Off To Kill the Wizard (Return to Oz With a Vengeance Book 1)

by Warren Thomas

  The Witch paused, baby blues going glassy as she contemplated the return of Dorothy. The little twit couldn't still be alive after all of those years. If she were, then she'd be around eighty-seven. Ancient for a mere human. Did she return to die in a perceived paradise? Or did she leave the enchanted shoes to another?

  A wicked little smile tugged at the corners of her full pink lips. Her eyes cut left and right as a deep thrill coursed through her. Seventy-two years ago she was too Good for her own good, and never dreamed of taking the Silver Shoes from that poor, innocent child.

  But I'm not so sweet and good anymore, she thought.

  Glinda picked up her foot-long ivory wand. It was lighter than it looked, and intricately carved with tiny runes. The wand amplified her power, and allowed her to cast magic without long spoken spells. She turned slowly, facing each of the cardinal points while drawing a series of runes in the air with the wand. The smaller and more perfectly a witch could draw those runes increased the spell's power. No one did it better than Glinda

  "No. Dorothy came back, and then left shortly afterwards," Glinda said. A big smile spread across her face. "But she's just come back again."

  Scarecrow frowned and considered that a long moment.

  "It doesn't matter," he said. "She's no threat to us. Hell, Dorothy bumbled her way to victory last time. Besides, she's human so has to be in her eighties or nineties."

  Glinda considered that. He didn't take into consideration that Dorothy had over seven decades of life experience now. Or the possibility that someone else was wearing the Silver Shoes. Someone with unknown skills and motivations.

  "Maybe, but Wanda and Jezebelle will want to get their hands on her," Glinda said with a scowl. "We're in big trouble if either of the Wickeds gets her claws on those shoes."

  Wanda, the Wicked Witch of the West, stood second only to Glinda within the ranks of Witches. Olivia, the Good Witch of the North, was a close third. Then came Locasta, the vanquished Good Witch of the North that now slavishly served Lion. Jezebelle, Wicked Witch of the East, and Diana, Good Witch of the South, were pretty close in power and skill. That didn't speak well of Jezebelle, since Diana was the youngest of the Cardinal Witches to rise up, so she should be the weakest.

  Thoughts of Diana, who usurped her rule in the South, soured Glinda's mood. One day she'd have her vengeance, and that goodie-two-shoe bitch Witch Diana would grovel on her hands and knees begging for mercy.

  "You're right. Just knowing Dorothy walks the lands of Oz again is enough to cause rebellion," Scarecrow said. "But my subjects will probably kill her on sight since we managed to convince them it was all her plan and fault."

  The beautiful Witch nodded, lost in thoughts of how much more powerful she'd be if she was the one to claim Dorothy's Silver Shoes. Even if lowly Jezebelle or Diana acquired the enchanted shoes, that Witch would soar in power above the other Witches.

  "This could cause another War of the Witches," Glinda said. "The last one almost destroyed Oz."

  "Then we must find Dorothy first," Scarecrow said. "Handle it, Glinda. I expected you to deliver Dorothy to me on a silver platter."

  "Rest assured, I will," she said. But silently, Dorothy's Silver Shoes will be mine, not yours. I might even be powerful enough to break free of your magical bonds, and if I do…

  Chapter 5

  "Whoa, boy," Dorothy cried, pulling hard on the reins.

  That stretch of river ended in a dramatic waterfall, and the road turned into a tunnel in the side of the mountain. Armed men guarded the entrance to the tunnel. She studied them a long moment, satisfied to see they only carried swords and spears.

  "That's odd," she whispered. "Things really have changed since last time I visited Oz."

  The Ozian Flag flew proudly next to the entrance. Last time she visited Oz, Emerald City only ruled over the lands immediately surrounding it. The four Witches, and lots of kings, queens, dukes, and other notables ruled over the rest of the countries. As she recalled, the people of Ugabu were staunchly independent and bent knee to no other nation, not even a Witch.

  "This has got the Wicked Wizard of Oz written all over it," she muttered.

