A Fantasy Picaresque

The pain in my head was excruciating as I woke to the sound of laughter. The sun streaming through the trees told me I had been unconscious for hours. There were tents—miserable looking things, really, and a cauldron rigged above a dying campfire.

I had to be in the bandits' camp. I tried to move, but I had been lashed to a tree. Why I remained breathing was a mystery—was I actually still alive? I decided quickly that being dead wouldn't hurt so much. Time was hard to gauge; I stared at the empty campsite from my fixed vantage point for what may have been an hour, my mind drifting in and out of a dreamlike state of deliriousness. I could see a basket of bread and a flagon of some kind of drink on a stump near the fire pit, and looking at it made me almost weep.

Though I'd eaten once the previous day, I was already ravenous. The hunger helped me to focus, and my wits had just started to return to me when I heard the bandit company's voices approaching.

"I'm just sayin', Mr. Block, I haven't run one through in months. I think it's my turn—"

"There ain't no turns, Mr. Pitts, 'cause there ain't no law. You run him through, if'n you want to tangle with me after. "

"I've no mind to scrap, Mr. Block. Only, well, Mr. Booker's washed his hands red with the slag's daddy, and here I am all clean."

"Clean's one thing I wouldn't accuse you of, Mr. Pitts."

"Besides, mate, it wasn't planned, you see. Killin' 'im was a sort of happy accident, I'd say."

The bandits numbered four. The one called Mr. Block wore a black rag over his head, tied in the back. A brown vest, marked with white notches, covered his torso, with a filthy brown shirt underneath. Mr. Block's face didn't betray a bandit's cruelty—if anything, he looked like every petty town councilor or Baron's man you'd ever seen.

Mr. Pitts was shorter and thin as well, with the mad energy of a rodent but much uglier. He looked as if he'd crawled out of the earth, so filthy was he, with the shrill voice one might expect given his pinched little face.

Mr. Booker was as hairy as a sheepdog, but without the redeeming loyalty, cheerfulness, or honest employment. He had the kind of airy joviality only found in good-hearted buffoons and soulless killers.

The fourth man, as yet unnamed, was silent. His hawk-like face and intelligent manner made him look both nobler than his companions yet also vastly more dangerous.

I looked around for Kali, but didn't see her. Mingled in with the bandits was a woman I could only assume to be Lina, the bandit wench of whom Kali had spoken. I took her for a woman of thirty-five, with a ruddy complexion, chestnut brown hair tied up in a bun, and heavy bosoms made for suckling. She seemed perfectly calm around the bandits, and I could easily fathom that she'd been their personal whore of sorts for some time.

"Alright, honey tits," Mr. Booker told Lina, "Make us some bacon and beans, and quick. We're movin' today."

"Yes, sir—ohhh," Lina squealed, as Mr. Booker slapped her ass, hard. "Breakfast first today, sir?"

"Yes!" interjected Mr. Pitts. "I'm fucking starving. You can get your breakfast when we're done."

Thus far little attention had been paid me, though that was about to change. The fourth man, the one who had yet to speak, noticed I was awake. An elbow to Mr. Block's ribs later, and the pair of them walked menacingly towards me.

"You're a lucky one," Mr. Block said, with an unctuous grin. "Most days you'da run dry by now. Don't worry, boy, we'll put holes in you yet, if'n you won't dance for us."

I was beyond confused—why would a bandit want me to dance? I didn't even know how. Perhaps the fourth man read my expression, because he spoke, for the first time. His voice was soft, calm, and measured, almost reassuring, which made it all the more unnerving.

"Boy, tell me about this," he said, holding up the Baron's signet ring. "Where'd you get it?"

My mind raced. The truth would reveal my outlaw status, but these men were outlaws, too. A clever lie, though, might enable me to gain some advantage. If only I could think of one.

"It belonged to Baron Welkenschwanz's son. I took it from his body after...after I knocked him out. I'm running away from Sameneimer to escape the Baron's justice," I stammered, more or less adhering to the truth.

The fourth man eyed me warily.

"And then you tried to steal our wench? You're a brave one—stupid, but brave, to steal from barons

and

bandits."

Without thinking of the consequences, I blurted out, "She tried to steal my horse!"

I felt guilty immediately, as if I was harming Kali to save myself. Mr. Block whispered into the fourth man's ear.

"Boy, I believe you. I really do," the fourth man said. "Only, thing is: we can't be havin' our spoils...well, spoiled. We caught you...

disciplinin'

that one-eyed monster of yours near

our

wench, and there's a price for that."

