Part 4

While the sorceresses toasted their schemes in another part of the castle, the League was gathered by a window in the room that had become Guinevere’s prison. Thumbelina had floated up to the windowsill and was gazing out across the fields, trying to determine where they were.

“I’m not sure, but I think I see—yes! There it is,” ‘Lina called to the others as she spotted a familiar hill. “I see the Tor off in the distance. We’re in the Summer Country.”

“Then Nimue and Pelleas were telling the truth,” Thumbling said. “They did spot Morgan while they were here.”

“Unless they’re in on this with her,” Tom added darkly. “Nimue is a sorceress herself. She could be one of le Fay’s allies.”

“That seems illogical, mon capitan,” said Hop. “Why would she return to Camelot to warn ze king of Morgan’s plot?”

“To lure him into a trap,” Tom reasoned.

“All the more reason for us to find Arthur and that company of knights,” ‘Lina said. “They could be walking into an ambush.”

“Hop, you’re the fastest of us,” said Tom. “Those magic boots of yours can cover the most ground. You’ve got to find Arthur and warn him.”

“You can count on me, monsieur. But where shall I lead him?”

“Hold that thought,” said ‘Lina. She took off once again and flitted gracefully to where Guinevere was bound, landing on her right cheek like a butterfly. With some effort, the tiny woman was able to pull the gag from the queen’s lips, backing away cautiously as the huge mouth slid open and flexed a bit as she recovered.

“Your majesty,” Thumbelina said, hovering in the air before the queen’s eyes, “do you know where we are?”

“I’m not positive,” Guinevere admitted. “Guinevak and her thugs caught me by surprise when I went to visit my father in Cameliard several days ago. When I came to, I was here. It…seems familiar to me. Perhaps Castle Malagant, if we are in the Summer Country. I was held prisoner there once before, years ago.”

“I will mention zis possibility,” Hop said. In a flash, he had vanished and appeared on the windowsill above. “I go now to seek ze king. Fear not, mes amis. Help is on ze way.”

In the blink of an eye, he disappeared.

* * * *

Also on the way at that moment were two young travelers of royal blood. One was Sir Mordred of Orkney, the son born of the (unwittingly) incestuous union of Morgause and her brother King Arthur. A dark and brooding youth with thin stubble and a sour disposition, he rode on horseback beside a large, fancy, horse-drawn coach driven by palace servants. Within this elaborate conveyance was a beautiful girl of eighteen summers. Her skin was pale, her dress was a deep royal purple, and her long hair was as dark as midnight. She was busy reading a book and doing her best to ignore the restless escort beside her.

“I’m bored, Morvydd,” whined the young prince. He pronounced the girl’s name in the Celtic fashion, replacing the double “d” with a “th” sound.

“The shock of the century,” said Princess Morvydd of Gorre, daughter of Morgan le Fay. She did not look up from her reading.

“I want to take some of the servants and terrorize a peasant village,” Mordred insisted. “Or perhaps I’ll find some travelers on the road and demand a royal tribute. Aye, that would be a lark!”

“Now, cousin,” Morvydd scolded. “What would Uncle Arthur think of such behavior?”

“Oh, hang Arthur!” the young man said. “Fie on him and his bloody morality! ‘Might for right,’ indeed! What’s the point of being royalty if we can’t abuse the commoners now and then? Besides, Arthur won’t be king for much longer. Not if our mothers have any say in the matter.”

“So they keep telling me,” said Morvydd, distractedly.

“And that’s another thing,” Mordred added. “If Auntie Morgan is your mother, why does she need me to go and fetch you? Can’t she just snap her fingers or twitch her nose and magic you away or something?”

“Mother is a fugitive since her last conflict with Uncle Arthur,” Morvydd explained. “We needed a cover story, two cousins on a vacation to the Summer Country. That way, my father won’t be suspicious.”

“Oh yes, fat old King Uriens,” Mordred laughed. “Such a clueless bumbler.”

Morvydd looked up from her book, her green eyes flashing in anger. “Mind your tongue.” The princess shot him a look of daggers that contained a subtle threat. Beauty was not all that Morvydd had inherited from Morgan le Fay.

“My…apologies, Morvydd,” the young man said, somewhat shaken. A moment later, he was his regular self again. “Morvydd, Morgan, Morgause—doesn’t anyone in this family know any other syllables?”

“You’re one to talk.”

Mordred pulled a map from his pocket and checked it a few times, glancing about at the scenery. He reined his horse to a stop and beckoned for the coachman to do the same.

“Well, here we are.”

