Urt’s smooth voice
was a calm counterpoint to all the muscled brutality present in the room. “What
a lovely surprise, Dramok Ospar. What brings you to my office today?”
“I’d heard you had a
new mural painted on your ceiling. I do love artwork.” Ospar had heard no such
thing, but the scenery, depicting Pladon’s flagship mine on an island in the
middle of the peridot sea, was as good an excuse to have a look around the
office as any. Ospar wondered what was hidden in the far corner of the room,
kept secret by a gem-studded metallic screen.
“Ospar, you are too
funny for words. Artwork, indeed. Tell me you’re ready to settle our dispute
for Eruz?” Urt settled back in his chair.
Ospar snorted. “Absolutely
not. I only came to thank you in person for your lovely gifts.”
“Gifts?” Urt crooked
an eyebrow at him, as if he didn’t have a clue what his rival was talking
about.
“One delivered at
Itga’s platinum mines a few days ago. The other sent to my office only
yesterday. For pity’s sake, Urt, can’t you do something classier, subtler, than
explosives?”
He didn’t miss how
Urt’s gaze shifted to the man on his right before giving Ospar an insulted
look. “Mother of All, Ospar, do you really think I’d try to blow you up? I’d
far more enjoy the entertainment of seeing you lose this contract. The look on
your face will be priceless when I win.”
“I’d hoped that was
more your style. One I quite agree with, by the way.”
“Of course you do.
We are alike in many ways.”
“Except in our
choices of business partners. Your backers have a history of removing
competition permanently. It says a lot about a man, the company he keeps.”
Urt stilled. Again,
his glance went to the ugly creature standing next to him. Then he glared at
Ospar. “My financiers are upright citizens of the Empire. Such allegations
hinge on libel, Ospar. Unless you have evidence, you’re asking for trouble.”
Ospar grinned at the
Nobek Urt couldn’t seem to help looking to. “And what are you asking for, Urt?
It seems to me that a failure to deliver the Eruz Mountain Range might not be
looked upon favorably by your…supporters.”
The hobgoblin’s eyes
narrowed. He darted a glance at the equally ugly man on Urt’s left. Urt looked
at both of them before snickering at Ospar. “I’d have never taken you for a
conspiracy theorist. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me the Lost Tribe
is living on a secret colony in the Trag system.”
Ospar was about to
respond when the aide sitting outside the open door cried out. A blurred figure
raced into the room. Yells rang out in the room, and every Nobek abruptly
pointed a blaster at Ospar—and Jol.
His bodyguard was
suddenly in front of Ospar, placing himself between the Dramok and Urt. Three
more Nobeks dashed into the room, looking furious.
How the hell did he get past Pladon’s security?
Ospar’s thought was
a momentary blip in his radar, because bigger issues had arrived with Jol.
Surrounded, with almost a dozen blaster barrels pointed at them both, such
questions faded into the background.
Releasing Winter 2017
