‘You’re looking surprisingly well,’ Polgara observed, ‘considering the fact that you spent the evening at Garion’s ale barrel.’
‘I didn’t drink all that much,’ he told her, coming to the fire to warm his hands.
She looked at him with one raised eyebrow.
‘I’ve got a lot on my mind,’ he said. Then he looked directly at her. ‘Is everything straightened out between Garion and Ce’Nedra?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘Let’s be sure. I don’t want things here to fly apart again. I’m going to have to get back to the Vale, but if you think you ought to stay and keep an eye on those two, I can go on ahead.’ His voice was serious, even decisive. Errand looked at the old man, noting once again that Belgarath seemed sometimes to be two different people. When there was nothing of any urgency going on, he reveled in his leisure, amusing himself with drink, deception, and petty theft. When a serious problem arose, however, he could set all that aside and devote almost unlimited concentration and energy to solving it.
Polgara quietly put Errand down and looked at her father. ‘It’s serious, then?’
‘I don’t know, Pol,’ he said, ‘and I don’t like it when things are going on that I don’t know about. If you’ve finished with what you came here to do, I think we’d better get back. As soon as we can get Barak on his feet, we’ll have him take us to Camaar. We can pick up horses there. I need to talk with Beldin—see if he knows anything about this Zandramas thing.’
‘We’ll be ready whenever you want to leave, father,’ she assured him.
Later that same morning Errand went to the stables to say good-bye to the frolicsome young horse. He was a bit sad to be leaving so soon. He was genuinely fond of Garion and Ce’Nedra. The young King of Riva was in many ways like a brother to Errand, and Ce’Nedra was delightful—when she was not going out of her way to be difficult. Most of all, however, he was going to miss the horse. Errand did not think of the horse as a beast of burden. They were both young and shared a wholehearted enthusiasm for each others’ company.
The boy stood in the center of the exercise yard with the long-legged animal frisking about him in the bright morning sunlight. Then he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, turned, and saw Durnik and Garion approaching.
‘Good morning, Errand,’ the Rivan King said.
‘Belgarion.’
‘You and the horse seem to be enjoying yourselves.’
‘We’re friends,’ Errand said. ‘We like to be together.’
Garion looked almost sadly at the chestnut-hued animal. The horse came to him and curiously nuzzled at his clothing. Garion rubbed the pointed ears and ran his hand down the smooth, glossy forehead. Then he sighed. ‘Would you like to have him for your very own?’ he asked Errand.
‘You don’t own friends, Belgarion.’
‘You’re right,’ Garion agreed, ‘but would you like it if he went back to the Vale with you?’
‘But he likes you, too.’
‘I can always come and visit,’ the Rivan King said. ‘There isn’t really much room for him to run here, and I’m always so busy that I don’t have the time to spend with him the way I should. I think it would be best for him if he went with you. What do you think?’
Errand considered that, trying to think only of the well-being of the young animal and not of his own personal preferences. He looked at Garion and saw how much this generous offer had cost his friend. When he finally answered, his voice was quiet and very serious. ‘I think you’re right, Belgarion. The Vale would be better for him. He wouldn’t have to be penned up there.’
‘You’ll have to train him,’ Garion said. ‘He’s never been ridden.’
‘He and I can work on that,’ Errand assured him.
‘He’ll go with you, then,’ Garion decided.
‘Thank you,’ Errand said simply.
‘You’re welcome, Errand.’
‘And done!’ Errand could hear the voice as clearly as if it had spoken in his own mind.
‘What?’ Garion’s silent reply was startled.
‘Excellently done, Garion. I want these two to be together. They have things to do that need the both of them.’ Then the voice was gone.
Chapter Six
‘The best way to begin is to lay a tunic or a coat across his back,’ Hettar said in his quiet voice. The tall Algar wore his usual black leather and he stood with Errand in the pasture lying to the west of Poledra’s cottage. ‘Be sure that it’s something that has your scent on it. You want him to get used to your smell and the idea that it’s all right if something that smells like you is on his back.’
