The New Blood
Before the war, Holzburg had been a small town that outsiders only visited because it boasted a sturdy bridge over the river Sachonnet. Now it was a major supply depot and was home to a large garrison of soldiers. Merchants had settled in the town to cater to the needs of the military. There were tailors to stitch torn uniforms, cobblers to fix broken boots, blacksmiths to forge iron shoes for horses and – naturally – taverns to quench thirst.
One of those taverns – the Emerald Flagon – was located in a basement beneath a tailor’s shop. It was the sort of place where the floor was never swept and a man was free to rest his feet on the table. The basement had its own door that was connected to the street by a short staircase and a series of window-wells that poured warm, golden light out into the night. Some of the little windows were open and the sound of raucous laughter and clinking mugs promised high spirits and good company within. Inside the bar, soldiers in black uniforms clustered around tables where they drank, smoked pipes and played games.
In the center of the tavern a collection of sergeants were playing cards. The game was coming to an end and only two players remained. “What’s it going to be, Jan?” asked one of the men. He had leathery brown skin and black hair salted with white.
“Don’t rush me, Levi,” responded Jan. He took a moment to study his cards and said, “Call.” Both men set their cards down on the coin-covered table. Groans and furious curses exploded from drunken mouths as Levi smiled. “Full house makes my purse that much heavier!” He said as he swept up the gold pieces. “Who’s up for another round?”
More groans chorused in response. The men were tired of losing their money. “How about drinks on me while we reshuffle the deck?” The men agreed. That was how it always went. Levi had made a habit to take home far less than he actually won. The rest would go to drinks and tobacco, gifts to his defeated friends to keep them coming back.
One of the men began to reshuffle the deck as a pretty barmaid with curly black hair and gold rings in her ears brought over a tray filled with mugs of cold beer. Jan watched the barmaid as she set the new mugs on the table and scooped up the empty ones. As she sauntered off he raised an eyebrow at Levi, “Tasty little thing, isn’t she?”
Levi nodded, but did not say anything because he could not agree. The barmaid was probably in her mid-twenties, half the age of the men who gambled, drank and swore all around her. She reminded Levi of his own daughter back home and that caused his mind to wander. It was autumn and that mean the year’s second harvest was underway. He wondered how the rye had grown and wished he could be there to work the fields by day and fall asleep next to his wife at night. Yet he wore the silver badge – a fiery crown – of the First Heavy Cavalry Regiment. They were the elite of the Imperial Army, the Old Guard. They had marched from one end of the continent to the other to fulfill their sovereign’s dream of a united world. For twenty years – since the first of many conquests – Levi had worn the uniform and now… Now he was tired of war and wanted to go home.
But there was still work to be done.
“What shall we toast to?” asked another man at the table. “Our victory yesterday over the cultists?”
“No, to the Emperor!” cried Jan.
“To the safe return of Princess Mirna!” shouted a fourth.
“To fallen friends,” said Levi and his words cast a dour spell over the group.
“Aye, to fallen friends,” said Jan. They raised their mugs and met them together over the center of the table. Silence lingered over them like a light morning fog over a field. It was not until the cards were dealt and pipes were packed with fresh tobacco that smiles formed and the jokes flowed freely once more.
Without warning the door to the basement swung open and a breeze disturbed the thick, smoke filled air of the tavern. A dozen soldiers in black uniforms entered the tavern’s main room. The room went silent as the Old Guard turned and saw who had entered. There were a dozen of them, young men with fresh faces and bright eyes. Pinned to their doublets were silver badges fashioned in the shape of a skull pierced by a lightning bolt.
“Well look what we have here,” said Levi. “Some of the boys from the Second Regiment have decided to stop by.” The newcomers were standing just inside the tavern’s door looking around for an open table.
“The New Blood,” sneered Jan, using the popular nickname for the Second Regiment. “Bunch of gloryhounds. You hear what they did during the battle? Charged without orders.”
“It worked,” said Levi. “They broke the enemy’s line and carried the day.”
“Not the point,” grumbled Jan. “Bunch of upstarts. We were supposed to deliver the killing blow. They stole the moment of our glory!”
Levi nodded and a devilish smiled stretched across his face. He stood and addressed the newcomers. “Little hope of finding a table here, gentlemen. Might want to try one of the places down the street.” He gestured towards the far wall of the tavern with his mug. Beer sloshed over the lip.
The man at the forefront of the newcomers – a young corporal with slicked-back hair and an immaculate blonde moustache that curled upwards at the ends – met Levi’s eye and the older soldier saw youthful determination in his gaze. His own eyes had borne that look when he had been a young trooper ready to prove himself. “I believe we can squeeze into a corner booth. Barkeep! Get us a round of porter!”
“Now hold on, Jakov,” said Levi, addressing the tavern owner behind the bar. The portly man looked nervous. “I don’t want any trouble, good sirs,” said Jakov.
“There won’t be any trouble,” continued Levi without taking his eyes off of the corporal. “These gentlemen were just leaving.” The tension in the room could be tasted in the air. It cut through the stink of beer, tobacco smoke and sweat like an arrow in flight.
The blonde corporal took a moment to decide whether he would press the issue and with a wave of a gloved hand he motioned for his men to follow. “Looks like there’s a decent spot over there.” The newcomers began to weave through the crowd.
