The Leaguers had been wandering for hours, trying in vain to navigate their way through the Wasteland. A thick mist hung over everything, obscuring the way. The terrain was rough, bordering on impassable. The many cracks and gashes in the dry, ruined earth made for an uneven path. While a human could step across the larger cracks in the stony trail, to the little folk these were huge crevasses.

What little plant life existed in the Wasteland formed patches of thick, jungle-like bracken and brambles. The tiny warriors were forced to cut their way through this with their sewing-needle swords. But such instruments had never been designed for this purpose and already, the blades were becoming dull.

Other perils slowed their progress as well. At one point, they found their feet sinking into a veritable lake of quicksand. They would have surely drowned if not for ‘Lina’s power of flight and Hop’s mystic boots which moved so fast, they could walk on water.

“All right, I know I said I was ready for one more adventure,” Thumbling announced, as he stood dripping by the side of the road in quicksand-dampened garments. “But this is getting intolerable! Does anyone have the slightest idea where we’re going?”

“According to the stories,” Tom informed him, “the Grail is housed in Castle Corbenic, the court of the Fisher King. His daughter, Princess Elaine, confirmed as much when we met her all those years ago.”

“But Tom, no one has heard from Castle Corbenic in years, not even Elaine,” ‘Lina protested. “When this kingdom became a wasteland, it was cut off, lost in the mists. We have no way of knowing if the castle still stands or if King Pelles yet lives. Arthur’s knights have been scouring this land for months. Would not one of them have found Corbenic by now?”

“It’s our only lead,” Tom sighed. “May I remind you that you four were the ones hell-bent on attempting this quest? I thought it was a bad idea.”

“You would allow Lady Nimue to perish?” asked Issun. “For shame, Thomas. You bring dishonor to the League.”

“Zere is no sense standing here arguing about it,” Hop added. “If it is a castle zat we seek, perhaps I can do a sweep of ze area and attempt to locate it, n’est pas?” He clicked his heels and prepared to call upon the power of the seven-league boots.

“Hop, no!” Tom called. “We should stay togeth—” But in the blink of an eye, Hop was gone, vanishing from sight.

“Damned idiot,” the little knight muttered. “He’ll get lost out there in the mists.”

Before they could formulate a plan, the little folk felt the earth slightly tremor. The rhythmic pace of the quakes identified them as footsteps. Someone—or something—was approaching on the path ahead. The fog was too thick for them to see just what was coming, but they feared the worst, for demons were said to wander the Wasteland. Quickly, the League scurried under a dead bush for cover.

What emerged from the mist caught them all by surprise. It was no demon they saw but a young woman. She was slender and willowy with a slight, girlish figure. The lady was clad in a light grey robe that draped down almost to the leather sandals on her feet. A hooded cowl obscured her face and a pendant with a golden cross hung about her neck. She seemed harmless enough, her dress and demeanor giving the appearance of a holy woman.

The girl continued to walk down the broken path until she came to the bush the League was hiding in. She paused then, looking around her curiously as if trying to recognize the area. The little folk’s hearts were pounding as she stepped closer to their sanctuary. Soon, her dainty feet were planted just outside their hiding place and her feminine frame loomed high in the sky, casting them in shadow. Suddenly, the lady stooped and spread the dry branches of the bush, exposing the huddled figures within.

“Aha!” she cried. “Found you!” With terrible speed, she thrust a gigantic hand into the bush, seeking to capture her quarry. The Leaguers fled at once, scattering in all directions. Above them, long delicate fingers made a few attempts to snatch them but they scrambled to freedom.

Or so they thought. “Come back, little ones!” the woman called. “You wouldn’t abandon your wee friend, would you?”

The homunculi looked back over their shoulders and saw the girl holding Issun-boshi between her thumb and forefinger. His inch-high form was just barely visible in her grasp, dangling (from his perspective) hundreds of feet in the air. She held him out and waved him gently back and forth, as a master would dangle a treat for a loyal dog.

“Curse us all for fools,” swore Thumbling. “And curse Issun’s stumpy legs! All these years and still none of us remember to grab him when we make our getaways.”

The homunculi doubled back and cautiously approached the lady. They gasped as she suddenly dropped down to her knees, leaning forward to get a better look at them.

Glancing up nervously, they saw that she was pretty enough in her way, but was far from the exquisite beauty of the queen or other ladies they had met in their adventures. Large, brown eyes stared at them in fascination and mousy, brown hair was just visible beneath her cowl. In all, the girl had a gawky, almost tomboyish appearance but her wide, enthusiastic smile gave her an undeniable charm.

“Heavens but you’re cute!” she said. “You have naught to fear from me, my little wonders. My name is Dindrane. Perhaps you know my brother, Sir Percival.”

Tom’s ears perked up at this. “Yes, I know Percival. A true knight of the realm.”

