Anima et Forma

Episode 24: The Cost of Freedom

The Sindari never set foot on Caliacran Bay. These rebellious elves broke away from King Kaelorian and sailed north, following the Senex Coast beyond the land of Romani, arriving in a formidable frontier. Unfortunately, they soon discovered that their frontier was the sacred ancestral homeland of the Pinelords–worshippers of Elding. The Sindari did in three summers what the Castellian Empire could not accomplish in four thousand years: eradicating the Pine Lords from the coastal lowlands of Rosmodan. The Sindari have since practiced a policy of isolation, thus, sources are scarce.

Scholars believe the Sindari abandoned their King for one of two reasons: Because of the vow he forced upon his people–a vow to abstain from accessing their magic. Or, because of cultural differences between the remaining noble bloodlines.

—Lord Douglas Paul, "Immortal Blood." 1387 A.D.

"Freemen and Burgundians patrol the straight," Deacon, whose fat cheeks sprouted red stubble, said. "If the Freemen catch us, we'll be shackled and sold into slavery." Seagulls culled overhead. Black chop battered the ships anchored at bay and those moored at the docks. "And if the Burgundians catch us, we'll be hanged as pirates, spies, or both."

The sea exhaled a constant breath of icy wind. Alessandro pulled his cloak closer. "I need a job."

"Hah!" Deacon placed a hand on his fat stomach. "It's that simple, isn't it? A man has to eat." The smuggler's smile faded. "Do you know your way around a ship? Spent any time at sea?"

"I have," Alessandro said. "I spent two years under Captain Marcelo Gracci of the Seamare." In truth, it had been eight months. "We hauled goods between Dacia, Bihar, Scythia, and Petropoli." 'Goods' meaning intelligence and agents. "Mostly sulfur and foodstuffs."

Deacon's eyebrows climbed his forehead. "Marcelo is an excellent sailor. He runs a clean crew. Very professional." He cleared his throat. "I'm no Marcelo Gracci, but I have a good crew who understands the job. Smuggling is a dangerous business, my friend. Do you have experience fighting? Have you ever killed a man?"

"Yes," Alessandro said. The smuggler stood with his arms folded across his barrel chest, waiting for Alessandro to continue. "I was in the relief force that lifted the siege from this city and chased the Burgundians to Berani. After Count Constantine drove us from the field, my regiment ended up in Colonia, where we carried out light duties for six months. After Colonia, we marched north to meet Constantine again; this time, we beat the bastard. I think Duke Ambrose was with us that day, and that made the difference."

"It was raining, so mortars and dwarven fire were useless," Deacon added. "You can sail, and you can fight. How did you end up here looking to become a smuggler?"

"I felt vindicated after our victory against the Burgundians, but it was hollow." Alessandro drew in a lungful of salty air. "The more battles I fought, the more hollow I felt. There's always another battle to fight—in victory and defeat—and always another enemy. Before this war, a thousand others were fought by men who had little to gain and everything to lose. I want to be free again, and there's no honest work left for a Milanese man. So, how about it, Captain? Do I qualify for your crew?"

Deacon looked out over the black waters, churning beneath a purple sky darkened by clouds. "We're leaving on the first day of the month. Meet me on my ship and have your affairs in order."

"The Crooked Crane?" Alessandro asked.

Deacon nodded. "That's the one. We're looking at six months at sea and eight hundred silvers for every man. But it is dangerous, my friend. I will not lie to you." Alessandro stepped across the deck and extended his right hand. The men shook, sealing the agreement and terms of employment. "Good man." Deacon laughed. "See you soon!"