The Primarch did, but his mind was on something else entirely.
His injuries still plagued him. Never a day passed when they did not. He was a warrior. His whole life was bound up with his fitness, his strength, his endurance. He had been brought up to the warriors' code. When a warrior could not stand, it was time for him to die.
Kozorr could still stand, even if his stance was twisted to compensate for his shattered leg. The break in the bones had never healed properly, nor had the damage to his spine.
He could also wield a weapon, although not with the skill he once had. His hand was torn and mutilated. He was unable to flex his fingers, to grip and relax, to touch or to grasp. He had forged a denn'bok he could use with only his one good hand. In the year and more since he had been injured, he had learned to adjust his entire fighting style to compensate.
He was a capable warrior now. Before, he had been so much better. Precious few had been able to match him. Kalain had been better, as their brief fight had proved so painfully. Sonovar, probably. Deeron, almost certainly. Sech Durhan, without a doubt.
Sinoval, of course.
But now.... he would never be as skilled with the pike as he had been, but he was still a warrior. He could still fight, and he would continue to do so while there was breath in his body.
He was a warrior. War was all he knew.
His opponent's pike parried his swift, thrusting blows, knocking them aside. He had to thrust more than was possible with a normal-sized pike, but his was now quicker and easier to handle than his old one. His opponent had to adjust her fighting style as well. So many of the techniques she knew were only for opponents wielding full-sized blades.
She lashed out with a sweeping blow aimed at his ribs. He caught it with his blade and turned the blow aside, down and away. A gentle push, and she was slightly off balance. Spiralling on his good leg, he spun into her side, thumping his elbow into her armpit. His weight forced her off balance, and she fell.
His weak leg gave way beneath him however, and he fell also. He maintained his grip on his pike and managed to keep it away from her as he fell, so that he did not accidentally injure her with it.
He could hear her sharp release of breath as he landed on top of her, and see her dark eyes widen with shock and pain. A moment later however, they were dancing.
'There's no need to throw yourself at me,' she said. She was smiling.
'My apologies, my la.... My apologies, Tirivail,' he said. He had been about to call her 'my lady'. He had only ever called one woman that, and she was not here.
'No need to apologise,' she said, still smiling. 'Unless you really want to, of course. Where did I go wrong?'
'You overextended your swing,' came a soft voice from the side. Tirivail's smile faded, and she muttered something unpleasant under her breath. Kozorr allowed himself the luxury of a smile as he rolled away from her and forced himself awkwardly to his feet. His weak leg was paining him. He ignored it.
Rastenn stepped forward. 'You left yourself too open to a swift thrust, or indeed a manouevre such as that performed by the Shai Alyt.'
Kozorr grimaced when he heard that title. He had not used it since he had come to Sonovar, but some of the others here insisted on giving him it. He had of course been awarded the title by Kalain, so he supposed some of them here might still acknowledge it.
Tirivail jumped to her feet with such grace that Kozorr winced. He had been able to move like that, once.
'I'd like to see you take him on, Rastenn,' she said sardonically. 'You'd be surprised how different it is fighting against someone with.... ah.... such a small weapon.' Kozorr smiled.
He and Tirivail had been training almost every day since his return from Cathedral and his failed mission to destroy the Well of Souls. She seemed to enjoy his company, and he did.... find some pleasure in hers. She had a ready wit, a determined dedication both to serve her people and learn from him, and she was.... not unattractive. She had made it clear to him more than once that she might wish to take matters a little further.
But she was not Kats, she was not the one he loved and dreamed of. It had been to help Kats that he had sustained his injuries in the first place, and he would gladly have done the same again, even knowing the price. He wanted nothing more than to tell Kats how he felt, what he wished more than anything else....
But he could not. Not yet. Not until he had proven himself better than Sinoval. Not until he had proven himself more worthy of her love than the Primarch.
'Shai Alyt Kozorr is a better blademaster than I could ever be,' Rastenn said with a graceful bow. 'With a normal-sized pike, or otherwise. We are fortunate he is willing to teach us what he knows.'
'I was trained by Neroon and Branmer,' Kozorr said, looking at the two of them. They had been two of the first to join Sonovar in his rebellion against Sinoval. They were the people Sonovar trusted most, apart from Tirivail's father Takier, and the loathsome, mutilated little priestling Forell. He could well see why Rastenn and Tirivail were so trusted. They were loyal, strong and brave. Neither Rastenn's youth and inexperience nor the treachery of Tirivail's sister Lanniel had altered that. Rastenn's youth belied a strong desire for glory and victory, almost as strong as that within Sonovar himself, and Tirivail had proved herself countless times over.
'And after them, by Sinoval the Traitor,' added Rastenn. 'A fine pedigree.'
'Sinoval was not always so.... misguided,' sighed Kozorr. 'He believed in the good of our people, once.'
'And now he has lost his way, corrupted by Shagh Toth and workers. A shame, to be sure.'
'Yes,' said Kozorr softly. He was thinking of workers again, or one worker in particular.
'Come on,' said Tirivail, stepping forward and raising her pike again. 'One more try. I won't be beaten so easily this time.'
'We shall see,' said Rastenn pessimistically.
Kozorr dared to smile, and raised his pike. 'In the Name of the Betrayer,' he said, formally. 'So do we serve.'
'So do we serve,' added Tirivail.
They moved forward to spar once more.
Another fun-filled day of work in the Pit.
Zack Allan, the ever-busy and ever-popular Chief of Security for Sector 301, Proxima, returned to his apartment in the same mood he usually did: complete boredom with a side serving of depression and a dash of self-pity.
It had been an ordinary, run-of-the-mill sort of day. No murders (although not from lack of trying), a couple of assaults, assorted robberies, a number of drunk and disorderly, and further reports on the non-apprehension of Sector 301's most wanted.
So, after a productive day spent talking to Trace, watching the game and making a heady effort at demolishing his new supply of chocolate, Zack headed home, ready for a night of his usual. Pizza from the place around the corner, a couple of cans of something vaguely alcoholic and whatever drivel was on the vids.
Join the Security Forces. Serve your people. That's what the ads had said.
Yeah, right. This was just what he had had in mind when he joined up, serving his people. Running the biggest dirt pile anywhere this side of the Rim, taking money from big businessmen to turn a blind eye to whatever they were doing to his people, and generally trying to forget what a scummy life he had.
Well, it could be worse. He was alive, pretty well off as far as money went, he had a decent apartment, a couple of good friends.
His apartment had one of the best security systems available anywhere in Sector 301. Of course, that meant that anywhere else on Proxima it was the sort of thing you'd use to guard a dog kennel. It also meant that anyone with an iota of skill at electronic lock-breaking could get in and out easily. Not that he had anything worth stealing.
As he ambled through to his lounge, tossing the pizza box onto the nearby table, he didn't bother activating the lights. He only sighed softly and plonked himself down on the sofa. 'All right,' he said in a tired voice. 'Who's there?'
'Lights,' said a soft, female voice.