Just before them were the ruins of a once mighty fortress. Castle Malagant had once belonged to Sir Malagant, an enemy of the Round Table with a lust for Guinevere. He had been slain by Sir Lancelot many years past and the castle had fallen into disrepair. Its stone walls were cracked and crumbling with whole chunks of the castle seemingly missing. The moat was dried up and overgrown with weeds and ivy. A broken, rotting drawbridge led to a fallen portcullis where a man-sized hole had been roughly hewn by some sort of weapon.

“Gads, what a dump!” Mordred scoffed. “We’re really to stay here?”

“That’s an illusion,” Morvydd informed him matter-of-factly. “Mother created it, no doubt. The real castle is about forty paces west.”

“How do you know that?”

Morvydd rolled her head back and sighed with exasperation. She pointed to her eye.

“Oh, of course. The bloody ‘Sight,’” said Mordred, waving his hands dramatically. “All my life, I’m surrounded by sorceresses. And now I have to spend holiday with them. Well, point me to the real castle then and let’s get inside. I don’t want to trip and fall into an invisible moat. This is a new tunic.”

* * * *

Once the two youths entered the castle and greeted their kinswomen, Morgan was anxious to begin the much-discussed ritual. She hesitated to delay, fearing that Arthur would tumble to their plans and arrive to stop them, as he so often had in the past. The League barely had time to replace Guinevere’s gag and scurry for cover as the enchantresses returned. In haste, they dashed beneath the folds of the queen’s gown, hiding themselves behind her feet and ankles. The woman held as still as possible so as not to harm her tiny saviors.

Even in the life and death situation they found themselves in, Thumbling could not resist sneaking a glance up Guinevere’s dress. His eyes nearly bulged from their sockets as he traced the long, shapely towers of her legs to the distant curves and frilly petticoats above. ‘Lina caught him staring and slapped the back of his head.

One by one, the sorceresses filed into the room with Sir Mordred behind them. Guinevak expressed a desire to stay and watch the ritual but this was deemed too risky.

“We need you back at Camelot to maintain the charade,” Morgan informed her. “Remember, as far as anyone knows, you are the queen. If any at court become suspicious, the game is lost.”

The beautiful blonde sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But I want a full report when I return!”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed at this demand. “Forget not who is in charge here,” the sorceress-queen hissed. “I have deigned to include you in my plans, Guinevak. Do not abuse the privilege.”

Guinevak muttered a sheepish apology but was promptly marched back to the mirror. Once the incantation had been recited, Morgan practically shoved her through the looking glass portal.

“Impudent cow,” muttered Morgan. “Thankfully, we won’t need her much longer. Now, everyone take your places, as we discussed.”

The League felt the floor rumble and shake as the various giants shifted position and assembled themselves around the chair where Guinevere was bound. Peeping out from under the hem of the gown, the homunculi saw the massive feet of their numerous enemies on all sides. They were surrounded.

Morvydd, Morgause, and Madame Mim were arranged in a semi-circle around the captive queen. Sir Mordred, meanwhile, was busy untying her and forcing her up onto her feet at knifepoint. The League members backed away fearfully as Guinevere began to stand. Pulled from the chair roughly, she staggered a bit, coming dangerously close to stepping on the little folk that cowered below. They quickly leaped out of the path of those colossal, shuffling feet.

Seeing the edge of the gown lifting from the floor, the tiny heroes feared exposure. Desperately, Tom grabbed hold of the fabric of the dress and was lifted along with it as the queen stood up. The others quickly followed his lead and were soon suspended a few inches from the ground, clinging tightly to the inside of the gown as it swayed around her ankles.

“They’re starting,” Thumbelina whispered. “It’s now or never, Tom. We have to stop them!”

“How?” he whispered back. “The minute we’re discovered, we’d be crushed to death, placed under a hex, or turned into slugs by Mim!”

“We fail and the queen dies,” Issun said. “We must act!”

“Aw, bollocks,” Thumbling swore. “I’m game for biting their ankles and running like hell. Who’s with me?”

Mordred untied and removed the gag from Guinevere’s mouth, though he left her hands bound behind her back. “If you kill me,” the queen said quietly, “Arthur will hunt you down and slay the lot of you. There will be nowhere you can run.”

“Kill you?” Mordred said with a derisive laugh. “Now, Gwenny dear, why should I want to kill my lovely bride-to-be?”

The League members’ jaws dropped simultaneously with the queen’s.

“His what?” ‘Ling mouthed, almost losing his grip on the dress.

