Starbuck's Education

"Blues? Who are they?"

The bar fell quiet. Tucked in a corner, Old Man Henri coughed into his beard. Everyone avoid looking each other in the eyes, each equally lost in dark though and a haze of memory pushed far beyond recollection, now ripped open and fresh once more.

The bartender cleared his throat, looking hard at the strip of a lad who had asked the question that had still the ambient raucous. "Lad, what's your name?" The boy stammered, noticing the silent attention each patron now directed his way.

"James...um, Jim Starbuck."

"Well, Jim Starbuck, I suspect you have a great deal to learn today." The bartender threw his rag over his shoulder and pulled out a short cup. A bottle of black glass was produced from beneath the bar. He poured a cup as every pair. Eyes in the public house watched rapt, captured in the spell the boy had unwittingly weaved. The bartender slid the cup toward the boy.

"Drink up, Jim. You're gonna need it." With a shaking hand, the boy pretending at being a man picked up the cup and went to drink. His nose wrinkled at the smell. He raised the chipped cup to his lips.

"Lads!" The bartender called out to everyone watching, pulling his rag from his shoulder. "Young Starbuck here has never had the pleasure of running into the Blues! Best we educate him before he meets a messy end."

Starbuck threw his head back, downing the clear contents of the cup in one go. He cough and spluttered, keeled sideways but managed to stay standing. The room gave a whoop and returned to conversation, though the topic of each exchange was focused on one topic.

The boy handed the cup back to the barkeep. "How much was that?"

"Don't worry about that one." The bartender retruned the cup to its place on the shelf after a cursory wipe. "Take a walk through the room. Sharpen your ears. Blues aren't friends to any outside of Dalaam, maybe not even there. Best you learn fast before you get out onto the soars and learn for yourself. It'll be too late than. Here."

The boy collected the mug of grog from the bartender and turned to the room. Every table was taking once more. The spell of fearful silence was broken.

"Boy!" A drunk with a squashy hat sporting a large red feather waved him over. "The first thing you need to know about the Blues..."

Starbuck spent the rest of the night wandering from table to table, group to group. As soon as he freed himself from one story, someone grabbed his elbow and steered him into another. The room, it seemed, had decided as a collective to fill his ears with every encounter they had ever had with the Blues, or tall tales they had heard about the royal guard, or legends of the King of the Skies, who had created the demon armada that enforced his rule across the skies.

One of the first tables told him how, back in the early days of the King's reign, some two hundred years past, there had been an uprising in Waren. The biggest families had joined forces into an uneasy alliance to defend themselves against the King's will. Their only demand was to be left in peace. The region would trade, and allowed passage through their space, but only if they were free of the King's colours, the royal blue that gave the guard their nickname. Every envoy and messenger had been blown out of the sky by the heavy warships of families. After the second ship, there was quiet for a time. Then the King sent a special warship, one of his personal flagships crewed by one of his admirals and two of his captains. The King sent three ships of the his royal guard with strict instructions not t fire a single cannon. Salvo after salvo pumped into the ships, they neither returned fire, nor fell from the skies. Their hulls were mottled from denting, but none of the three faltered. Ships tried to board them, but they were effortlessly cut down. The three Blue ships reached Waren's capital, which had been heavily fortified. They docked and disembarked. Many Blues, but each took at least a dozen of the defenders for each life. The royal guard cut a bloody swath through Waren's capital until the admiral and the two captains were standing in the captial's meeting hall, where the family elders had held themselves. The first captain calmly kicked in the door, sending men flying. The second drew his sword and calmly batted away each bullet that flew at the three Blues. The admiral stepped forward, her thin needle of a blade whistling through the air, cut through every guard that approached and calmly drove her blade into the heart of the Joshua family's elder. Then she went to the second elder and did the same, and so likewise to each of the family elders who had allied against the King. Afterward, the admiral lay down a decree, saying that if ever the houses turned on the king, each of their bloodlines would meet the same end, at the top of a Blue's sword, and they would be as powerless to stop them in the future as they had been to stop them then. The Blues then turned, returned to their ships and sailed back to Dalaam, and though new elders would rise to become heads of their families, never again would they openly oppose the King's rule.

