Ruler of Beasts (4 page)

The Lion quickly found that he did not miss the Forest of the Beasts—or being a king—at all. Despite all the servants and palace staff, Ozma was strangely alone in the Emerald Palace. The Lion was the closest thing she had to a friend, and soon Ozma was spending all her free time with him. Ozma loved to stroll through the palace gardens, and never grew tired of pointing out new plantings of flowers or trees. She braided flowers into the Lion's mane and tail while he napped idly in the soft grass of the palace lawns. Occasionally, if she had a free day, the queen would disguise herself in a shabby old dress and cloak, and she and the Lion would wander through the streets of the Emerald City. The Lion had never spent much time in the city itself, and he grew to love its mysterious back alleyways and odd little shops where Ozma bought exotic herbs and spices, rich fabrics from the farthest corners of Oz, and rare old books in languages the Lion didn't know. He suspected that the shopkeepers often
recognized the queen but respected her attempt at hiding her identity, and always pretended not to know her.

But Ozma was often busy with royal duties. Not all of the Emerald City had recovered from Jinjur's brief, catastrophic rule, and Ozma was occupied with overseeing reconstruction of areas that had been destroyed. Ozma always invited him to attend her various meetings and conferences with her, but the Lion was easily bored by the endless talking and planning. As the King of the Beasts, he had never had to do much administration. The Lion waited patiently for a good moment to search for Glinda's necklace, but someone was always around—if not Ozma, one of the many courtiers who advised her.

At last, his chance came. Ozma called an important meeting and everyone from her most trusted counselors to the least important state undersecretary shut themselves up in the banquet hall. He was alone and could start the search Glinda had compelled him to perform.

The occupied parts of the palace seemed like an unlikely place to find it; surely someone would have noticed something as unusual as a ruby necklace. Instead, he began his search in the wine cellars, where huge barrels of wine lay in a thick coat of dust. The Lion idly poked his paw into the cracks between barrels, feeling almost silly. What could Glinda possibly want with some silly old piece of jewelry, anyway, even if he was able to find it? His search dislodged an avalanche of dust and debris, and he sneezed violently.

“Hello?” called an anxious voice from the stairwell. The Lion
looked around for a hiding place, but the gaps between the wine casks were too narrow. The wine steward, a short, fat Munchkin with an enormous beard that obscured most of his face, came down the stairs and stopped short at the sight of the Lion.

“Your Highness,” he said suspiciously. “What are you doing down here, sir?”

The Lion had to stifle a laugh when he realized the steward thought he was trying to steal a drink. “Just, er, checking to make sure everything looks all right down here,” he said. “You know how Her Majesty worries.”

The steward's eyes narrowed. “It's my job to make sure the cellars are in order.”

“And an excellent job you're doing, too,” the Lion said loftily, sweeping past him and bounding up the stairs. “Keep up the good work.”

He tried again a few days later after dinner, ducking out of the banquet hall just as dessert was being served. (He didn't care for ambleberry custard, which had a habit of walking away from the person trying to eat it.) But he'd barely gotten away from the busiest part of the palace before he heard Ozma's anxious voice behind him. “Lion! Dear Lion, I was hoping you might have tea with me in my chambers.” The loneliness in the queen's voice was unmistakable.

“Of course, Your Highness,” he said. He wasn't sorry to turn away from his task. It had seemed so important, so burning, when Glinda had left him. But as the days passed in the palace her request seemed less and less important. It was as if the palace
itself—or perhaps the continual hum of Ozma's magic—was insulating him from Glinda's will.

After his second attempt, he more or less gave up searching for Glinda's necklace. He must have imagined the threat in her tone when she'd visited him in the Kingdom of the Beasts. As the days turned into weeks, the Lion happily ate his way through the palace stores and spent time with Ozma whenever he could. He forgot the joys of running through the forest with the wind in his fur and the satisfaction of hunting his own prey. He grew lazier and lazier, soon reluctant even to accompany Ozma on her walks. He could have stayed at Ozma's side in the Emerald Palace indefinitely—and he would have, if Ozma hadn't decided it was time to save Oz.

The Lion had gotten into the habit of sleeping in every morning and ordering a late breakfast in his room, but that morning Ozma summoned him just after dawn. She did not seem to have slept, and her face was worried and exhausted. She sent a servant to fetch them breakfast and then turned to face the Lion. “I've been thinking all night,” she began, skipping any formalities. “I think it's for the best you've come to the palace now. My dear Lion, I'm afraid I need your courage—and your counsel. No one else knows yet, but Oz is on the brink of war.”

