A Fantasy Picaresque Ch. 02

***Author's note: This chapter doesn't have a ton of sex, but it sets up a crazy chapter to come. Here, there's only voyeur/masturbation. Hope you enjoy our hero's new companion and stick with the series as it progresses. Votes and comments are always read and appreciated. Oh, and everyone in this fantastical pseudo-middle ages tale would be of age in our world, naturally.***

Chapter Two: The Horse Thief

Clutching the chestnut brown steed with white-knuckled hand, I careened through the village streets and alleys until I reached the open road. After following it for a moment, I broke off the path, following Ottilie's instructions to avoid the byways and follow less traveled baths on the route to Sicherburg. The thundering sound of hooves against the damp earth blended with the beating of my heart, like two drummers competing to outdo one another.

I had never before ridden, though of course I had seen it done. Fortunately, my purloined horse was a gelding and calmer than most stallions. As much as my life has been ill-fated, I must confess that I have at the very least been granted one lucky trait, a certain knack for quickly picking up skills and abilities. Without this innate aptitude, I would have been thrown from the beast for certain; moreover, had I not learned to read and write quickly, I would never been able to write the chronicle before you, dear reader.

As I sped past empty farms, their inhabitants still at the Harvest revels, I could not help but feel, intermingled with terror, a certain kind of unexpected joy. I had never nourished any hope of leaving the countryside. Now fate had led me to flee for refuge from the swift and savage punishment I could expect from the Baron for assaulting his son. Though my emotions were boiling over, I can confess a certain thoughtlessness; perhaps my horse was galloping too quickly for my brain to keep up.

I had no idea of how long it would take me to reach Sicherburg; I knew that, taking the byways, a laden oxcart took three days to reach the city gates. I had yet to devise a plan to get through those gates, either. The Baron's signet ring certainly wouldn't buy my way inside—I would need to seek out dishonorable men and make a trade first. Hopefully, I could find men with enough honor to trade with me fairly, but not so much that they would be above accepting goods stolen from the Baron's family.

After riding for hours without seeing a single soul, I was exhausted and finally pulled the reins and clambered off Pavel's horse. Though I was, as I said, not an experienced horseman, I certainly knew enough to find it funny that the Baron's son, who should have been born in the saddle, rode a mild-tempered, castrated horse.

I was, by then, powerfully hungry, and feared that it may be some time before I would see food again. I contemplated chasing down some wild creature in the forest and pouncing on it with my dagger, but the prospects of success seemed so remote and the risks of tangling with a wild beast too dire to follow through with such a desperate plan. Once my horse was tied up, I decided that, at the very least, I ought to search for a stream with fresh water. If I was lucky, I might even find wild berries growing along the creekside. Though I knew the danger of eating poison berries in the wild, I had, as a young boy, once run off with a small gang of other children to escape work and to drink some of the apple wine that we made in secret with apples snatched from the Baron's orchards. For a boy of seven, apple wine was quite powerful, and thus my memories were suspect where they were not altogether absent. Nevertheless, I recalled how the little blackberries looked that we ate, and hoped that memory would be enough to help me find something to eat.

It took me twenty minutes or more to find a stream, and, like a man finding an oasis in the desert, I leapt head first towards the clear, swift-moving water to drink. The cool, refreshing water reinvigorated me, and I felt a sudden rush of confidence. I even let myself daydream for a moment about life in the town. Perhaps I could find an apprenticeship and make a life for myself in the town. With so many people so close together, I might even find new women to bed and a wife of my own.

Thinking back on Ottilie, I tried to conjure happy memories of her. Yet all my good memories of her were...similar.

I tried to recall her smile, but in my mind her mouth was stretched around my hard cock. I couldn't recall her laugh, but I remember her moaning as she swallowed my cum. I remembered her crying out as I spanked her bare ass, and I remembered the look of fear mingled with lust when she first laid eyes on my prick. While I was with her, I thought of her as a future wife and piece of property; now that I was away from her, I could only think back on her as a fantastic cocksucker and a wild flower that I never had the chance to pluck.

