The Wheel of Lime

[hullukoira]

This here is an advertisement, giving you a taster to my already famous Wheel of Lime series (every installment has become a bestseller in Hungary). It tells you how the whole adventure got started, in a very nicely contracted form. Be sure to enjoy.



The Wheel of Lime


The Wheel of Lime turns...

Ron Smithson was heading home.

The visit to the village of Greenyhay had taken way too long. The travelling merchant had been late, with tales of trouble upon his lips. Well, it was better being late than never. The livelihood of the people of Greenyhay depended upon these wayward merchants.

Yes, now is the time to turn to the last page, where we have a map. Did you find the village? Good. Moving on, then.

It had been Ron's duty to get some new stuff for his father, the smith. Whom happened to live in the middle of the woods, against all common sense.

Last year Ron had been to the village with his mother. Sadly, the hard winter had taken mother away from them. Not many in the village grieved. For Ron's mother had been a bit enigmatic figure. But you guessed that one already, what?

What I mean to convey here, of course, is that we have a country pumpkin of a lad with a mysterious lineage. Obviously a future hero. No doubt daddy too will bite the bullet soon, launching the lad into a tremendous adventure.

Which he did.

Of a sudden, the forest went silent around Ron. He stopped to listen. From north, then, a clamour of beastly sounds rose, gaining in volume with alarming speed. Ron climbed a tree, just to be on the safe side. Well, on the safe branch, anyway.

Soon, a band of beastmen appeared. The brutish creatures snorted and cajoled as they passed Ron's hiding place. With alarm, Ron saw one of the brutes carrying a familiar looking axe. Father's favourite axe. Oh no!

Oh yes. Told you, did I not?

The beasts were gone as soon as they had appeared, heading towards Greenyhay. Only their horrid scent lingered. Ron was just about to scarper down, when he FELT that he was spied upon. With alarm, the lad looked about. And there! A black creature, upon a black stallion.

The hooded rider was looking straight at Ron.

And then it was gone.

Ron blinked. Had he imagined the creature? Well, no matter, it was not important. What was important was to make sure papa was all right. And with that, Ron jumped down and started to race towards home.

Which was, of course, burning.

Whimpering out of agony, Ron forced his way inside, ignoring the rising inferno around. And there, sure enough, laid his papa, in the middle of the floor, a beastman blade buried in his gut. Ron stepped closer, and gasped as his daddy opened his eyes.

'Ron,' gasped Ron's father. 'Thank Sigmar you are safe!'

'Papa!' shouted Ron. 'I'm sorry I was not here! But the merchant was late and...'

'Do not be a fool, boy. What would you have done here? Died with me? No, lad, it was destiny that the merchant was late. It was meant you would live as I would die.'

'Do not talk like that, papa! We'll get you to the village healer!'

'No, son. I'm a veteran of wars. I know when death comes calling. Now, son, I do not have much time. So listen very carefully. Your mother was... Your moth... *cough*'

'Papa! No! Papaaaaa!!!!!'

Oh, the tears! Why, oh why, the path of a hero must always be started with a death of a close relative? It's so maudlin. But moving on.

So, the lad, instead of going to warn the village, buries his papa and gathers his things. And only then goes and heads for the village.

Which is, by then, burning.

Luckily the villagers were made of sterner stuff that Ron's old papa, and had managed to scatter the beasts. The merchant had been a big help too. For he had turned out to be an excellent swordsman.

Oh, dear. That merchant is going to be a mentor to the lad, is he not? He's going to teach the lad how to fight and stuff, is he not? And tell of his destiny, to boot, am I right?

Indeedy yes.

The villagers were sad to hear of Ron's father. He had been a good smith, despite his past marital choises. They inquired Ron about the beastmen he had seen, and gathered from his tale that they had indeed been the same band that had tried to raze the village.

When Ron mentioned the rider in black, howerer, the villagers were as flummoxed as he. For their part, they had battled only beastmen, not riders of any kind. Maybe the lad had been dreaming.

At this point the travelling merchant, now a quite a hero to the people, pulled Ron aside.