  Nudging her mount forward, Dorothy approached the wary guards. She moved slowly to give them time to see just a young woman with no weapons they recognized. Maybe she could pass through without too much difficulty.

  "Declare yourself, woman!"

  The man that called out was the only one wearing a helmet with a crest. He wore a dull blue-gray scale-mail coat with matching colored helmet. A bright white crest with green tips decorated the top of the helmet.

  "I'm just a traveler heading down the road," she said. "I have no goods or money to tax, so may I pass?"

  She knew enough from her last trip that any soldiers guarding a road were there to collect a "tax" for the local lord or city. It was literally highway robbery, but sanctioned and committed by the state.

  "Oh, then what is this?" the officer said, tapping the barrel of her right submachine gun with his spearhead. "Is that steel? It looks oddly threatening."

  "Yes, it is a talisman of sorts called an Uzi," she said. "It's an old family heirloom, and a powerful good luck talisman," Dorothy said, nodding with a big smile. "It puts a curse on anyone trying to rob me. It truly is insidious, and I feel bad about the terrible things done to people who seek to take things from me, but if they were good people they wouldn't be so horribly cursed. It is a conundrum I struggle with, my lord."

  Fear blossomed in his eyes, but he quickly regained control of his wits. His eyes wandered up and down her long, naked legs, before lingering on the two pistols and the other Uzi.

  "Why do you need two Uzi talismans?" he asked.

  "It doubles the curse," she said. She shakes her head solemnly. "I fear some men aren't strong enough to endure it, and die horribly miserable deaths, but my father insisted I carry them both. He's a cautious man, you see."

  He and his men looked uncomfortable. She smiled at them, trying to appear innocent and harmless. A couple of the soldiers smiled back. Then she noticed most of them were staring at her chest.

  Figures, she thought.

  "So, may I pass through, sir?"

  "Yes. Yes, of course," he said, waving her toward the tunnel.

  "Thank you, sir. How far is the next town or village?"

  "You should reach Jol before sundown," he said. "It is only a village, but still the only village in the kingdom."

  "Oh, I knew Oogaboo was small, but didn't realize it was that small."

  "It is, young lady," he said. "Indeed, Royal troops outnumber locals four to one. And the village only sprang up after we built our garrison."

  "Most of the people in the village of Jol are our families," one of the soldiers said. "But Queen Annette Soforth's residence is there as well."

  "Excellent," Dorothy replied. She met Queen Ann once in the Emerald City, long, long ago. "Does Queen Ann still rule? Where can I find her?"

  "Queen Ann passed away thirty years ago," he said. "Your information of the region is quite dated. The locals crowned Annette, Queen Ann's granddaughter, queen last year." Then he sneered, "She rules as the Wizard's puppet, and playmate when he visits."

  "Ooh, I see," she said, quite scandalized. I can't believe the depths of depravity that Scarecrow has descended into. She needed only look at the lust-filled faces of the soldiers to get her answer. "Thank you again, sir, you have been quite informative."

  Dorothy urged her horse into the tunnel. The road inside the tunnel proved the best so far, being very level cobblestones. Glowing stones down the middle of the ceiling gave a pale bluish-gray light, similar to moonlight. The dim light allowed her and her mount to easily traverse the twisting, turning tunnel carved out of living stone. Still, she found it eerie and she breathed a big sigh of relief when exiting at the other end.

  An even larger contingent of soldiers guarded that end of the tunnel. They didn't say anything, and just waved her through. She glanced
back at them, realizing they were stationed to keep people IN, not out. That didn't speak well of the Royal presence.

  The farmgirl traveled the rest of the day. She did alternate equally between riding and walking, though, to give her horse a rest. Soon after passing through a second tunnel, she stopped at a stream to water him, and then let him eat the oats she brought.

  "I don't know how I'm going to pay for stabling you, much less feeding you," she said. As much as she wanted to keep the horse, it wasn't fair to him since she couldn't afford to feed him. "Sorry, old boy, but I might have to sell you in Jol."

  It took longer than expected, but just before sundown Dorothy reached the village and garrison at Jol. The village sat on high ground between the Cantu River and a smaller river emptying into it. She got her first sight of it from above, and stopped to study the situation.

