Conflict of Interest: Part Eight By Zuiderzee (zuiderzee@hotmail.com) Women in Power for the wrong reasons. The continuing legend of Doctor Ustreed Hormgrud, Scholar of law and Soldier of the Palatinate. The story so far: Ustreed Hormgrud, 16 years of age is the first female soldier in the tiny state of Crenholtz--the remote corner of the new Palatinate (empire). Sponsored by the Patalinate's queenly ruler, Pfalzgrafin Mathilda, Ustreed was raised to become an expert in military law. Having surpassed expectations in academics, she is lagging in real military expertise. The herzog of Crenholtz has charged his most trusted captain, (Urlim Brehn) with getting the bookish Ustreed into the Crenish ideal of fighting shape. Under the ruthless tutelage of the stout giant, Ustreed has aquired new battle finesse and is nearing the time when she must be presented to the herzog for final approval before she is appointed to Grais Castle, a small stronghold on the edge of the barbarian frontier. News of her progress has further angered her political enemies within Crenholtz and the empire in general. The Pfalzgrafin is resented enough by the male rulers of the various states, but now a young woman is be in charge of 300 men. Certain scheming parties have concocted pitfalls for Ustreed to make sure she doesn't get the position the Pfalzgrafin alone believes Ustreed ought to have. If Ustreed makes a good showing as the commander of the Grais garrison, this can only mean more women will rise up through the ranks and spoil the masculine tradition in the empire. Confident of her own skills, Ustreed is currently unaware of the myriad plots against her reputation and indeed her life. During a one-day respite in her rigorous training, she sets out alone on her horse to survey the land which may one day be lawfully hers to protect in the name of the Pfalzgrafin--a woman who is also on the outs (if the afore-mentioned schemers can first bring down her conceited protege, Ustreed Hormgrud...) ^ ^ Schneer was a lieutenant, fully intent on making captain as soon as possible, even if he had to step over a young woman's not quite cold and stiff corpse to achieve it. Like Hormgrud, he was Crenish, young, attractive and as dedicated to the maintainence of a barbarian-free Crenholtz as any of their nationality. He remained in relative hiding in the stable yard, looking on with wet-lipped satisfaction as the horse bearing Ustreed grew small and vague in the patchy mountain mist. "How heavy are you, fat old Poul? Over three hundred pounds? The rumors say Ustreed can lift that weight and more. And her only fifteen. Imagine what she could do if the herzog demands more of her. A weight like that could kill someone if it fell on them just the right way...." Poul, the stabler regarded him with something Schneer took to be mild reproach. "Is your stomach bothering you, stabler? Urlim Brehn has been training her for quite a while now, and the herzog before him. She has grown quite muscular, big shoulders, big arms, strong legs. And she has been trained to kill...no innocent child, her. I fancy she could kill you, Poul without too much effort." "I have known Ustreed Hormgrud since she was a girl." Schneer hoisted an eyebrow in evaluation of that remark. "And what exactly is she now--a boy? I have a fine mother and a string of lady admirers in various towns in the Palatinate that I visit and pleasure when the need arises. Am I to hand any one of them a sword, a shield or a lance and tell them in no uncertain terms they must defend to the death the territory and ideals of our homeland? Rubbish! I am twenty years old, not some sniveling tot who in his vulnerability would go running to an older sister when the lightning cracks and the the big, bad thunder makes the house shake! A woman's strength and duty is in the civilian house,not the garrison. My father told me, and I tell you, Poul...if a hen in our barnyard should decide laying eggs is not her duty and mounts the fence-post to crow alongside the rooster, that same chicken is a freak not to be countenanced. It would only be right to wring its neck and be rid of it. The herzog was wrong to listen to "Matty", and if either she or her protege should seek to give me orders...well, I know many methods for preparing fowl." Poul snorted at this, looking again at the javelin that Ustreed had hurled into the post. "Is this how soldiers who are pledged to protect the state and my skin included get ahead in the world...by scheming?" "Not scheming, stabler. This is strategy, not exactly pure, but simple." Schneer brushed more imaginary dirt from his pant- leg and adjusted his posture. "So our lady-knight rides forth alone to seek adventure? And if there are perils awaiting and feats of derring-do in the offing, I