The sudden onrush of terror blotted out any capacity for guilt in me. Kali would have to save herself, as it appeared these bandits meant to do me in.

"Monster?" Lina asked curiously. "You sayin' 'e's got a big one?"

"Fuckin' massive," Mr. Pitts said, before Mr. Block struck him hard in the ribs. "What was that for?"

"Don't make the whore all sloppy for 'im," he warned, "'fore she goes off tryin' to ride him the next chance she gets."

"I never touched Kali...I mean, your wench, sir," I protested. "She merely wanted to see my...shameful disfigurement."

The bandits had a hearty laugh. Perhaps, I thought, I might amuse them such that they'd elect to keep me alive.

"It's a terrible affliction," I averred. "I...I do confess I might have brought about the untimely end of a few sheep back in my village."

The bandits laughed, save Mr. Pitts, who needed Mr. Booker to explain my jest to him before he grasped its wit.

"Clever boy, this one," Mr. Booker proclaimed. "Only, as I see it, the clever rarely find their way into a bandit forest."

My mind, at that tender age as yet unaccustomed to strategic thought, was barely up to the task of concocting a scheme. Yet I soldiered on blindly, hoping to hit upon a means of salvation.

"I mean to join you," I blurted out finally..

They looked at me expectantly. I would need a story.

"I...ummm...well...when the Baron's men...I mean to say..."

"So you stole the ring as a masterwork, eh?" the fourth man queried.

Not knowing, of course, what a bandit might consider a "masterwork," I nevertheless plunged onwards.

"Yes, sir, yes. A masterwork indeed," I chirped eagerly.

"Well," he said almost paternally, "it's not a bad first go at it. Perhaps there's hope for you yet."

Perhaps, I thought. It was just then, for the first time, that I heard the sounds of high-pitched, muffled screams. Kali was there.

"That means breakfast, boys," Mr. Booker exclaimed with glee. "How's the food, wench?"

Though the men were casually possessive and degrading to her, Lina seemed to bear their affronts with paradoxical good cheer.

"Good and hot today," she cried out. "And not a moment to soon."

The bandits left my vicinity to take their places around the campfire, all save the fourth man, who entered one of the tents and retrieved the bound figure of my erstwhile travelling companion, Kali. She kicked, as best she could, against her restraints, but if a bandit knows one thing, it's how to tie a knot. Kali was held fast, helpless against the bandits' depredations no doubt to come.

"Now, don't you try closin' yer eyes this time," Mr. Pitts admonished. "Else this'll take all day."

Kali was dumped unceremoniously on the ground alongside Mr. Block, who began to devour a side of bacon. Even from my vantage point, I could see how ravenously hungry Kali appeared. My own stomach was tied up in knots, and I knew at that moment that I would sell my soul to Mother Death for a bite of the beans grubby Mr. Pitts was shoveling into his greedy maw.

The men took their time eating, enjoying their filling breakfast perhaps more demonstratively than necessary. It was then that I realized the meaning of their meal: they were taunting Kali. The source of the bandits' persuasion was no spell or charm, but rather the simple facts of slow starvation. No wonder Kali looked so thin, unremitting rebel that she was.

I watched with a mixture of horror and desire when Mr. Block scraped the remains of the bacon and the beans into a large bowl.

"Now, wench, take your pick. You splittin' this bowl with honey tits or goin' without again?" Mr. Pitts said lasciviously.

I could only imagine what the bandits would demand of poor Kali in exchange for a bit of food.

"Bacon's burnt," she said stoically. "And the beans are cold by now. Maybe tomorrow."

I was amazed at the strength it must have taken her to turn down a meal that, to my greedy eyes at least, looked like a veritable feast.

Without warning, Lina walked up to Mr. Pitts and pulled his shabby britches to his ankles. A small, unimpressive cock flopped out, and she placed his whole shaft in her mouth at once, as if it were mere routine. I heard her hum a tune with Mr. Pitts' willy in her mouth and barely two minutes later, she was pulling his spent cock from her mouth and wiping her hand across her lips. I wish I could remember the tune; I think my dear old mom might have sung it to me once.

At that time, I'd never seen a woman use her mouth on another man, nor had I seen such an act accomplished with so little movement on the woman's part. Even fully engorged, Mr. Pitts must have been an easy mark for a talented fellatrix like Lina. So enthralled was I by the bizarre site, that I had missed Mr. Block and Mr. Booker taking the opportunity to free their own straining members from confinement. Without neither hesitation nor haste, Lina knelt on her knees below Mr. Booker, who fed his cock little by little into her waiting mouth. Mr. Booker put up a much better show of himself, even causing the wench at his feet to retch and sputter a time or two.