The Lion stared at her. “War? Again? With who?”

She sighed wearily and rubbed her forehead with the heel of one hand, looking far more vulnerable than he had ever seen her. “Do you know of the Land of Ev?”

“Ev? But that's just a legend, isn't it?” The Lion had heard stories of the fabled country beyond the Deadly Desert, but he'd always assumed they were just children's fairy stories. “There's
nothing past the Deadly Desert but the Other Place.”

“I wish that were true. But Ev is another country just like Oz, though the fairies didn't have any hand in founding it. And just like Oz, it has its own counties and rulers. My ancestors traveled through Ev to reach the place where they created Oz, and brought with them stories of their journey. Ev is a far less kind place than Oz is, peopled with strange, cruel creatures who do not love peace the way we do. Many of them have searched for years for a way through the desert to Oz, and now one of their most evil tyrants has found one.”

“Who?” the Lion breathed.

“The Nome King,” Ozma said. The Lion had never heard of such a person, but something about the way Ozma said the name sent a chill through him. “He lives in an underground palace, and rules over a people who are the distant kin of fairies. He is evil, through and through; he thrives on the pain and suffering of others, and all but the most powerful of his people live like slaves. He forces them to mine the earth for precious metals and jewels, and in addition to being powerful, he's incredibly rich. He's like the fairies in that he can't die—he's hundreds of years old, maybe even older. For a long time he's been building a network of tunnels under the Deadly Desert, and he's finally reached his goal. He'll be at the Emerald City in a matter of days. His magic is so strong that I can sense him coming. I can even sense his plans. He's not trying to hide; he knows how vulnerable we are here.”

“How can we stop him?” the Lion asked, and Ozma shook
her head.

“I don't know yet. He's incredibly powerful, and the Emerald City has no army.”

“Glinda—” the Lion began, and then stopped as Ozma smiled sadly at him.

“Glinda has an army, yes. But I can't trust her, Lion. Not the way I can trust you. I don't think she would throw in her lot with the Nome King, but she has her own ideas about how to govern Oz, and I can't count on her support. It's down to me—and you, if you'll help me. You fought bravely in the battle against Jinjur, and I need every strong fighter we have on my side. The people of Oz aren't used to war.”

“Of course,” the Lion said immediately. He had come here to protect Ozma, right? He hadn't promised Glinda he wouldn't help Ozma—only that he'd search for the Wizard's necklace, and keep an eye on Ozma while Glinda was away from the city. And he was already coming to care for the young queen. She was such an intriguing combination of youth and wisdom, strength and vulnerability—and she'd treated him like an equal and a friend. Even Glinda hadn't done that. If he hadn't bound himself to Glinda back in the Forest of the Beasts, he would have abandoned his vows to her altogether. He knew Glinda's spell had compelled him to help her, but it seemed as though the strength of it was weakening the longer he was in the palace. He'd worry about Glinda's desire for the necklace later. If the Emerald City fell to the Nome King, he wouldn't be doing much looking for jewelry anyway.

“Do you have a plan?” the Lion asked. “Of course I'll fight with you, but strategy is Scare's department, not mine.”

Ozma frowned. “I'd rather not bring him into this if I can help it.”

So things really
had
gone south between the three of them. What had the Scarecrow and Glinda tried to do in the aftermath of the battle with Jinjur?
Never mind,
the Lion thought.
Palace intrigue is Scare's thing; I just eat and fight. Let him and Glinda try to outmaneuver each other.
He wondered briefly what would happen if he disobeyed Glinda altogether. How powerful was the spell that bound him? Surely she wouldn't actually hurt him if he decided not to obey her orders? The situation was far more complicated than he thought, and it seemed entirely possible that Glinda wasn't on Ozma's side at all. Suddenly, he realized Ozma was still talking.

“. . . can convince him otherwise, we might be able to avoid fighting altogether. I was hoping you would agree to be my bodyguard.”

“Yes, of course,” the Lion said, and then, “what? Isn't that Tin's department?”

Ozma laughed. “You have to pay better attention before you make promises, dear Lion!” Did she
know
about the deal Glinda had forced him into? He stared at her in panic, but her beautiful face was guileless. “You're here, and Tin isn't. We have to act now. I think if we can meet the Nome King underground, before he reaches the Emerald City, I might be able to convince him that there's nothing for him in Oz. My magic is powerful, but it's
not strong enough to hold him back if something goes wrong. I could use you as a bodyguard.”

