VANOR
The Journey Begins
by
Vicki Wilson
VANOR
THE JOURNEY BEGINS
Copyright © Vicki Wilson 2007
Second Edition published in 2007 by
Lovett Publishing a subsidiary of
Caduceus Health Pty Ltd
PO Box 1096, Blackburn North, Victoria
Australia
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566114-0-8
National Library of Australia Listing:
Wilson, Vicki, 1960-.
Vanor: the journey begins.
2nd edition.
I. Title. (Series: Wilson, Vicki, 1960- Vanor; 1).
A823.4
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by
photocopying or by any electronic or mechanical means, including
information, storage or retrieval systems, without permission in
writing from the author and copyright owner of this book.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to real persons,
living or dead, or companies or towns is purely coincidental.
The author asserts her moral rights.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank: Jo Stubbings for doing the terrific final editing;
Mary Elizabeth at eBookIt for the final gloss of editing;
Christine Burton for her encouragement, motivation and help;
my family in Newdegate, Western Australia for being there for me.
I would also like to thank Brian Clinton for the fantastic artwork for the front cover and Roger Watson for the great map.
And to you, the reader: I hope you enjoy following the adventures in my story.
Finally, I would like to thank my wonderful husband for letting me be who I am and allowing me the opportunity to give to the world something that is to become my legacy.
Chapter 1
Freckles
The dapple-grey warhorse lunged again at the nearest wolf. He bit hard into the black fur and threw the beast aside into yet another snarling wolf. Vanor had been taken from the saddle only moments before as a large black wolf had leapt high, with teeth bared, tearing a large gash to the bone in her leg. She had somersaulted backwards off the saddle and had landed on her feet ready for the next onslaught. Vanor fought hard and strong, slicing through wolf after wolf with her thin glowing longsword. It danced in her hands as her robe of chain mail jangled and sang, small flurries of snow kicked up with each movement.
But they attacked again attempting to reach the stallion’s mistress on the ground behind him. The stallion fought hard, dodging the bared teeth of the wolves, but there were too many in the pack. Then the stallion squealed with pain as a wolf raked its belly. They were down to four wolves now but these four were tougher and stronger than the others combined. Vanor jumped over the wolf that had broken its neck when it had attacked her in the saddle moments before and sliced through another snarling wolf; it yelped before its final breath and landed on the reflective snow.
The remaining two wolves retreated through the snow leaving blood trails in their wake. Silence descended and Vanor limped over to the stallion, clutching her leg as the pain swelled in the wake of receding adrenaline. Vanor touched Freckles’ proud neck as his laboured breathing became apparent. He turned and looked full in her eyes and held her gaze for a moment. Then those large dark eyes closed for the last time and he fell on top of her, and everything was pain and then darkness.
Vanor woke confused as everything was white, her face was cold and she could not breathe. She coughed and then the snow fell from her face and she realised she was pinned to the snow. She had pain, lots of pain, and then she remembered and in shock and disbelief, struggled away from the weight.
Standing and shaking with cold and trembling with remorse, she reached down and touched the now cold neck of Freckles. Tears streaming down her face, she remembered the night he was born and how he had walked up to her on trembling legs and nuzzled her hair and then returned to his first drink from her father’s prized mare. She could even remember the smell of the barn, the taste of her mother’s cooking and the good times she had when she was only eight. Two years later things changed when the wolves came down from the hills and killed her father’s horses and nearly her as she had been tending them. But Freckles had galloped like the wind away from the carnage with Vanor badly wounded on his back.
Freckles had taken her unconscious body to the local inn and had kicked at the door for someone to come and rescue her. Apparently he had waited there all night, biting anyone who came close, waiting for her to recover, and only then would he go to the stables and rest. The blacksmith was then allowed to come close and stitch his wounds. They had become inseparable in the years since and she now regretted the stupidity of this journey, the draw of something she could not define and her loss.
Tears drying in the cold wind, Vanor knew that with the baying of wolves in the distance they would not be long. The snow was almost sleeting as she collected all she could carry and staggered under the weight of her pack, her misery and her pain. She felt the snow easing off slightly and she stumbled and almost fell as she trudged onwards.
Eventually she tripped over and fell onto the embankment at the side of the road. As she tiredly stood up, she knew from memory that off to the right, just above that small hill, she would be able to see the lights of Ruthin twinkling in the distance. The pain was worse and each step seemed to be getting shorter and shorter until she stumbled and fell into the soft snow and lay still, wanting to forever sleep. Sleep was good, sleep now and everything will be better, sleep... and she tumbled into that darkness, not resisting or fighting, just falling.
The three friends laughed at the bawdy pitiful joke that Kajn told as he took off his chain mail and breastplate and placed it in the corner of the room. The handsome dark knight with dark eyes flashing, chuckled at his own joke as he reached for the mug of warmed ale his friends had poured for him. The fire crackled and hissed in the corner of the room as they all discussed who was going into the tournament the next day and which events each would be competing in.
The oak door crashed into the wall as the Old Man, his cobalt blue robes shimmering about him, stormed into the room and swiftly moved to the table of friends.
“NOW!” cried the old man. “I need you to go now.” His voice rattled dust from the tower’s rafters and he continued. “I don’t care that it’s snowing. I don’t care that you will be playing with your friends early tomorrow, I need you to go NOW!” His brilliant blue eyes flared with anger and even the tall dark-haired knight cowered slightly. They were left alone as his friends fled; they knew that the Old Man could easily turn them into something nasty or worse ratlike – with a glance when he was this angry.
The old man quietened