like to think that one who is pledged to my well-being can fend for herself. I've noted her progress too. Oh, she may tip the scales more impressively in these recent months...but I am still her better in the art of the sword. If she can't make a fearsome figure of herself in the face of barbaric encroachment, what is this state...nay, this Palatinate coming to?" "And would you have so boldly challenged her to a duel?" Poul didn't wait for an answer, but looked away. "Alas for that, both our herzog and Pfalzgrafin Mathilda have forbidden that. Otherwise, I would more readily prepare for my position as commander of the Grais garrison. I am second in line for the title...and she knows it." * ^ ^ Smoke was difficult to distinguish from mist using only the eyes, but Ustreed had a nose and Trooper, her horse wasn't in any way oblivious to the threatening scent of burning wood. Some of the low-lying fog had burned off in the late morning, leaving sky-scapes of not-quite blue between the dwindling banks of fog. Trooper trotted under Ustreed's goading, bringing them within a league's distance of Kobelthal tarn. Disciplined not to balk at strange scents, Trooper obediently turned in the direction of the oncoming breeze with its unpleasant odor. Ustreed shook her boots in the stirrups, getting her heels into her steed's flanks with unmistakable urgency. The javelins in the quiver at Ustreed's left knee rattled slightly, but the well-wrought wicker interior kept the shortened missles from joggling messily about. About as short as a javelin could be without being considered a giant, simplified dart, each of the iron-tipped shafts was 40 inches long, thick as two of her thumbs, and delicately barbed to hold fast. Loping, Trooper was restrained from a gallop. Judging by the amount of smoke, it wasn't a high-meadow farmer burning a pile of weeds. No, this was a signal tower fire, deliberately lit to warn the countryside of danger. This was threatened territory, close in to the Suryish border and always in danger of invasion. Ustreed came up a grassy hill and found the road. Shouting was already audible and in another minute as she rode up the rocky crest of the hill, she was met with the almost comic sight of Kobelthal farmers gesturing and displaying uprooted crops. "What is the trouble here?!" Ustreed demanded. Kobelthal Crense was not easy to follow, despite numerous attempts to educate them in the more cosmopolitan Grand Crense-- it was like listening to foreigners trying to sound out the latter language with an idiot's panache, even though these folk had been in the land for seven hundred years. What they couldn't say in words came out in gestures and evidence. Crops pulled up, tools stolen, coops raided and fowl filched. Just plain thieving. No one killed, raped or abducted. Possibly the work of Cumexian bandits who didn't have the guts to torch buildings or fight farmers. Ustreed felt that not only were these farmers treating her with deference, they had also mistaken her for a man, albeit a young one with nary a hint of stubble on his chin. And too, there was some real relief--likely, they had formed the opinion she was going to do something on their behalf. Something violent and demonstrative. There came a new outcry. A pitchfork-toting fatty pointed to a patch of wet ground where numerous small, bare footprints were visible. The impressions were light and crazy as if those who'd left them behind were both underweight and in a panic. The average Cumexian bandit wore boots and spent no more time on a stranger's property than he dared. Some Cumexian youth out to prove themselves in the gang had come along and purloined food. "Koomecks?" Ustreed made a 'I have a long, dangling moustache and wear rings in my ears and bracelets' gesture. "Did Koomecks do this?" There were answering motions from the ever-angering throng that communicated: "NO! NOT THEM--NOT KOOMECKS!" Ustreed, just as agitated, tried to ask if they were armed. "Dschuggels...te Dschuggels!!!" shouted one manure-clotted goatherd, counting on his dirty fingers how many he'd supposedly seen. His brown beard bristled and soon all the others gathered in the knot of farmers took up the chant. All the while they were looking down the road, waiting for the rest of the cavalry. There weren't going to be any more. Not for a long while. Bushface threw down the bushel of half-eaten apples, spilling them on the ground as the calls of Dschuggels, Dschuggels went on like the howls in a madhouse. Now the mob was getting even more agitated. They were expecting an immediate chase. They drew in closer, shouting, making urging gestures and pointing frantically into the trees. They seemed all to be saying, "GET AFTER THEM! