifer called for a feint to right and an attack on the Tanchinaros who had gained a foothold on the left. In the scrimmage two men from each team were tanked, but meanwhile the Tanchinaros had thrust far down the Gorgon right wall, and the ineffectual new guard was tanked.

  The light went red. The Tanchinaros, foot by foot, thrust toward the Gorgon pedestal, where Karue Liriant waited, showing no apparent distress.

  Green light. Lord Gensifer was faced with a dire situation. His forwards held the center but Tanchinaro guards and rovers coming down the center lanes cramped and constrained them. Glinnes attacked the Tanchinaro strike; from the corner of his eye he thought to see a free course downfield, if he could only feint one of the guards out of position.

  Red light. Glinnes swung away from the Tanchinaro strike. He raced to the moat and across. He was free; he was clear! Carbo Gilweg, making a desperate effort, dove out to hook Glinnes with his buff, both fell into the moat.

  Gong—three times. The game was won.

  The field judge summoned Lord Gensifer and called for ransom, which was denied. The music became exalted and sad, a music golden as sunset, with rhythm like a beating heart and chords sweet with human passion. For the third time the field judge called for ransom; for the third time Lord Gensifer ignored the call. The Tanchinaro strike pulled the ring; the gown fell away from Karue Liriant Naked and unconcerned, she faced the audience; in fact, she showed a slight smile. Casually she preened herself, tilting up on one toe, looking over first one shoulder, then the other, while the crowd blinked in wonder at this unfamiliar demonstration.

  An odd speculation came to Glinnes’ mind. He peered at her. Karue Liriant was pregnant? The possibility occurred to others as well; a murmur rose in the stands. Lord Gensifer hurriedly brought up a cloak and escorted his still-smiling sheirl from the pedestal. Then he turned to the team. “There will be no party tonight. I now have the unpleasant duty of punishing insubordination. Tyran Lucho, you may regard yourself as at liberty. Glinnes Hulden, your conduct—”

  Glinnes said, “Lord Gensifer, spare me your criticism. I’ll resign from the team. Playing conditions are impossible.”

  Ervil Savat, the left strike, said, “I resign as well.”

  “And I,” said Wilmer Guff, the right rover, one of the strong players who had carried the brunt of the load. The remainder of the team hesitated. If they all resigned they might find no other organized team on which to play. They held their tongues in a troubled silence.

  “So be it,” said Lord Gensifer. “We are well rid of you. All have been headstrong—and you, Glinnes Hulden, and you, Tyran Lucho, have sedulously sought to undermine my authority.”

  “Only that we might score a ring or two,” said Lucho. “But no matter—good luck to you and your Gorgons. ”He removed his mask and handed it over to Lord Gensifer. Glinnes did likewise, then Ervil Savat and Wilmer Guff. Bump Candolf, the single effective guard, could see no future playing on the team as it was presently constituted, and he also gave his mask to Lord Gensifer.

  Outside the dressing room, Glinnes told his four comrades, “Tonight, all to my house, for what in effect will be our victory party. We’re free of that mooncalf Tammi.”

  “Basically a sound notion,” said Lucho. “I’m in the mood for a jug or two, but there will be more merriment along Altramar Beach, and we’ll find a sympathetic audience.”

  “As you wish. My verandah is quiet of late. No one sits there but myself, and maybe a merling or two during my absence.”

  Along the way to the dock the five met Carbo Gilweg with two other Tanchinaro guards, all in high spirits. “Well played, Gorgons, but today you encountered the desperate Tanchinaros.”

  “Thank you for the consolation,” said Glinnes, “but don’t call us Gorgons. We no longer enjoy this distinction.”

  “What’s all this? Did Lord Gensifer give up his wild scheme of directing a hussade team?”

  “He gave up on us, and we gave up on him. The Gorgons still exist, or so I suppose. All Tammi needs is a new front line.”

  “By an odd coincidence,” said Carbo Gilweg, “that’s all the Tanchinaros need too… Where are you bound?”

  “Out to Lucho’s in Altramar, for our private victory party.”

  “Better yet, visit the Gilwegs for a more authentic version.”

