“Peace is boring,” explained Pryce, more glibly. “Nothing compares to the thrill of one-on-one combat once you have tried it. Everything afterwards seems …”
“Flat,” suggested another guardsman and Pryce shrugged, accepting the word.
“But there are those who will judge and despise you for loving the fight, lord,” continued Pryce, impatiently. “They will think you a barbarian, incapable of controlling your base instincts. They do not feel what you feel and cannot appreciate that neither you, nor they, have the power to change their own nature. But they rationalise their own nature, and like to deem it superior to other men and imagine they have tamed something that you cannot.”
“Everyone tries to rationalise their own nature,” said Gray, neither in support nor disagreement of Pryce’s words. “Were you scared, my lord?” Dimly, Roper recognised that Gray was mentoring him. These were the questions that his father would have asked him, had he been alive. They would have unpacked the fight together; discovered what sort of man Roper was and what sort of warrior he would become.
“No,” said Roper, confused. “I thought I would be but truly, no.” He had spent his whole life training against the fear he had been told would obscure his thoughts and make his limbs weak, but it had not come. There had merely been assurance, euphoria and pride. Roper wanted to say more but was not sure these men, many of whom seemed merely bereft, would understand.
“You are one of a rare breed,” said Gray. He gestured around the fire. “Some of these men are like you. True warriors. Pryce is one. Leon is one,” he gestured at a hard-faced guardsman sitting opposite them. “I am not.” He smiled. “I have to control my terror before each enemy I face and even after a victory like today, all I can think of are the casualties we have taken. Do not worry that you enjoyed it.” Gray read Roper’s silence exactly. “It is as Pryce says: you cannot change your nature. It does not make you a worse man, but it might allow you to be a better leader. I find battle harder and harder to endure and one day I shall not be able to advance through my own dread.” He grinned again. “I hope to be a bureaucrat by then.”
The guardsmen chuckled appreciatively.
“That is why this is the best man in the Black Kingdom,” said Pryce, pointing past Roper to Gray, who waved his hand dismissively. “His courage is far superior to mine as he is always acting in spite of fear which I do not feel. It is one thing to be born for this role. It is another to make yourself fit for it through total mastery of your emotions.”
“I am far from alone in fighting through my fear,” said Gray, sternly.
“You are different, though,” said the guardsman named Leon in a bear’s growl of a voice. “Do not deny it, Konrathson. You have more awareness than any other man and yet I’ve never seen fear slow your hand or falter your step. Your consciousness of danger is extreme and yet you hold as many Prizes of Valour as any man alive.”
Gray gave a grunt and a little lift of his eyebrows. “Well, then, if we’re speaking on this subject, I will share with you all my dream, to which I dedicate my life. It is neither deep, nor particularly advanced. I try to be a student of fear. I want to understand it, why it is I feel it, and how it can be truly mastered. If it is possible, I want to transcend it. I want to lose all selfish desire for life and live only to be a servant to others. One day, I dream of advancing into battle with every bit of awareness of my own mortality that I possess now, knowing that I will likely die, and not caring. I wish to feel gladness alone, that I am able to lay down my life for those I love. That is my quest.”
“And does this goal grow closer, or more distant?” asked Roper. “Is it indeed possible?”
“I believe that it is both possible, and grows a little closer,” said Gray, cautiously. “I do not want to achieve it through weariness of life or battle, but I am inspired daily by those around me. My young protégé here,” he indicated Pryce, “inspires me. He is heroic indeed and there is something very special about his courage, though it is not what I seek for myself. Not quite, but it is close.
“But I will tell you all a story and then I’m going to shut up. It concerns the death of Reynar the Tall, who, I believe, was closer than any man I have met to achieving the dream of which I speak.”
As one, the guardsmen looked up from their bowls, weariness and bereavement banished from their faces. Reynar the Tall was widely regarded as one of the greatest warriors of any age. He had held more Prizes of Valour than any man in history, having died in the act of achieving his fourth. Only Gray and two others had seen him die, and of those, Gray was the only witness yet alive. To the certain knowledge of all there besides Roper (for the tale was eagerly sought), Gray had never confided it to anyone besides Pryce.
“Most of you know that when I joined
