Guardians of the West

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 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, I 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 virtually inexhaustible, 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 dewdrenched 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 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 others had been, a random excursion with no particular goal or purpose. For days now, Errand had felt the presence of a strange, 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 shadow 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.