Missing out on fucking her was ironically made less painful by the knowledge that she wouldn't have been a virgin anyway. Perhaps I should have felt betrayed, but in fact I couldn't begrudge Ottilie for her dalliances. Had I known, we may have even become true friends; in my journeys, one truth I have learned beyond the shadow of a doubt is that men and women can indeed become friends and companions, provided they are fucking other people as well.

Once I had my fill of water, I rose to return to my stolen horse. I had no supplies to make camp, no food, not even a canteen to fill with water. I would have to get by with hopes, memories, and dreams that night, until I could find the scoundrels I desperately needed. I took a long, winding route home, hoping to spot berries I could eat. Unsuccessful and hungry, I was almost back to my horse when I heard rustling that was louder than the sounds of birds or insects. I crouched down and crept towards the clearing.

Shrouded by trees, I could see a small, shadowy figure beside my horse, and I feared the worst: someone was looking for me. I faced a difficult choice: flee now, cry out at the figure, or ready to attack with my dagger drawn. I inched forward, dreading the moment of truth that was soon to come. Needless to say, I had never killed before; it was as likely, I thought, that I would be disarmed and run through with my own dagger as anything else. Fleeing would mean my journey would be even slower, and I was already facing the forbidding prospects of foraging for food on my own. I knew my choice.

"You, over there!" I cried out. "Who are you?"

The figure turned towards me, and for the first time I could see that it was in fact a girl, probably no more than twenty. She froze, and turned to run, though she had barely proceeded twenty paces before her foot caught in a knotty root and she tumbled to the ground. By that time, I had sprung into a race and was on her in only a moment.

"Who are you?" I repeated, towering over the prone girl.

I felt much safer seeing the slight, feminine figure beneath me. There was no chance she could best me in a straightforward physical brawl, and she appeared unarmed.

"Stay back!" she cried out. "You won't take me back to them!"

"Who are you?" I demanded.

The girl, whose hands had been raised in defense, lowered them slowly. With icy blue eyes as large as saucers, she looked into my eyes intensely, as if she was searching for my true nature inside. For a moment, I feared that I had stumbled upon a witch, bent on enthralling me to her nefarious will. Fortunately, she was but an ordinary girl.

"Kali—that's my name. I was taken by bandits. They killed my father and kept me."

"Where are these bandits?"

Kali hesitated.

"I'm not going back! They'll never own me."

Naturally, I had no intention of returning her to the bandits. I was on the hunt for dishonorable men, but bandits were beyond dishonorable. The heart of a thief may yet be red, but a bandit's heart is blacker than coal. I was certain that murder, not trade, would be the result of my coming into contact with such men.

"I don't want to take you anywhere," I told her, "but I can't have you stealing my horse either."

Kali continued to search my face, hoping for signs, I assumed, of my trustworthiness.

"This isn't your horse, farmboy," she replied. "You're as much a thief as they are—but maybe not a killer? Could we deal?"

My spirits rose. While she was occupied trying to determine if I was trustworthy, I elected, perhaps foolishly, to trust Kali implicitly. To be honest, I was trusting my stomach as much as my heart—she seemed to know her way around the forest, and I prayed she might have food with her.

"Let's talk, then. Is it safe to remain here?" I asked her.

She shook her head.

"They move throughout the forest, sometimes at night. They camp near crossroads and wait for travelers to spring their traps. There's a village not far from here, Sameneimer. If we—"

"We can't go there," I interjected. "It's...not safe either."

She scrutinized me further, as if reading my thoughts.

"You know who I am—who are you?"

Of course I couldn't tell her what brought me here. I stalled.

"A name isn't much. Maybe nothing at all. Tell me who you are, not just your name, and I'll tell you my story," I said.

"Like I said," she hissed, "it's not safe here. We should ride away from their camp. They'll be looking for me."

I suddenly regretted the way in which I'd inadvertently agreed to accompany her. Now she was hitching a ride on my horse, while I exposed myself to the risk of bandits. As we swiftly rode off, Kali fell silent. It wasn't until almost an hour later, when we stopped to rest, that we resumed our conversation.

"I've changed my mind," she said. "Your story first, before I tell you more of mine. You're the thief after all."

I wasn't happy about that, but I decided a few helpful lies might gain me sympathy.

