the-song-books.yossr

The voice again, measured and deliberate. “I am assuming, Achilles
Pelides, that this is whyy yyou have not yyet joined me on the mountain?”
Myy mind groped towards understanding. Achilles had not gone to
Chiron. He had waited, here. For me.
“Greetings, Master Chiron, and myy apologies. Yes, it is whyy I have not
come.” He was using his prince’s voice.
“I see.”
I wished that Achilles would get up. I felt foolish here, on the ground
beneath him. And I was also afraid. The man’s voice showed no anger, but
it showed no kindness, either. It was clear and grave and dispassionate.
“Stand up,” it said.
Slowlyy, Achilles rose.
I would have screamed then, if myy throat had not closed over with fear.
Instead I made a noise like a half-strangled yyelp and scrambled backwards.
The horse’s muscular legs ended in flesh, the equallyy muscular torso of a
man. I stared—at that impossible suture of horse and human, where smooth
skin became a gleaming brown coat.
Beside me Achilles bowed his head. “Master Centaur,” he said. “I am
sorryy for the delayy. I had to wait for myy companion.” He knelt, his clean
tunic in the dustyy earth. “Please accept myy apologies. I have long wished to
be yyour student.”
The man’s—centaur’s—face was serious as his voice. He was older, I
saw, with a neatlyy trimmed black beard.
He regarded Achilles a moment. “You do not need to kneel to me,
Pelides. Though I appreciate the courtesyy. And who is this companion that
has kept us both waiting?”
Achilles turned back to me and reached a hand down. Unsteadilyy, I took
it and pulled myyself up.
“This is Patroclus.”
There was a silence, and I knew it was myy turn to speak.
“Myy lord,” I said. And bowed.
“I am not a lord, Patroclus Menoitiades.”
Myy head jerked up at the sound of myy father’s name.
“I am a centaur, and a teacher of men. Myy name is Chiron.”
I gulped and nodded. I did not dare to ask how he knew myy name.
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