'On the contrary-it is a fine training ground.'
Sola squinted at' him. 'With the shrews?'
Sos turned seriously to Sol. 'Give me twenty good men and a month to work, and I'll have it secure the year around.'
Sol shrugged. 'All right.'
'How are we going to get out of here?' Sola wanted to know.
'The same way we came in. Those shrews are defeated by their appetites. They can't wait around very long in any one place, and there was hardly anything for them to eat in that valley. They must have moved on to fresher pastures already, and soon they'll die off. Their life cycle is short They probably only swarm every third or fourth generation, though that would still be several times a year.'
'Where did they come from?' Sol asked.
'Must have been mutated from the fringe radiation.'
He began his description of evolution, but Sol yawned. 'At any rate they must have been changed in some way to give them the competitive edge, here, and now they are wiping out almost every form of ground life. They'll have to range farther and farther, or starve; they can't go on indefinitely like this.'
'And you can keep them clear of the valley?'
'Yes, after preparations.'
'Let's move.'
The valley was empty again. No trace of the tiny mammals remained, except for the matted grass flattened by their myriad feet and brown earth showing where they had burrowed for fat grubs. They had evidently climbed every stalk in search of food, bearing it down by the weight of numbers and chewing experimentally. Strange scourge!
Sol eyed the waste. 'Twenty men?'
'And a month.'
They went on.
Sol seemed to gain strength as he marched, little worse for wear. The other two exchanged glances occasionally and shook their heads. The man might make a good show of it, but he had been very near death and had to be feeling the residual effects now.
They set a swift pace, anxious to get out of the badlands before dusk. Travel was much more rapid now that they knew where they were going, and by nightfall they were near the markers. Stupid remained with Sos, perched on his shoulder, and this protection encouraged them to keep moving through the dusk toward the hostel.
There they collapsed for a night and a day, basking in its controlled temperature, safe sleeping and ample food. Sola slept beside her man, no longer complaining. It was as though their experience of the last night in the badlands meant nothing to her-until Sos heard her humming 'Greensleeves.' Then he knew that no victor stood in this circle yet. She had to make her choice between opposing desires, and when she came to her decision she would either give back Sol's bracelet-or keep it.
Stupid seemed to have no problem adapting to a diet of lesser insects. The white moths were a phenomenon of the badlands only, but the bird elected to stick with the empire even at the sacrifice of his favorite victual.
They traveled again. Two days out they met a single warrior carrying a staff; He was young and fair, like Sol, and seemed to smile' perpetually. 'I am Say the Staffer,' he said, 'in quest of adventure. Who will meet me in the circle?'
'I fight for service,' Sol replied. 'I am forming a tribe.'
'Oh? What is your weapon?'
'The staff, if you prefer.'
'You use more than one weapon?'
'All of them.'
'Will you take the club against me?'
'Yes.'