"I'm an outlaw from the village—the one you wanted to flee to. The Baron...murdered my wife and I...killed his son in revenge. I'm fleeing to Sicherburg. My...uncle has promised me safe harbor there."

Kali drew her shoulders in close.

"You're lying," she said, almost in a whisper, before her brow furrowed. "But we can go to Sicherburg all the same."

She was quiet for a moment before speaking again, with great intent.

"You've never killed anyone," she said with certainty, "but you've got quite a dagger. You robbed the Baron—are you trying to join a Bandit clan?"

I knew nothing of joining bandits; for all I knew, bandits were born and not made. I swore I had no intentions of the sort, and Kali seemed to accept that. The longer she spent in my presence, the more relaxed she appeared to be. I must have seemed so lost and naïve that I wasn't a threat. Now it was my turn to determine what help she might be.

"Kali? Do you...ummm...know how to get there? I mean, without getting too close to the bandits?"

"You're not much of an outlaw, are you?" she asked.

"I'm new at this."

"Yes, I can guide you there, and show you how to find food. You didn't have any here," she replied. "This gelding's strong—makes sense it's a nobleman's. Let me ride with you, camp with you, and I'll lead you to Sicherburg in one piece. Just...stay by me and don't let them take me back."

How a girl knew much more than I about the forest, about towns, and about bandits was a stone I'd need to leave unturned for now. She'd broken her promise to tell me more about herself, and I let it pass without protest. All I could think about was her finding food.

We set off again shortly after, this time with me in front. It wasn't long, however, before my limitations as a rider were too glaring to ignore. We traded places, and suddenly our pace picked up measurably. Naturally, I felt self-conscious riding behind Kali, though wrapping my hands around her waist was its own kind of pleasure. For the first time since we'd met, I took a moment to really see her.

She looked underfed, but pleasant nonetheless: not much to hold on to when riding her I assumed, but a pretty face, with a cute button nose and sandy brown freckles that matched her long, tangled hair. Bandits must not have combs, I recall thinking. She had a kind of feminine grace that was easy to miss unless one got the opportunity to ride with her.

Once in the saddle, all memories of the fearful cowering girl I'd first encountered were irretrievably gone. Kali had an air of natural control. She seemed almost instinctively to know how to guide the beast beneath us, to avoid the roots and tangles that had forced me to ride in comparative languor. Seeing the speed with which she rode, I knew it had been a stroke of fortune to have discovered her. I could forgive her for trying to steal my stolen horse; like me, she had needed to beat a hasty escape.

Over the sound of hoofbeats, I called to her, "How much longer?"

"We'll camp tonight, and make the gates by tomorrow evening," she cried.

We rode on until the sun began to fade, and then Kali brought us to a halt, by the side of a stream. As we dismounted, I admired the view of her lean legs and tight little ass. I felt fairly certain an inhumanly large cock like mine would never fit in such a little thing.

Beyond the purely physical, I was curious about her story as well. Neither of us had disclosed much; she had even saw through my story as a lie. Through force of circumstance we were brought together: she needed my horse and I needed her skills as a navigator. My decision to trust her had been not much of a decision at all, and her promise of finding food was as much to blame as her proficiency on horseback.

"I heard that," she said, smiling for the first time at the sound of my growling belly. "I haven't forgotten."

I saw her smile for the first time, her teeth glistening white. She was no beggar or laborer's daughter, that was certain.

"Well, if you wouldn't mind," I said sheepishly, "it would be nice to get some food before trying to turn in."

Kali looked at me incredulously.

"There's a lot more work before that. What, are you going to sleep on the ground?"

Now it was my turn to look at her in amused surprise.

"Well, yes. I've done it hundreds of times."

Here I must reflect on the marvels of writing. Dear reader, you may hail from any sort of land imaginable, and it seems only natural for me to describe the climate of my homeland. Suffice it to say that sleeping under the stars was a not uncommon pastime of young children, who grew up accustomed to slumbering upon nothing more than a bed of dry leaves. The warm autumn wind had not yet given away to winter's cold, though still quite mild bite.

"Well...I'd like some cover. We could try to build a...a structure," she said, the realization slowly dawning that her plan was comically unpromising.

"So you're a builder as well as a horseman...er...horsewoman?" I said in jest. "You can make my cabin small. I'd hate to get too greedy."