While Mr. Pitts had been quick to spew, Lina was forced to employ more of her skills to coax the seed from Mr. Booker. Like a maid at a butter churn, she pumped his shaft furiously, intermittently taking him full to the hilt into her willing mouth. One could be forgiven for believing she actually enjoyed such debasement; with her free hand, she reached under her simple homespun dress and began to caress herself intimately. Mr. Booker grasped big handfuls of her heaving tits, calling out "mommy!" as he came, thrashing.

While such undignified behavior would have embarrassed you or I, dear reader, it was instantly apparent that among their own kind, bandits have little sense of shame, and I suppose my impending demise made me no one of consequence to them. This general brazenness was confirmed when I spied Mr. Block coating Lina's breakfast with a generous dose of his seed. Evidently, he'd been unwilling to wait for Lina to service him and took matters into his own hands. Why he'd choose poor Lina's breakfast as the place to deposit his offering was a mystery to me.

I expected Lina to wait until the fourth man had his way with her as well, but she immediately went for the bowl and hastily devoured it. The fourth man made no objection to this. I instinctively recoiled to see her consume Mr. Block's semen along with her bacon and beans until I remembered how common it must be for Lina to ingest such fluids with her meals.

Kali looked positively wretched, unable as she was to contain her envy over Lina's meal. I recalled how dismissively she spoke of Lina in our short time together and could see how, to a woman so bent on resistance like Kali, Lina's total submission to the bandits would seem demoralizing, an unpleasant glimpse into a possible future.

"What about him?" Lina asked. "How's he gonna eat?"

Mr. Booker cocked an eyebrow.

"Slut's got a point. We don't usually keep another twig and berries around 'ere."

"He'll live," the fourth man said. "For now, let's hunt—Mr. Pitts is on watch."

As the other bandits departed, I expected to see Mr. Pitts return Kali to the tent. To my surprise, instead he freed her.

"Don't try lick the bowl again, bitch," he said cruelly. "You want our cream, you get it straight from the source."

Without a single instruction, Kali and Lina set about performing chores. Each time Kali turned towards me, even for a moment, Mr. Pitts slapped her hard across her ass.

"Don't you worry about 'im. Be dead soon enough."

Mr. Pitts performed no work of his own, save for watching the three of us. With little to do in my current condition and no prospects of being useful myself, I settled for observing Mr. Pitts, hoping at the least to learn about how the bandits worked. Either I'd succeed in joining them—only to slip away at the first chance, of course—or I'd find some weakness to exploit and steal away once more with Kali, and perhaps even Lina, if she so desired.

It was well past midday when I noticed for the first time a pattern of furtive movements on the part of Kali. Each time Mr. Pitts took his eyes from her, she would discretely perform some sort of small motion with her hands, though with her back turned away from me I couldn't discern what it was.

Mr. Pitts was eating a loaf of bread and what appeared to be an unwashed carrot when Kali quickly crumpled what I then saw to be a small scrap of paper and flung it at me. I had never seen such a thing before—to destroy so valuable an object as a sheet of paper. Oh reader, how strange it is now to pour out buckets of ink upon these sheets and recall how once I only laid eyes on paper in the rare occasion that the baron's men came to settle accounts.

At that moment I gave thanks that my arms, though bound at the wrist, were not pinioned behind me as Kali's had been. Taking care not to alert Mr. Pitts of anything out of the ordinary, I first used my feet to pull the scrap towards me. Unable to make obvious movements, it took some time, and during the interlude, I had time to ponder what I might do with the paper. I prayed Kali knew well enough not to write any words: a picture or map might do me some good, but a message in writing was lost on me.

Once I had the scrap, I opened it surreptitiously. Both my hopes and my fears were confirmed: there was indeed a map, but also a series of written instructions. When Mr. Pitts completed his lunch, I tucked the map away, fearful of being found out. I gave Kali a forlorn look, waiting for her to glance at me and discern that I could not read her note. When she caught sight of me, she immediately set aside the pants she was mending and spoke to Mr. Pitts.

"Alright," she said in evident resignation. "I'm bloody starving. Give me a loaf of that brown and I'll suck your cock."

Mr. Pitts laughed, an unpleasant, weaselly laugh, and pulled his pants down for the second time that day.

