Chapter 579: Diplomacy, Franklin Style.

"You know, boy, I thought I'd seen unfriendly before, but this fellow is setting a new standard."

As Ben and Goodboy had slowly approached the camp, giving anyone inside plenty of time to see him, a rider had emerged, shouting orders and cursing before riding out to meet them. His mount was something Ben had never seen before: A blood-red animal the size of an elk with nasty looking black antlers and glowing eyes. He noted that the antlers were all turned forward to maximize damage from a charge, and tipped with steel. Six men brought it from a wooden enclosure, three on either side, holding ropes that went to the creatures collar. It bucked and screamed, and he caught sight of the mouthful of long, sharp fangs. A heavily built man in furs and leather armor had leaped to its back and slashed with his sword, severing the ropes. The elk had reared and screamed again before it began running towards Ben with murderous intent, the man leveling his spear at Ben.

He debated his course of action for a second: fight or flight? Then the decision was taken out of his hands as Goodboy accepted the challenge and howled loudly, the mournful sound carrying across the field. Then the Snarlfang ran at his opponent, eager for a fight, and all Ben could do was draw his weapon and hold on. Murder-deer and Snarlfang had taken one look at each other and neither had liked what they saw. The humans who were technically riding them and in charge were like engineers on two runaway trains with broken throttles, barreling at each other, only able to toot their whistles and wait for the collision.

The elk should have been faster over the half-mile run as they closed, but Goodboy had Courier magic and skills helping him. The Snarlfang was matching the Elk's speed, and still not moving as fast as he could. As they closed, Goodboy altered his pace, dodging first right, then left, zig-zagging as he ran. Ben assumed he was going to zig at the last moment and hope the elk went for the zag instead. The elk definitely had an advantage with its wide set of sharp antlers. Likewise, Ben's sword was shorter than Jarl Redhoof's nine-foot-long spear.

Three out of four combatants were trying to anticipate how Goodboy would dodge. They can be forgiven for their two-dimensional thinking. Instead of dodging right or left, Goodboy sprinted the last hundred feet, straight at his opponent. The murderous looking elk put down its head, twenty sharp points aimed at its Snarlfang opponent. Jarl Redhoof braced his spear and hunched low to present a smaller target, hidden behind his mount's antlers.

Goodboy pounced, soaring high into the air, clearing the sharp antlers, and coming down with his front paws on the Jarl, driving him from his saddle and knocking the Elk sprawling. Jarl Redhoof tumbled across the ground, one leg snapping and flopping about. Ben had chosen to launch himself from Goodboy's back as his mount leaped, going almost twenty feet higher into the air before coming back to earth in his patented forward-roll dismount. He turned quickly, saw the Jarl, but his opponent was in no shape to fight.

The murder-deer rolled and came to its feet, but too late. Goodboy hit it from the side, his jaws locking on its neck and biting deep. Like a terrier with a rat, he swung his head back and forth, snapping the creatures neck. Victorious, he howled and pranced, then ran up to Ben, delivering his trophy and looking for some attention. Ben wisely gave him some.

"Whose a good boy? Give me a hug. You did great!" After a minute of scratching ears, Goodboy turned suddenly to the Jarl as he moaned. Ben said, "That's mine to deal with. Go eat your meal before it gets cold." Goodboy woofed once, and started in on the Elk, jaws snapping bones as he took ten-pound bites from the carcass. Ben walked over to his opponent. The man had tied his belt around his upper thigh and tightened it with a stick. Ben could see the main leg bone was badly broken and sticking out of the leg. There was a pool of blood under the barbarian and the bleeding wasn't stopped by the makeshift tourniquet.

"If you've come to kill me, you damnable bastard, I'd actually appreciate it. A slow death from bleeding or infection is worse, and so is living my life as a cripple with one leg. Even if I wasn't bleeding to death, your monster killed my monster, that makes it a long walk back dragging this useless leg. I'd be dead halfway there."

Ben squatted down, keeping a few feet of distance. "Yeah, you're out of good options. Sort of like your whole tribe. You've got shit coming at you from the North, a vengeful army coming from the south, and if that wasn't bad enough, you're squatting on land belonging to the Baron of Gadobhra."

The Jarl grinned wryly, "Yeah, we're in a bad spot. I was hoping to get my kill count higher before we fight against the giants. Hard to kill giants, and they still count as just one. Always better to show up Valhalla with a nice list of slaughtered enemies. So I'm not too worried about some Baron."

"Maybe so, but that man holds a mean grudge and he's already pissed about Winter screwing up the growing season and sending ten thousand wolves to eat his peasants."

"Pissed is he? Yeah, I can see that. How bad did they hurt him? And I can't take any credit for that, it was all Glacia. One of her idiot plans. Who brings thousands of wargs to a battle that they can't feed? Stupid."

