"Why?" she demanded. "Why, of all men, did my father have to pick him?"
Yeon moved a little. "Your genetic strains are highly compatible, my lady. Both your husband and your father were most insistent on this point; both agreed that, above all, the union should be fertile."
"A brood mare to a fool, is that all I am?" Rage drove her across the floor and back again, the metal heels of her shoes tearing at the fine weave of the carpet, her hair swirling to glint ashen in the light. Abruptly she halted, glaring at the cyber. "Well?"
"You wish me to answer, my lady?"
"Would I have asked if I did not?"
"No, my lady." Yeon paused and then, in the same even monotone said, "You are the wife of the ruler of a world, a queen. Many would envy you your position."
"Are you now saying that I should be grateful!" For a moment it seemed as if she would strike the enigmatic figure in scarlet, and then, as if coming to her senses, she shuddered and lowered her upraised arm. "I am distraught," she said unevenly, "unaware of what I was doing. I apologize for any offensive behavior."
Yeon bowed. "No apology is necessary, my lady. No offense was taken." He watched as she returned to the seat before the mirror. "You disturb yourself needlessly. Against the major pattern, the trifles of which you complain are meaningless. I would advise you to ignore such petty irritations."
Her eyes stared into the mirror and found his reflection there.
"Before agreeing to the marriage contract," the cyber continued, "your father asked me to predict the logical outcome of the proposed union. I must admit that my answer was hampered by lack of knowledge of Jest. A true prediction can only be based on assured fact."
She turned, her face tilted up at his shaven skull. "Continue," she ordered, remembering veiled hints Elgone had dropped and which she had been too busy or too annoyed to understand. "What was your prediction?"
"You will have a child, a son. Failing other offspring of your family-and the genetic forecast promises none -that child will inherit the rule not only of Jest but also of Eldfane."
She frowned. The family was inbred, she knew; but she did not think it that infertile.
"It is a matter of the direct line," said Yeon, guessing her thoughts. "Those of a station suitable for union with either of your two brothers are incompatible. The laws of Eldfane do not recognize the issue of unregistered unions, and your father will never consent to accept a commoner as the legal wife of either of his sons. Therefore, your child must be the logical heir of both worlds."
Sharp white teeth bit thoughtfully at the fullness of her lower lip. The future prospects of her unborn son were bright, but what about herself? Yeon remained enigmatic.
"Once the child is safely conceived, my lady, many things can happen. I hesitate to do other than touch on possibilities."
"Jocelyn could die," she said harshly. "One way or another, he could be disposed of. I would still remain Queen of Jest."
"Perhaps, my lady."
"There is doubt?"
"There is always doubt. New laws could be passed to take care of that eventuality, perhaps old ones already exist. I have still to assimilate much data appertaining to the world. It would be wise to move with caution."
"To wait, you mean, to act the dutiful wife, and, while waiting, to be the laughing stock of all who see the conduct of my husband. Destiny," she snapped. "How can a grown man be such a fool? How can he hope to retain the rule of his world? Has he no nobles weary of his antics?" Rage lifted her once more from the chair and sent her striding the floor. "Did you hear him when he decided to head for Scar, his talk of omens and signs sent by fate? Can such a man be allowed to rule?"
"Do not underestimate him, my lady. Many men wear a mask to hide their thoughts."
"Not my dear husband, cyber," she said bitterly. "I know more than you. He is what he appears to be." She frowned, her anger dissipating as she considered her future. Yeon was right, it would be ill-advised to act prematurely. First she would have to make friends, gain sympathizers and, above all, ensure the conception of her child. That, at least, should not be difficult.
* * *
Dumarest paused and looked up at the low range of peaked hills, their sides scored and gullied, masses of exposed stone looking like teeth in a rotting mouth.
"There's nothing up there," said Clemdish. He eased back the wide-brimmed hat he wore and mopped at his streaming face. Overhead, the monstrous disk of the sun glowed with furnace heat. Even though it was barely summer the temperature was soaring, a grim promise of what was to come. "I tried it once," he continued, "the first season I was here and damn near killed myself climbing to the top. It was a waste of time. There's nothing beyond; just the reverse slope running down to the sea."
"I'd like to see it," said Dumarest.
Clemdish shrugged. "Who's stopping you?" The small man looked around, found a rock and sat down. "I've gone far enough. It's a waste of effort, Earl. The wind is from the sea all the time, and any spores will be blown back inland. We'd do better scouting farther back this side of the range."
Dumarest ignored him, concentrating on the hills. If he were to take the gully up to where it joined a mesh of shallow ruts, swing left to hit that crevasse, ease himself along until he reached a jutting mass of stone and then edge right again, he shouldn't have much difficulty in making his way to the top.
He turned at the sound of a soft thud. Clemdish had slipped off his pack and was rummaging through its interior. He looked up defiantly.
"I'm hungry," he said. "I figure on taking time out to rest and eat. You going to join me?"
Dumarest shook his head. "I'm going to take a look at what's beyond those hills. You wait here and guard the packs." He undid the straps of his own and dropped it beside the one Clemdish had thrown down. "Go easy on the water; it's a long way back to the station."
"Too damn long," grumbled the small man. "Coming this far out was a crazy thing to do. It's bad enough now, what's it going to be like later?" He scowled after Dumarest as he moved away. "Hey, don't forget your markers."
Dumarest smiled. "I thought you said it was a waste of time?"
"I still think so," said Clemdish stubbornly. "But take them just the same." He threw a couple of thin rods at Dumarest. "Sling them over your back, and Earl."
"What now?"
"Be careful."
"What else?"
"I mean it," insisted Clemdish. "You're a big man, heavy. I don't want to bust a gut carrying you down. Remember that."
The first part of the climb wasn't very difficult. Dumarest followed his memorized route and paused as he reached the mass of stone to catch his breath. The temptation to strip was strong, but he resisted it. The sun was too big, too loaded with harmful radiation. Invisible infrared light could burn a man before he knew it, and there was always the chance of a random spore. Clothing might not keep them out, but it forced the body to perspire and so would wash them from the flesh.
He edged right, cautiously testing each foothold before applying his full weight, gripping firmly with both hands as he moved along. The sun-baked surface was treacherous, the soil beneath weakened by the winter rains and ready to crumble at any misdirected impact. Higher it wasn't so bad, for masses of stone, leached from the dirt, formed a secure matrix; he covered the remainder of the journey at fairly high speed.
Resting on the summit of a peak, he looked around.
The view was superb.
Looking back the way he had come he could see the scarred plain rolling towards the horizon, the rough ground interspersed with patches of smoothness where the trapped ooze of winter had firmed during the spring. They looked darker, richer than the rest, and countless buds of wakening growth dotted them like a scatter of snow. Other growths, less advanced, showed wherever bare dirt faced the sky. In the shadow of rock, molds and slimes stretched as spores multiplied and grew in the mounting heat.