But it is no u trying to describe the battle from Shasta’s point of view; he uood too little of the fight in general and even of his own part in it. The best way I tell you what really happened is to take you some miles away to where the Hermit of the Southern March sat gazing into the smooth pool beh the spreading tree, with Bree and Hwin and Aravis beside him.
For it was in this pool that the Hermit looked when he wao know what was going on in the world outside the green walls of his hermitage. There, as in a mirror, he could e, at certain times, what was going on ireets of cities far farther south than Tashbaan, or what ships were putting into Redhaven in the remote Seven Isles, or what robbers or wild beasts stirred in the great Western forests between Lantern Waste and Telmar. And all this day he had hardly left his pool, even to eat or drink, for he khat great events were on foot in Arland. Aravis and the Hazed into it too. They could e it was a magic pool： instead of refleg the tree and the sky it revealed cloudy and coloured shapes moving, always moving, in its depths. But they could e nothing clearly. The Hermit could and from time to time he told them what he saw. A little while before Shasta rode into his first battle, the Hermit had begun speaking like this：
“I e owo — three eagles wheeling in the gap by Stormness Head. One is the oldest of all the eagles. He would not be out unless battle was at hand. I e him wheel to and fro, peering down sometimes at Anvard and sometimes to the east, behind Stormness. Ah — I e now what Rabadash and his men have been so busy at all day. They have felled and lopped a great tree and they are now ing out of the woods carrying it as a ram. They have learned something from the failure of last night’s assult. He would have been wir if he had t his men to making ladders： but it takes too long and he is impatient. Fool that he is！ He ought to have ridden back to Tashbaan as soon as the first attack failed, for his whole plan depended on speed and surpri. Now they are bringing their ram into position. King Lune’s men are shooting hard from the walls. Five enes have fallen： but not many will. They have their shields above their heads. Rabadash is giving his orders now. With him are his most trusted lords, fierce Tarkaans from the eastern provinces. I e their faces. There is Corradin of Castle Tormunt, and Azrooh, and Chlamash, and Ilgamuth of the twisted lip, and a tall Tarkaan with a crimson beard —”