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Ben shrugged, "It wasn't too bad. A few soldiers and peasants lost their lives in the battle, less than a score. Every wolf died and our Butcher made sausage out of them. The clean-up took forever though."

The Jarl's face fell, "That's it? Ten thousand hungry wolves and dozens of Snarlfangs could only kill a score of peasants?"

"What can I say? Gadobhra is a mean place and they deal with monsters constantly. Why do you think the Empire built that huge Fortress? It wasn't to protect Gadobhra, it was made to protect the rest of the Empire from Gadobhra. Baron Billy does things his own way and isn't liked by the rest of the nobles. He's never even went to court and kneeled in front of the Emperor."

Redhoof sighed, "Now that type of man, I would have liked to meet. Doesn't sound soft like the typical southerner. No offense intended."

Ben nodded, "And none taken. But that leads me to a question: Would you be terribly offended if I healed your leg? I wouldn't mind sitting by a fire splitting a keg with you. Maybe learn a little about the North. That's going to be difficult if you bleed out."

The Jarl looked at him, peering at his sword, armor, and finally his hat. "Healing? What the hell are you? I thought you were some sort of Beastmaster, or many a Tamer like myself. But neither of those could heal this leg, and you've got the scent of some powerful magic about you."

"How about we talk about that over some beer?"

"And what will I owe you for my life? Three of my daughters? Seven years of service? There's no gold and my lands are gone. Frankly, dying is better than owing you."

Ben thought for a moment, "I do not want to belittle the offers of daughters, your service, gold or land. I came to talk and share some stories. That is what is important to me. In return for healing your leg, introduce me to your people and stand with me if I'm threatened until the day I leave. Oh, and you're paying for the beer."

The Jarl looked at his leg. What was the worst that could happen? If this man was some braggart and couldn't heal him, then he was no worse off. "Sure, give it a shot. I accept your offer."

Ben came closer, handing the Jarl a thick stick. "Bite down on that, this is going to hurt a little. I need to straighten your leg first." The Jarl nodded and did so. Ben took the leg, and flipped it around, aligning the bones better. The Jarl clawed at the ground and Ben heard the crunch of wood, but the man didn't shift his body and endured the pain.

Then Ben's hands burst into flames, and the Jarl braced for pain, but understood his wounds needed to be cauterized before he bled to death. To his amazement, only a blessedly cool feeling spread across his wound, and the pain left. His entire leg was burning, he could see the flames, yet he felt nothing but relief. For a full minute Ben let healing magic flow from him and into the Jarl, repairing the complex breaks, torn muscles, and ruptured artery. Then he sat back, wiping sweat from his brow. "Whew, takes a lot out of me." He stood up and reached out his hand. Jarl Redhoof took it and let himself be pulled to his feet, noting that the man in front of him was stronger than he looked. He gingerly put weight on his leg, surprised when it didn't collapse when he took a step. More surprised that it didn't even hurt.

"What sort of healing is this? No Shaman or Priest I've ever heard of can fix a wound like that so quickly."

Ben bowed, "I serve a powerful spirit and she has blessed me with the Fire of the Phoenix. Equally good for healing or dealing with enemies."

Redhoof mulled that over as he walked back and forth, testing his leg. "A shaman then? Is that how you tamed that beast? I've also never heard of anyone riding one like that. Made me jealous as hell. It was why I tamed that bloody elk, to ride something no one else could. Few have accomplished that, and they're a pain in the ass to keep around, and picky on what they eat."

They looked over to where Goodboy was finishing up the last small scrap of meat and bone. Only the antlers were left. He left them and came trotting up to Ben, well fed, and covered in blood. "Oh, I didn't tame him. We have a sort of partnership going and are figuring things out along the way. Neither of us is up for the traditional Master-Pet relationship, although I have friends that make it work. And, as you can tell, he's not picky about his dinners, as long there is a lot to eat. Ready to get going? I'm sure he can carry both of us."

The Jarl looked at the blood covered Snarlfang that had fought his elk, then devoured it. He'd heard people argue that Murder-Deer were stronger fighters than Snarlfangs. Those people were idiots and he would tell them so the next time he talked with them. "Sure. I half expect he'll eat me for desert, but I hate walking and too many people are watching."

Ben mounted, gave the Jarl a hand up, and Goodboy began loping casually toward the camp where indeed, quite a few people were watching.

Tamique was collecting small sums of coins from the Jarls who had watched the fight, including Cragstone. The Jarl was scowling at her, "How did you know that man would win? Redhoof is a skilled fighter and his mount was well trained for battle."

She grinned, then leaped, spun in the air, and scattered the coins to the crowd. Adjusting her hat, she said, "Simple, every bat knows you don't bring a Murder-Deer to a Snarlfang fight."