“I suppose not,” Withen said, after a moment. “I - don't suppose that was very fair to her, either.”
Vanyel nodded. “It's true, Father. There aren't enough Herald-Mages. I'm afraid to tell you how few of us there are. I wish there were more of us, but there aren't, and I hope when you are sent help next time, you won't think of that help as 'just' a Herald.”
“Because that's the best help Haven can give us,” Withen concluded for him.
But he didn't look happy. And in a way, Van understood. But there was that stigma again - ”just” a Herald - when there were Heralds who had twice the abilities of some of the Herald-Mages he'd known.
It was a disturbing trend - and unfortunately, one he had no idea how to reverse.
“Father, which would you rather have in a pinch - a Herald with a very strong Gift, a Gift that's exactly the kind of thing you need, or a Herald-Mage who may be able to do no more than you could on your own?” He paused for effect. “There have been no few Herald-Mages killed down on the Karsite Border precisely because they were mages, and because of that they tried to handle more than they were capable of. If I were spying on the enemy, I'd rather have a strongly Mindspeaking Herald doing it for me than a Herald-Mage who has to send up a flare of mage-fire when he needs to talk! If I were hunting up magical creatures, I'd rather have a Herald with powerful FarSight than a weak Herald-Mage who'd light up like a tasty beacon to those creatures every time he uses his magic.”
“I never thought about it that way,” Withen mumbled. “But still -”
“Please do think about it, Father,” Van urged. “And please talk to others about it. Valdemar is short of friends and resources these days. We have to use everything we can, however we can. You have a powerful influence on the way people think in this area -”
“I wish your brother thought that,” Withen mumbled, but he looked pleased.
“If you decide that I'm right, you can make an enormous difference in the way things are handled the next time. And that just may save you a great deal, including lives.”
Withen sighed, and finally met his eyes. “Well, I'll think about it, son. That's all I'll promise.”
Which is about as much of a concession as I'm ever likely to get out of him. “Thank you, Father,” he said, hoping it would be enough. “That's all I can ask.”
Dinner proved to be entertaining and amazingly relaxing. Only the immediate family and important household members assembled in the Great Hall anymore - there wasn't room for anyone else.
Vanyel was partnered with the priest who had replaced the late, unlamented Father Leren; a young and aggressive cleric with a thousand ideas whose fervor was fortunately tempered with wit and a wry good sense of humor. The young man was regrettably charismatic - before the meal was over, Van found he'd been lulled into agreeing to broach a half dozen of those ideas to his father.
Treesa had kidnapped Stef and enscounced him at her side, with herself and Withen between the Bard and Vanyel. Since that was pretty much as Van had expected things would go, he ignored Stefs mute pleas for help throughout the meal. Given how much effort he'd been going to in order to avoid the less platonic of Stefs continued attentions, he found it rather amusing to see the Bard in the position of “pursued.”
Immediately following dinner, Withen claimed his son for another conference. This time it included Withen, Radevel, Mekeal, and two cousins Vanyel just barely knew. That conference left him with a profound admiration for how well the folk in this so-called “Border backwater” were keeping up with important news. They knew pretty well how much impact Treven's marriage was going to have on situations outKingdom, had good guesses about what concessions Randale was likely to have to make with Rethwellan in order to gain their Queen's aid, and had a fair notion of the amount of help Tashir was likely to be able to offer Valdemar.
What they wanted to know was the real state of the situation with Karse. “We heard they'd outlawed magery,” Radevel said, putting his feet up on the low table they all shared, “and there was rumors about fightin' inside Karse. All well an' good, if it's true, an' what's bad for Karse is likely to be good for us 'twould look like, but what's that really gonna do to us? That gonna end up spillin' across the Border, you reckon?”
Vanyel put his drink down on the table, and dipped his finger into a puddle of spilled ale. “Here's the Karsite Border,” he said, drawing it for them. “Here's Rethwellan, and here's us. Now this is what we know so far -”
In a few sentences he was able to sum up his own and Randale's analysis of the situation, and the reasons why the alliance with Rethwellan was all the more necessary.
“So we end up takin' hind teat if there's trouble out here, hmm?” one of the cousins said cynically, around a mouthful of bread and cheese.
“To be brutally frank,” Vanyel felt forced to say, “unless it's a major incursion, yes. I wish I could tell you differently.”
Radevel shrugged philosophically. “Somebody's gotta take second place,” he pointed out. “No way around that. Seems to me we've been doin' pretty well for ourselves; we got some Guard, we got our own patrols, we got Tashir an' his people. So long as nobody brings up an army, we should be all right.” Withen nodded, and refilled all their mugs, letting the foam run over the tops with casual disregard for the state of the furniture.
“l can do this much for you,” Vanyel told them after a moment's thought. Five sets of eyes fastened on him. “You know I have limited Crown authority. I can authorize a general reduction in taxes for landholders who keep their own armed forces. And I can get you weapons - and I think some trainers. We've got some Guards that are minus legs or arms that would still make good trainers, even if they can't fight.”
All of them brightened at that. Mekeal looked as if he was counting something up in his head.
:Probably would-be young heroes,: Yfandes said cynically. :And he's reckoning how much he can get taken off the tax-roles by encouraging young hotheads to take their energy off to the Guard.:
:Probably,: Van replied, thinking a little sadly of all the aspiring heroes who had found only early graves on the Karsite Border. And how many more he'd send there, if indirectly. . . .
But the fighters had to come from somewhere. Better that they came as volunteers, and well-trained. “I can probably even authorize tax credit if you send trained fighters for the Guard instead of cash or kind at tax time,” he continued. “Randale's pretty loath to hire mercenaries, but he wants to avoid conscription, and right now the ranks down South are getting thinner than we'd like.”
“I got another thought,” Mekeal put in. “Give that credit across Valdemar, an' send the green'uns to us for training an' seasoning. We'll get 'em blooded without the kind of loss you get in combat.”
That made him feel less guilty. “Good gods,” Vanyel replied, “I'm surrounded by geniuses! Why didn't we think of that?”