A pair of women drinking near the soft-kindled hearth told Starbuck of one of the Captains that sailed primarily through Ferra, a sky known for its viscous pirates, slavers and raiding companies. There was one spire a few years back, Merry Hold, which held the public execution of an official working in one of the royal guard outposts. The pirate lord who owned the spire's city had the official stripped and public ally tortured as a message to his citizens. News travelled fast to the King's ear, and a single ship was sent to investigate and pass the King's judgement. This the was the first anyone ever heard of Captain Dagvan. His ship made it into Ferra's sky without much trouble, but than met four ships that tried to intercept him. Dagvan blew the first out of the sky, shredded the balloons of the second, boarded and slaughtered the third, and finally crumpled the fourth, sending it careening into a spire to break on the cliff face. Unfortunately, Dagvan's ship was heavily damaged and he ended up crashing somewhere in Merry Hold LowSky. A second ship was sent, but when it reached the offending spire, all it found was blood and corpses. The Blues marched on Merry Hold, but found no one until they reached the highest point on the spire, the pirate lord's lighthouse fortress. The gates had been thrown wide open, and sitting at the head of its great hall was Dagvan, calm and waiting for a ship to come pick him up. That was the first anyone heard of Dagvan the Wraith, earning his name, when he single handedly carved through every soul living on that cursed spire.

Starbuck moved from table to table. There was a story of two Blue captains who fought each other, tearing a settlement apart in the process. There was a story of a merchantman carrying dyes bound for Crea, dyeing their sails minutes before being boarded by a pirate frigate, flying impromptu blue sails and scaring off their mighty pursuers. The stories of the King's royal guard seemed the stuff of legends and nightmares both. Innocent blood splattered across the spires. Guilty men and women sent casually tumble through the cloudfloor. Countless lives, livelihoods, and hopes snuffed out by the King's blue-clad soldiers.

Of the King, there was little anyone in the drinking house could add to what Starbuck had already heard. He was hundreds of years old. He had toppled the previous king centuries past, taking reign and control of Dalaam overnight. He had spent a single year sailing the entirety of the Skies, cutting down anyone who opposed him. Every Age, the King held an open tournament and invitation in his palace's courtyard where anyone could openly challenge him; none had succeeded, he had survived countless assassination attempts. Some said his skin was fiery red, stained from the blood he'd shed. Others said it was black as night, allowing him to pass through shadows undetected. Other still claimed it was whiter than the snow which fell on highest spires of the Outer Rim skies. A lean man with a sallow face told Starbuck the King had wings of magic that carried him effortlessly across the skies. The bartender remembered a story that told of the King binding his soul to a daemon, giving him his long life and extraordinary power, as well as his ruthless streak and indifference to evil.

Starbuck stumbled into a booth as the hours grew late. His head was spinning. He had gone passed the point of drunk more than hour past, but had somehow held on to his wits long enough to bear out several more stories before he could extricate himself to a moment of privacy. Someone slid into the booth opposite him. He raised a hand in wordless welcome, but couldn't find the strength to summon words. His face was tried, his mouth hanging slightly open, his eyes dropping closed as his head sat propped up on his hand.

"Learned a few things tonight, have you?" The person opposite him wore a loose cotton shirt covering pert breasts concealed in a lazy fashion behind the fabric. Starbuck rubbed his eyes and focused on the woman sitting across the table. Her face was slim, framed by raven's black hair that she had tied into an impressive braid that draped over her shoulder. Her eyes twinkled, one yellow, one blue. A dark brown belt strap crossed her chest. A black sash was tied in a limp knot around her left bicep, marking her as a free pirate and mercenary for hire.

"Lots of tales," Starbuck finally slurred. "Lots to learn apparently."

"More still once you leave here tonight."

"Do I know you?" The boy folded his arms and lay his head on them, trying with desperate struggle to keep his eyes open.

The woman laughed, feigning mock offence. "I'd be heart-broken if I wasn't remembered, but than I'm not easily seen. You must be exhausted to be sleeping here."

"Much needed after my education tonight."

The woman laughed. She reached out and touched his head in a casual, heartfelt pat. "There'll be more once you wake. You've got a long way ahead of you."

Starbuck wanted to thank the woman, but his senses had finally taken leave of his head, and he tumbled deeper into the cloudy abyss of slumber.