Chapter 10 (Part II): Advanced Studies in Leadership

"The reason why group projects in classrooms are so difficult is because there’s never enough at stake to motivate people to do the one thing they really hate doing – cooperate with one another. Threaten to kill the lowest scoring group in every class, and their performance would doubtlessly improve. My suggestion to the dean was eventually rejected, though.”
- Victus Setis, Magister of Education Studies, Northern Gnoma University

The withdrawal to the cityguard barracks had been hurried enough there’d been little time for everyone to get to know one another, but Azraea made a point of ending up next to Jericho and starting a hushed conversation.

“I have to say I was surprised to see you in the thick of things back there,” she said, “from our last interaction I would have thought you’d prefer to stay away.”

“What makes you say that?”

“While I’m certainly grateful for your aid, I thought you left the military because you couldn’t abide the killing any longer. I recall you going to great pangs to avoid it.”

Jericho patted the blue obsidian knife on his belt. The primitive weapon was special – no matter what wound the blue obsidian inflicted, it would be nonlethal. Blue obsidian blades were treasured by healers, making excellent surgical implements, but Jericho had found considerable use for it as a member of the highway guard.

“Hard to take on a frenzied mob with a single glass knife,” he said simply.

“I understand but… Are you okay?”

That clearly took Jericho by surprise. In the midst of a whirlwind of violence and fear the young woman was concerned with the older man’s psychological and moral well-being.  He smiled; “Well…” he wasn’t sure what to say, because he wasn’t entirely sure what the truth would be, “It’s complicated.”

“Everything is right now, isn’t it? But I’m a fairly good listener.”

Jericho slowed his pace so that they fell towards the back of the group, giving them some measure of privacy, “The truth is… I’m not tired of killing.”

Azraea’s face betrayed a hint of surprise, but she didn’t say anything judgmental.

“It’s not that I like killing …” Jericho struggled to explain, “But I’m very good at fighting…”

“And everybody likes to do what they’re good at.”

“I’m not a sadist,” Jericho said, “I don’t like hurting people, let alone killing them, but… when it comes to combat… I don’t mind it either. And if it’s in service of a cause, protecting people…”

“I think that’s Kaira’s nature, as well,” Azraea said, “Would you think badly of me if I said it worries me somewhat?”

“Me? Think badly of you?” Jericho was surprised the woman was in the least bit concerned with his opinion.

“I feel it makes me something of a hypocrite,” Azraea confided in the older man, “I have blood on my hands as well, and even before that… I’ve realized how privileged I was to have the protection of those willing to do what I would have once condemned.”

“I don’t think worrying about a friend makes you a hypocrite,” Jericho said, “When it comes to killing people, there’s a line… Some people think you cross that line when you take a life – for any reason – but I don’t. I’ve seen a lot of men kill. And women, of course,” he added. “And I’ve seen men become so… numb to it, that they would resort to it whenever it was simply the most expedient way to get what they want. I’ve also seen men kill out of disgust for someone else – pure hatred – and maybe worst of all, I’ve seen men kill for the pleasure of watching someone die. I’d certainly like to think that I don’t fall into any of those categories.”

“I don’t think you do,” Azraea said, “either of you.”

“But you’re worried because you think it’s a slippery slope,” Jericho said.

“Yes, maybe. For both of us, actually.”

“Maybe that’s true… maybe not,” Jericho ruminated, “Most of the wickedness men do is a matter of circumstance, though. We swing between good and bad from moment to moment. If you say something you regret, something cruel to someone you love, is there no coming back from that?”

“Are harsh words really comparable to a plunging knife into someone’s back?”

Jericho grunted in a sort of half laugh, “I’ve been around a long time…”

“I’d gotten that impression,” Azraea said. In their first encounter, it’d been clear that Jericho wasn’t mortal, and she’d guessed it had something to do with the jeweled ouroboros around his neck. His age was impossible to guess, though – he might be a man in his mid-forties, or he might be older than the oldest of Kaira’s people.

“... And with age comes a lot of regrets. When it comes to killing, there have been moments where I have crossed that line. I’ve killed someone because it was easier than not killing them, or I’ve killed someone because I thought they deserved to die. I regret those moments, and I dwell on them… frequently. But as terrible as it may sound, there are still other things I regret more. Killing an enemy prisoner because he was too much trouble to drag back across the line of battle – I feel bad about that, yes… but there are lesser things – unkind words, moments of apathy – that I regret more.”

“Why?” Azraea asked.