Kali looked angry, though I couldn't tell how serious she was.

"Don't treat me like I'm stupid," she snapped. "I've never slept in the open. It doesn't seem safe."

"Well, it's not safe," I demurred. "There are bandits and beasts, possibly even witches. I'm only saying that nothing we put together will protect us from any of that. We're better off eating and setting off at sunrise."

"Witches? I was right about you being a farmboy!" she exclaimed. "Only farmboys go around blaming their misfortune on witches. Oh, the cow's kicked it, the corn's gone to rot—let's blame Mother Death—"

"Don't say her name!" I cried. "She hears everything!"

Kali returned to laughing at my superstition. Everyone I had ever known knew not to speak the name of the Queen of the Witches. I suppose it was an improvement over having her mad at me, but not much of one.

"Can you build a fire?" she asked.

I was thankful to change the subject to one that would get me fed.

"That I can," I said, happy to finally be able to contribute more than my stolen horse.

"Good, then you're not hopeless. I'll be back..." Kali trailed off.

I realized then she was considering the prospects of being recaptured.

"We need food," she said slowly, as if the words were a confession. "And we need a fire. I'll help you gather wood, if you come with me afterwards to gather food."

It seemed like a fair trade, as I had no desire for us to separate, regardless of how much more we might have accomplished at our allotted tasks. Without an ax, we were limited to collecting fallen branches, which were fortunately plentiful. I carted the branches back while Kali scavenged for edible roots and berries; with my dagger and a truly ingenious display of trap building, we even had a rabbit to share that night.

Though we ate and shared the warmth of the fire, there was little real warmth between us. The women in my life had always been sweet, willing lovers, who needed and wanted a strong man. I thought about Kali, fragile, winsome, yet also whip-smart and independent. Falling into the clutches of bandits was awful for men, certain death. What could it mean for a beautiful girl who clearly sought freedom above all else?

We spoke not of the threat of bandits, though it hung over us. I even thought about the Baron's men, prowling the byways in search of me, if only to make my decision to traverse the forest seem less foolhardy.

"What are you going to do in town?" she asked me out of the blue.

"I don't know," I replied, instantly regretting my answer.

"What about that uncle of yours?" she replied, seizing on the whole in my fabricated story. "He doesn't have any plans for you?"

"Ummm, no," I replied gracelessly. "He's got a spare room for me, though, and friends who could always use a pair of strong hands."

"Well, I'll be glad to return to civilization," she replied, "and to get there without a Bandit's mark."

Not for the last time, I had no idea what she meant, and told her as much.

"You must have never poked your head very far into the world," she replied, though without malice. "Don't you know what bandits do?"

"They rob, and they kill. I suppose they sell their stolen goods to someone or other. I've never met a bandit."

"Lucky for you," she replied. "You've got it partly right. They rob men and, yes, kill them too. But women they kidnap. And then they play their games."

"Games?" I asked.

"Games," she replied, her voice twisted with hate. "They'd sooner slit a man's throat than shake his hand, but with ladies they take a sick pleasure in making us surrender willingly. When a bandit's got you, he makes you earn your food, earn your bed, earn your passage. And you can't get away, unless you let them mark you."

I couldn't see how this made for much of a game.

"So they'll let you go if they mark you? Why not just let them mark you?"

Kali looked appalled. I must have offended her.

"Can I call you stupid without hurting your feelings too much? A marked woman has no future. No life, save for whoring. Never to marry, never to do honest work, never to be a part of anything. You're scared of witches? Look for a bandit's mark on a witch and ask her if she turned to the dark arts after her own mother and father cast her out. It's not fair, but it's the way it's always been. I'm not getting marked. That's why I've got to get free. It's freedom, being a bandit's wench, or the mark."

The depth of bandits' malevolence ought not have surprised me, but I nonetheless felt a wave of revulsion. I liked Kali and felt a little pride that perhaps my help might spare her the fate of such unhappy women. Yet, there was one aspect that I didn't fully grasp yet.

"Not to bring up bad memories, but what's the other choice. What's a bandit's wench?"

Evidently, Kali had lost the ability to be surprised at my ignorance. She took a deep breath, searching, I suppose, for the right words.