Someone at the head of the column winded the horn every now and then， and each time the sound came from a little farther off. He couldn’t see any of the others now， but of course he‘d be able to as soon as he got round the next bend. But when he rounded it he still couldn’t see them. In fact he could see nothing at all. His horse was walking now. “Get on， Horse， get on，” said Shasta. Then came the horn， very faint. Bree had always told him that he must keep his heels well turned out， and Shasta had got the idea that something very terrible would happen if he dug his heels into a horse‘s sides. This seemed to him an occasion for trying it. “Look here， horse，” he said， “if you don’t buck up， do you know what I‘ll do？ I’ll dig my heels into you. I really will.” The horse， however， took no notice of this threat. So Shasta settled himself firmly in the saddle， gripped with his knees， clenched his teeth， and punched both the horse‘s sides with his heels as hard as he could.
The only result was that the horse broke into a kind of pretence of a trot for five or six paces and then subsided into a walk again. And now it was quite dark and they seemed to have given up blowing that horn. The only sound was a steady drip-drip from the branches of the trees.
“Well， I suppose even a walk will get us somewhere sometime，” said Shasta to himself. “I only hope I shan’t run into Rabadash and his people.”
He went on for what seemed a long time， always at a walking pace. He began to hate that horse， and he was also beginning to feel very hungry.
Presently he came to a place where the road divided into two. He was just wondering which led to Anvard when he was startled by a noise from behind him. It was the noise of trotting horses. “Rabadash！” thought Shasta. He had no way of guessing which road Rabadash would take. “But if I take one，” said Shasta to himself， “he may take the other： and if I stay at the crossroads I‘m sure to be caught.” He dismounted and led his horse as quickly as he could along the right-hand road.
The sound of the cavalry grew rapidly nearer and in a minute or two Shasta realized that they were at the crossroads. He held his breath， waiting to see which way they would take.
There came a low word of command- “Halt！” -then a moment of horsey noises-nostrils blowing， hoofs pawing， bits being champed， necks being patted. Then a voice spoke：
“Attend， all of you，” it said. “We are now within a furlong of the castle. Remember your orders. Once we are in Narnia， as we should be by sunrise， you are to kill as little as possible. On this venture you are to regard every drop of Narnian blood as more precious than a gallon of your own. On this venture， I say. The gods will send us a happier hour and then you must leave nothing alive between Cair Paravel and the Western Waste. But we are not yet in Narnia. Here in Archenland it is another thing. In the assault on this castle of King Lune’s， nothing matters but speed. Show your mettle. It must be mine within an hour. And if it is， I give it all to you. I reserve no booty for myself. Kill me every barbarian male within its walls， down to the child that was born yesterday， and everything else is yours to divide as you please-thewomen， the gold， the jewels， the weapons， and the wine. The man that
I see hanging back when we come to the gates shall be burned alive. In the name of Tash the irresistible， the inexorable-forward！”
With a great cloppitty-clop the column began to move， and Shastabreathed again. They had taken the other road.
Shasta thought they took a long time going past， for though he had been talking and thinking about “two hundred horse” all day， he had not realized how many they really were. But at last the sound died away and once more he was alone amid the drip-drip from the trees.
He now knew the way to Anvard but of course he could not now go there： that would only mean running into the arms of Rabadash‘s troopers. “What on earth am I to do？” said Shasta to himself. But he remounted his horse and continued along the road he had chosen， in the faint hope of finding some cottage where he might ask for shelter and a meal. He had thought， of course， of going back to Aravis andBree and Hwin at the hermitage， but he couldn’t because by now he had not the least idea of the direction.
“After all，” said Shasta， “this road is bound to get to somewhere.”
But that all depends on what you mean by somewhere. The road kept on getting to somewhere in the sense that it got to more and more trees， all dark and dripping， and to colder and colder air. And strange， icy winds kept blowing the mist past him though they never blew it away. If he had been used to mountain country he would have realized that this meant he was now very high up-perhaps right at the top of the pass. But Shasta knew nothing about mountains.
“I do think，” said Shasta， “that I must be the most unfortunate boy that ever lived in the whole world. Everything goes right for everyone except me. Those Narnian lords and ladies got safe away from Tashbaan； I was left behind. Aravis and Bree and Hwin are all as snug as anything with that old Hermit： of course I was the one who was sent on. King Lune and his people must have got safely into the castle and shut the gates long before Rabadash arrived， but I get left out.”
And being very tired and having nothing inside him， he felt so sorry for himself that the tears rolled down his cheeks.
What put a stop to all this was a sudden fright. Shasta discovered that someone or somebody was walking beside him. It was pitch dark and he could see nothing. And the Thing （or Person） was going so quietly that he could hardly hear any footfalls. What he could hear was breathing. His invisible companion seemed to breathe on a very large scale， and Shasta got the impression that it was a very large creature. And he had come to notice this breathing so gradually that he had really no idea how long it had been there. It was a horrible shock.