Conflict of Interest:  Part Two
by ZuiderZee.  (zuiderzee@hotmail.com)
A woman in power for the wrong reasons.



     Pain swirled in Ustreed's twisted arm even as
Bruellen relaxed his tremendous grip.  She looked up
at him as she rolled over to get up; it wasn't a 
complete surprise that he had won.  Helmar Bruellen
was an accomplished boxer, wrestler and swordsman who
combined the three forms of fighting into a new and
deadly style which he dubbed, "rumpus".

     The idea behind rumpus wasn't new--fighting men 
in distant lands and times had generally rounded out
their weapon skills with kicking, tripping, shoving,
grappling and other simpler means by which to upset an
opponent with equal or greater skills.   Bruellen,
with all this in mind and a healthy amount of vision
and charisma had scoured every available source in
order to create a new fighting style which had already
become standard in Crenholtz.  Main weapons were
short and balanced for one hand only, the free hand
could then deliver a series of punches, jabs and chops 
and both arms were employed in elbow-smashes and adroit 
use of the shoulder.  

     These moves were all quite old and appeared in
various depictions--their effectiveness was undisputed--
still, this was not enough for the herzog.

    From gambling dens, illegal taverns and prison 
yards, he had garnered an in-depth awareness of lesser-
known techniques which could kill and maim if used
correctly.  The old and the new had been combined to
form rumpus.  Bruellen was its master in Crenholtz, 
and he had students who could nearly rival him; he
was always eager to give demonstrations to those who
doubted the  effectiveness of his art.

     Trying to best the herzog in a fair fight took
more skill and stamina than she could muster.

     "I take it that was your best!"  Bruellen 
sheathed his sword and stomped out of the ring.  "Your
best wouldn't qualify you to guard the kennels.  What
were you waiting for?  A true combatant makes his 
opening, he doesn't loiter in the hopes that his 
opponent will make a false move."

     "Advice, your highness?"  Ustreed clutched her 
sore arm, working to renew the feeling and circulation
without actually cradling it in self-pity.

     "She's holding back, Brehn!  I trusted you to
rid her of any inhibitions."  The herzog didn't bother
to look at Ustreed.  He directed his anger at the one
whose repuatation was far more at stake than hers.
"Despite my order, she held back, you could see it.
She's always holding back.  Caution in a virtue to be
used finely, not broadly.  Were you afraid she'd hurt
me?"

     "It's not as simple as that, your highness."

     "I didn't expect her to beat me, Brehn, I didn't
expect her to die trying, either.  She was 
'consistently adequate' for this demonstration, in 
simple words, not good enough."

     Hearing Brehn defamed was too much for Ustreed.
Gambling that the herzog would respect boldness over
humility, she stepped in between the two men and looked
into Bruellen's eyes.  

     "Your highness...you must believe me, that's the
best I can do...against you.  Your skill is rare enough
that I would never encounter it from another opponent."

     She would have loved to say more, but her mouth
brimmed with bloodied saliva.

     "Ustreed speaks truthfully, your highness--"

     "Nevermind my skill!"  The herzog unbuckled his
swordbelt.  He removed a small silver whistle from
a loop in the belt and blew a shrill call.  His young
valet hurried into the hall from a shadowed alcove.

The boy took various articles of sweat-stained clothing
as they were pushed forcefully into his hands.  "It's
Ustreed's skill we are concerned about.  I want her 
skill to be rare enough that neither I nor anyone else
would ever encounter it from another opponent!  Brehn,
you've failed me.  I charged you with producing a
champion and you present me with a sparring partner
suitable for a novice!"

     "With respect, your highness, we still have time
to hone her skills."  Only now did Urlim Brehn lift
himself from the bench.  At six feet, he was the same
height as Ustreed, but his crushing weight of four
hundred pounds made his presence far more intimidating.

     The herzog's face was a florid mask of bitterness
and betrayal.  He could have Brehn lashed and publicly
humiliated; he had done less to other men under such
circumstances.  Instead, Bruellen remembered his own
precarious situation.

     "Don't speak to me of time, Brehn," he said, "I
keep a different calendar than most.  It is better
that I alone declare your pupil unfit for service now
than let the Pfalzgrafin say the same or worse in the
spring."