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? GO! GO! GO!" Ustreed almost laughed. He'd meant Gouccles. A scruffy minority driven out of the Palatinate before Ustreed's birth. Most of them were a thousand miles away to the South, but a luckless few had gathered into a thieving tribe in the hills and lacking a costly purge, were a nuisance to be endured. And how many had Bushface counted? Eight. Eight only? Gouccles weren't barbarians. Scofflaws, perhaps, but not barbarians. While they'd prospered, they'd had a well-developed culture and were for the most part peaceful and retreating. The young ones had taken to raiding outlying farms. Not knowing the extent of the damage, Ustreed decided to follow their trail and report it to the garrison. As soon as more information was gathered. Calling up the army, even in small amounts was serious. Kobelthalers weren't much for forming a militia. Trooper whinnied nervously as the emotion of the crowd rose to a peak and the formerly stand-offish tillers of the soil acquired red faces and drew in close to her with jeopardizing speed until she was surrounded. Ruined crops were brandished alongside dead ducklings and empty bushels. "GO! GO! GO! WHY DON'T YOU DO SOMETHING?!" Snatching the reins, Ustreed took both in hand as Trooper reared up on his hind legs, but not as high as to strike a heroic pose. A mere foot and a half of empty space was left in the air before his forehooves stomped down. "Get back!" Ustreed said in a voice that somehow betrayed her fear, but maybe not her femininity. Goading Trooper, she set out for the trees at a full gallop. ^ ^ Trying to make up for the time she'd lost communicating with the Kobelthalers, Ustreed cleared the trees in a span of time so short, she felt as if time had lost track of itself. What she'd taken for a forest had been little more than a screen of tall spruce left to grow behind vast expanses of cleared ground. What the farmers did with these empty acres was a mystery, but there were no buildings or crops of any sort here, only segments of broken fence and stones scattered all over the ground. It was lower than the farmland, indeed, Ustreed had ridden downhill steadily from the trees. In another breath, she was upon them. Ustreed guided Trooper around a cluster of boulders and almost blundered into a nest of resting forms. Snores and murmurs rose from the dry hollow into which the thieves had clustered. Wet splotches darkened the rock next to them--they'd used their bed for a toilet--the smell made Ustreed wrinkle her nose. They had run more than a mile from the farmland and were tired enough to rest here, falling into deep sleep for their exahustion. The Gouccles, for she knew them from research rather than from life, struck her as instantly ugly. They were six in number, not eight as the farmer had described, but maybe they had split up or the other two were hiding. Dusky in complexion and featuring the same color skin as hair--a deep, olive-ochre-- both dirty, they wore almost nothing. Their cracked feet were bare and their skinny legs matched their skinny arms in scars. They wore stinking loincloths and clustered around them were stolen foodstuffs of every sort. One awoke with an open-throated howl and had the others colliding with one another in a tangle of bony limbs. She saw no weapons. They didn't scatter. Snatching up their swag, the Gouccles made a run for it. Ustreed could not determine their age, but guessed they were adolescent. Taking a javelin from her quiver, Ustreed went after them at a canter, stunned for the fact they weren't scattering. The shortest of the group lagged behind, casting a frightened look over his shoulder before toppling , trampled under Trooper's hooves with a scream. The horse broke into a gallop despite Ustreed's restraint. She was upon the next in a moment and used the javelin as a long-shafted club to beat the Gouccle across the nose with a loud whack. Blood founted and the youth whirled and dropped to the rocky soil. He'd been carrying a dead goose. Two down. Now Ustreed threw the javelin, neatly transfixing the one at the very head of the dwindling pack who had foolishly chosen to run in a perfectly straight line which made him more of a target than his slower accomplices who wove a little to their credit. Overtaking the leader who slowly relinquished his grip on a beer keg which had been speared with the rest of his body, his companions hastened with the image of death fresh in their minds. The one she'd hit threw back his head in a choked scream of agony and tottered a few steps, dripping. Suds spewed from the hole the javelin tip had bored through the staves along with the red fluid of mortal injury. Ustreed didn't know how Gouccles lived, but they died pretty much the same as other folk. The surviving thieves made no