Jericho laughed, not patronizingly, but rather with a sort of dark acknowledgement of the world’s absurdity, “Whatever you might tell yourself, you still care more about your friends, families, and lovers, than you do about some foreign fucker that just tried to kill you. Doesn’t matter if you’re a civilian, a soldier, or a king,” Jericho said, “You’ll always care more about some people than others.”

Azraea frowned as she recalled her argument with Kaira over the deaths of their former classmates.

“Either way,” Jericho sighed, “all the things I regret most were things I did at moments when I felt my life had no meaning – and I’ve seen that homicidal hopelessness in others, as well. So if you’re worried about that, just focus on your purpose, on why you’re doing what you’re doing.  That’s the difference between a murderer and a soldier – a soldier fights because he believes in something.”

“And fanatics?”

“Oh, those are the guys fighting for things you don’t believe in.”

Azraea smiled, “So, basically, it’s complicated.”

“It’s complicated,” Jericho nodded, “Change of subject…”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been impressed by your initiative, your level-headedness, and frankly your charisma. You’re very good at inspiring people to act, and keeping them from panic. So I’m wondering, would you be open to advice from an old man?”

“You don’t make it far in academia if you aren’t,” Azraea laughed.

“Right, of course. So… the way you were able to rally those people to fight was impressive, but this situation has quickly evolved from civil unrest into a paramilitary engagement, and leading an army isn’t the same as leading a mob.”

“Well, then I imagine it’s fortunate that the task hasn’t fallen to me,” Azraea laughed faintly.

“Are you sure about that?” Jericho asked, “I’m already responsible for my highway guard, Schroeder’s got his city guard, and Marcus… well he’s got his own army to manage. Three people with lots of responsibility, and two big egos amongst them, trying to decide what to do next, trying to decide who should decide.”

Azraea thought back to her conversation with Hylas’s spirit, and his final words to her. It was intensely strange to be having this conversation, but this was the path she was on, wasn’t it? She’d set out to get rid of the dragon, and that meant taking responsibility for everything before and after.

“Alright,” Azraea took a breath; if walking down the darkened streets wasn’t disorienting enough, the weight of the discussion was in itself dizzying. “I’m listening.”

“Leading a small group is very different from leading a large one,” Jericho leapt into it directly, “which is important to understand, because in a military context, you spend more time leading small groups than large ones.”

“How so?”

“The rigid hierarchy of  a fighting force is designed to make it that way,” Jericho said, “occasionally there’re speeches to rally the troops, but most of the time you’re interacting with the officers above, around, and immediately beneath you. If you’re the ranking officer, you receive advice from a handful of men, make a judgment, and then pass that judgment back to them to pass on down the line, handling the more specific details themselves. Follow?”

“I understand; I’m guessing that handling the officers below a person can be something of a chore?”

“Yes,” Jericho said simply, “There’ll always be a clash of egos and personalities, of course, but in all fairness, each man you work with will have a duty not only to follow your orders, but to advocate for his own men. A good officer will, anyway.”

“A good leader should always be mindful of the sort of risks she’s doling out,” Azraea said, “I have to wonder, though, what makes you think this group would listen to me.”

“Speaking bluntly,” Jericho counted off on his fingertips, “Schroeder doesn’t want to lead – he wants to retire. If he thinks someone else is competent to relieve him of the responsibility, he’ll hand it over eagerly. I know Marcus will never want to lead anyone beyond his own family and their employees and – frankly – he’s been looking at you like... I don’t know what that look is.”

“Ah, that wasn’t my imagination, then?”

“No, and I have no idea if that’s paternal affection, romantic interest, or just the shrewd gleam of opportunism and amusement. Past a certain age, people get hard to read.”

“Should I ask what your interest is?”

Jericho laughed as if it were a joke, “I think we’ve all had enough of old people running things. We need leaders who have more to look forward to than to look back on.”

“Most people would say someone my age is naïve and inexperienced.”

“Compared to Marcus, everyone’s naïve and inexperienced. And Schroeder’s got a daughter not too much younger than you; for better or worse, I’m sure that gives him a different perception of you. But… and this is important… even if we all had complete confidence in your abilities, none of us would make it easy for you to lead.”

“Because each one of you have your own personal concerns to account for,” Azraea nodded, “Schroeder’s cityguardsmen, Marcus’s elves, your highway guards… and each of you likely has a very different way of looking at the same problem.”

“That’s all I had to say. Well,” he smiled, “That and, ‘good luck.’”