‘He already knows what I smell like, doesn’t he?’ Errand asked.
‘This is just a little different,’ Hettar told him. ‘You have to go at these things slowly. You don’t want to frighten him. If he’s frightened, he’ll try to throw you off his back.’
‘We’re friends,’ Errand tried to explain. ‘He knows I won’t do anything to hurt him, so why should he try to do something to hurt me?’
Hettar shook his head and looked out over the rolling grassland. ‘Just do it the way I explained, Errand,’ he said patiently. ‘Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.’
‘If you really want me to,’ Errand replied, ‘but I think it’s an awful waste of time.’
‘Trust me.’
Errand obediently laid one of his old tunics across the horse’s back several times while the horse looked at him curiously, quite obviously wondering what he was doing. Errand wished that he could make Hettar understand. They had already wasted a good part of the morning on the hawk-faced Algar warrior’s cautious approach to horse training. If they had just got right on with it, Errand knew that he and the horse could be galloping together across the free open expanse of hills and valleys stretched out before them.
‘Is that enough?’ Errand asked after he had put the tunic on the horse’s back several times. ‘Can I get on him now?’
Hettar sighed. ‘It looks as if you’re going to have to learn the hard way,’ he said. ‘Go ahead and climb on, if you want. Try to find a soft place to land when he throws you off, though.’
‘He wouldn’t do that,’ Errand replied confidently. He put his hand on the chestnut’s neck and gently led him over to where a white boulder stuck up out of the turf.
‘Don’t you think you ought to bridle him first?’ Hettar asked him. ‘At least that gives you something to hang on to.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Errand replied. ‘I don’t believe he’d like that bridle.’
‘It’s up to you,’ Hettar said. ‘Do it any way you like. Just try not to break anything when you fall.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I’ll fall.’
‘Tell me, do you know what the word “wager” means?’
Errand laughed and climbed up on the boulder. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘here we go.’ He threw his leg over the horse’s back.
The colt flinched slightly and stood trembling.
‘It’s all right,’ Errand assured him in a calm voice.
The horse turned and looked at him with soft astonishment in his large, liquid eyes.
‘You’d better hang on,’ Hettar warned, but his eyes had an oddly puzzled look, and his voice was not quite as certain as the words.
‘He’s fine.’ Errand flexed his legs, not actually even bringing his heels in contact with the chestnut’s flanks. The horse took a tentative step forward and then looked back enquiringly.
‘That’s the idea,’ Errand encouraged him.
The horse took several more steps, then stopped to look back over his shoulder again.
‘Good,’ Errand said, patting his neck. ‘Very, very good.’
The horse pranced about enthusiastically.
‘Watch out!’ Hettar said sharply.
Errand leaned forward and pointed toward a grassy knoll several hundred yards off to the southwest. ‘Let’s go up there,’ he said into the sharply upstanding ear.<
br />
The horse gave a sort of delighted shudder, bunched himself, and ran for the hilltop as hard as he could. When, moments later, they crested the knoll, he slowed and pranced about proudly.
‘All right,’ Errand said, laughing with sheer delight. ‘Now, why don’t we go to that tree way over there on that other hillside?’
‘It was unnatural,’ Hettar said moodily that evening as they all sat at the table in Poledra’s cottage, bathed in the golden firelight.
‘They seem to be doing all right,’ Durnik said mildly.
‘But he’s doing everything wrong,’ Hettar protested. ‘That horse should have gone absolutely wild when Errand just got on him like that without any warning. And you don’t tell a horse where you want him to go. You have to steer him. That’s what the reins are for.’
‘Errand’s an unusual boy,’ Belgarath told him, ‘and the horse is an unusual horse. As long as they get along and understand each other, what difference does it make?’
‘It’s unnatural,’ Hettar said again with a baffled look. ‘I kept waiting for the horse to panic, but his mind stayed absolutely calm. I know what a horse is thinking, and about the only thing that colt was feeling when Errand got on his back was curiosity. Curiosity! He didn’t do or think anything the way he should.’ He shook his head darkly, and his long black scalplock swung back and forth as if in emphasis. ‘It’s unnatural,’ he growled as if that were the only word he could think of to sum up the situation.
