Ladin stiffened as he observed the confrontation. He backed up against his personal sledge and his eyes flitted to the snow covered vegetation surrounding their clearing.
“What do we do to ensure infection doesn’t occur? Could there be more out there?”
“Build pyres over them and burn them. Don’t touch them. And yes, of course there are more out there.”
Simon grabbed Franklin’s wrist and twisted his arm so the hand that had come in contact with the weir was clearly illuminated by the moon.
“Argent get our supplies. Today we head east up the mountain.”
Argent obediently started toward the supply sledge, glad for an excuse to miss what might happen next. He glanced down at the leather and fur strips wrapped and tied around his wiry legs as he did so. Beneath those wraps was a hand breadth scar on his left calf where Simon had removed a chunk of flesh he thought might have been infected. Simon prohibited alcohol so there had been nothing to dull the pain. He didn’t envy Franklin the cure that was coming if infection was suspected.
“What? You can’t leave us now. Please just stay with us long enough to get us through the pass.”
Argent couldn’t help but grin at Ladin’s outburst. Apparently the merchant thought barbarians had a purpose after all. They weren’t just there to tell ‘weir-tales’ and be laughed at. As he knelt and began untying the sledge’s cover, he heard Simon respond.
“In our scouting trips we’ve only seen signs of two weirs close by. I was planning to hunt them today and leave tomorrow. Their attack has made that unnecessary. If you hurry, you should make it to Phoentown before any others pick up your scent.”