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Author's Chapter Notes:

The villains are revealed! Fun fact: This chapter features a lesser known character from the early Welsh Arthur stories. Not sure if many of you will care but I thought it was worth mentioning that I didn't make this bit up. Guinevere really did have a -- well, you'll see.

Part 3

The League hid themselves in a corner of the room, below a wooden dresser, to observe the apparent impostor who had taken the queen’s place. Who was she? What could this mean? Meanwhile, Sir Lancelot had fallen quite blissfully asleep on the bed. They could hear the knight snoring contentedly in the distance.

Guinevere – or whoever it was – smiled at her lover as she slid, catlike, out of the bed. She wrapped a silky robe about her and padded over to a full length mirror on the other side of the room. Picking up a leather pouch from a nearby table, she reached within and drew forth a handful of shimmering dust. The woman flung this at the glass of the mirror and whispered something softly under her breath.

Gradually, the reflections in the mirror began to ripple like water. The images clouded, warped, and started to coalesce into a new shape. Facing the strawberry blonde queen was the figure of another woman, one small and dark but breathtakingly beautiful. Raven-black hair tumbled over her slim shoulders. A plain grey gown offset her lovely features and piercing, angry green eyes.

‘Lina’s breath caught in her throat and the other Leaguers tensed as they recognized the apparition. There was no mistaking Morgan le Fay.

The blonde woman bowed reverently before the image in the mirror. “My queen,” she said.

Morgan viewed her deference with pleasure and smiled slightly. “You summon me?” the sorceress asked. “How goes your mission?”

The false Guinevere returned her mistress’ smile. “Exceedingly well,” she declared. “Both Arthur and Lancelot have succumbed to the love potion. They are utterly under my thumb.”

“And neither of them suspects the truth?”

“Not a whit,” said the blonde. “Any subtle differences between my sister and me go completely without notice. By the by, how is my dear sister?”

Morgan stepped aside, revealing more of the phantom room behind her. A few paces away, another blonde—an exact double of the impostor—was bound to a chair by course ropes. She struggled futilely, much to the delight of two women that stood on either side of her. One resembled Morgan, possessing the same raven locks and stunning beauty but a slightly more careworn face and a regal gown. The other was a hideous old hag with dark, purple hair and a tattered dress.

The woman tied to the chair looked at the mirror and began to scream. “Guinevak, you horrid child! You’ll never get away with this!”

The false queen laughed at this pronouncement. “But Guinevere, my sweet, I already have. Your throne is mine. Your husband is mine. And after tonight, even your darling Lancelot is mine.”

Guinevere gasped and fought all the more against her bonds. “You spiteful, conniving, little—”

“Temper, temper,” the impostor chided.

“Guinevak?” Thumbling whispered. “Who the bloody hell is Guinevak?!”

“The queen’s half-sister,” Tom explained quietly. “Guinevak was illegitimate and she’s always hated and envied her sister. But, sweet Jesu, I never thought she would side with Morgan!”

“Oh, this is simply wonderful!” Guinevak laughed impishly as she watched her sister struggle. “Queen Morgan, may I see her in person?”

“Certainly,” Morgan answered, waving a hand before her side of the mirror and muttering a spell in ancient Brythonic. “We’ll be starting the ritual soon so now is the time. Come forward.”

The mirror began to ripple and shift once more, its images distorting and elongating. Guinevak reached a tentative hand toward the glass and found that it passed through the surface as if it were water. Satisfied, she stepped forward, lifting her foot over the base of the mirror and walking straight through it.

Tom saw their opportunity and frantically motioned to the rest of the League. “Move!” he hissed.

The little people scurried with all their might towards the mirror, scrambling up over the base and following Guinevak through the looking glass portal. Thankfully, Morgan and her allies were too preoccupied with their prisoner to notice the tiny stowaways. Issun followed at the back of the procession, his smaller legs slowing his progress. Thumbelina turned at the mirror’s edge and reached a hand down for Issun to take hold of, hoisting the miniature samurai up over the metallic base. They barely made it through the portal before the mystical liquid of the gateway began to shimmer and solidify again. Soon, the door was glass once more and the League realized that they were trapped on the other side.

A few paces before them, the barefooted false Guinevere towered like a castle turret. She had but to take a step backwards and she would surely crush them underfoot. Even if they avoided her, they’d be too exposed on the open floor and Morgan or her allies would see them. As such, the homunculi hurried for cover, taking refuge behind an ornamental suit of armor in a corner of the room. As the women continued to taunt and mock the captive true Guinevere, the League looked at each other in panic and confusion.

“All right, who are those other weirdoes?” Thumbling inquired.

“I’m not sure,” said Tom. “Let’s see if we can get a closer look.”

They crept ever nearer, staying to the shadows and hiding themselves behind any object or obstruction they could find. From the armor to a table leg to the dusty darkness below an armoire they scurried, all the while keeping an eye on the giantesses. There was something oddly familiar about the elder, dark-haired woman with such a strong resemblance to Morgan. They did not have to wait long for their answer.