The soldiers of the Old Guard did not
need to stand up and block their younger counterparts. They could have let the issue go and ignore the younger men as they settled into the corner of the room. But they were warriors. Opposition – not appeasement – was in their blood and what they sensed beneath the rolling tides of conscious thought that dominated their minds was that another tribe had entered their territory. And so it came as no surprise when three of the veterans stood up and blocked the young corporal and his friends from making it to the corner booth.
With his path blocked the handsome man stopped, raised one eyebrow and said, “Pardon me.”
The soldiers did not move. More stood up behind the newcomers, boxing them in. “Come now, gentlemen,” said Levi. “I am sure there are many fine taverns in this town.” It was one last chance. A request for surrender wrapped in the package of polite words. Yet, just as the older soldiers were warriors, so were the young men of the New Blood. They had the added weight of being the newcomers, not just to the tavern, but to the Emperor’s service. For the entirety of their short careers they had been compared to the Old Guard, and like most young men they were hungry to prove themselves.
The blonde corporal looked at Levi and for a moment it appeared they would back down. But the glint of determination sparked in the young man’s eye and he turned to the soldier blocking his path. “Move out of my way, old man.”
“You’ll have to make me, young pup,” said the unshaven veteran that stood in his way. Levi was not sure who pushed who first, but there was suddenly harsh shouting and the dull, meaty impact of fists striking faces.
The tavern exploded with sudden activity. Men scurried for the relative safety of the far side of the room, or scrambled at forgotten heaps of gold coins, half finished drinks and even – in the case of one rotund master sergeant – a plate of cheeses. Others, like Levi rushed into the thick of the fight.
Levi grabbed a young soldier by the collar and dragged him away from the scrum. The man turned and slammed his elbow into Levi’s mouth. He swore and punched his attacker in the face.
The man recoiled from Levi’s strikes and retreated towards the door of the tavern. Looking for a new opponent, Levi turned just in time for another member of the New Blood to tackle him. The younger soldier lifted him into the air and slammed him down into a chair. The furniture splintered into a mess of broken pieces as the breath was knocked from his lungs.
His attacker rained blows down on him, pummeling his ears, eyes and forehead. A boot came out of nowhere and dislodged the angry mass from atop Levi, who scrambled to his feet. He kicked his attacker and swore. The man did not get up but coughed on the ground and wheezed out, “Mercy!”
Levi’s face was a bloody pulp that would be nothing but a mask of bruises in the morning. But he was drunk and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He did not feel pain.
Yet, he could still think. Decades on the battlefield had given him a keen control of himself even when a fight was on. He searched the crowd until he found what he was looking for. With his split lip leaking blood down his chin and his left eye threatening to swell closed he pushed his way through the crowd. The handsome corporal had a member of the Old Guard in a headlock and was striking him repeatedly in the stomach. Levi grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around and punched the corporal square in the jaw.
Like a marionette whose strings had been cut the blonde man dropped to the floor. The tavern went absolutely silent as the soldiers ceased their brawl and took notice of the titanic blow. “By the One God,” said a member of the New Blood, a private who looked about seventeen years old. “You punched out Hadmir. No one has ever punched out Hadmir.”
Levi looked down at the unconscious man and grabbed a half full beer from the bar. He splashed it in the corporal’s face and barked, “Wake up.”
Hadmir groaned and his eyelids fluttered. Levi grabbed his collar and hauled him up before snatching another beer and thrusting it into the younger soldier’s hands. “What’s going on?” asked Hadmir in bewilderment.
“Fight’s over,” said Levi. “Drink.” The corporal fumbled with the glass and took a big gulp of the brew. Levi turned. All eyes were on him and he felt tension bearing down on his shoulders. Without thinking he took a pouch off his belt, pulled open the drawstring and dumped the sum of his winnings on the bar. “Fight’s over,” he repeated. “Drinks on me. Jan, get your guitar, you old grouch.” He turned to the corporal, “Hadmir, is it?”
The younger soldier nodded. He eyed Levi like a small dog does a much larger one. Levi smiled and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ve fought well, both here and on the battlefield.” He addressed the crowd in a louder voice, “If the Second Regiment is good enough for the Emperor, it’s good enough for me!” He held up a mug and drank half the beer in one go.
Throughout the tavern men raised their mugs in salute and took deep pulls. The tension ebbed away like air let out of a balloon. Levi let out a satisfied sigh and turned back to Hadmir. “Do you know what the Emperor’s favorite marching song is?”
“No,” admitted Hadmir.
Levi’s smile widened and without taking his eyes off the corporal he shouted, “Jan! Play, ‘The Buxom Duchess.’”
Five minutes later all the soldiers – Old Guard and New Blood alike – were swaying from side to side with their arms around each other’s shoulders and beer sloshing from the lips of their mugs. They were singing the bawdy lyrics of, “The Buxom Duchess,” which concerned a young knight and a lonely widow.
“You know,” said Hadmir as he leaned heavily on Levi, “you geezers really can fight.”
Levi smiled. All antagonism was gone, replaced with the rare brotherhood men experience after a fight. “You young’uns ain’t so soft yourselves.” They clanked their mugs together and joined in the song.