effort to stop and beg for mercy as she supposed intelligent beings were wont to do. Did their national deity expect them to behave better than that? Ustreed had dobuts that would never be relieved. The surviving Gouccles slapped the ground with their bare feet as Trooper caught up with them. They began to whimper as they ran and yell worried phrases to one another. The taller of the two yanked a bouncing garland of garlic buds from around his neck and heaved it away, able to run that much faster for the lack of it. Seeing the swiftest of them taken down, the other three widened a little, but continued on in their original direction, intent perhaps on reaching a cliff of rocks in the distance. No. Not scattering. Why didn't they scatter? The slowest of the three chose an opportune moment to cast down his bushel of apples and gain a burst of speed which enabled him to dodge Ustreed's next pitched javelin. He tore ahead of the other two who were so far disinclined to let go of the bulging potato sacks hugged against their scrawny chests. The leader stayed neatly ahead of the other two, using them as shields in a tactic which Ustreed held as treacherous, but quite wily--something a child would do. The rocks were closer now, but so too was a stretch of low stone wall which had flanked them for a ways and now came to an L-shape a hundred feet ahead, threatening to cut off the Gouccles headlong rush for freedom. Looking back to make sure the other two were shielding him, the current leader beckoned his fellows on. It could be a trap. Ustreed threw, missing the leader as the javelin overshot him by a body-length. The Gouccle barely avoided the new obstacle, but ran afoul of the second as it hit the back of his shoulder and punched brutally through, sending him down to his knees in a moan of defeat. Having to slow to aim properly, Ustreed kept Trooper at a moderate pace. Small dark objects began to litter the ground as she pursued the remaining two. This pair might have been brothers-- as might all of the six for that matter, they all looked alike to her eyes--they ran side by side. The ojects which appeared in ever-increasing number were potatoes, dropping through a hole in the sack one of them carried. In another moment, that sack was dropped and the thief faltered and ran on in fits and starts, felled as Ustreed forsook the javelins and drew her hanger. The saw-backed sword delivered a devestating slash to the Gouccle's neck which left it dangling from only skin and the not-quite-severed windpipe. One left now, running as the others had done, in a fatally straight line. His loincloth had fallen off somewhere during the dash and he hurried on toward the wall with his gaunt, clay-colored buttocks chafing on each other. He still clutched his sack of potatoes and slowing long enough to heave it over the wall. He hadn't slowed to look over his shoulder and this saved him for the moment. He ran only for himself, the deaths of his friends forgotten. Ustreed closed on him, mildly amused at Gouccle nudity in all its inadequate splendour. He looked back at her with mouse-cornered agression, dipping to pick up a stone. He threw it with unexpected speed and accuracy, striking her high on the cheek, missing her right eye, but forcing that side to squint in pain. It would swell soon, spoiling her aim. Another rock whizzed in, plinging off her helmet. And then one more she batted aside with her left arm. WHANG! A rock of truly unbelievable weight hit her in the chest, nearly dismounting her. That Gouccle hadn't thrown it! From the other side of the wall leapt two Gouccles, not scrawny adolescents, but well fed young men with scraggles of hair on their jawlines and around their lips. Their shoulders were humped with muscle and their chests and bellies were well- defined mounds of flesh. No loincloths for them, they wore fitted breeks and boots of animal hide. Crude weapons-belts encircled their hips and from them dangled knives. One of them had a spear and as soon as the other who had thrown the first of the heavy rocks had stooped to lift an even larger one, Ustreed spotted a second spear resting atop the wall, ready as soon as his hands were empty. Heaving the skull-sized rock with both arms, the big Gouccle aimed for Trooper's head. Ustreed yanked it away just in time. The stone thudded with menacing heft into the ground at his hooves. Then the Gouccles charged, their spears aimed low. They were trying to kill Trooper first. He was the bigger target and unable to kill from a distance. Distance, got to get distance. Ustreed whirled her sword, giving the closer assailant something serious to ponder as it knocked his spear haft aside. His onrushing body hit Trooper, making him back away in a skitter of powerful legs. The second