  The garrison stood almost as large as the village butted up against it. It was rectangular-shaped, with a palisade of upright logs. Dorothy estimated the walls at about twenty feet high. The main gate into the garrison opened into the village, so protected by its surrounding ten-foot village walls. But a dry moat encircled both the garrison and village together. Dorothy noticed one large structure on the opposite side of the village that looked more palace-like than utilitarian. It was all wood, ornately built, and three stories tall with wood shingles. She assumed that was Queen Annette's residence.

  "I don't see a proper street inside the village," she muttered. Ozian villages tended to be carefully arranged and well-kept. The village below her appeared more like an open field with structures erected haphazardly. Most of the "buildings" were one room huts clustered together in two groups. She noted the straight path between the garrison gate and the village gate, with some of the larger, better built structures placed randomly along its length. One of them was a stable with two corrals. Dorothy patted the horse's neck. "Well, at least they have a place for you to stay."

  Saddle-weary and hungry, Dorothy really hoped one of the larger buildings was an inn. She still hadn't figured out how to pay for a room. A few ideas on how a pretty young woman could "pay" crossed her mind, some of which kind of frightened and scared her.

  "Main thing is stay out of trouble," she said.

  She rode down to the village, only to be challenged at the gate. The soldiers guarding the gate were armed and armored like the soldiers guarding the tunnel, but the gate guards also wore white surcoats trimmed in green over their armor. The Ozian five-point bright green star was centered on their chests.

  "Halt. Declare yourself," a burly officer with the biggest, bushiest mustache she'd ever seen said.

  The young beauty noticed him looking at her legs, and then linger on her silver stilettos. She wondered if he'd ever seen a pair of high heels. Of course, Oz was full of different groups and races with odd, and sometimes bizarre, fashion tastes.

  "I am Dorothy," she said, and immediately realized she'd made a mistake. It didn't go well last time she gave her name. So she quickly moved to distract him. "Who are you?"

  She immediately pretended to wipe something off her thigh, and then leaned way over to brush at her calf. Instead of distracting with her legs, as intended, his eyes zeroed in on her deep cleavage as gravity helped display her natural assets much more enticingly.

  "I… Um… I ask the questions here, young lady."

  She sat up straight and adjusted her sports bra. "Is your identity a secret, sir?"

  He didn't answer right away. "Of course not."

  "Are you ashamed of who you are, sir?"

  "Definitely not! I am Sameron, Second Son of Lord Arbordu, sixty-seventh Baron of Arbordu," he declared proudly. "At the moment, I serve his Royal Majesty, Scarecrow, the Wizard of Oz as a Lieutenant in the Royal Horse."

  "Royal Horse? Does that mean cavalry?"

  "Of course."

  "Then why don't you just…"

  "I don't have all day, young lady. What do you want?" He gave her a stern look and huffed.

  "You stopped me, sir," Dorothy said. "I'm just a lone traveler seeking refuge for the night. May I enter your fine village?"

  "Of course. Just go," he said, waving her through the gate.

  Dorothy thanked him sweetly and rode through the gate. Once inside, she dismounted and led the horse straight toward the stable. The citizenry hurried about from shop to shop to finish before nightfall. She assumed the shops all closed once night descended upon the land. It didn't take long before she could pick out the different groups. The Ozian soldiers and their family members all wore green. The locals wore blue, while a few more regal looking men and women were decked out in various shades of purple.

  An elderly man sat by the stable door sucking on a piece of straw. Dorothy guessed he was in his eighties. He's my age, or a little younger. He wore a long-sleeved shirt and overalls, each a different shade of blue. He looked her form over with appreciation as only an old man can. She shook her head, thinking old men got away with way too much, yet he looked adorable at the same time. How could she get mad at him? After all, it's been at least forty years since a man looked at her like that.

  "Good day, sir," she said. "What are your stabling fees?"

  "Five pennies," he said. "It'll be fifteen if you want your beast fed."