As Guinevak approached her sister, she inclined her head respectfully to the two jailers.

“Queen Morgause, you look radiant as ever,” she told the dark-haired beauty. The Leaguers were kicking themselves for not recognizing her. One of their first missions had been to spy on Morgause, Queen of Orkney. The years had weathered her since but it was indeed the same woman. Like Morgan, Morgause was one of King Arthur’s sisters and, also like Morgan, had little love for her brother. Though her sons were all Round Table knights, Morgause usually had a personal agenda at odds with the High King.

“Haven’t ye a kind word for me, dearie?” the ugly, old crone cackled from the other side of Morgause.

“Always, Madame Mim,” Guinevak said politely, though she looked a bit uncomfortable. And with good reason. A frightful old witch, Madame Mim had been one of Merlin’s chief rivals in the early days. Her magic was strong, but spiteful and destructive. All things good and pure were anathema to Mim. Her name was used to frighten children when they misbehaved.

“God’s blood. Mim?” Tom whispered. “That old bat is still alive? She was older than the hills when Arthur was but a boy.”

“You heathens! You brutes!” Guinevere shrieked, struggling against the ropes. “Release me at once!”

“Oh, do shut her up,” said Morgan.

“With pleasure,” Guinevak answered, beaming. She took a cloth from a pocket of her robe and used it to gag her sister. Guinevere mumbled and moaned but finally bowed her head in defeat.

“The Sisterhood is nearly complete,” Morgan told the assembled women. “With that insipid Merlin imprisoned, we could not have a better time to strike at Camelot. We have only a few more allies to gather.”

Turning to Morgause, Morgan continued. “Any word from our sister, Elaine?”

Morgause looked up from the hand mirror she had been gazing into and frowned. “She’s not coming,” said the Queen of Orkney. “It seems Elaine does not share our resentment. I think that fool husband of hers, King Nentres, has made her soft.”

“The idiot!” Morgan spat. “How can she turn on us now? Arthur’s father murdered our own! King Uther’s bastard whelp sits upon the throne and leads the people away from the gods! Arthur must pay for all that he has done!”

“Preaching to the choir, my sister,” Morgause stated absently, running a comb through her luxurious black hair. “To borrow a phrase the Christians seem to favor.”

“Oh, I do look forward to seeing the Wart again,” Mim said happily. “Perhaps I’ll turn him into a chicken and fry him up for supper!”

“No, Wisewoman Mim,” Morgan told her. “We’ve already agreed how Arthur shall die. Sir Mordred will do the deed.”

“That’s right,” said Morgause. “My son will do what he was born for. And he will be King of Britain!”

“And where is the lad exactly, your majesties?” Guinevak asked.

“He should be arriving shortly with the final member of our Sisterhood,” said Morgan. “Then, we can begin the ritual. Come, my friends, we shall toast our impending victory. I have wine in the dining hall.”

As the women departed from the room, the League looked at each other in a panic.

“This is bad,” Thumbelina muttered. “This is very, very bad.”

“We should put a stop to these harridans’ schemes at once, mes amis!” Hop announced.

Tom frowned and rubbed his forehead. “How? You weren’t with us before, Hop. We barely survived the last time we encountered Morgan. Now she has an entire cadre of sorceresses at her side! I hate to admit it but we are very much out of our depth here.”

“A warrior never stops fighting,” Issun-boshi repeated quietly. “No matter the odds.”

“I’m with the little guy,” said Thumbling. “We’ve gotta do something!”

Tom thought for a moment. “All right, this is the plan. We find out where we are, first of all, and where it is in relation to the Summer Country. Then, we can locate Arthur and the knights and tell them what we’ve learned.”

“And ze queen?” Hop asked. “Zhey spoke of a ritual. What if she is to be a sacrifice?” They looked up at Guinevere, still bound to the chair with head hung low, resigned to her fate. Tears were streaking down her face.

“We can do nothing for her yet,” Tom said, sadly. “If we free her, the sorceresses will know we’re here.”

With a look of determination, Thumbelina depressed the button on her harness, releasing her artificial faerie wings. A split second later, she had taken off.

“’Lina, where are you going?” Tom cried.

“The queen is suffering,” ‘Lina called back. “I will comfort her.”

The tiny woman floated gracefully upward, a pale golden glow following behind her. In moments, she reached the side of Guinevere’s head and landed on her right ear. Thumbelina took hold of its sides, balancing precariously on the rim of the ear, and whispered to the woman.

“Don’t worry, your majesty.”

The queen’s head jerked upward at the unexpected sound, causing ‘Lina to lose her grip and tumble off. She recovered at once, spreading her wings and swooping back upward until she was in Guinevere’s line of sight. The eyes of the High Queen of Britain grew wide as she saw the tiny, glowing creature before her.

“We’ll get you out of here,” the miniature woman whispered. “Somehow.”

To be continued...

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