Zotikas: Episode 1: Clash of Heirs (10 page)

Despite the immediacy of the danger, Kieler felt
frozen in the heat. Then the instant passed and he was scrambling down the
trunk like a slink on a pipe. He hurled himself over the balcony rail as the
winter-bare limbs of the tree caught fire behind him. Slamming onto his back on
the balcony floor, he watched, fascinated, as the ball of fire flew past and
continued upward until it blossomed on the underside of the palace. It burned
itself out in grasping tendrils of flame. For a moment, all was dark.

His airship was gone.

He slowly turned his face toward the balcony doors.

There stood the quick-thinking young lady, staring
down at him. She looked calm, even amused, her eyes sparkling green and gold in
the reflection of a firework exploding behind him. He vaguely registered the
colors of her clothing, blue and silver. She said nothing, and after a moment,
spun and left the balcony, leaving him lying flat on his back.

He would have to find his own way from here.

Kieler felt blood dripping down his face, but the
burning cut was nothing to being roasted. It was a precious reminder that
somehow… he was still alive.

The tree that saved him was solidly anchored by its
planter against the rail. The limbs that hung over were still burning like tiny
candles. Whoever found this tree would have an interesting time explaining the
phenomenon. He stood, but the adrenaline must have ebbed and his knees buckled,
forcing him to catch himself against the balcony rail.

The empty space before him suddenly pressed into his
awareness and he felt a wave of cold fear.

My ship… gone.

My life…
Standing before the dark abyss below him and the smoking tree beside, the
relative value of his life over his ship infused him with a profound sense of
gratitude. He wiped the blood off his face with his hand, and wiped his hand on
the railing. The flow was beginning to ebb.

Kieler turned toward the spire and entered through the
balcony doors. Ahead of him was a bank of elevators that would take him up to
the great hall. But first, he found a washroom and cleaned up.

The Executive Chair and the real Ortessi heir had
actually met once before, one week after Orlazrus Ortessi’s birth. Kieler was
pretty sure that Ek Threzhel would not recognize him.

On the short ride up the elevator, Kieler marveled
that he actually seemed to have made it. So much had gone wrong: his seemingly
precognitive tail, then being spotted on Garrist Ring, having holes shot
through his airship followed by the flight through the fireworks, and finally
nearly being roasted like a slink on a spit.

And yet, here he stood.

He wouldn’t have made it without the help of that
young lady. Cute too. He had been tutored and quizzed extensively by Movus on
all the important houses, their leaders and their progeny, their colors and
corporations. Blue and silver was house Vel, Velator being the Prime with only
one heir, his daughter, Lhea Velirith. Something had happened to all the other
members of his family, though Movus had never told the story if he knew it.

So the young lady in blue and silver was probably Lhea
Velirith. That she had helped him, thinking quickly by knocking that planter
over, was another fortunate circumstance that bordered on supernatural. Why was
she down there, with no protection, when everyone else was up at the party? And
her unruffled amusement was not typical for such a young woman. That she left
the scene when he seemed likely to survive was understandable considering his
dramatic and clandestine arrival. His character and intentions would have been
highly suspect and potentially violent.
She might still turn me in.
But
he didn’t think so. Nevertheless, she was wise to leave.

But Kieler suspected she didn’t leave because she felt
threatened by him. It was almost as if she didn’t want to have to explain
herself
.

The elevator doors slid open with a clanking of the
twin, highly-polished, bronze doors. Kieler stepped out in the persona of the
Ortessi Heir, his fine-woven uniform resplendent in green and gold (if a tad
crumpled from his exertions). Over his heart he now wore the emerald luzhril
and amber sigil of House Ortessi.

He stopped just outside the elevator and stood
patiently, using the time before he was noticed to scan the room. The central
dance floor, tiled in the traditional honeycomb pattern, stood empty. Everyone
milled about on the terrace that surrounded the great hall, looking outward to
watch the fireworks. The reception line had dispersed by this time, but because
the fireworks held everyone’s attention, his entrance did not cause the stir he
had expected. Though he knew the elevator doors were heavily guarded at the
Garrist level, these had but one guard on either side who spared him only a
curious glance.

Kieler spotted the Executive Chair’s booth and strode
toward it. The Executive Chair was still in it, as if the fireworks he had
provided did not warrant his interest. Four guards bracketed the booth and eyed
Kieler warily as he approached. He stopped two paces before the seated
Executive Chair, bowed stiffly from the waist, rose, and announced himself.
“Orlazrus Ortessi, at your service.”

The Executive Chair, who had roused himself to sit
closer to the edge of his seat as he noticed Kieler approaching, smiled a bit
cynically.

Fechua MgFellis, recovering from her hesitation to
introduce Orlazrus, remembered her duty. “Ek Threzhel, Prime of House Ek, and
Executive Chair of the Avetoric Omeron.”

Threzhel commented, “Now the real fireworks begin,
eh?”

Kieler allowed himself a slight smile despite the
roiling in his stomach.
This man is responsible for my parents’ deaths.
Kieler tightened control of his thoughts and noticed the Executive Chair
looking off behind him.

Turning, he saw Feleanna Cortatti briskly entering the
hall. Resplendent in a gown of red and black, she had tamed her dark red hair
into a snappy elegance. Flustered and blatantly fuming, she spotted her quarry
safely sheltered in the guarded presence of the Executive Chair.

A giant explosion, both of noise and colored light,
surrounded the great hall as the finale erupted around them, thick with the
gold and purple that lauded house Ek. Appreciative oohs and
aahs
followed. As the spheres faded, the crowd turned, murmuring excitedly as they
reentered the great hall. Suddenly and together, everyone seemed to notice the
man in green and gold standing before the Executive Chair—and Feleanna seething
twenty paces away. The excitement of the firework display dwindled into an
expectant silence as the crowd froze, staring at the scions of two families who
had so much history of conflict, now reunited on such a dramatic stage.