“I wouldn’t expect a Christian to understand,” Morgan le Fay explained, stepping towards Guinevere. “But to my people, the queen represents the sovereignty of the land. In the king-making rituals of old, the woman embodied the Mother Goddess and the man, her divine consort. Their coupling would renew the kingdom and establish his lordship. Once you and Mordred are bound to one another, he shall be the rightful and spiritually ordained King of Britain.”

“But—but I already have a husband!” Guinevere stammered. “This is sin! Mordred, I’m your stepmother, for God’s sake!”

“Oh, now you care about sin!” Mordred mocked with a grin. “It seemed no impediment to your late night trysts with good Sir Lancelot.”

“Enough chatter,” Morgan announced. “Give her the love potion. Quickly now, its effects will not last long.” Mordred pressed a small vial to Guinevere’s lips, holding her nose until she was forced to gulp its contents down. Moments later, the queen seemed obedient and complacent, gazing upon the young man with smiling adoration.

“She’s ready,” said Mordred. Silently and efficiently, Morgan le Fay lit three torches that were positioned around the group. As the others readied themselves, Morgan pulled the hood of her robe over her head and began the ritual.

“Goddess of the land, your priestess beseeches you. The old traditions are not dead and your Children are not forgotten. I offer you a vessel so that your wisdom and your strength may return to this kingdom. I offer you this youth of royal blood to be your king and consort, your true servant and champion. I offer these gifts attended by initiates into your mysteries, each in aspect of your sacred cycle.”

“A Maiden,” Morgan continued, walking past her daughter Morvydd.

“A Mother,” she said, passing Morgause.

“And a Crone,” she finished, standing before Madame Mim.

Morvydd shifted uneasily in her place. “Er, Mother dear,” she said. “Might I have a quick word?”

“Hush,” said Morgan. “Mommy’s working. Blessed Goddess Dôn, please accept these offerings so that the land may be healed.” A cold wind blew in through the window and the torch-fires flickered and danced. Morgan stood straight and proud, raising her hands to the heavens as her voice became magnified in volume.

“Reclaim the Island of the Mighty from the blasphemers and false prophets who deny you! Strike down the usurper who has cast you out! In the sacred union of these vessels, let your power return to us!”

With proper solemnity, Mordred began to disrobe. He slipped off his tunic and helped the potion-addled Guinevere with the buttons of her dress. There could be no doubt what sort of “union” was to take place between these two.

Having seen enough, Thumbling dropped to the floor and into a crouching position. He stood ready to sprint across the room and attack Morgan before she could finish her ceremony. “Ankle-biting in three, two…”

“Mother, I am not a maid!” Morvydd suddenly blurted. This caught everyone quite by surprise.

Morgan could barely suppress her rage. “W-what did you say?”

“Oh, hell,” Morgause muttered, rubbing her temple.

“What’s goin’ on? Why’ve we stopped?” Mim wondered aloud. “This isn’t how we did rituals in my day! Very unprofessional, my ducklings.”

“Explain yourself,” Morgan commanded her daughter.

“I-I did not know how to tell you,” Princess Morvydd babbled. “Mother, I am in love. Sir Colgrevance and I have been courting for several months now. I…have been to his bed. I’m sorry, Mother, but I am no longer a maiden.”

With cat-like speed, Morgan was upon her daughter in an instant, dragging her out of the circle by her hair. “Do you know what you’ve done, you willful child?! Each aspect of womanhood must be present for the ritual! This is blasphemy, Morvydd! You have insulted the gods!”

“I didn’t know, I swear!” the princess protested. “I thought you just wanted my help with one of your spells! I didn’t know you needed me to represent the Maiden!”

“Did you learn nothing from those years of instruction?” Morgan demanded, slapping the girl hard across the face. “Nothing of our faith? And to betray me with a Round Table knight of all men? One of Arthur’s lapdogs?!”

Clutching her by the hair and arm, Morgan dragged her daughter across the room and towards the door of the chamber. Mordred watched them curiously, standing shirtless with his breeches already halfway down his legs.

“So, uh, we’re stopping then, are we?” the young man inquired.

“It seems that way, my son,” Queen Morgause sighed. “Do put your clothes back on. You look disgraceful.”

Madame Mim sized up Mordred’s half-clothed physique and gave a loud cat call. “Woo-woo! What’s the hurry, hot stuff?” The prince wrinkled his nose in disgust and quickly pulled his pants back on.

“First, I will deal with this trollop,” said Morgan, giving her screaming daughter’s hair another yank. “Then, we find another Maiden. The ritual will continue.” With this, she dragged Morvydd out of the room and was gone.

Thumbling ducked back under Guinevere’s skirts and called to his teammates. “Looks like the queen’s got a temporary reprieve. What do we do now?”

To be continued...