  Dorothy frowned. By twenty-first century standards that was absurdly cheap, but she didn't have a single Ozian green penny to her name. Worse, she didn't have a guaranteed way to earn fifteen cents in the next hour or two. After that, the stable owner would probably go home and her mount would go hungry for the night.

  "How much will you give me for the horse and his tack?"

  That surprised the old man. He jumped to his feet, expression turning all business as he examined the horse and gear.

  "The beast looks healthy enough, despite being ridden hard all day," he said, giving her a disapproving look. "But the saddle is old and worn. I'll give you twelve pounds for the horse, and three for the tack."

  She considered haggling, but since she had no idea what a fair price was for a horse, she just sighed and accepted. He paid her with fifteen one pound notes. An Ozian pound note was roughly the size of an American dollar, but a much brighter green, with some red and blue stamps. It had a portrait of King Scarecrow on the front, with a picture of Emerald City on the back. Each pound note represented one physical pound of pennies, which was one hundred pennies. The Ozian green penny was a little smaller than pennies back in Kansas.

  Dorothy headed up the center of the village. Some of the shops started closing at that time. The sun was down, and they were in that twilight before full dark. She found the inn halfway to the garrison. The Blue Glade Inn was a two-story half-timbered and U-shaped structure. It had a thatched roof and a deep, covered porch across the front. The windows glowed invitingly with candlelight.

  "Greetings, young lady," a rotund innkeeper called.

  He looked her over. She noted a flash of disapproval, but his smile returned. Other patrons in the common room looked at her with a lot more interest. Strangers were always reason to stare, but she was pretty scantily clad by their standards, too. Add the odd looking weapons all over her, and she had to be quite an unusual sight indeed.

  "Greetings, sir," she said. "I would like room and board for the night."

  "Wonderful, and be welcome," he said. He asked for five pennies, and she handed him a pound note. "Have a seat, and I'll be right back with your change and dinner."

  "Do you have a coin purse for the change?" she asked. "I'm afraid I lost mine."

  It cost her three pennies, but the innkeeper sold her a leather purse, which she filled with pennies, and a cloth sack to hold the rest, which she placed in her pack. No one carried a pound of pennies around. The dinner was even better. The inn served a hearty shepherd's stew that night, washed down with a mug of beer. And then she had another mug, and two more after that. So Dorothy felt pretty good when she looked around the common room. She noticed quite a few single men keeping an alert eye on her
.

  "I got a bad feeling that I'm going to do something bad tonight," she whispered, and then smiled wickedly.

  That's when a soldier entered. He didn't wear any armor, but did carry a sword. His tunic and trousers were Royal Green. Pausing in the door, he looked around. Dorothy's breath caught and she sat straight up. That got his full attention.

  The soldier's eyes went straight to her bare legs, and then her chest. She smiled and shook her head. Men. Though, he was a fine example of manhood. Tall, dark, handsome, and interested. Her kind of man. Even better, he kind of looked like her late husband in his prime.

  It's been so long, she thought, feeling a little something stirring down there.

  "What's your name, Miss Silver Shoes," the soldier asked.

  Even his voice was deep and sexy. Up closer, she could see he had a five day growth of whiskers, giving him that rough around the edges look that she loved so much. Her eyes were drawn to his broad, thick shoulders, making Dorothy bite her lip and rub her thighs together.

  "Everyone calls me Silver," she purred. "What's your name, big boy?"

  "I'm Sergeant Fredder, Silver," he said, sitting on the bench beside her. "When did you arrive?"

  "Today."

  "How long are you staying in Jol?"

  That question made her all tingly. She scooted a little closer, while holding his eyes. And their gaze sizzled. She hadn't felt a connection like that in decades. Dorothy couldn't even remember the last time a man made her feel that way. It was a little embarrassing, yet she adored feeling that giddy and out of control.

  "I had planned to leave first thing in the morning, but I've started to reconsider."

  Several other patrons, mostly women, gave her a sharp look. She felt a little heat in her face, knowing she was acting scandalously bold. But she was an octogenarian in a twenty-year-old body again. What did they expect? Besides, she'd never had a one night stand in her life.

  It's about time, Dorothy thought. At eighty-seven, I'm way overdue.