‘I think you’ve already said that several times, Hettar,’ Polgara told him. ‘Why don’t we just drop the subject—since it seems to bother you so much—and you can tell me about Adara’s baby instead.’
An expression of fatuous pleasure came over Hettar’s fierce, hawk-like face. ‘He’s a boy,’ he said with the overwhelming pride of a new father.
‘We gathered that,’ Polgara said calmly. ‘How big was he when he was born?’
‘Oh—’ Hettar looked perplexed. ‘About so big, I’d say.’ He held his hands half a yard apart.
‘No one took the trouble to measure him?’
‘They might have done that, I suppose. My mother and the other ladies were doing all sorts of things right after he came.’
‘And would you care to estimate his weight?’
‘Probably about as much as a full-grown hare, I suppose—a fairly good-sized one—or perhaps the weight of one of those red Sendarian cheeses.’
‘I see. Perhaps a foot and a half long and eight or nine pounds—is that what you’re trying to say?’ Her look was steady.
‘About that, I suppose.’
‘Why didn’t you say so, then?’ she demanded in exasperation.
He looked at her, startled. ‘Is it really that important?’
‘Yes, Hettar, it really is that important. Women like to know these things.’
‘I’ll have to remember that. About all I was really interested in was whether he had the usual number of arms, legs, ears, and noses—things like that—that and making sure that his very first food was mare’s milk, of course.’
‘Of course,’ she said acidly.
‘It’s very important, Polgara,’ he assured her. ‘Every Algar’s first drink is mare’s milk.’
‘That makes him part horse, I suppose.’
He blinked. ‘No, of course not, but it establishes a sort of bond.’
‘Did you milk the mare for him? Or did you make him crawl out and find one for himself?’
‘You’re taking all this very oddly, Polgara.’
‘Blame it on my age,’ she said in a dangerous voice.
He caught that tone almost immediately. ‘No, I don’t think I’d want to do that.’
‘Wise decision,’ Durnik murmured. ‘You said that you were going up into the mountains of Ulgoland.’
Hettar nodded. ‘You remember the Hrulgin?’
‘The flesh-eating horses?’
‘I have a sort of an idea I want to try out. A full-grown Hrulga can’t be tamed, of course, but maybe if I can capture some of their colts—’
‘That’s very dangerous, Hettar,’ Belgarath warned. ‘The whole herd will defend the young.’
‘There are some ways to separate the colts from the rest of the herd.’
Polgara looked at him disapprovingly. ‘Even if you succeed, what do you plan to do with the beasts?’
‘Tame them,’ Hettar replied simply.
‘They can’t be tamed.’
‘Nobody’s ever tried it. And even if I can’t tame them, perhaps I can breed them with ordinary horses.’
Durnik looked puzzled. ‘Why would you want horses with fangs and claws?’
Hettar looked thoughtfully into the fire. ‘They’re faster and stronger than ordinary horses,’ he replied. ‘They can jump much farther, and—’ His voice drifted off into silence.
‘And because you can’t stand the idea of anything that looks like a horse that you can’t ride,’ Belgarath finished for him.
‘That might be a part of it,’ Hettar admitted. ‘They’d give a man a tremendous advantage in a battle, though.’
‘Hettar,’ Durnik said, ‘the most important thing in Algaria is the cattle, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you really want to start raising a breed of horses that would probably look at a cow as something to eat?’
Hettar frowned and scratched at his chin. ‘I hadn’t thought about that,’ he admitted.
Now that he had the horse, Errand’s range increased enormously. The young stallion’s stamina was virtuallyinexhaustible, and he could run for most of the day without tiring. Because Errand was still only a boy, his weight was not enough to burden the enthusiastic animal, and they ran freely over the rolling, grass-covered hills of southern Algaria and down into the tree-dotted expanse of the Vale of Aldur.