“We'll have an escort?”

“If anyone in Oz finds out about this, there will be a terrible panic. If I can prevent—if
we
can prevent the Nome King from ever setting foot in Oz, no one will ever have to know.”

“We're going underground, alone, to confront an ancient enemy of Oz who might have an entire army with him?”

“Oh, I'm sure the army isn't with him yet,” Ozma said cheerfully. “I would probably have sensed it if they were. He'll just be supervising the final construction of the tunnels. The army won't come through until he's ready to invade Oz. It won't be the least bit dangerous—I'd just feel better if you were there. A lion is a very impressive-looking lieutenant.”

Probably
have sensed an army? The Lion wondered briefly if the stress of the situation had caused Ozma to lose her mind. But she looked happier than he'd seen her since he arrived at the Emerald Palace, now that he'd agreed to go with her. He couldn't let her down now—not if the future of Oz was at stake.

“If you think it's a good idea, I'm sure it is,” he said. Ozma's face lit up again and she threw her arms around his chest.

“I knew you'd help!” she cried.

“When will we leave?”

“Why, right now, don't you think? There's no sense in wasting time.”

“Right now? Are you sure?” The Lion's stomach rumbled, even though he'd just eaten. “What about lunch?”

Ozma laughed. “You can bring something to eat along the way. The Nome King is very close—it won't take us long to find him. Why, we could be back in the Emerald Palace by dinnertime if all goes well. There's an old tunnel system underneath the Emerald Palace that we can use to reach the Nome King's tunnel.”

“Why hasn't the Nome King used them himself?”

“The fairies—my ancestors—passed down the knowledge of the tunnels among themselves, but no one else knows about them anymore,” Ozma explained. “They're very, very old—older than the Emerald Palace itself. Some people say they were there even before the fairies created Oz, although no one knows for sure. They may have been created by the Nomes themselves, ages ago, even before the Deadly Desert formed and separated us from the Land of Ev.”

The Lion's eyes widened. “I didn't know there
was
anything before the Deadly Desert.”

Ozma laughed. “Of course there was, silly! Nothing is forever. And the Nomes are an ancient people, nearly as old as the fairies, though luckily for us they've forgotten as much as we have about the prehistory of our lands. The Nome King would have invaded long ago if he knew the tunnels existed. Anyway, we should be able to find a way to get close to where the Nome King is digging. My magic connects to the magic of Oz, and I can feel any disturbances, especially this close to the Emerald City. It's difficult to teleport underground, but if we get close enough, I can do it if we have to.”

The Lion got to his feet, eyeing the empty breakfast plates sadly. Ozma, seeing his look, snapped her fingers and a heavy bundle appeared. “There's your lunch,” she said, still laughing, and handed it to the Lion. He tucked the bundle over his shoulder, feeling much better about the adventure now that there was food involved.

“Lead the way!” he said, and followed Ozma out of the room.

It was still early, and the palace halls were nearly empty. Ozma led him down out-of-the-way corridors, anxious to avoid anyone who might ask questions about where the queen was going. She had magically transformed her royal gown into a plain traveling dress and covered herself with a drab gray cloak, but she wore her golden crown, and there was no mistaking her queenly air. She was so fiercely intelligent, so alert, that it would have been difficult for her to ever truly disguise herself, the Lion thought. Her intensity shone from her electric green eyes and was clear in her precise, alert movements. Oz's new queen was formidable indeed.

Ozma led him farther and farther into the depths of the palace, and soon they saw no one at all. This part of the castle was silent and oppressive. They were too deep for any natural light to reach them, and the hallways were lit with sooty, guttering torches that flared into life as they approached and then
extinguished themselves again, leaving the hall behind them in thick, velvety darkness. Without light from the outside, the Lion had no sense of the passage of time, or how long they had been walking. Down here, the hallways were carpeted with a thick layer of dust that drifted up into his nostrils and made him sneeze. No one had been down here in a long, long time. Here and there, and then more frequently, the cut stone walls gave way to sheer rock, and the floor pitched steeply downward.

“We're going underground now,” Ozma said unnecessarily. Hers were the first words either of them had spoken in a long time, and her voice rang out harshly in the dense silence so that both of them flinched. Ozma took a deep breath and straightened her back. “This is a very old part of Oz,” she said more firmly, “but it's not a hostile one. You have nothing to fear here, Lion.”