'I heard you tell of a rider all in black,' the merchant whispered to the lad in conspiratory manner. 'Tell me, did it make any sound?'

'No, not that I discerned.'

'Discerned? How come a lad of your age knows such words?'

'My mother taught me.'

'Indeed? Hmmm... But of the rider, it did not, surely, just disappear?'

'It seemed, to, yes. I did not hear it ride away, if that's what you mean.'

'I see. Oh dear. This is bad...'

'What do you mean?'

'That rider. I also saw it. It was commanding the beastmen, although the villagers did not seem to be able to see it. I saw it earlier too, couple of days ago. Had I known it was hunting, but alas!'

'Hunting? Hunting what? Humans?'

'No. Hunting you, Ron.'

'Hey! How do you know my name?'

'I know many things, son. As to your name, the villagers had been calling you ron all the time, so it was not like I needed clairvoyancy...'

'Meaning true seeing. But why would the, umm, black figure be hunting me? I'm just a son of a smith!'

'I wonder that too. But it cannot be otherwise. For only you saw the rider. It means you must be the chosen.'

'Chosen? You mean I, because of my mysterious lineage and the reason my daddy was just killed, will launch myself into a life of heady adventure, and, in time, turn out to be The Hero of the Century. Complete with Troupe of Trusty Sidekicks?'

'Yes. Got it in one. Now, come with me, lad. We must read your future. Just to be sure you really are the chosen, you know, and not some unlucky country pumpkin.'

'Fair enough,' said Ron, shrugging. He had always known there was more to himself than what met the eye. He had always known he would not spend his entire life in the village. 'you got your chrystal ball with you?'

'Don't be daft lad! Chrystal balls are for charlatans and soothsayers!'

'So what shall it be then? My mother used cards...'

'Nay, lad. We use the Wheel of Lime!'

'You what?'

'Just come with me, lad.'

********************************

The Wheel of Lime turns...

This time in a pail of water.

Ron stared at the cut piece of citrus fruit with bemusement. It was turning slowly round and round. And that was it. It was not very exciting, truth be told. He looked up to the merchant.

'The Wheel of Lime turns,' intoned the merchant in a singsong voice. 'Ages come and go, empires rise and crumble. And through all this, the Wheel of Lime turns. Touch the water, lad.'

'Huh?'

'Touch the water! Just dip your finger in it. No biggie.'

Ron did as told. The water felt cold, colder than it should.

In the middle of the pail, the Wheel of Lime came slowy to a halt.

'Oh, it stopped,' said Ron, and looked up to the merchant.

Whom had gone deadly pale.

The merchant was shivering as he kept staring at the Wheel of Lime. His lips were drawn into a tight line, his eyebrows furrowed over narrowed eyes. Then he looked up. Ron saw his eyes were filled with desperation and anxiety.

'So it has come to this,' the merchant mumbled as he scanned Ron up and down. 'The chosen. In my time. The End Time. No wonder Sharviz'hz is hunting. The great hunt has started, then. Whom wins, I wonder. No matter. it is beyond me in any case. My duty is to prepare the chosen.'

'Wow!' intoned Ron. 'That was some genuine prophezying and no mistake! You got the mysterious mumblings down pat! I felt shivers down AND up my spine! But now, let's go and get the show on the road, shall we. I'll go say farewells to my best mates, whom will then know to follow me so as to save our skins later. After that we can head out on the road, and later, you can give me my first sword fighting lesson, only to found I have been trained in secret with the village's inkeep, whom happens to be a veteran of the Fell Wars, just like you!'

And that's what they did, launching the crew into a heady adventure, spanning a series of novels the size of bricks, the types librarians everywhere loath to carry around. By the twentieth book, the goings had gone way silly, with entire nations in a bloody was over some silly heirlooms Ron had stupidly enough earthed from southern deserts, but that's high fantasy for you.

If you want to read all about it, be sure to check out the entire Wheel of Lime series from the local library. Be sure to bring a wheelbarrow along, though. For the books really are weighty. Unlike the text within, I might add. You will also need some strong coffee, for the books, though containing many fine points, can induce sleepiness in people unaccustomed to genuine high fantasy literature.


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