followed a moment later, jabbing at the horse while Ustreed furiously turned him and goaded him into a lope, getting away from the wall, counting the paces until she figured she had easily outdistanced the battle- hardened newcomers. Trusting the sword, but needing the advantage of a missle, Ustreed drew another of the remaining javelins, startled for an instant so many had been thrown. She began to long for the one she'd left at Poul's stable, imbedded in the post. Anticipating the older Gouccles had mastered the simple war-skill of ducking thrown weapons, Ustreed held on until the last possible moment as the pair closed carefully in on her in a crouching run, spears outthrust. She made as if to throw, obliging the nearer of the pair to weave to the left--and then she threw hard and fast, driving the javelin through his body between heart and shoulder, he stumbled on as his companion used his shambling body as a shield as the youths had done. The stricken Gouccle was not dead yet, but dying, letting out whistling gasps and drooling blood. Ustreed prepared to throw again, but then Trooper bucked and roared, having caught a sharp stone in under his hoof. Near-lamed, Ustreed led him back at a hobble as the fight escalated, sticking to the herzog's rule of staying on the horse at all costs. Freeing her foot from the strirrup, Ustreed kicked and kicked again, failing to make contact, but keeping the invader back between jabs of his spear and jabs of her sword. Beginning to sweat both from exertion and from fear, the Crenish woman hadn't bothered to speak to the Gouccle, but it was unlikely they knew Palatinate languages. And what was there to say? Her sword and javelins had made it clear she was hostile and out to kill. Now using his spear as a sweeping club, the Gouccle whirled the haft in an arc and struck Ustreed's left arm and then the horse's head when he didn't retreat in time. Trying to get Trooper to pivot on an injured hoof was near-impossible. The Gouccle got in another strike to Trooper's heavy cheek as Ustreed slashed vainly, unable to reach or turn. Stay on the horse, Ustreed's mind coughed up, stay on the horse. Only if he threatens to collapse under you, must you dismount. Losing to a defeated race was not something Ustreed could stomach. Leaning over in the saddle farther than she dared, Ustreed used the tip of her sword to deflect the killing thrust of the Gouccle's spear as his fallen companion writhed on the ground in a spreading pool of gore. Ustreed's parry had just saved Trooper, but it was a losing, pathetic struggle. The mark on her cheek where the rock had struck had swelled to a lump which impaired her vision. All she could think about was keeping the damned situation tenable. No help, no chance to seek a truce--and ridiculous to ask clemency of an invader she was pledged to destroy on Palatinate land. And then a new and dreadful thought occurred to her. Was she even on Palatinate land. This may not be Crenholtz, but Sury--outer territory. Then the Gouccle got desperate, running up to her to haul her off the horse. She hadn't seen him for her swollen cheek until it was too late. Using the pommel of her hanger rather than the blade, she brought it down mightily onto his chin. THe man, dazed, slackened his grip, but didn't let go. Trooper shifted, spilling her out of the saddle and down onto the Gouccle with a series of thuds. They both fell winded and thrashed on the rocky ground with the horse stirring and hobbling over their heads. Burning pain struck her hip. The Gouccle had knifed her, but clumsily, missing her liver or kidney. The knifepoint slid on the smooth crest of her pelvis, warming her leggings with her own blood. It was a wrestling match now, save that the Gouccle had a knife. Ustreed fell across the man's chest, driving her elbow low into the soft ribs again and again. Not forgetting her helmet, Ustreed butted his face with the back of her head, making it ring as it impacted his chin. He knifed her again. And again, this time slicing her buttock. Unable to see his face, Ustreed knocked backward with her helmeted head, making the steel bowl ring dully with the contact. When she felt resistance slacken, she flipped over onto him, across his body, seeking to get enough room to run him through with the hanger. Not enough. Just not enough. Employing all the speed she could, she brough the blade across his neck and cut, spraying her face with thick, hot, redness. The anticipated gurgles and croaks followed even as he let go his knife and locked both his hands in a death-struggle on her neck, tightening ever more brutally until she too lost consciousness. Before she slipped under, she thought she heard a child's voice laughing.... TO BE CONTINUED Leave feedback to zuiderzee@yahoo.com