The timing couldn’t have been better. Kieler squelched
the satisfied smile that wanted to burst out of him and glared murderously at
Feleanna. She returned the stare openly, her flinty eyes glancing at the sigil
on his chest. He could see the muscles of her jaw tighten as she clenched her
teeth, biting down on her fury. She took a deep breath, then shifted brazenly
to a more cavalier stance.

When Feleanna turned, head stiffly high in unadmitted
defeat, it was a sign for everyone else to breathe again. Immediately two
houses came scurrying forward; Margríte Merckle, literally pushing her two
boys, one on either side of her; and
Gippo
and
Gamielle Mizgot—although even a “scurry” was not very fast for these two
lumbering frames.

It was comical. He knew both houses wanted to take
credit for “discovering” the legitimate heir of House Ortessi. His presence
destabilized Feleanna’s hold on an enormous amount of real estate, antiques,
artifacts, and intellectual property previously belonging to House Ortessi. Any
reduction of her wealth would diminish her capacity for aggression. Therefore
the appearance of the Ortessi Heir would be beneficial to the Executive Chair,
who knew Feleanna was after his position. Because the Merckles and Mizgots were
dependent on the favor of house Ek, their relationship with the Executive Chair
was crucial to their status.

Movus had perfectly played these two houses against
each other. Running an agency of spies from beneath the Plate, Movus had earned
a reputation as a provider of reliable information across house boundaries.
Kieler and Movus had fed one of Mizgot’s spies tainted information that
Orlazrus Ortessi, the lost heir, was being courted rather cheaply by House
Merckle, to be used as political leverage with the Executive Chair. The
Mizgots, adept at buying favorable regulatory and financial influence,
immediately outbid the Merckles for Orlazrus Ortessi to act as their comrade in
gaining the Executive Chair’s ear.

Considering Kieler, who gave most of the bribe to
Movus, was neither the legitimate nor even the illegitimate son of House
Ortessi, the sum was exceedingly generous. But it was the access to the
Executive Chair and this evening’s gala that he was really after. Access to the
inner circle. And the endorsement of two very powerful families.

The Mizgots built the vehicles that rode the rails of
the tram and powercoach lines. They had been the largest economic power in all
Zotikas at one time—until the economy had declined.

The Merckles were currently rising on a wave of
political socialization. They ran health care facilities of all types. Ten
years ago the Executive Chair and the Omeron had granted government funds for
the Merckles to run
free
clinics. Other medical businesses couldn’t
compete with free, nor could they navigate the maze of paperwork required of
non-government sanctioned facilities. As competitors failed, the Merckles
gained patients whose bill were paid by the Omeron.

One family of doctors, the Sendaris, was now living
under the Plate. Kieler had met them, and since good medical services were
scarce in the underworld, Indis Sendari was making a better living on the black
market than he had fighting government subsidies and regulations above the
Plate.

Margríte Merckle bustled into range. “Your
Chairness
, this is the man! My sons and I have been trying
to arrange an introduction—“

“We are introduced, Margríte, just now,” interrupted
the Executive Chair. She looked put off, glancing at her sons. 

The Mizgot’s, finally arriving across the floor, took
a slightly different tack. Puffing, Verr
Gippo
Mizgot
rhapsodized to the Executive Chair, “This man is the legitimate owner of our
great Theater! Verr Executive Chair, I believe a revival in culture would
further solidify your claim to leading the greatest cultural and economic boom
since Velik himself!”

The fawning was sickening to Kieler, but that’s why he
was here; to crunch these insects like so many skynuts. Looking over the two
new arrivals, he was surprised that despite Gamielle Mizgot’s top-heavy build,
her dress was tenuously suspended by thin straps. Perhaps she considered them a
touch of elegance.

Rather than let the sycophantic behavior continue
interminably, Kieler interjected with intentional softness, so that they had to
lean forward to hear. “Hello, friends. Thank you for your kind words. But my
claim to my family’s past holdings has some obstacles to overcome.” He flashed
a glance toward Feleanna. “Perhaps the Executive Chair would aid me in the
reestablishment of some of my family’s property and business. But now is not
the time to discuss these things.”

The Executive Chair nodded. With half-lidded eyes he
looked at the two obsequious families before him as if they were not to be
trusted with information as delicate as what was for dinner. He spoke to
Kieler. “Good to see you passed the test of getting here. You’re not much use
if you can’t live to see the new year,” the Executive Chair said, illuminating
the harsh reality. “But you’ve not re-met any of your family’s old friends,
have you? Friends, I’m afraid, that didn’t help your family much twenty years
ago. Perhaps they’ve changed some. Shall we see?”

Kieler didn’t respond immediately. He eyed the Executive
Chair with practiced coolness. Below the surface, Kieler realized that while
the Ortessi’s “friends” had let his family die at the hands of the Cortattis,
the Executive Chair himself had let Kieler’s mother die in the death trap where
Ek processed magal. Tightly controlling his voice, Kieler said, “I think I can
tolerate that, sir.”

Kieler, of course, wanted nothing more than to be
introduced as the Ortessi Heir to every head family. His main purpose in being
here was to endorse his legitimacy and improve his sponsorship. These two
families just wanted to use him to increase their standing with the Executive
Chair. The Mizgots had huge wealth, but were falling in favor so fast that they
were more influenza than influential. Other houses were trying to disassociate
themselves from them, particularly the Bintles.

The Merckles, on the other hand, were rising stars.
Considering they were physicians and obviously politically cunning, Kieler
found them alarmingly naïve. Movus and he had leveraged their influence easily
because of this quality. The current generations of Merckles had never
struggled to build a quality business. They had no street wisdom.