He suspected her words were meant to reassure herself as much as him, but he only nodded. The line of torches ended soon after she spoke. Ozma muttered something under her breath and snapped her fingers, and a tiny ball of cheerful yellow light sprung to life and darted back the way they had come. “Over here!” Ozma called, and it dutifully fluttered back to hover directly over Ozma's head, where it seemed to shrink a little.

“Can you make it go ahead of us so it lights the way a little better?” the Lion asked. Ozma said something to the ball of light and it shivered violently.

“It's afraid of the dark,” Ozma said apologetically.

“
I'm
not afraid of the dark,” the Lion said. But despite the
Wizard's gift of courage, he wasn't quite as confident as he sounded. The darkness itself closed in like a living thing, its menace creeping into his heart and stealing away his bravery. In the distance, he could hear a faint dripping noise, as if water was slowly dribbling from a great height. He could feel the weight of the stone above them, as if the ceiling was beginning to sink. What would they do if the tunnel crumbled? he thought, beginning to panic. He huddled on the floor, covering his head with his paws as if that would somehow protect him, but he knew the feeble gesture was useless. This was the end. He'd never see the light again, or run through the forest, or feel fresh air riffling through his fur. They'd be trapped down here, down in the darkness forever . . .

“Stop!” Ozma's voice rang out into the darkness, and her ball of light blazed a little brighter. “I am Ozma of Oz, direct descendant of the fairy Lurline and rightful ruler of Oz! I come on a mission of protection!” Her wings fluttered, the golden veins catching the light and scattering it like a shower of fireworks. Suddenly, she was every inch a queen, all trace of the lonely, frightened girl he knew completely erased. As she spoke, the panic that had gripped the Lion eased immediately, and the feeling that the tunnel was collapsing around him slipped away. He took a deep, relieved breath.

“This place is very old,” Ozma said again in a normal tone of voice. “It doesn't like strangers.”

The Lion had nothing to say to that, but he let Ozma go ahead of him as they continued down the tunnel, and he stopped more
than once to listen carefully, making sure no one was following them.

As the tunnel continued to descend, the air grew warmer and warmer. The Lion's fur itched in the heat, and even Ozma looked a little wilted in the wan light from her orb. Moisture ran down the rough stone walls and trickled past their feet. Ozma stopped suddenly, and the Lion nearly ran into her. “What is it?” he asked. Ozma pointed at a yawning patch of darkness in the tunnel wall, and it took the Lion a moment to realize it was another tunnel branching off from theirs. Ozma closed her eyes, holding up both hands to the hot, stifling air for several long, tension-filled seconds before dropping them again and opening her eyes. “This way,” she said, continuing down the same tunnel.

“Are you sure?” the Lion asked. Ozma didn't answer. The ball of light bobbed slightly, as if it were shrugging. The Lion kept his doubts to himself and padded along after Ozma.

They began to pass side tunnels with increasing frequency. At each juncture, Ozma stopped and performed the same mysterious ritual, her face upturned and her palms lifted, before deciding which way to go. Some of the tunnels they passed opened up on vast, jewel-encrusted caverns where even the orb's meager light was reflected into dazzling brilliance. Once the Lion peered into a doorway, entranced by a dim green glow. He saw a huge, empty hall. Its floor was an elaborate tiled mosaic that had mostly crumbled away. Its walls were painted with rich murals nearly swallowed up by an eerie moss that was the source
of the sickly green light, but here and there sections of the paintings remained. Unable to resist his curiosity, the Lion wandered in for a closer look. The murals were so vivid their subjects seemed almost alive: long-limbed, pale-skinned people with thick white hair cascading down their backs moved through endless candlelit libraries, or painted beautiful pictures of cave crystals and pools, or played instruments the Lion didn't recognize. One of the paintings depicted them seated at a huge table in the hall itself, piled high with strange-looking foods. At the head of the table sat a stern, pale man wearing a silver crown. His eyes were cold and hard and cruel.

At the far end of the hall a huge, pale marble staircase led up into the darkness as far as the Lion could see. The marble, like the moss that covered the banquet hall's walls, glowed with a pale, unearthly light. It was cracked and pitted, and in places chunks of the staircase were missing altogether, leaving black, cavernous gaps. As soon as he saw the staircase, the Lion couldn't look away. Where did it lead? The question throbbed in his brain until he was unable to think of anything else. He
had
to know. Before he knew it, his paw was on the first stair. The marble was as cold as ice and burned like fire.
Welcome,
it seemed to whisper.
Come with us . . .