     "I have no doubt, your highness, that Ustreed
will meet your combined expectations."  Brehn stood
a little higher and his gray braids waggled as he 
tossed his head in emphasis.

     "Urlim Brehn!"  The herzog shot back as though
the aging giant had grossly patronized him.  "I am
not this state's prince merely to occupy a post.  I 
have to pull from the front, carry from the side and
when needed, kick from the rear to guide the nation.

I demand under the stiffest penalty that members of 
my court exceed expectations...not simply meet them.
I want the keepers of this nations record books busy
striking old marks and establishing new ones to
challenge those within our borders and without."

     Ustreed spit loudly, clearing her mouth.  "You
speak of challenges and challengers, your highness?
Who now is my rival?  Name him.  Name him and have us
meet here, then I shall--"

     "Silence!"

     The woman hung her head but for a hot, painful
moment.  Indeed, the whole vast chamber seemed to have
increased wildly in temperature.  New sweat trickled
between her small breasts and prickled in her armpits.
She brought her head back up again to meet the herzog's
demanding gaze.  Her temples throbbed.  How could he
speak about her the whole time as though she wasn't
present?  Bruellen's red cheeks and blue eyes now 
looked so insulting.  If he had smiled, she could
not have borne it.  She would have turned away like 
a spurned child.

     But she was not a child.

     "Do you find me insolent, Ustreed Hormgrud?"

     "Your highness, no.  I do not find you insolent.
I find you boyish.  Boyish.  A trait I do not under-
stand or share.  To me, it is unbecoming and unworthy.
You could be far wiser in attempting to encourage
me."

     "If you only fought as bravely as you spoke."

     This brought true shame.

     Ustreed retrieved and sheathed her own blade.
"Is his highness afraid of hurting me?"

     "A fair question.  I am not.  I have already done
so and will do so again when the situation requires it.
I will tell you openly what I fear.  I fear maiming
you.  If one of us is at fault for holding back, it
is I.  It has been asked of me by the Pfalzgrafin that
I present a fully trained castellan to her in mid-
summer."

     "There are other candidates, I suppose.  You
have been making your rounds--"  Ustreed stepped out
of the ring.

     "Better fighters than you,"  Brehn spoke up, 
trying to rationalize the argument, "But not better
candidates for the post."

     "Quite correct!"  Bruellen composed himself and
sat down in a large wooden chair which wasn't quite
a throne until he occupied it.  "The state, indeed the
whole Palatinate is undergoing changes.  For the first
time in our history, the empire is headed by a woman.
Pfalzgrafin Mathilda is anxious if not desperate to 
see other women in power.  She wishes the young women
and even the little girls of Crenoltz to have a heroine.
Someone they can aspire to be.  Someone they might
pretend to be in their play.  Ours is the tiniest state
of all, half perched in the alps and half buried in
deep valleys, little flat ground anywhere to build an
important and prospering town.  We are isolated, rough
and extreme people.  We need a sure means to become
indispensable in this empire...we need added fame and
novelty.  I have vowed to the Pfalzgrafin that you are
worthy to guard a vital area of our state and in turn,
her empire.  Some of this, you know, but there is much
more you don't.  If you were a man, Ustreed, I would
know a swifter way to pound you into shape for the 
post, but you are not.  No other woman in Crenholtz
has your backbone and talent.  I have given you
both another chance...don't dare disappoint me
again."

     "It seems to me--"  Ustreed still hadn't gotten
over her indignation.

     "This subject is not open to debate!"  The herzog
bolted to his feet.  You both will have much harder 
goals, is that clear?"  He sat again.

     "Your highness,"  Brehn planted his huge fists
on his hips and pushed out his chest.  "I vow that by
the first snow of the season that Ustreed will be
back on schedule."

     "No!"  Bruellen  brought down his own fearsome
fist on the arm of the chair.  "Don't you mean, 'ahead'
of schedule?"

     Taken aback but for an instant, Brehn put his 
apelike arm on Ustreed's shoulder.  "Naturally, of 
course, I meant...ahead."

     End of part two.