Allies of Antares by Alan Burt Akers

me—”
    He shook his head and did not wince.
    “You needn’t say it.” He sounded drugged.
    “So that I can and will have your father, Prince Nedfar, crowned Emperor of Hamal.”
    “Is that all you can think of, Father?”
    “No. But it is a good thought to hold onto now.”
    “Dray Prescot.” Tyfar savored the words, the name, rolling it around his mouth like a gob of rotten fruit. He spat it out. “The great devil, Dray Prescot. By Krun! You’ve had a good laugh at my—”
    “Tyfar! Do not think that! By Vox, lad, never think that!”
    “Oh, no Ty! Surely you can see father would never laugh at you like that! For the sweet sake of Opaz! We are blade comrades!”
    Tyfar fell back on the cloak. His face remained flushed and his eyes looked feverish. Sweat shone on his forehead under the bandage. Jaezila sponged the sweat away gently.
    Seg rolled over. He put his hands on his hips, looking down on Tyfar. He said, “Prince, I can tell you this. Dray Prescot may be a cunning old leem hunter but he is a man who knows friends and what friendship means. If you are fortunate enough to count yourself a comrade of Dray Prescot, then you are fortunate above most men. And I know.”
    I repeat this, you will readily perceive, to illustrate the arguments various folk used to ease the torment Tyfar was experiencing. I think chiefly he felt used, diminished in his own eyes. But I believed in him. Jaezila was no fool. She knew Tyfar better than did I, and she was not deceived in him, I felt sure.
    This scene had been painful for us all. Now it had to finish. In the ensuing hours, on and off, Tyfar would talk of the times we’d had together, and see them in a new light. “All the time I was working for Hamal, you were working for Vallia.”
    “For Vallia.” Jaezila’s face, caught in reflected fire glow, looked impassioned. “That is the point, Ty! Had you seen some of the terrible things the mercenaries and slavers did in Vallia, at the command of that horrible woman — and who weeps now that she is dead? — had you seen that...”
    “War—”
    “Not the kind of war the new Vallia fights. No. If those dreadful things had happened to your Hamal, wouldn’t you fight?”
    He looked weak, his face wan, the yellow bandage unhealthy against his skin. “I did fight—”
    “The position is,” said Seg. “Thyllis has been got rid of with the minimum of damage and trouble. Hamal is virtually unharmed. Your father can take over a running empire. Back in Vallia we still face the troubles your country has brought us.”
    At times desultory with exhaustion, at others impassioned, the talk went on through the night. No one slept very much. Too much lay at stake here. These hours witnessed events of the most momentous significance. We all felt that. The very night air seemed imbued with intimations of the future.
    At one point Tyfar sat up, looking wild. “I feel so dirty!”
    “That is a natural reaction, understandable. The name of spy is universally condemned. But if a spy acts in honor—”
    “As we have done, Tyfar,” I put in, speaking hard.
    Jaezila nodded vehemently. “And you had better rest. I don’t like that hole in your head.”
    And Tyfar said, “Which one?”
    Barkindrar the Bullet and Nath the Shaft, who had been with us through many perils, looked numbed when they were told. They were flabbergasted. I watched them narrowly, believing they would take their lead from their prince; but ready in case they decided that their duty to their country called on them to attempt to slay the Emperor and Princess Majestrix of Vallia.
    “Jak?” said Barkindrar in his uncouth Brokelsh way. “You’re an emperor?”
    “Of Vallia?” Nath the Shaft’s brown fingers curled around his bowstave. It was not a great Lohvian longbow; but he was a remarkable shot with the compound reflex weapon.
    “When I am in Vallia. Here I am Jak the Shot, your comrade, and comrade to Prince Tyfar. You must help him grapple with