She managed to ignore the push of power long enough to stare at the two men behind the marshal, narrowing her eyes. “Should I do the same to them?”
“Hey!” That got the younger man’s attention, his gaze going to her finally, outrage in every patch of his body.
There was a rumble in Gabriel’s chest that sounded like amusement, then he said, “We only have three horses and the mule. Best keep them awake and walking.”
They might have looked relieved; Isobel couldn’t tell and didn’t care. Closing her eyes again, she flexed her fingers, feeling the bindings around the magicians the way she would feel Uvnee’s reins against her skin. Three days. She could hold them for three days.
After that . . .
After that, she would worry about that.
They’d waited only long enough for Gabriel to build a fire and burn the scraps of hide until they were charred, the thick, putrid stench finding its way through the kerchief held to his nose, then he dug a hole and buried the kerchief-wrapped remains with a silver quarter-coin and a splash of the marshal’s whiskey as an appeasement to the spirits.
“She satisfies her promise,” he told them, casting a glance over his shoulder to where Isobel sat, still exhausted from whatever she had done. “Be at rest.”
He wasn’t sure if anything was listening, or if he wanted it to be listening to him. But it seemed to ease some of Isobel’s nerves.
“Rider.” The road marshal crooked a finger at him. “Come be useful.”
Wisely enough, she didn’t want her companions-turned-prisoners helping her tie the insensate magicians into the saddles. While Isobel held each animal’s halter, murmuring soothing words when they shifted or skittered, they slung each body facedown across a saddle, looping rope over their thighs and chests to keep them in place.
He studied the knots under his hand thoughtfully. “How long did you say it was to the judge?”
“Two, three days, at a steady walk,” LaFlesche said. “We switch out the horses, between yours and mine, and so long as everyone can keep up”—she shot a glare at her awake prisoners—“we should do fine.”
“You’ve done this often? Slinging people across saddles like sacks of meal?”
“Usually they’re awake enough to walk. Or I drag ’em.”
Isobel’s expression, overhearing that, was somewhere between horrified and thoughtful, and he gave her a stern look and a firm headshake until she rolled her eyes at him. He gave Steady a final pat, thanking him for putting up with the body slung across his saddle, and went to fetch his hat and pack.
“Boots up!” LaFlesche called. “Time to move.”
Gabriel did not enjoy walking. The moment they switched the body off Steady, he had to fight the urge to mount and ride on ahead of the rest of the party. He cast another sideways glance at Isobel walking alongside him, leading Uvnee, who was now carrying one of the magicians. The Hand was sweating, even though the day had been cool and overcast since they hit lower ground, her skin too ashen for comfort. He worried but said nothing. What was there to say? The magicians needed to remain insensible until such a time as they could contain them somewhere, ideally in a lockhouse. If there was a sitting judge in this town, it seemed likely that they would have one there.
Then he’d force Isobel to rest. Until then, she had no choice. So, he did the best he could: he gave her something else to bite at.
“Notice anything?”
She lifted her head at that, her nostrils flaring as though testing the air. “We’re being watched.”
“Of course we are.”
Isobel glared at his nonchalant tone, as though offended that he had noticed it before she had.
He felt his lips twitch. “Isobel. Two riders, a marshal, and two easterners, with two magicians slung over horseback like sacks of potatoes? The only wonder is that the entire Territory hasn’t lined up to watch us go past, complete with games and feasts.”
He wondered what stories would come of this, told to the children of those who’d been there to see it, if he’d live to hear any of them. He’d come back someday if he could, to listen.
Assuming he had the chance. His off hand touched his ribs; he couldn’t feel the scarring through his jacket and shirt, and the ache was absent save when he bent forward, but he knew they were there, a constant reminder that riding with the Devil’s Hand was not an easy—or safe?—road. And that was without lugging two wind-mad magicians three days to an unknown destination.