“You mean that tall, quiet fella with the messy mop of brown hair?” Thumbling put in. “Sure, I remember him from court. Seemed like a good egg.”

“If you’re a friend of Camelot,” ‘Lina said, leaning back to peer up at the giant girl, “then would you be so kind as to release our teammate?”

Dindrane turned her head and looked at the minuscule samurai squirming between her fingers. “Not just yet, I think,” she said with a smile. “I need some assurance that you won’t run away.”

She lifted her necklace and carefully placed Issun on the top of the cross. Releasing it, she allowed it to swing back to the fabric of her robe and bob against her modest chest (still an imposing pair of hills to the tiny Issun). The little warrior clung to the cross with fright. Even when she was kneeling, Dindrane’s upper torso was still fairly high above the ground.

Tom looked up into the girl’s eyes searchingly. The miniature knight was puzzled. “What on Earth are you doing here, my lady?”

“The Lord’s work, hopefully,” she explained. “My father, King Pellinore (rest his poor soul), sent me to Uncle Pelles’ court years ago to complete my training. I’m a Grail-Maiden, you see, one of the custodians of the holy chalice.”

The League’s eyes went wide at this. “Then you can take us to the Grail!” ‘Lina exclaimed excitedly.

Dindrane gave a charming giggle. This forced Issun to cling ever tighter to the necklace as her chest bounced below him. “What, just hand you the Grail on a silver platter?” the lady asked. “It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid. I can guide you through the mists but you must still face the Wasteland’s tests.”

“Tests?” said Thumbling. “I didn’t know there were tests. I haven’t studied!”

“Think of them more as challenges,” Dindrane told him. “Assessments of the soul, if you will. In the Wasteland’s mists, you will face your darkest fears and most secret desires. Only those who can overcome such things are worthy of the Grail.”

“If we must do this before we’re found worthy, why are you helping us?” Tom asked.

“Uncle Pelles had one of his prophetic visions and sent me to find you,” said Dindrane. “You’ve been here several hours and have only gone, what, fifteen, twenty feet with those tiny legs? Hardly sporting to let you wander around the borderlands without even a chance to face the challenges.”

“Now then,” she said, placing a hand palm upward on the ground. “Let’s be off.” Still slightly unsure, the League climbed into Dindrane’s hand.

“What about Hop?!” Thumbling suddenly cried as the lady rose to her full height. “He ran off ahead of us!”

Dindrane’s smiling expression turned to one of concern and pity. “Nothing we can do for him now, little pilgrims. He’s likely facing his challenge as we speak.”

* * * *

            Hop o’ My Thumb darted with inhuman speed through the misty Wasteland. He’d already made a full sweep of the immediate area and was extending the scope of his search. At last, the colossal towers of a castle came into focus in the distance, pennants flying in the wind atop its high walls.

            “Ah, tres bon!” the little Gaul said. “I have found it!” He marked the location in his mind and turned around to head back to his teammates. Though the seven-league boots carried him forward like a shot, he found himself back outside the castle’s gates.

            “Strange,” he muttered. He tried again, darting off in another direction but the result was the same. The castle loomed before him once more. Time after time, Hop found himself in the mighty fortress’s shadow, no matter what path he took to depart from it.

            He was starting to become nervous when suddenly, the castle’s drawbridge began to lower. Backing a safe distance away, he watched this massive, wooden barrier descend to the ground. The gate of the metal portcullis lifted and a crowd of figures could be seen standing at the entrance. With interest, Hop noted the graceful curves of their silhouettes. These strangers were ladies, and quite comely ones too from the looks of it.

            “Welcome, Monsieur Poucet,” one of the women called to him. She pronounced his Gaulish name well enough, though her accent was British. “We have been expecting you.”

            Hop did a double take at this. Who would be expecting him here in this godforsaken land? “How do you know zat name, mademoiselle?” he asked, walking cautiously toward the gigantic welcoming committee.

            “Is that not who you are?” a woman inquired. “Le Petit Poucet, ‘the Little Thumb?’”

            “I prefer Hop,” the miniature rogue explained. He stood now at the ladies’ feet, gazing up and admiring every inch of them. He took in the sight with relish, from their dainty toes in pretty sandals to the mountainous curves that strained against their expensive satin dresses to their long, luxurious hair of every shade and hue. Raven- and russet-haired brunettes, fiery redheads, blondes both strawberry and platinum—Hop was beginning to like this castle.

            “Tell me, good gentlewomen,” he said, doffing his feathered cap and doling out his customary charm, “what is zis place? Castle Corbenic?”

            A particularly busty blonde crouched down and scooped Hop into her hand. As she stood up, the other women crowded around her seeking to get a look at their tiny visitor. Hop found himself surrounded by a sea of beauty, his vision flooded by enormous yet gorgeous faces.

