Chapter Ten
Tennea and Workman were riding hard for Straw Hut when she felt a sudden pang in her chest, a buzzing and burning right where the homing stone lay nestled in its pouch. The buzzing pain grew, then suddenly burst against her sternum like a mule’s kick.
“Quam!” she cried, grasping the saddle pommel to keep from falling onto the roadway. “Ah! Ah!”
“Ma’am!”
“Workman,” Tennea gasped.
The mule kick slowly subsided to a sensation somewhere between being stung repeatedly by a wasp and having nettles scrubbed against her skin. And now came the pull, as if the homing stone was bodily dragging her westward. She groped for Workman, who caught and steadied her and drew her mount to a halt. She swayed in the saddle, his hand gripping her arm, and for a minute she simply tried to catch a
