'No. I've told you, I'm not built to feel like that. I am powerful now, strong. Why would I want to change that?'
'I don't know. I thought that if you aged maybe you'd be able to, you know, retire one day. Once the Crusade is over I mean.'
'Over?'
'Yes, once the fighting is done and the Emperor's realm is restored.'
Loken didn't answer immediately, instead continuing to polish his armour. She was about to ask the question again when he said, 'I don't know that it ever will be over, Mer-sadie. Since I joined the Mournival, I've spoken to a number of people who seem to think we'll never finish the Great Unification. Or if we do, that it won't last.'
She laughed. 'Sounds like you've been spending too much time with Ignace. Has his poetry taken a turn for the maudlin again?'
He shook his head. 'No.'
Then what is it? What makes you think like this? Those books you've been borrowing from Sindermann?'
'No,' repeated Loken, his pale grey eyes darkening at the mention of the venerable primary iterator, and she sensed that he would not be drawn any further on the subject. Instead, she stored this conversation away for another time, one when he might be more forthcoming on these uncharacteristically gloomy thoughts.
She decided to ask another question and steer the conversation in a more upbeat direction, when a looming
shadow fell over the pair of them and she turned to see the massive, slab-like form of First Captain Abaddon towering over her.
As usual, his long hair was pulled up in its silver-sheathed topknot, the rest of his scalp shaved bare. The captain of the First Company of the Sons of Horas was dressed in simple sparring fatigues and carried a monstrous sword with a toomed edge.
He glared disapprovingly at Mersadie.
'First Captain Abaddon-' she began, bowing her head, but he cut her off.
'You bleed?' said Abaddon and took Loken's arm in his powerful grip, the sonorous tone of his voice only accentuating his massive bulk. 'The sparring machine drew Astartes blood?'
Loken glanced at the bulging muscle where the blade had cut across the black, double-headed eagle tattoo there. 'Yes, Ezekyle, it was a long session and I was getting tired. It's nothing.'
Abaddon grunted and said, You're getting soft, Loken. Perhaps if you spent more time in the company of warriors than troublesome poets and inquisitive scriveners you'd be less inclined to such tiredness,’
'Perhaps,’ agreed Loken, and Mersadie could sense the crackling tension between the two Astartes. Abaddon nodded curtly to Loken and gave her a last, barbed glance before turning away to the sparring cages, his sword buzzing into throaty life.