            “Corbenic? No, I am afraid not,” the blonde said, gazing down at the little man in her palm. “This is the Castle of Maidens. But I trust you will find our company more pleasant than that dour old Fisher King’s.” She leaned in close and blew him a kiss with her full, pillowy lips.

            “Maidens?” Hop asked, intrigued. “Forgive me if zis is improper but by zat you mean that you are all, eh, how you say…?”

            “Virgins,” his hostess said with a knowing smile. “Several dozen of us, shut away in this dreary castle by our overbearing families. For years now, we have longed for the touch of a man, living in hope for the day that a handsome knight happens upon this castle in his questing.”

            “You are very small,” said a brown-haired girl, reaching out to fondle Hop’s body with her fingers. Like slender, flexible tree trunks, they wrapped about his torso and gave him a squeeze. “But well-formed, it would seem. And quite a looker too.”

            A beautiful, freckled redhead inched closer to the blonde’s hand. “Just think of all the places that such a tiny gentleman could…fit. If he is willing, of course.”

            “Oh, ma cherie,” Hop said with a grin, “he is willing and able! It is a crime to keep such beauties locked away from ze world! A travesty!”

            “We hoped you would feel that way,” said a dark-skinned woman of Moorish descent. Shyly, she ran her fingers through her curly, black hair.

            “Come,” the blonde beckoned. (‘Mais oui,’ thought Hop. ‘Almost definitely!’) “Let us adjourn to the parlor and get to know our little cavalier better.”

            The sea of women began to flow towards another room, with the joyous Hop carried along with them. One lady hung back and remained in the foyer of the castle. She peered out the gate to see if their tiny suitor had been followed. Satisfied that he had not, she smiled grimly, her eyes suddenly glowing as red as a ruby. Turning a crank on the nearest wall, she caused the drawbridge to rise once more. The mists closed in around the castle.

* * * *

            “Zut alors! You will wear me out, mes belles!” Hop announced some time later. Over the course of the evening, he had been thrust in and out of very private places, explored the curvy landscapes of his hostesses’ bodies, and entered their hot, humid mouths to teach them “Gallic kissing.” Though Hop considered himself a formidable lover, especially for one of his stature, he was beginning to feel quite drained.

All around the room, the women lounged like enormous cats. Some wore silky shifts while others were unashamedly nude. Hop sat astride the nipple of the Moorish lady as she gently shook her torso from side to side, giving him quite a ride. Naked as a jaybird, he held on for dear life, a pale white shape pressed against mocha-colored skin. Hop elicited gasps of pleasure from the girl as his grip tightened.

“You’ve had him long enough,” a zaftig blonde declared. It might have been the same one that had carried him at the gate. Hop could hardly tell at this point.

Dropping to her knees, she leaned in and wrapped her lips around Hop, taking his entire form into her mouth. She moved back slowly, sucking on her friend’s nipple as she pulled away. The Moorish lady gasped louder than before.

The blonde pulled backward, releasing the nipple but keeping her tiny prize. She sat back on her haunches, tossing Hop around with her tongue and sucking on his delicious little body. He tasted quite salty, sweating profusely as he was.

A dark-haired, olive-skinned girl of Hellenic features tapped her on the shoulder emphatically. “Careful! Don’t swallow him! I haven’t had a turn yet!”

“You want him, sweetie?” the blonde mumbled, causing Hop to tumble about on her tongue. “Come claim him then!” The olive-skinned beauty smiled and pressed her lips against the other woman’s. The kiss was long and slow as the two fought over the tiny man, passing him back and forth between them with their tongues.

At last, the dark-haired woman triumphed. She sucked in a breath with such power that Hop plunged straight into her throat. The woman gagged violently as he lodged inside her gullet and she quickly spat the little man into her hand.

“Oh, so I should be careful not to swallow him?” the blonde laughed.

“A little…caution, mademoiselle,” Hop said, slightly out of breath. He lay in the center of her palm, quite stunned. “I cannot give you ze attention you deserve from within your belly.”

“No?” the brunette said, arching an eyebrow. “How about within other places?” Without warning, she thrust the tiny man between her legs until he had disappeared completely.

“Oh,” she breathed as he squirmed about inside her. The woman sank writhing into a nearby chair, overcome by the sensation. Hop was half-crushed as her muscles squeezed his tiny form but he persevered, wriggling his body in ways that drove the lady mad. This was a dangerous game for the homunculus but he’d had years of experience playing it. He knew how best to survive a session of vigorous love-making with someone many times his size. Holding his breath, he wriggled his way deeper.

“Oh, my, yes!” the woman screamed. “We…should have…done this…sooner!”

Hop’s tiny head suddenly emerged back into the light to peer up at her between the lady’s vast thighs. “Done what, ma cherie?”

Annoyed, she placed two fingers on him and forced him back in. “Never you mind. Just don’t stop! Oh, this is ever so much better than with those other men!”

