Power of Words: Part 3

Excerpt from Dragon’s Heart:

“Gentlemen” he called down, coming to a stop at the dark marble railing and leaning against it, ignoring the dual staircase that wound its way to the entranceway below, “how lovely to see there are more of you.”
“Where is our Brother?” the voices all seemed to speak in unison and the Mercenary glanced at his steward, raising an eyebrow and receiving a shrug in response.
“He’s resting at the moment, fear not.”
“We have lost contact with him” the voices said, again in unison.
“Resting often means lowered brain activity, perhaps that is the problem.” Unlike many mercenaries, he was quite happy to annoy his enemies, and these dark cloaked men were quite clearly his enemies.
“You lie” the voice snarled, several of the dark cloaked men stepping forwards.
“Come now” he laughed, his golden-grey eyes watching the men closely as images flashed before his eyes, “I’m hardly lying to you.”
“Our Brother is not resting!” the voices howled and the Mercenary laughed in response.
“Untrue” he cackled, “your Brother rests, the difference is that this is a rest from which he won’t wake up from.”
“So you killed him?” the voices tone had switched from angry to suddenly calm, and the Mercenary tilted his head slightly to the left, his fingers brushing against Elapse.
“I killed him” he replied, watching as the images danced and shifted, “but he attacked me, not the other way round. You can hardly expect me to sit back and let myself be stabbed.”
“He did no such thing” the voices screeched, the angry tone back.
“Even if he didn’t” the Mercenary shrugged, “there’s hardly anything you can do about it. I have fifty-seven men armed with crossbows, all proficient in their use, exactly what could you possibly do?”
“Kill them” the voices replied in a menacing hiss, and more than one crossbowman shifted uncomfortably.
“You might kill one or two” he agreed, “but no more, you react quickly, but not fast enough to kill them all.”
“How little you know” the dark cloaked men seethed, spreading out.
“Duck!” he shouted, a moment before throwing knives flew from the hands of the cloaked men. A guard to his left took one in the throat; another further along got one in the eye. Blood sprayed, but apart from those two, none of his men were harmed. The Mercenary let out a harsh laugh, drawing one of the spears from across his back.
“I told you” he smiled, baring his teeth, “no more than two.” The spear left his hands with astonishing speed, slamming straight through the chest of one of the darkly cloaked men. The others turned in shock to stare at their comrade as blood ran down the wooden shaft of the spear. He didn’t care what they were looking at though; the second spear left his hands just as quickly, slamming into another cloaked man’s head, brain matter exploding out from the side. Fury and Stricken flew into his hands, almost of their own free will as he leapt from the railing, landing lightly on the marble floor with his knees bent and moving into a roll. He came up with his blades out to either side, their shocking white blades slicing through dark fabric as sunlight through a darkened sky.
The moment he reached his feet he ducked and spun, a sword drawn from one of the remaining six men bouncing harmlessly against the scaled shield. He spun again, this time throwing his hips to the side to avoid a thrust as he slammed Fury into a man’s chest. He threw himself to the side, tossing Stricken with incredible accuracy, the bright blade taking one of the five cloaked men in the hood. He spun as another cloaked man thrust at him, his shield swinging into his left hand smoothly as he pinned the blade against the marble floor. He looked up and grinned ferally into the hood, driving Fury up and in. He pushed back off his toes, his golden-grey eyes watching the remaining three men carefully. His body swayed ever so lightly as the three men approached their steps in unison. He feigned left, then right and charged down the middle. He swung his left hand around, ducking slightly, catching the swords on his shield and driving Fury into the middle man’s groin.