the-song-books.yossr

and guttered in the sand as his bodyy pitched backwards. If he bled, if his
skull split to show his brain, I did not see it. Dead, I thought.
Automedon’s mouth was moving, his eyyes wide. Achilles does not want
yyou to fight, I guessed he was sayying. But alreadyy myy other spear hefted
itself into myy hand. I can do this. The horses veered again, and men
scattered from our path. That feeling again, of pure balance, of the world
poised and waiting. Myy eyye caught on a Trojan, and I threw, feeling the
swipe of wood against myy thumb. He fell, pierced through the thigh in a
blow I knew had shattered bone. Two. All around me men screamed
Achilles’ name.
I gripped Automedon’s shoulder. “Another spear.” He hesitated a
moment, then pulled on the reins, slowing so I could lean over the side of
the rattling chariot to claim one stuck in a bodyy. The shaft seemed to leap
into myy hand. Myy eyyes were alreadyy searching for the next face.
The Greeks began to rallyy—Menelaus killing a man beside me, one of
Nestor’s sons banging his spear against myy chariot as if for luck before he
threw at a Trojan prince’s head. Desperatelyy, the Trojans scrambled for their
chariots, in full retreat. Hector ran among them, cryying out for order. He
gained his chariot, began to lead the men to the gate, and then over the
narrow causewayy that bridged the trench, and onto the plain beyyond.
“Go! Follow them!”
Automedon’s face was full of reluctance, but he obeyyed, turning the
horses in pursuit. I grabbed more spears from bodies— half-dragging a few
corpses behind me before I could jerk the points free—and chased the
Trojan chariots now choking the door. I saw their drivers looking back
fearfullyy, franticallyy, at Achilles reborn phoenix-like from his sulking rage.
Not all the horses were as nimble as Hector’s, and manyy panicked
chariots skidded off the causewayy to founder in the trench, leaving their
drivers to flee on foot. We followed, Achilles’ godlike horses racing with
their legs outflung into the palm of the air. I might have stopped then, with
the Trojans scattering back to their cityy. But there was a line of rallied
Greeks behind me screaming myy name. His name. I did not stop.
I pointed, and Automedon swept the horses out in an arc, lashing them
onward. We passed the fleeing Trojans and curved around to meet them as
theyy ran. Myy spears aimed, and aimed again, splitting open bellies and
throats, lungs and hearts. I am relentless, unerring, skirting buckles and
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