The boy rose early each morning and ate his breakfast impatiently, knowing that the chestnut stallion was waiting just outside the cottage and that, as soon as breakfast was over, the two of them could gallop out through the dew-drenched grass glistening green and lush in the slanting, golden rays of the morning sun and pound up the long slopes of the hills lying before them with the cool, sweet morning air rushing past them. Polgara, who seemed to know instinctively why they both had this need to run, said nothing as Errand wolfed down his food, sitting on the very edge of his chair so that at the very instant his plate was clean he could bolt for the door and the day which lay before him. Her eyes were gentle as she watched him, and the smile she gave him when he asked to be excused was understanding.
On a dewy, sun-filled morning in late summer when the tall grass was golden and heavy with ripe seeds, Errand came out of the door of the cottage and touched the bowed neck of his waiting friend with a gentle, caressing hand. The horse quivered with pleasure and took a few prancing steps, eager to be off. Errand laughed, took a handful of the stallion’s mane, swung his leg and flowed up onto the strong, glossy back in a single, fluid move. The horse was running almost before the boy was in place. They galloped up the long hill, paused to look out over the sun-touched grassland lying open before them, and then circled the small valley where the thatched stone cottage lay and headed south, down into the Vale.
This day’s ride was not, as so many of the others had been, a random excursion with no particular goal or purpose. For several days now, Errand had felt the presense of a strange, subtle awareness emanating from the Vale that seemed to be calling to him and, as he had emerged from the cottage door, he had suddenly resolved to find out exactly what it was that seemed to summon him so quietly.
As they moved down into the quiet Vale, past placidly grazing deer and curious rabbits, Errand could feel that awareness growing stronger. It was a peculiar kind of consciousness, dominated more than anything by an incredible patience—an ability, it seemed, to wait for eons for a response to these occasional quiet calls.
As they crested a tall, rounded hill a few leagues to the west of Belgarath’s tower, a brief sh
adow flickered across the bending grass. Errand glanced up and saw a blue-banded hawk circling on motionless wings on a rising column of sun-warmed air. Even as the boy watched, the hawk tilted, sideslipped, and then spiraled down in long, graceful circles. When it was no more than inches above the golden tassels of the ripe grass, it flared its wings, thrust down with its taloned feet and seemed somehow to shimmer in the morning air. When the momentary shimmer faded, the hawk was gone and the hunchbacked Beldin stood waist-deep in the tall grass, with one eyebrow cocked curiously. ‘What are you doing all the way down here, boy?’ he asked without any kind of preamble.
‘Good morning, Beldin,’ Errand said calmly, leaning back to let the horse know that he wanted to stop for a few minutes.
‘Does Pol know how far from home you’ve been going?’ the ugly man demanded, ignoring Errand’s gesture toward politeness.
‘Probably not entirely,’ Errand admitted. ‘She knows that I’m out riding, but she might not know how much ground we can cover.’
‘I’ve got better things to do than spend every day watching over you, you know,’ the irascible old man growled.
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. It’s my month for it.’
Errand looked at him, puzzled.
‘Didn’t you know that one of us watches you every time you leave the cottage?’
‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘You do remember Zedar, don’t you?’
Errand sighed sadly. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Don’t waste your sympathy on him,’ Beldin said. ‘he got exactly what he deserved.’
‘Nobody deserves that.’
Beldin gave a snort of ugly laughter. ‘He’s lucky that it was Belgarath who caught up with him. If it had been me, I’d have done a lot more than just seal him up inside solid rock. But that’s beside the point. You remember why Zedar found you and took you with him?’
‘To steal the Orb of Aldur.’
‘Right. So far as we know, you’re the only person beside Belgarion who can touch the Orb and keep on living. Other people know that, too, so you might as well get used to the idea of being watched. We are not going to let you wander around alone where somebody might get his hands on you. Now, you didn’t answer my question.’
The Malloreon: Book 01 - Guardians of the West Page 10