"Since the old slag drained me this morning, I might just last long enough to wear you out, cunt," he said.

Kali positioned herself such that Mr. Pitts was looking away from me. I couldn't see her take his prick into her mouth, only his skinny bum clenching as he thrust in and out. Kali made little mewling sounds, evidently to hold Mr. Pitts' attention, and at once I grasped her plan.

She must have ascertained my illiteracy from that look I gave her. Now she was distracting Mr. Pitts, so that I could secure some help reading. I beckoned Lina over, and she tilted her head curiously. I wished I could cry out for her to come to my aid, but instead I merely motioned for her, with my bound arms and desperately shaking head, to come over. If she could read the message, perhaps she might decipher for me the words I could not.

"I think he's gettin' randy," she called out to Mr. Pitts, who was distracted enough by his forceful fucking of poor Kali's mouth to require her to repeat herself.

I shook my head frantically. Had she not understood me?

"Fuck 'im," Mr. Pitts called out.

Lina began to remove her dress.

"No, you fat whore. Don't

fuck

him, FUCK HIM!"

At once, Lina pulled her dress back on, and Mr. Pitts bellowed out, as he no doubt reached climax.

"I think he wanted a go at me," Lina said, laughing to Mr. Pitts. "Thinks he's one of you already."

Mr. Pitts turned towards me, and I fumbled to hide the map. I was too obvious. Dragging Kali along by her hair, he approached me. Once she came closer, I could see that Mr. Pitts had coated her face with his seed; moreover, despite his miniscule endowment, he seemed to have produced an obscene amount of semen for a man who's just enjoyed the services of another woman scarcely six hours before.

"What's the word, Mr. Pitts?" the fourth man cried out from a distance.

What a time for the bandits to return! I closed my eyes and prayed that Mr. Pitts might fail to discover my secret, but when I felt his greasy finger rummage underneath my knees, I knew Kali and I would be discovered.

"What's this?" he asked, unfolding the paper.

"I...I don't know. I can't read," I blubbered.

I was not putting on a particularly gallant display. Dear reader, I will spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say that my bladder does not always obey my mind when great danger draws near.

"Fucking hell," Mr. Pitts called out, and now the bandits were upon me.

"A map," Mr. Booker said. "And

she

must've drawn it."

"Says here he should kill us in our sleep," Mr. Block said, drawing his blade.

"And here I thought she just wanted a little bread and cream," Mr. Pitts said in mock self pity.

Kali's face, still spattered with Mr. Pitts' cum, was twisted into a mask of horror. For my part, I had traversed fear to arrive at utter paralysis. Only my eyes still worked: I watched the fourth man, the one whose name I'd never heard spoken, whisper into Kali's ear.

"I'll take the mark!" she cried out.

The bandits, to that point leering and cruel, suddenly changed. Mr. Block reached for a cloth to hand Kali, while Mr. Pitts straightened his shirt a little. All trace of their lascivious grins had vanished, and they took on a vaguely funereal air.

Mr. Booker departed slowly and returned with something I'd never seen, the skin of a white bear. There were certainly no white bears in these woods. One day, I would ride into battle mounted on such a majestic creature. As a young man in those woods, though, such adventures were well ahead of me.

The fourth man whispered once more into Kali's ear. She turned to me, glaring, but did not speak. Her eyes never left mine as she removed her clothing. Mr. Pitts took her tatters and flung them into the fire, where they burst into an unnatural, towering flame. Kali lay on her stomach, hands at her sides. The bandits, hitherto constantly engaged in lewd taunting and ribaldry, were silent, solemn.

The fourth man approached Kali and knelt down at her side. Reaching out his index finger, he traced an indecipherable pattern across the small of Kali's back. I confess to being distracted by the sight of her bare ass, though the scene was more outré than erotic. She breathed slowly, deeply, as he traced his finger in a spiraling pattern, and in a moment he was done.

Kali lay there, perhaps uncertain what was to come. In an instant, though, she cried out in pain, and smoke rose from the spot where the fourth man had touched her. I could see the mark forming: a black, hateful looking spiral, traced in a place where a man might see it when he enjoyed her from behind. I recalled Kali proclaiming that women marked by bandits often became whores, and I wondered whether such a fate awaited her.

Yet the greater mystery was why she'd suddenly assented to the mark. What had the fourth man whispered to her to cause her stout resistance to crumble? In all likelihood, I would never know: the only mark bandits gave men was a knife wound.