‘There are two options when faced with battle,’ Hetidor had said, probably spitting down in Fabian’s face after he’d thrown him to the gymnasia mat for the hundredth time. ‘You can run, or you can fight. But there is only ever one outcome. Either way, one day you will die. Cowardice might spare you awhile, but time will not, and old men serve the Emperor badly in a fight.’
Hetidor had reached down, grasped his hand, and pulled him to his feet. In Fabian’s dazed state, it was as if he now reached out of the past and dragged him towards the enemy. He reacted automatically. His pistol was in one hand, his drawn sword in the other, field buzzing in the sooty air. He strode past the soldier, who was kneeling and snapping off bright blue beams of las-fire down the corridor. Fabian raised his pistol and waited for a clear target.
From: Godblight, Guy Haley