  “I think not,” said Glinnes. “You won’t want our long faces at the feast.”

  “On the contrary! I have a special reason for inviting you. In fact, let’s stop into The Magic Tench for a mug of beer.”

  The eight men seated themselves around a round table, and the serving girl brought forth eight ample goblets.

  Gilweg frowned into his foam. “Let me develop an idea—an obvious and excellent idea. The Tanchinaros, like Lord Gensifer, need a front line. It’s no secret; everybody admits the fact. We’re a team of ten guards and a beer keg.”

  “That’s all very well and I see your point,” said Glinnes, “but your forwards, whether they’re really guards or not, are sure to object.”

  “They have no right to object. The Tanchinaros are an open club; anyone can join, and if he cuts the mustard he plays. Think of it! For the first time in memory, the miserable Saurkash Tanchinaros a real team!”

  “The idea has appeal.” Glinnes looked at his fellows. “How do you others feel?”

  “I want to play hussade,” said Wilmer Guff. “I like to win. I am in favor of the scheme.”

  “Count me in,” said Lucho. “Perhaps we’ll have a chance to play the Gorgons.”

  Savat agreed to the proposal, but Candolf was dubious. “I’m a guard. There’s no place for me on the Tanchinaros.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” said Gilweg. “Our left wing guard is Pedro Shamoran, and he’s got a bad leg. There’ll be a shuffle of places, and maybe you can even play left rover; you’re certainly quick enough. Why not try?”

  “Very well; why not?”

  Gilweg drained his mug. “Good then. It’s settled! And now we can all celebrate the Tanchinaro victory!”

  Chapter 12

  When Glinnes arrived home late the following morning he found a strange boat tied to his dock. No one sat on the verandah, and the house was empty. Glinnes went outside to look around and saw three men sauntering across the meadow: Glay, Akadie, and Junius Farfan. All three wore neat garments of black and gray, the uniform of Fanschherade. Glay and Farfan spoke earnestly together; Akadie walked somewhat apart.

  Glinnes went forward to meet them. Akadie put on a half-sheepish smile in the face of Glinnes’ scornful amazement. “I never thought you’d involve yourself in this rubbish,” snorted Glinnes.

  “One must move with the times,” said Akadie. “Indeed, I find the garments a source of amusement.
” Glay turned him a cool glance; Junius Farfan merely laughed.

  Glinnes waved his hand to the verandah. “Seat yourselves! “Will you drink wine?”

  Farfan and Akadie took a goblet of wine; Glay gave a curt refusal. He followed Glinnes into the house where he had spent his childhood and stood looking about the room with the eyes of a stranger. He turned and preceded Glinnes from the house.

  “I have a proposition for you,” said Glay. “You want Ambal Isle.” He looked toward Junius Farfan, who laid an envelope on the table. “You shall have Ambal Island. There is the money to dislodge Casagave.”

  Glinnes reached for the envelope; Glay pushed it away. “Not so fast. When Ambal is again your property you can go to live there if you choose. And I get the use of Rabendary.”

  Glinnes looked at him in astonishment. “Now you want Rabendary! Why can’t we both live here as brothers, and work the land together?”

  Glay shook his head. “Unless you changed your attitudes, there would only be dissension. I don’t have energy to waste. You take Ambal; I’ll take Rabendary.”

  “This is the most marvelous proposition I have ever heard,” said Glinnes, “when both belong to me.”

  Glay shook his head. “Not if Shira is alive.”

  “Shira is dead.” Glinnes went out to his hiding place, uncovered the pot, and removed the golden fob, which he brought back to the verandah. He tossed it on the table. “Remember this? I took it from your friends the Drossets. They killed and robbed Shira and threw him to the merlings.”

  Glay glanced at the fob. “Did they admit it?”

  “No.”

  “Can you prove you took it from the Drossets?”

  “You have heard me tell you.”

  “That’s not enough,” said Glay curtly.

  Glinnes slowly turned his head and stared into Glay’s face. Slowly he rose to his feet. Glay sat rigid as a steel post. Akadie said hurriedly, “Of course your word is sufficient, Glinnes. Sit down.”