The Nome King laughed and waved one hand. Around him, the darkness seethed, and suddenly he was surrounded by pale, thin warriors in black armor, their faces hidden by black helmets. The Lion’s heart missed a beat, but he held his ground, determined not to show his fear.
“You’re a long way from home, little cat,” the Nome King hissed. “Do you really think you’re in a position to be making demands?” He leaned forward, and the Lion took an involuntary step backward. The crystal on top of the Nome King’s staff blazed with blue-white light. At last the Lion saw the source of the terrible metallic noise. At one end of the huge cavern, a vast, many-armed machine of iridescent blue metal the Lion had never seen before was chipping away at the rock. More bald Nomes—these stoop-shouldered and scuttling, wearing leather aprons over their shirtless chests—stoked a furnace at the heart of the machine, dumping load after load of coals into the glowing inferno. They wore thick black glass goggles on tattered leather straps to protect their eyes from the heat. Huge leather gloves clanking with chain mail kept the coals from burning their hands. They were all pale as mushrooms but coated in black dust, their lean, wiry bodies scarred and burned where the leather had not been enough to protect them. Many of them had carved elaborate designs into their bare arms and chests and packed the cuts with coal dust so that their skin seemed covered in dense black lace. Others had shoved chunks of iron through their earlobes, noses, or lips. Moving together, they looked like an army of sinister beetles pushing their burdens back and forth like ants carrying food back to their nests.
“I have been working for a very long time to reach the glorious country of Oz,” the Nome King snarled. “Do you think I’ll stop now because a snippy little house cat says I should?”
“You’ll stop because the Queen of Oz tells you to,” said a high, clear voice behind the Lion. The Nome King’s sneer transformed momentarily to a look of shock. The Lion whirled around. Ozma stood tall and proud, her wings spread out to their full span and their golden veins glowing. Her dark hair whipped around her head, crackling with electricity. Her green eyes had darkened to black and her enchanted orb blazed with a green light that rivaled the Nome King’s crystal. The two rulers stared at each other, neither of them giving an inch.
“If it isn’t Lurline’s little protégé, the Princess of Oz,” the Nome King laughed, recovering quickly from his surprise. “Do you really think your magic is a match for mine, child?”
“I’m the Queen of Oz now,” Ozma said coldly. “And you know it is, old man. Abandon this foolish plan and leave my country in peace. There is no reason for war between our peoples.”
“Oh, there are plenty of reasons,” the Nome King said, waving his arm again. The cavern wall behind him shimmered and dissolved into a window onto another world. The sky was a dark, stormy gray over barren fields where blackened stalks of corn and wheat looked like skeletons. A harsh wind blew dust storms across the desolate landscape, whipping against the crumbling stone walls of a tiny village that looked abandoned. But as the Lion looked more closely, he saw gaunt, desperate faces in the windows of the houses. A starving dog limped through the empty streets, too hungry even to howl. And the wall was lined with—the Lion flinched in horror—heads. Some were human, and some were creatures he didn’t recognize at all. Creatures he’d never seen before.
As they watched in horror, a group of strange, terrifying creatures descended on the desolate village. Their bodies were human but their arms and legs were the same length so that they moved on all fours. How can they move so quickly? the Lion wondered, and then he saw that the creatures’ feet and hands had been replaced by whirling, spiked wheels. As they drew closer to the village, he could see their clothes—crazed, clashing patchworks of garish colors that stood out harshly against the washed-out landscape. Their eyes were mad and wild. One of them hefted a blazing torch aloft and with a screech of laughter hurled it at the nearest house. The straw roof caught immediately, and soon the entire hovel was ablaze as its inhabitants poured out into the dirt street in terror. More of the wheeled creatures set fire to the village, shrieking with glee and laughing and pointing at its helpless, sobbing inhabitants.
“Behold the Land of Ev,” hissed the Nome King. “The Deadly Desert is expanding. The drought is so severe nothing can grow. The Wheelers terrorize my subjects. The magic itself is seeping out of the land. Unless Oz shares its bounty, the country is doomed.” He glanced back at his warriors. “Plus, I’m getting really tired of living underground,” he said in a more conversational tone. “Bad for the complexion, you know? And the only thing to eat is mushrooms. I’m really sick of mushrooms.”