Hop popped back out again, too curious for his own good. “Eh? And what would you know of such things, my fair maiden?”

The brunette exchanged nervous glances with several of her sisters. “Uh…nothing, my wee lover. You are the sun and stars to me.”

Hop slid the rest of the way out and onto the chair. Soaked to the bone, he tried to maintain some dignity as he peered up at the woman suspiciously. “I think zere is perhaps something you have not been honest about, eh, mademoiselle? You have had other suitors at zis castle, oui?”

Before she could answer, a great clamor was heard outside the castle walls. The metallic clang of swords and the loud voices of clashing armies erupted all at once. Hop’s eyes went wide and he jumped down from the chair, rushing toward a window to investigate.

“Mon Dieu!” he said. “What is zis now?”

A huge, bare foot slapped the floor in front of him, blocking his journey. “Where are you running off to, little man?” the blonde woman asked from high overhead.

“Zere is something occurring outside!” Hop insisted. “I was merely—”

The battle continued in the distance but now the tiny Gaul began to pick out individual voices in the cacophony. With alarm, he realized they were his friends. How he could hear such tiny voices amid such an uproar, he could not say.

“Hop!” called the voice of Tom. “It’s a trap! Don’t let them seduce you!”

“A little late for zat, mon capitan,” Hop muttered ruefully. He stepped around the lady’s foot. “Please, I hear my companions. I must see if zhey are all right.”

Again, the gigantic foot crashed to earth, this time nearly squashing him like an insect. Hop flinched and backed away, looking up at her questioningly.

“Never mind what you hear out there,” she said, her eyes glowing bright red. Hop was quite startled by the sight. “You belong to us now.”

“I belong to no one, madame,” Hop told the woman crossly. Darting around her, he made a break for the window. The furious giantess followed closely behind, her feet stomping across the tile floor.

“Hop! Get out of there!” Thumbelina called from outside the window. “We need your help!”

“I am here, Leaguers!” Hop called. He tried to climb up to the window but found moving conventionally without his magic boots to be tricky. He looked about for his clothes and saw them tucked into the cleavage of a redhead resting on a divan couch. Scurrying away from the angry blonde, he dashed toward the couch.

“What’s this?” a rough soldier’s voice bellowed from below the window. “Tiny people?”

“Wasteland imps, no doubt,” another voice reasoned. “Kill them!”

“Hop, buddy!” Thumbling’s voice shouted. “Where are ya?! We could use some seven-league magic, pal! Ahhhh!!!!”

A sickening crunch was heard outside the window. Then another. Hop paled as he heard his friends begin to scream.

“No!” he cried. Desperately, he ran to the divan and leaped onto the resting woman’s foot. Scrambling over her toes, he began to climb up the length of her shapely leg. He had just crested her knee and reached the plane of her thigh when the red-haired lady looked down and noticed him.

“Looking for these, monsieur?” she mocked, indicating his boots. Her eyes glowed an unnatural red. She placed a hand on either side of her chest and squeezed inward, causing the tiny garments to sink into her flesh. Undeterred, Hop clambered up the woman’s smooth belly towards his goal.

“The boots!” shouted the blonde. “Don’t let him get the boots! Swallow them!”

The redhead reached between her breasts and retrieved the seven-league boots. With a cruel laugh, she lifted them towards her lips and opened wide. Living up to his nickname, Hop leaped into the air, ricocheting off her generous chest and up to her hand. He snatched the boots from her fingers and found himself tumbling towards her gaping jaws. As the homunculus fell into her mouth, the redhead snapped her teeth closed behind him.

The blonde stood over her and held out a hand demandingly. The redhead obliged and opened up, extending her tongue. There was nothing on it.

“You half-wit!” the blonde shrieked. “You’ve swallowed him as well!”

But she had not. In the blink of an eye, Hop appeared on her chest, naked but for the fancy, embroidered boots on his feet. Before the redhead could react, he grabbed his clothing and vanished again. The women looked all around them, seeking the tiny creature. Pressing a hand to her forehead in exasperation, the blonde addressed the harem.

“The window, you useless mooncalves!” Sure enough, Hop reappeared, fully dressed, on the windowsill. The temptresses leaped to their feet and rushed towards him. As they approached, their beauty began to melt away, revealing hideous demonic forms with blood-red skin, sharp pointed teeth, and red eyes that shone like lamps.

“My ladies,” Hop said, with a bow, “adieu.” Turning, he jumped out the window.

Calling upon the boots, he vanished and reappeared on the ground. He feared the worst but there was no sign of the battle—no soldiers, no armies, no spattered blood stains that had once been his comrades. The field was completely deserted. He spun around to be sure that the demon-women were not following him, but the castle had disappeared as well. Puzzled, Hop could only cry out in surprise as a thick mist closed in around him.