Page 38 of The Queen's Huntsman
Málik had the ill graces to laugh.
“It is true!” Gwendolyn insisted.
“And you know this because he returned to recount this gruesome tale, even without his innards?”
Gwendolyn frowned, tilting her head as she considered this, and then she shrugged, wondering, in truth, how that story came to be told, if the man no longer had his innards. No matter, there were too many stories like this one for it to be dismissed.
“Perhaps he traveled with a companion?” Gwendolyn suggested.
“And this companion also ate the stew?” he asked, turning to offer her a toothsome grin, and a wink—more like himself than he had been in too long.
Nervously, Gwendolyn peered about, shuddering with revulsion as she noted the knotted meshwork hanging from the trees, many of which cradled the sun-bleached remnants of what she surmised must be hapless trespassers. If Málik were not so firmly holding her hand, she would have run.
“Doubtless you’ve met a few Druids whose temperaments lacked in good graces and humor, but they are not what people suppose.”
“And now you intend to teach me about Druids?” Gwendolyn asked, acerbically. “I know the Druids!” They were custodians of truth, and all that was sacred, arbiters of the law. As bards, they were entrusted with the memory of all tribes. This was why they were so oft sent to witness their ceremonies.
“What you know is the Llanrhos Order,” Málik suggested, squeezing her hand. “The Lifer Pol Druids are ovates and healers. Some are prophets. They are, in fact, the most ancient order. And, yes, ’tis true, they do not welcome guests, and much of what you see here…” He gestured about at the nets. “Is meant to keep trespassers at bay. But there is a good explanation, and soon you’ll understand.”
As far as Gwendolyn could see, there was no clear path to any flourishing village—only an odd tomb, surrounded by blood-stained stones.
The entire glade was eerie and misty, and she could well imagine it was swarming with ghouls and knockers—mischievous little goblins she’d sometimes heard called coblynau, or leprechauns, or klokers or brownies. “What is this place? A tomb?”
“Nay,” he said, explaining that it was a hothouse, constructed over a pool, not unlike Porth. But this one was used for ceremonies.
“What manner of ceremonies?” Gwendolyn asked dubiously.
He didn’t answer, but Gwendolyn relaxed a bit after he took her inside for a peek, and she found nothing more than a mist-filled chamber, with a little pool. There, he pulled a bell before returning to wait by the entrance.
“What about the blood on these stones?” Gwendolyn persisted.
“Bulls most likely, sacrificed for protection.”
“Art certain not human?” Gwendolyn had also heard they sacrificed men in osier cages, burned them alive, but for what reason she didn’t know.
As a child, she had been terrified of Druids, until she was assured, quite vehemently, that the Llanrhos Order did not employ such savagery. And yet, all she knew right now was that alotof bulls had lost their lives to paint these stones.
“If they sacrifice me, I will return to haunt you,” she promised.
Málik chuckled. “If they do, I will apologize.”
“How reassuring,” Gwendolyn allowed. However, she’d like to see him apologize for something. He wasn’t the type. At least Gwendolyn knew when to apologize.
Mercifully, they didn’t remain long before men emerged from the mist, their robes pristine white, their beards long, and bound with ribbons. Their hair was likely washed in lime water to give it that stiff texture so many of them seemed to prefer. Some had perhaps used it a bit too much because they had only sparse hair atop, but plenty in their beards. Their faces and bodies were painted in the same fashion as the Prydein.
“Málik?” she squeaked.
Some wore strange ear sheathes that were fashioned to look like Málik’s pointy ears, but unlike the Llanrhos Druids, they wore no piercings on their bodies.
Málik squeezed her hand again, and said again, “Trust me, Gwendolyn.”
God help her, she did. She truly did. Why then did she suddenly have another swarm of bees buzzing about her belly?
The Druids surrounded them, speaking in a strange tongue.
Peering up at Málik, seeing him so at ease, Gwendolyn pasted a smile on her face.
ChapterSixteen
