Jarret came towards him fast, moving his knife in swift patterns through the air to make it harder to block. Corso feinted to one side, then managed to grab Jarret's knife-hand before flopping on to his back.
Jarret was pulled along with him, and as Corso hit the ground he shoved both feet into his opponent's stomach, so that the momentum of the fall carried Jarret over the top of his head. Corso meanwhile kept a tight grip on Jarret's hand and wrist, twisting hard.
Sharp grit dug into Corso's back even as he caught sight of Jarret's pained, tight-clenched expression as he rolled past him. The man's knife-hand was seriously injured now, placing him at a serious disadvantage.
A soft murmur arose from the watching crowd, and Corso estimated they were already almost a minute into the challenge.
He got himself back upright, surreptitiously scooping a small handful of dust and grit into his left hand. He found he was now close to the centre of the combat arena, the remaining knife within easy reach. He took it, and found Jarret ready facing him once more, his own blade now grasped in his weaker left hand. By now the cold would be seeping in past the dense grease coating his skin, sapping his strength. Corso could feel it too: an icy numbness spreading through his arms, while slowly and inexorably weakening him.
Corso caught sight once more of that same lone figure standing well back from the howling mob of onlookers. It seemed impossible, but in that moment he felt certain it was Dakota.
He went on the attack, moving in fast, and gratified to see Jarret take a defensive step backwards in response. Corso swung his knife towards his opponent's head, but Jarret ducked easily, and attempted to parry left-handed. Corso dodged the blade and threw the handful of grit straight into Jarret's eyes.
As Jarret backed off, something slithered across his eyes. Corso realized that he had artificial nictitating membranes – secondary eyelids. He had hoped to blind his opponent, but the ploy had not worked.
Corso covered his brief disappointment by going on the attack once more. Jarret stood his ground, blocking Corso's stabbing thrust and taking the opportunity to punch him hard in the throat. Corso jerked back, ignoring the pain, and moved in close to his rival once again.
When he had the chance, he grabbed hold of Jarret's injured hand once again, and twisted it as hard as possible.
Jarret's teeth clenched in agony, then Corso felt something slice through the flesh over his ribcage. He twisted away, but did not dare spare a glance down in case Jarret took advantage of his distraction.
At least two minutes had passed, and the fight became more desperate, Jarret feinting towards Corso, then kicking out hard once he was close enough. Corso neatly avoided the kick and threw himself forward, trying for a chance at Jarret's jugular. Instead Jarret managed a successful slash at Corso's back, scoring a deep flesh wound.
They hit the ground together, Corso on top. Jarret lost his grip on his knife once again and it spun out of reach. Corso tried to get in close with his own blade, but Jarret fought furiously, pressing the heel of one hand against Corso's face while maintaining a grip on his knife-hand with the other.
A deep thrumming began to fill Corso's ears at the same moment he realized most of the blood staining the ground immediately around them was his own. He had to finish it right now, or he was going to die.
He let go of his knife and used his feet to propel himself in an arc over the top of Jarret's head that landed him on his back, head to head with his opponent on the frozen soil. Then he quickly reached up and wrapped both arms around Jarret's neck before the other had a chance to twist out of the way. Corso sat up quickly, digging the heels of his boots into the hard soil and pulling Jarret after him, twisting his neck backwards.
Jarret struggled and let out a gargling scream, then there was a terrible, sickening crunch as his neck snapped. He twitched spasmodically for a few moments and then fell still. Corso released him and struggled back to his feet, before retrieving one of the knives and stabbing it into the ground to signal the end of the challenge.
Kenley and some of Corso's staff darted forward, grabbing hold of him before he crumpled to his knees. His entire body now felt like it was on fire. As if from a great distance, he heard McDade call out the duration of the fight: three minutes and twelve seconds, Corso's longest-lasting challenge yet.
The air was filled with shouting and booing from Jarret's angry supporters – as well as from those who had bet on the wrong man.
'Close,' Corso mumbled, half aware of Kenley's face near to his own. 'Too close.'
'You'll be fine. The doctor's ready to stitch you up now.'
As they carried him out of the combat ring, he looked around again to see if he could spot Dakota – but she had vanished, if she had ever been there at all.
Corso was gently heaved on to a stretcher, and realized Breisch was holding one end of it. He was then lifted into the back of an aid-copter originally used for ferrying injured soldiers out of the battlefield.
'Put him down now. The rest of you, outside,' he heard Breisch order. 'Everyone but the doctors.'
Someone pushed a needle into his arm and Corso tasted peppermint on his tongue. Two faces hovered within view, as he saw scissors cutting away his shirt, revealing a wound in his side which was much deeper than he had realized.
For a little while, everything seemed to get increasingly far away.
'Second wound's on his other side,' he heard a doctor say. 'We'll have to turn him. Ready… now.'
Everything got dark.
Chapter Thirteen
When Corso next opened his eyes, he found himself in a private room inside a hospital. The curtains were open, and the only light in the room came from the twinkling skyline of Unity beyond. The Senate building was visible towards the centre of town, a dome wreathed in artfully tangled girders and lit from beneath by floodlights.
An ambient video loop of a shoreline under a vault of grey clouds cycled across an expanse of wall next to the door. He mumbled a series of commands until he found one that caused the loop to switch off, then let his head fall back against the pillow, enjoying the sudden silence.
'You're back, I see.'
Corso lurched up in surprise. Breisch had been sitting the whole time in a chair to one side of the bed, nearly invisible in the shadows.
'How long?' Corso managed to ask, before letting his head sink back. His throat and mouth felt raw and ragged.
Breisch lifted himself out of the chair and stepped over to stand beside the bed. 'You've been out cold for two days. The med boys patched you up good, though. That was a hell of a fight.'
'I thought I was a dead man.'
'You very nearly were. You kept your head, though, when Jarret didn't. He thought he had you figured out.'
It was coming back now, yet it all felt like it had happened a million years ago. 'I remember now. Listen, I'm sorry I-'
'It's all right,' Breisch cut him off. 'I think we'd gone about as far as we could with your training anyway. I just wanted to be here when you woke up. There's somebody else here who's been waiting to see you since they choppered you in.'
Corso watched as Breisch stepped towards the door, pulling it open.
'Wait.. ' began Corso.
'Good luck, son,' said Breisch. 'I've enjoyed working with you.' He stepped through and was gone.