The Horse and His Boy
The Chronicles of Narnia
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Narnia . . . where horses talk . . . where treachery is brewing . . . where destiny awaits.
On a desperate journey, two runaways meet and join forces. Though they are only looking to escape their harsh and narrow lives, they soon find themselves at the center of a terrible battle. It is a battle that will decide their fate and the fate of Narnia itself.
The Horse and His Boy is the third book in C.S. Lewis’s The Chronicles of Narnia a series that has become part of the canon of classic literature, drawing readers of all ages into a magical land with unforgettable characters for over fifty years. This is a novel that stands on its own, but if you would like to return to Narnia, read Prince Caspian , the fourth book in The Chronicles of Narnia.
240 pages; ISBN 9780061974137
Title: The Horse and His Boy
Author: C. S. Lewis; Pauline Baynes
The Hermit of the Southern March
After they had ridden for several hours down the valley, it widened out and they could see what was ahead of them. The river which they had been following here joined a broader river, wide and turbulent, which flowed from their left to their right, towards the east. Beyond this new river a delightful country rose gently in low hills, ridge beyond ridge, to the Northern Mountains themselves. To the right there were rocky pinnacles, one or two of them with snow clinging to the ledges. To the left, pine-clad slopes, frowning cliffs, narrow gorges, and blue peaks stretched away as far as the eye could reach. Shasta could no longer make out Mount Pire. Straight ahead the mountain range sank to a wooded saddle which of course had to be the pass from Archenland into Narnia.
"Broo-hoo-hoo, the North, the green North!" neighed Bree: and certainly the lower hills looked greener and fresher than anything that Aravis and Shasta, with their southern-bred eyes, had ever imagined. Spirits rose as they clattered down to the water's-meet of the two rivers.
The eastern-flowing river, which was pouring from the higher mountains at the western end of the range, was far too swift and too broken with rapids for them to think of swimming it; but after some casting about, up and down the bank, they found a place shallow enough to wade. The roar and clatter of water, the great swirl against the horses' fetlocks, the cool, stirring air and the darting dragonflies, filled Shasta with a strange excitement.
"Friends, we are in Archenland!" said Bree proudly as he splashed and churned his way out on the Northern bank. "I think that river we've just crossed is called the Winding Arrow."
"I hope we're in time," murmured Hwin.
Then they began going up, slowly and zigzagging a good deal, for the hills were steep. It was all open park-like country with no roads or houses in sight. Scattered trees, never thick enough to be a forest, were everywhere. Shasta, who had lived all his life in an almost tree-less grassland, had never seen so many or so many kinds. If you had been there you would probably have known (he didn't) that he was seeing oaks, beeches, silver birches, rowans, and sweet chestnuts. Rabbits scurried away in every direction as they advanced, and presently they saw a whole herd of fallow deer making off among the trees.
"Isn't it simply glorious!" said Aravis.
At the first ridge Shasta turned in the saddle and looked back. There was no sign of Tashbaan; the desert, unbroken except by the narrow green crack down which they had travelled, spread to the horizon.
"Hullo!" he said suddenly. "What's that?"
"What's what?" said Bree, turning round. Hwin and Aravis did the same.
"That," said Shasta, pointing. "It looks like smoke. Is it a fire?"
"Sand-storm, I should say," said Bree.
"Not much wind to raise it," said Aravis.
"Oh!" exclaimed Hwin. "Look! There are things flashing in it. Look! They're helmets -- and armour. And it's moving: moving this way."
"By Tash!" said Aravis. "It's the army. It's Rabadash."
"Of course it is," said Hwin. "Just what I was afraid of. Quick! We must get to Anvard before it." And without another word she whisked round and began galloping North. Bree tossed his head and did the same.
"Come on, Bree, come on," yelled Aravis over her shoulder.
The race was very gruelling for the Horses. As they topped each ridge they found another valley and another ridge beyond it; and though they knew they were going in more or less the right direction, no one knew how far it was to Anvard. From the top of the second ridge Shasta looked back again. Instead of a dust-cloud well out in the desert he now saw a black, moving mass, rather like ants, on the far bank of the Winding Arrow. They were doubtless looking for a ford.
"They're on the river!" he yelled wildly.
"Quick! Quick!" shouted Aravis. "We might as well not have come at all if we don't reach Anvard in time. Gallop, Bree, gallop. Remember you're a war-horse."
It was all Shasta could do to prevent himself from shouting out similar instructions; but he thought, "The poor chap's doing all he can already," and held his tongue. And certainly both Horses were doing, if not all they could, all they thought they could; which is not quite the same thing. Bree had caught up with Hwin and they thundered side by side over the turf. It didn't look as if Hwin could possibly keep it up much longer.
At that moment everyone's feelings were completely altered by a sound from behind. It was not the sound they had been expecting to hear -- the noise of hooves and jingling armour, mixed, perhaps, with Calormene battle-cries. Yet Shasta knew it at once. It was the same snarling roar he had heard that moonlit night when they first met Aravis and Hwin. Bree knew it too. His eyes gleamed red and his ears lay flat back on his skull. And Bree now discovered that he had not really been going as fast -- not quite as fast -- as he could. Shasta felt the change at once. Now they were really going all out. In a few seconds they were well ahead of Hwin.
"It's not fair," thought Shasta. "I did think we'd be safe from lions here!"
He looked over his shoulder. Everything was only too clear. A huge tawny creature, its body low to the ground, like a cat streaking across the lawn to a tree when a strange dog has got into the garden, was behind them. And it was nearer every second and half second.
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