Will went berserk, going for me with everything he had. I’d been trying to make him angry, and it had worked too well. I put a gash on his arm on the way in, then he slammed into me and we both went down, rolling and stabbing with lethal intent. My longer blade was a disadvantage now and I dropped it to catch Will’s wrist, twisting his sword aside. He managed to get on top of me and rained down blows with his free hand, bruising my face. On the fifth or sixth punch I managed to kick him off and rolled away, snatching up my sword as I came to my feet. Will got me in the back before I could turn and I staggered, but I could still move and my own blade slashed him as I spun, forcing him away yet again.

We stared at each other in the yellow light, just outside strike range, probing for a weakness. My lower back was aching where Will had stabbed me but I couldn’t feel any blood and I didn’t let anything show. Will attacked again and I gave ground, backing down the corridor.

Will had pushed me all the way into the cell block, the featureless stone rooms on either side of the corridor standing silent and empty. I knew this place like the back of my hand and didn’t need to look around—and it was just as well, because I couldn’t spare a second to do it. I was a better swordsman than Will but his impossible speed made it hard for me to press the advantage; every time I tried to exploit an opening he’d dodge aside. But for all his speed I could see his attacks coming, and whenever he tried to close the range he found my blade waiting for him. The stone walls echoed with the clash of metal on metal and the scuff of footsteps.

Back and forth the battle went, and neither of us could gain an edge. We were too closely matched, his speed and my precognition cancelling each other out. Twice Will tried grabbing for my sword but got only a cut hand for his trouble. I’d opened up half a dozen cuts and slashes on Will but he didn’t slow down; he was running on high-octane hatred and the pain was just spurring him on. Again and again I manoeuvred into position for a killing blow, and every time he would slide back just out of range, making me overextend. I didn’t talk and neither did he; we couldn’t spare the breath.

This couldn’t go on forever. I was getting tired, feeling the first traces of real fear. If I kept fighting I might win . . . but I might lose, too. You don’t live long if you keep staking your life on coin flips. I needed an edge.